#they only played one song from Clarity on the 15th

[thatdamnokie]

i’m still doing a complete watch-through of mark’s whole channel (obviously not that intensely because at this point the man has a literal decade of content and i like to meander when i find things i enjoy) and have gotten to the video he uploaded september 21st, 2015.

you know the one.

daniel kyre has been dead for seven years.

it doesn’t feel like seven years.

i remember certain details about that period of time with such clarity. i can reach back into my mind and rip those feelings to the surface like they never even left.

i remember the tweet, and i remember how it felt like a blanket of silence falling into a valley. how we all listened for a sign. a sound. anything.

and we got our answers.

i remember listening to this video on my drive home from work. i remember what exact  part of the turnpike i was on. i remember what the sky looked like. i remember how the light fell in my car as i took that slow turn that would take me to my home exit off the highway.

i remember crying. i remember trying so hard to not make any noise so i could hear mark’s voice.

i remember that the song that played on my radio right after that video closed out was renegades by the x ambassadors and to this day every single time i hear that song i think about mark and the boys (and by now it’s gotten wider so i’m also thinking of amy and ethan and--).

i remember the truly atrocious things that came out of the woodwork. i remember seeing people trying to somehow blame mark. the lack of grace extended to the man who found his friend dead was astounding--but in my experience, i only remember a few people being very vocal about it. probably because i used the block button so liberally because i just--i could not process some of the things that people had the cahones to put on the internet for everyone to see. i had no interest in having those conversations. i still do not, and this post is not an invitation for that kind of engagement.

daniel kyre, who i never met and who never met me, has been dead for seven years and i cried for him again this afternoon, october 15th, 2022.

mark, who i have never met, and who has never met me, is thriving. and i cried for him too.

grief is strange, isn’t it?

something something hey-hey-hey, livin’ like we’re renegades...

[demonictales]

Can I ask for headcanons with mdzs boys reacting to reader's bad habit of sleepwalking? Imagine just boys wondering what the hell are you doing up so late, only to discover you walking around asleep and doing bizarre stuff, and also muttering some funny jibberish. You also running out of the house, in occasion and waking up in a bizarre places.

here’s to your request. enjoy! hope you liked it. wrote for my boys that I have barely anything yet. ♥

TW: SLEEPWALKING

XUE YANG

Xue Yang thought the first time he caught you up in the middle of the night that you were plotting something.

Apart from that he was hella confused.

It would become a weekly trip for him to follow you around when he had figured out you'd be sleepwalking and stealing chicken from the villigers.

He did not complain as it meant you had food the next day.

He did not know how to act, since you always forget you did so.

Xue Yang tried to keep you from it one night, but you climbed out of the window instead.

He also tried waking you up, ending in him getting hit with a shovel and a very angry, sleep deprived you.

He learned to not do that anymore.

He wondered why he cared in the first place.

Eventually he just let you wander around.

Fun fact: He enjoyed teasing you about your criminal record in stealing chicken the next day.

NIE HUAISANG

The first night Huaisang noticed that you were up this late was when he came home from drinking with friends late at night, wondering why you're still up.

When checking in on you he saw you were fully dressed, ready to run.

Huaisang tried to stop you but you bolted out of the door.

Him comepletely overwhelmed calling the servants to follow you

He eventually caught up on a horse, when he noticed you'd ran into the woods without any sense of direction

At first Huaisang thought it might have been the blade spirit and had his brother check you out the next day. It wasn't.

When it happened again, he followed you trying to guide you back to their manor. He managed to do well in this case.

The third time he had a doctor with him, turns out you were sleepwalking.

Huaisang wanted to wake you but did not know how. He thought touching you would be a good idea, though the doctor just recommended not to do so.

A loud gong was running through your room, which woke you and scared Huaisang just as much as it did you.

He ended up staying with you until you had established a good bed routine for you to no longer walk around.

LAN SIZHUI ( ft. LAN XICHEN )

Sizhui was woken when he heard the guqin play in the middle of the night. Everybody was supposed to be asleep, yet the song of clarity was loud and softly heard in the quarters.

He wasn't the only one pulling up to the scene. The Juniors and Lan Xichen were there too, wondering what happened.

But as quick as you had played, the faster you came to a halt when Lan Xichen asked you what you were doing. Your response: " Love and respect yourself. " It was the 74th rule of the sect. It did not make much sense since you just broke the 15th rule.

Everyone was taken aback, but Sizhui noticed the glassy and confused look on your features, knowing something is up. He waved a hand in front of you but you did not react to his action. You were awake but didn't fully register what happened until spoken to.

He soon figured you might be sleepwalking and told Zewu Jun.

You had been known for not being able to sleep as well as you wanted to, but this was a first for both him and Lan Xichen.

Punishment would not take place, but they both tried to wake you up.

It worked. You woke up wondering why you were there, no idea why you were dressed and had your guqin in front of you.

They explained and Sizhui escorted you back to your chambers.

He'd been instructed to make sure it's not happening again.

But at least they knew you knew the sect rules.

[chickenmcfly1]

Since you said you’re a guitarist and music major yourself, do you have any thought about Marty as a musician and his path?

omg you should not have gotten me going on this. Music and Marty are my favorite topics of ramble about and now you’re letting me ramble about both together gajagska. Anyway, here are my thoughts about Marty and his music

He started showing musical inclination when he was quite young. Grandma Sylvia (aka Trixie Trotter) would sing and play for Marty and he loved it

He expresses want to learn an instrument when he’s around 8 years old and there’s already a plunky little piano in the McFly home. By no means is it a good instrument, but George has Sylvia teach him.

Marty likes it a lot and he practices and becomes pretty proficient. Neither Lorraine or George expect much to come from it, but they’d rather have Marty playing jazz standards and Beethoven than have him setting fire to the rest of the house

After Sylvia passes a few years later, well one, Marty is absolutely destroyed because he’s not that close to anyone else in his family, but also the piano lessons stop. George and Lorraine can’t afford lessons and they don’t really care enough to encourage Marty’s musical goals

Marty keeps up with his piano playing, but around this time, at age 10, he begins to get really into Rock n Roll. The record store by his house is where Marty goes to escape his family before Doc and he becomes obsessed with all the Rock Stars and their records.

There’s a video of Jimi Hendrix explaining how to play the guitar that plays at the music store on loop, and Marty watches it over and over and over and over until he has it pretty much memorized

He mows lawn for a week and the first time he gets paid, he goes straight to the record store and buys the tape and the other guitar lessons that come with it

And Marty decides right then that he wants to be just like those rock stars. Because their music is so incredible and they’re so entertaining, and talented, and cool.

The older Marty gets, the more fascinated with all kinds of music Marty becomes. He applies himself to learning the melodies and analyzing the elements of the music with a dedication that his teachers wish he could also apply to literally anything else

He also tries his hand at writing his own music. It comes surprisingly easy because Marty’s a very emotional person, even at like 12, but he’s really scared of expressing those emotions. He’s afraid of being made fun of and rejected and judged and called weak, so he writes music, but nobody ever heard it.

By 12, Marty is begging his parents for a guitar, but they don’t want to spend the money on an instrument or lessons. Marty; however, is desperate and is willing to do literally anything to get his parents to buy him one.

Hill Valley is a small town, and the record store owner obviously had noticed how Marty comes by every single day, so he ends up giving Marty some trashy old acoustic that needs to be tossed

The guitar is probably only given to Marty because fixing it up to put it in selling condition would probably cost more that they could ever make from it, but looking at Marty, you’d think he’s just been given the best gift in the entire universe

So he watches the Jimi Hendrix tapes another 10,000 times and works his ass off and improves an enormous amount and by the time he’s 13, Marty is quite a good guitar player

In 8th grade, he’s able to save enough for another (equally crappy and equally used) guitar but this one’s electric and its the most incredible thing Marty has ever seen and he adores it

Marty’s super insecure in pretty much everything he does, and nobody feels good about themselves at age 13, but at this age, Marty really starts doubting himself way more and struggling with confidence. Music is an escape from that. Marty works so hard with his piano playing, with his singing, and especially his guitar playing, and making music is the place where he feels most comfortable in himself.

At this point, Marty’s family life is getting worse and worse, school is hard and friends are hard, but he has music and he throws himself into it 110 percent.

That all comes crashing down at Marty’s first audition. Marty auditions for Jazz band in 8th grade, and that rejection shouldn’t be a big deal because there two spots and 8th 9th and 10th graders, but Marty’s quickly rejected and it breaks it heart. This had been the one thing that was simple for Marty. There was no chaos or fighting or compilations behind it, he just did it and it made him happy, and now that’s been taken away from him too

He pretty much decides he’s giving up on music forever after that and is never playing for anyone else again, but as usual, Doc comes into Marty’s life at the perfect time.

Music is one of the first things Doc and Marty bond about. Doc tells Marty he’s welcome to play any of his records while they’re working. His music is mostly jazz and 50s stuff, and Marty absolutely falls in love with it.

After listening to more of that, Marty discovers a love for combining the classics with a new unique kinda heavy metal sound

He asks Doc about the saxophone and Doc teaches Marty quite a bit of it. Marty’s not as great at sax as he is at piano, singing, or guitar, but it’s fine because he has a duet partner now.

He and Doc play together a lot and he’s the only one that gets to hear Marty’s original music. Marty writes a bunch of jazz and rock pieces for Sax and Guitar too, and being able to play with Doc gives Marty a lot of the confidence boost he needs. Doc makes a point to always encourage and compliment Marty’s performance. And it’s not hard to do either, because Marty really does have something special.

Improvising with Marty is a wild ride. He’s able to change keys, styles, and go into mixed meter in a way that seems almost effortless and with alarming speed. Anybody with him really does have to ‘try to keep up’

Once he gets to high school, Marty tries auditioning for a few things again. To his surprise, he’s picked for a few small things. Nothing as big as he wants, but it’s better than nothing. Someone somewhere thinks Marty’s good and that’s something.

Marty also gets into a little bit or recording, mixing, and composing. [There’s a tiny electric or MIDI keyboard in his bedroom in the Polaroid from the set so I’m assuming he’s writing music for full bands and playing some parts on MIDI with a software instrument, but idek if that technology existed back then, so who knows right]

For his 15th birthday, Doc gives him the rest of the money for the guitar he’s been saving up for. It’s an Ibanez and when he plays it or the first time, it feels like the instrument was made just for him and everything is right in the world

He throws himself even more into practice after this and music goes from a hobby to the thing he wants to do with his life. Marty’s always felt lost and directionless when it comes to his future. It’s always felt like he isn’t good enough and won’t really amount to anything. His family are all nobodies, and nobody thinks Marty is capable of achieving anything. But Music gives him purpose and hope for the future.

Doc’s nonstop encouragement is what pushes Marty to finally take the first step and decide to pursue music

In sophomore year, the pinheads come together. Marty is a lot more serious about the whole thing than the others, but being in a band is cool, so they all carve out a few hours every week to rehearse. Marty pushes and pushes them and himself to be better.

He starts dating Jennifer in junior year and Marty writes a lot of songs for her. He finally gets the courage to show her one. Jennifer loves it and becomes Marty’s (second) biggest cheerleader. Any audition, rehearsal, and rare performance Marty has, she’s there. She knows how much this means to him and she takes any opportunity to encourage him

By senior year, everyone seems to know what they want to do with their life, and Marty knows with absolute clarity what he wants to do too, but he’s so scared to take the leap and go for music. He wants this so badly and it means so much to him, and someone telling him he’s not good enough to make it would absolutely destroy Marty. So he keeps these dreams close to his chest and only tells Jennifer and Doc, who convinces Marty to send an audition to the record company

Making that audition tape is the most miserable experience ever. He does over 100 takes of the same song because if it’s not absolutely perfect Marty’s entire world is going to be destroyed. The recording is never perfect (and Doc tells Marty that no recording will never be perfect enough in Marty’s eyes, and what he has done is incredible but Marty doesn’t believe it)

In the timeline where Marty breaks his hand, the second he wakes up in the hospital and sees his mangled hand and feels the way his fingers move so disjointedly, he knows he screwed up and everything is ruined

The loss of music, which was the one thing that made Marty have hope in himself, sends him spiraling and leads to the broke version of him in 2015

In the timeline where everything works out and Marty doesn’t race, he ends up sending the audition to the record company right away. Obviously, insecurity, confidence issues, and an obsessive need for validation don’t just disappear with one trip to the old west, but after time travel, he’s able to put himself out there with his music a lot more

After time travel, Marty is stuck in his own head a lot. He’s often very confused about the terms of his own existence, and existentialism aside, he’s struggling to cope with trauma bc guilt from what happened on his travels. And while Marty doesn’t care what other people think of him that much anymore, his own opinion of himself has gotten worse, if anything.

Getting over the initial thoughts of ‘you’re not good enough so why even bother’ is a whole process but he and Doc work through it, and Marty is finally able to commit himself wholly to his music.

Being on stage and performing and just playing gives Marty a reprieve from the trauma and the confusion he’s dealing with and his music gives him another safe space

As Marty starts to heal more and more he also starts auditioning more, playing more confidently, performing his own music and Doc (who moved back to the present) is his biggest cheerleader and is there at every performance

The new McFly parents really push Marty to study music at a college so he can get a college degree, and Marty ends up auditioning for college and studying Guitar Performance with an emphasis on Music Education

He writes several albums, a few become huge sensations, he is able to tour for a bit and he performs quite a lot. Once the kids are born, he stops touring as much, and once they’re older, he pretty much fully stops so he can fully focus on them.

He becomes a music teacher instead and it allows him to encourage so many other budding musicians while still staying true to his own passions

[taylorroger-s]

are you afraid of the dark // roger taylor x reader

a/n heyyy there people! so this is for @forever-rogue​ ‘s halloween challenge. there were so many awesome prompts that it was hard to choose, but i went with #11 (“is that red syrup? please tell me it is syrup.”), #12 (“i paid $50.00 for this haunted house. I better die.”), and #19 (“let’s split up.” “let’s not”). warnings about halloween stuff???? a haunted house is included, so enter at your own risk. but honestly this is just some fluffy, slightly self indulgent haunted house date 

masterlist here!

enjoy :)

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“c’mon rog, it’ll be fun!”

you had your arms wrapped around your boyfriend’s waist with your head resting on his shoulder he ignored your plea and continued his efforts to make pasta while you distracted him as often as possible.  you had been begging for the past hour and a half in hopes of persuading him to the local haunted house. autumn had always been your favorite time of year, with halloween being the highlight. each year you would go all out with some elaborate and unique outfit, a highly decorated flat, and attending any costume party you were invited to.

roger wasn’t as keen on the practice, for reasons you couldn’t understand. what was there not to love about oversized sweaters and spiked apple cider? but somehow, he certainly thought something was. so when you heard about a supposedly terrifying haunted house located just a few blocks from your london flat, convincing roger to take you became your singular goal. you were determined to have him share your passion for the holiday. 

“what could possibly be fun about paying to be terrified? there’s plenty to be afraid of in the real world, love.” you scrunched up your nose, fingers slowly playing with the hem of his half-buttoned shirt. his long hair tickled your cheek, swaying softly as he shuffled around with you clinging to him like a lost puppy. he let out a heavy sigh, taking your hands off his waist with calloused fingers from years of drumming, and turned to face you, his back resting against the counter. you kept your fingers gripping his as you leaned into him. 

“it’ll just be you and i rog, all alone in the dark.” your voice lowered, eyes slowly scanning his soft features and baby blue eyes. he really was too pretty for his own good. you fiddled with the silver necklaces resting against his sternum, occasionally raising your eyes to meet his with a coy smile. you knew exactly how to entrance him, and you could feel his breathing grow shallow. 

“you know that isn’t true.” he said, voice low and laced with annoyance. you almost had him. your hands snaked higher and wrapped strands of his blond locks in between your fingers, nails occasionally scraping his scalp. you felt his muscles relax under your touch, and his eyes slowly closed. it was almost possible to see the gears turning in his head, weighing the pros and cons of your request. 

“please?” you whispered, placing a chaste kiss to his jawline. once you looked up at him with a sickly sweet smile and eyelashes fluttering softly, he was a goner. roger let out a heavy sigh through his nose. he reached up and took your hand from his hair, holding it gently as he slowly met your eyes. 

“i hate you sometimes, you know that right?” he muttered, placing a soft kiss to your palm. you broke into a triumphant grin, rising up on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. his arms sunk to your waist and pulled you tighter, and you moved to mirror his actions. he rested his chin on the top of your head, fingers tracing soft patterns at the base of your spine. perfectly content. 

“i love you too.”

----------

“how do i look?” you chirped, doing a quick twirl to show off your lord of the rings-esque elf costume. most of it was thrifted or handmade, and you were immensely proud of how it turned out. you tried to convince roger to match, but he declined in favor of a flashier alternative. he did love his patterns. 

“absolutely ravishing, love.” he responded, adjusting his sleeves as he looked you up and down. you smirked, striding over to press a slow kiss to his temple. he chased your lips with his, but you backed away just before they met. he pouted, but you simply patted him on the cheek and went to retrieve your purse. 

“good. now let’s get going, i want to avoid the lines.” roger pulled on one of his fur coats and followed you out the door, hands shoved into the deep pockets with a frown on his face. he hadn’t complained as much as you expected, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t made his disdain for the evening’s plans unknown. the ride was just a couple of minutes, passing in relative silence besides the quiet music streaming from the radio.

“so what does this… haunted house experience entail?” you glanced over at him, but roger’s eyes were still focused on the road ahead. as to his question, you weren’t quite sure of the answer. from the flyer you had seen at your favorite coffee shop, it declared itself as: ‘a haunting experience located in one of london’s oldest catacombs. what horrors rest within its subterranean walls? it is up to you to survive the hidden tragedies, or become one yourself. open every friday and saturday, 7 to 11, from october 15th to the 31st. enter… if you dare” a little cliche, but you were excited nonetheless. 

“it’s somewhere in those old catacombs, i think. i really only know what i saw on the flyer.” you shrugged, adjusting the metal diadem resting in your hair. it was all about the details with you. little swirls in golden thread around the hem, forest green fabric from an old dress you found in the back of your closet. details like how his blond hair shimmered under the streetlights, the way his eyes filled with life as he sang the lyrics to his songs with perfect clarity. 

“what’s up love?” you hadn’t realized how long you had been watching him. whoops. wasn’t like anyone could blame you, he really was a vision. you became aware of the goofy grin you were sporting, laying your head on his shoulder from the passenger seat. he gave your forehead a brief kiss before turning back to the road. 

“just wondering how lucky i am too have you.” your voice was sickly sweet, but the words were completely genuine. roger snorted, taking a slow right onto the street where the haunted “house” was located.

“laying it on thick. it’s alright love, i’m kind of looking forward to this. like you mentioned, all alone, in the dark…” he whispered, wriggling his eyebrows with the subtlety of a lovesick teenager. you simply laughed, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. 

“calm down perv. look, here it is” you sat up quickly, peering over the dashboard to see the handful of other cars arranged around a large arch that led into a low building. roger smoothly backed into a place near the entrance, snug between two volkswagens. his constant car talk has definitely rubbed off on you. 

the two of you strolled to the entrance in a comfortable silence, hands clasped tight together, swinging as you walked. waiting wasn’t horrible either. there was a group of uni students in front of the two of you, and they chatted for a while about their worries and struggles while you offered light-hearted advice. one of them recognized roger from an album they owned, and promptly asked for a photograph with the beat up polaroid in their gloved hands. 

roger turned sour again once you reached the front of the line. his iron will made it difficult to fork over the £25 per person entrance fee, but he soon surrendered and settled for cursing under his breath as you led him into the dark.

“fifty bloody pounds, love. that’s insane!” he rambled as you walked slowly on, arm now slung across your shoulders. a breeze swept through the tunnel, bringing with it musty air and the smell of fresh paint. the mystery just made your excitement heighten. roger, on the otehr hand, still wasn’t changing his tune, slowly bringing you tighter to his side. his bright blue eyes scanned the dim tunnel back and forth, while his free hand was clenched into a tight fist at his side.

“you alright rog? seem a little… afraid.” you whispered with a sly smile stretching across your lips. you pulled away from him slowly, stepping further back until you were only connected by your fingertips as the journey continued. you began to notice some irregular marks and messages on the walls, which only made you more cheerful. 

“i’m just saying, i paid fifty pounds for this haunted house, i better die.” roger muttered gruffly, tugging you back towards him as you continued to step just out of his reach. soon, you let go entirely, and quickened your pace. you could hear roger huff behind you and jog to catch up. you took a quick look back at your boyfriend’s gorgeous face, his eyes alight with a childish gleam. you knew you would get him to enjoy it.

but in that moment your eyes were focused on him, your heeled boots caught on the old cobblestones, and you began to fall forwards. but a warm hand slipped around yours just soon enough to soften your landing, and you dragged roger down with you. he ended up with you under him and your intertwined hands by your head. 

“now was that really so…” he began in a cocky tone, seemingly about to playfully reprimand your behaviour, when his voice trailed off and his eyes shifted away from you. your brows furrowed and you turned your head, drawing eye level with a dark puddle you had narrowly missed falling into. the light from a nearby fixture shone on its smooth surface, revealing a reddish tint. roger’s face went white. 

“is that red syrup? please tell me it is syrup.” he groaned, reaching under your arms to lift you into a seating position. he dutifully checked your head and face for any abrasions, and aside from a slight scrape on your palms, you were unharmed. 

“relax rog, i’m not about to bleed out in an overpriced haunted trail… tunnel… thing.” you brushed off his wandering hands as they checked the back of your head one more time for any injury. the excursion had been disappointing so far, but you were determined to show roger how much fun halloween could be.

“now that you’re done examining me, onward! there is more danger that lies ahead!” you cheered, taking his hand and once more dragging him forwards with minimal protest. roger hurried to keep up with your intense pace as the wandering continued. a few minimal scares passed you by, including a figure in a hospital gown that followed you for a solid ten yards before turning back, a woman leaning against the wall with grotesque wounds covering her body, and a pair of performers dressed as otherworldly guards that reacted to none of the sounds roger would make or the silly dances the two of you did. it was like the two of you had suddenly deaged about ten years, reverting back to teens that held hands tightly as you ran through any adventure together, smiles never fading. 

roger actually seemed to be enjoying himself. you could feel the “i told you so” rising up, but there was still a little ways to go until the two of you were home free. the section that the guards were defending was an entrance to a maze, with walls just high enough that you couldn’t peer over. there were two choices in direction presented right at the entrance. right, or left? and you had an idea that would surely give roger a good scare. 

“let’s split up.” you said, turning to him with a shit-eating grin. you were taking way too much enjoyment out of watching him be scared. you dropped his hand and stepped backwards into the maze before he could lunge forward and stop you.

“let’s not.” he immediately responded, pulling you back into him with a quick spin. you just pouted with your arms locked around his waist until you felt him tense up again.

“fine. but we wait for each other at the end, yeah?” you smiled brightly, grabbing roger’s face and pulling him down for a long kiss, definitely to the dismay of the performers standing like statues all around you. once you let go, he pressed a quick peck to your nose before his hands left yours and you confidently strolled down the right side of the fork. once you could no longer see the entrance, you heard him enter.

there was no spoken contest between the two of you, but being friends forever made it routine for challenges and races to pop up, this being a perfect opportunity. alas, your machismo didn’t last for more than five minutes before you got sufficiently spooked by a person lurking in the darkness. you couldn’t even register their costume because you hurried past them so fast. 

from what you could hear, roger wasn’t so impenetrable either. a chorus of ‘bloody hells’ and ‘bastard’ rang out as he stumbled through his own challenges. this was much more than what you had expected from a presumably low-budget theater show. 

by the end of the maze (which wasn’t terribly long; just felt like it), you were definitely scared. your hands were clammy, heart racing, and your arms were clasped tightly across your chest. you were out first, which meant you had to stand and wait for roger to exit the maze, only company being more cobwebs and faux skeletons. just a few minutes after you had gotten out, roger followed suit, coming out muttering a curse and shaking his foot free from some unknown obstacle. you almost fell into his arms and he copied the gesture, lifting you up off your feet. 

“jesus christ, love,” he whispered in your ear, “that was much more than what i had bargained for.”

“you think i don’t know that?” you shot back, trying to feign your earlier bravado. but at that point in the night, you were tired, anxious, and just a little bit annoyed that you didn’t get the sweet satisfaction of being unafraid while roger would be losing his mind. the remaining section of the tunnel the two of you were much more subdued. his arm was thrown over your shoulders, yours around his waist, keeping him close, your free hand was locked around his hand dangling from your shoulder. 

no words were exchanged during the final stretch, settling for listening to each other’s slightly elevated heart rate and shaky breathing. soon enough, you walked back out of a hidden door about ten yards from the entrance. the whole experience had been highly cheesy but quite unique, and you felt as if it was a night well spent. you were also spent, eyes fighting to keep open on the way to the car. 

“that surely was something.” you muttered, slumping down in the passenger seat. your fingers were laced tightly with roger’s across the center console as he went about preparing to leave. 

“you could say that again.” he replied, sticking his key into the ignition. he took a few long breaths, bringing your intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of yours. his thumb lazily traced small circles on the back of your hand as the engine roared to life. you reluctantly released his hand so he could put the car in gear and slowly pull out into the line of people clambering to leave the makeshift car park. 

“wanna go find a chippy?” you said, voice barely audible over the rumble of the engine. roger turned to you, a shining grin lighting up his soft features. that was the moment your heart absolutely melted. that gorgeous smile was all for you, appealing to some greedy, selfish part of your heart. his love was all yours. and yours was his. 

“you’ve read my mind, love.” roger chirped, pulling out of the car park and onto the open road. 

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yeehaw I wrote something i’m pretty proud of! thanks for reading loves!

and happy halloween! thanks to patricia for hosting this challenge! super duper fun! and congrats on 5k!!

[ariasofelegance]

I am decidedly made of emotions today, and I’m choosing to spend it on this. I’ve really wanted to write a love letter to such a fundamental piece of myself, and it’s fitting for today. A glimpse of my life at the time, and all the little graces that contributed to it. So scroll past if you feel like it, this one’s a long one, but for everyone else, I just wanna put all my thoughts in one place to look back on fondly. I’ve been meaning to do this for a few years, honestly.

Thank you Toby Fox, and happy anniversary Undertale. You matter more to me than you’ll ever know.

In fall of 2015, I was living in Ireland. From that aspect alone, I was already riding the high of being in a foreign land, because even if it wasn’t a place I was born, it’s one where I spiritually belonged. I was raised in a family where it was the centerpiece of all our love. Where Irish blessings hung in the front doorways of all our homes, where my warmest memories were having tea with my mom, my Nana, and my aunties. We baked soda bread. We shared memories and laughs. It made everything feel beautiful.

I dreamed of stepping on the homeland of my ancestors for so many years, and the amount of healing it brought to my soul is something I deeply underestimated. I found it in landscapes I’d only seen in photographs, in hugs from family members I’d never met before. There’s a beauty in not being okay, only to find something that puts everything else second for a moment. I’m fortunate to say that at the time, I found a few of them. Even if it was just for a few months, I was the happiest I’d felt in years. The distance brought a lot of clarity. I didn’t know it was possible to be homesick for a place I’d never been to.

Gravity Falls added a layer to that. We were nearing the climax, when everything started to get real. There’s a magic in watching these things unfold on a stream at 3am in the rain with class just a few hours later, but I did it again and again. The nights TLM, DaMvtF, and Weirdmageddon 1 aired are ones I remember so clearly, and what I wouldn’t give to feel an excitement like that again. Between my new home and GF, I was on a legitimate 24/7 stimulation that barely felt real. My insides felt like bubbles, and the world around me felt endless and exciting.

And then September 15th, something changed.

As I casually strolled Tumblr (very casually, I had sights to see and places to be!), I started to see an influx of a new game slowly start to saturate my dash. I wrote it off as just another passing fad at first...but the fanart I was seeing, so much of which just consisted of hugs and wholesome content, my curiosity got the better of me. I really owe it to all those artists that sought to memorialize the warmer aspects of the game that convinced me in the first place. Like a crossroads of where I was in the world at the time and how I got there, if anything, I knew I was bought into anything that revolved around love at the heart of it.

My computer wasn’t in any shape to run a game on it, and I wasn’t in any position to pour my precious time into something I knew would still be there for me in a few months. So I found the Let’s Plays after my day was over, and grabbed a seat.

Eventually, my semester got so hectic that I had to hit the pause button. I didn’t even make it to Snowdin. I wouldn’t finish the story for a long time, but I’d already seen enough to know it planted the seeds in my heart for a love like no other.

(I won’t delve too deeply into this, since this already seems a little tangent-y, but something important is that music has always been the quickest medium to get to me. I played violin and piano for so long, I was an orchestra kid, it only made sense to me.)

I found “Snowy” on loop in my head on my cold dark nights walking home from the university. Even today, just the sound of it, I can picture all the street lamps and buildings I passed. Throughout the semester, I still listened to the music. Lizz Robinett’s lyrics to “His Theme” welled up in my chest in a way I didn’t understand just yet. “Asgore” made for some pretty intense studying music. I stumbled on songs well past the point of where I stopped, but remained in blissful ignorance of the story's spoilers until I chose to finish it. All the plot twists hit me tenfold. Everything I felt, I felt with all the intensity Toby intended us to. I’m grateful for that. There are people who didn’t get a choice.

I’m sitting here years later, still in so much awe, how something could have as profound effect on me as it did. In the fray of shows I was seeing popularized, I started to detest modern media and the tactics they relied on to tell their stories. I was tired of bleak outlooks and grimdark endings. I was so tired, and it was only appropriate that one of the most raw, emotional stories fell into my lap at the same time I was having this renaissance about my own happiness. It reached me on all fronts: the characters, the story, the meta, the humor, the music, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s no wonder how it embedded itself so deeply in my heart.

I was tired of modern media, and seeing the reaction people had to Toby’s vision, I had a suspicion that a lot of people shared that feeling, too. To have such critical acclaim for a story that revolves around hopes, dreams, the people that matter - and the love that connects it all - it speaks volumes to the kinds of narratives we’ve been starving for. Undertale has long been a story meant to appeal to the softer side of humanity, and it’s long been one I used to hang onto the faith that it still existed. Despite everything, it still does, guys.

These stories are one in a million. The ghostly last few notes of “Once Upon a Time” will never not fill me with a sense of wonder. “Memory” and “Undertale” have yet to not choke me up from the first few notes alone. I have yet to find something that will ever speak to my heart as closely as Undertale did, but even if I never do, I’m all the more content by that.

Here’s to you, Toby. ❤️

[livingtissue]

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[kalluun-patangaroa]

SUEDE: SLIGHTLY RESTLESS EUPHORIA

April 15th, 2011 

Illustration by Amber Halford

Suede fell out of bed into Britpop and Britpop controversy about Blur and bisexuality and who was doing what to who in what direction, but between episodes of public drama was glammy rock ‘n’ roll in the most classic English tradition. After years off duty, Suede is substantially re-united (without Bernard) and active and playing their first stateside gig at Coachella. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

How did Suede and Metallica ever get together for all-night rock sessions?

Brett Anderson (vocals): Our press agent sorta said, ‘Hey, Kirk Hammett is a big fan— should we get you together?’ So we went out to San Francisco to Kirk’s place and spent a lot of time being a bit naughty and playing songs in his basement. He had a studio—a little bit of a jamming room. I remember running through ‘Metal Mickey,’ we did a bit of T. Rex—we were off our faces, anyway. He’s a nice chap!

Kirk said he was struck by how normal you were and how you didn’t spank your buttocks once.

I should have spanked my buttocks. He was probably very disappointed. ‘This can’t be the real Brett Anderson. He’s not spanking his buttocks.’

What Crass lyric is so close to the front of your mind at all times that you can sing it to me right this second?

‘Do they owe us a living? Of course they fucking do!’ I love Crass. Feeding of the 5,000 was one of my favorite records growing up. I love that record. I love all the artwork. Talking about bands that draw you into a world—Crass really created their world, and it was a really confrontational, intelligent, political world. I really responded to it as a young teenager.

What part of the Crass ethos do you hold most dear?

I don’t live on a commune in Essex. But it opened my eyes—if it’s done right—how powerful political music can be. I never wrote overtly political music, but I did write music that dealt with not like party politics, but themes of poverty and alienation and I used that in songs—that was possibly inspired by Crass.

How was Suede a political band?

Dealing with the politics of life. Setting our songs in a real social context. I never wanted to be a writer who waved flags for a political party, but listening to the songs you can tell I was brought up as a member of the working-class, and you can tell the songs have a very strong left-wing bias.

You said you felt there hasn’t been a definitive genre of music invented in the U.K. in the last decade, and that you feel music is meant more to placate than provoke now. Why?

I do very much feel that’s the state of things. I can’t see that the last decade has created its own genre, which is a terrible shame for that generation. Not to say there hasn’t been great music. There’s amazing music! I love discovering new bands and there’s a great wave of new bands. But the biggest cultural development of the last like ten years was computer technology. It wasn’t anything to do with art and music, and that’s a shame. Even in the 90s, we had dance music—definitely a 90s genre. Maybe people have become too knowing. There’s too much of a structured sense of what’s cool and what isn’t, and that comes from magazines constantly publishing lists which contain the same five Beatles albums and this kind of thing. There’s this constant pressure to comply with this very sort of rigid set of accepted rock albums. So bands are too afraid to go outside those reference points. I sense this real fear in the music industry. A lot of it is because the industry has become a lot more corporate. People won’t take risks anymore. In the early 90s—that’s the only time I can talk about because that’s when I started—magazines were putting unusual bands on the cover. Magazines put Suede on covers before anyone had ever heard of us. Commercially, that was very ill-advised—but at least it suggested they had a sense of purpose. Now I get the sense people only back who they think are gonna win, regardless of if they actually think it’s any good or not. They will back who they think are the winners, and they will write good reviews for the bands they think are gonna sell lots of records whether they like them or not, and I think that’s a fucking terrible way to be. People are too afraid of not being cool? Or getting it wrong? No one’s willing to get it wrong. No one’s willing to stick their neck out and become a hated figure. No one’s got that kind of confidence. Everyone’s too willing to comply. It’s a terrible thing. But things go in cycles, don’t they? Maybe it’ll move into another period where people are taking chances.

When is the last time you suffered Stendhal syndrome?

At the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I was looking at the Toulouse-Lautrecs, which were absolutely amazing. I’ve never been a huge fan of Toulouse-Lautrec before, but seeing the paintings in the flesh—as it were—is just so amazingly powerful. They’re so beautifully observed. I’m not sure if I actually experienced Stendhal syndrome, but I’ve read about it and it’s an extreme reaction to beauty—that’s the closest I can imagine it to be.

What’s it actually feel like?

Like drinking too much coffee. Slightly restless euphoria. Or maybe I’m getting it confused with actually drinking too much coffee. I’m a huge fan of art . I spend a lot of time in galleries and that’s my favorite period of art as well—the post-Impressionists. Paul Gauguin and those artists. I love all the medieval painters as well. People like Bruegel and Cranach and Holbein. There’s something incredibly primitive about it—Bruegel’s ‘Return of the Hunters’ is so atmospheric. What I really like about Holbein is he’s such an amazing draftsman and a great observer of human features. He could completely capture a person. You’re looking at someone who lived 500 years ago but it could be someone passing you on the street. They’re so real. I love that about Holbein’s paintings.

Did you want to try and observe things that carefully in Suede songs?

It’s difficult in the framework of pop music. It isn’t a very subtle medium. It doesn’t have as much as fiction or fine art. You’re in a very rigid structure—melody and rhyme and rhythm and those things are constricting you. I don’t think pop writers can ever take it to that depth of observation. But what pop writers can do is engage at an emotional level that other artists can’t do. The pop song, when done right, is incredibly powerful. That’s partly to do with the simplicity as well. Truth in music is incredibly important, but artifice can be incred- ibly important as well—that’s something I’ve done quite consciously. Lots of the songs I’ve written for Suede have been deliberately superficial but perversely enough there’s a kind of truth in that. A sketch is powerful because you fill in the missing pieces. You fill in the framework yourself. If it’s too full, there’s no space for you to interpret it.

Francis Bacon said, ‘The job of the artist is to deepen the mystery.’

Absolutely. One of the most important quotes ever about creativity. Something I’ve learned through mistakes over the years is it shouldn’t be too clear what you’re doing. Sometimes the sketch is so powerful because of the room for interpretation. As soon as you know what something is about, it somehow kills the mystery. And mystery is so important in music. That allows the song to have life beyond what it was intended for. When a writer’s writing, they have a very specific thing in mind, but they don’t know about the life of the listener. The listener applies his life to the music and there’s a new interpretation. That’s why a good song has so much power. It reaches into people’s lives. But to do that, there needs to be a sense of mystery. I’ve always tried to do that with detail. There’s this whole thing with great songwriters saying songs should be universal, but I actually think songs should be opposite—strangely specific and set in a place to make them real. I mean, still allow space for interpretation.

You said once that Suede writes about the used condom, not the beautiful bed. That kind of detail?

That’s not my favorite quote I ever said—but it keeps coming back. It must resonate with people’s vision of what the band is about. It’s quite a crass way of saying it, but I suppose it’s got some sort of truth. I always wanted to document the sort of grubby side of life. I didn’t want to talk in rock cliché. ‘Baby, I love you!’ clichés. I wanted to sing about the world I saw around me, and the world I saw around me was the used condom. It was the dusty street, the flickering TV. It was that use of detail and the fact I was born in the U.K. that made me write about the U.K. in detail, and it became distorted into the cliché of what became Britpop later—but it was never this nationalistic, jingoistic intention. It was just a desire to write about the world I saw around me.

Did you have to feel like you were living a Suede song to write a Suede song?

I don’t feel I deliberately changed my lifestyle. But I didn’t rein myself in. I felt justified in writing what I was writing—the right thing to do for my artistic vision was live the lifestyle I was singing about, but it’s kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. I was living that, obviously. But you can’t live that lifestyle forever and wanna remain alive. Things have to change. I championed—well, I documented it, and then you realize that what you’re documenting is quite harmful.

Did you think you were going to end up on a prison ship like Dan Treacy?

Well, toward the end of the 90s, things started getting quite dark. Life was definitely changing. I thought, ‘Well, maybe we need to veer away from something.’ I always feel I’m slightly on dodgy ground when people talk about this whole concept of the artist as a damaged character—it’s such a powerful cliché that people really wanna believe in, and I think there’s so much great art made through clarity and sobriety. The damaged artist casts a huge shadow people sometimes can’t see beyond. Me personally, as an artist now I feel much more in control of my art. Much more driven. Certainly more than I did ten years ago. But people need to believe in that sort of figure.

Jason Pierce said he started Spacemen 3 because of people like Roky Erickson and Alex Chilton—that he felt he could do what they did because they were flawed and not professional and perfect.

It’s the ultimate DIY ethic, isn’t it? The ultimate punk thing? Saying it doesn’t matter how incapable or damaged or all these pejorative adjectives you wanna apply—not you can still create art, but it almost makes your art more interesting or valid or gives it an edge you wouldn’t have if you weren’t damaged? Someone like Ian Dury—the ‘cripple as artist.’ It gives the audience a fascination, I think.

You said you were making music to find community in a fucked-up world. Did you ever find that community?

It’s always a search for some sort of community, isn’t it? There’s a line from one of the old songs, ‘New Generation.’ ‘We take the pills to find each other.’ A search for human … ownership or whatever. I don’t know. It’s strange to say because I’ve always conducted my career and Suede’s career almost as outsiders. I’ve never felt accepted by the music industry. I still don’t. I’ve never felt part of any sort of gang, and I never really wanted to be part of any gang. The only gang I’m part of is this weird disparate group of non-members—the ‘others’—and I’m quite happy in that role as well. I don’t jealously look at other people’s lives and wish I could be like that. I don’t have that search for community I used to have— maybe I realized the reality of things.

Does that mean it’s not out there? That it was never there? Can bands create these communities anymore?

That’s the definition of a decent band. They create a community. When I answered your question, it was in a personal sense. Whether I’ve found a community. But hopefully Suede as a band created a community. That was one of our real intentions—I loved bands like the Smiths who had this world you went into, with the sleeves and the reference points. You very much immersed yourself. I wanted Suede to have that sense as well. Almost a strong Suede way of being. The Suede army, as someone once said.

If you didn’t find community, what did you find?

It made my life. It gave me all those things we were talking about earlier. It gave me everything. Gave me purpose in life. I wouldn’t ever advise anyone to do what I did! I’ve been incredibly lucky in my career. 99 percent of people who go into music won’t be as lucky. It is a lot to do with luck! The fact I’ve met Bernard Butler—little things! I might never have met him, and we never would have written those songs and Suede would have been a very different band. I never just say, ‘This is what you should do!’ I was just confident and stupid enough to do what I did, and it just sort of worked! But some of the decisions I made—they were pretty rash!

Is it necessary to commit totally to being creative to be good at being creative? To jump in with no safety net?

Absolutely. You’ve gotta let yourself out there. I didn’t even have an instrument to fall back on! ‘I believe I got enough of a voice to say something interesting, and I’m gonna do it.’ Confidence verging on stupidity that happened to pay off!

Does pop music defend the brave and stupid?

I think so. You have to push it as far as it’ll go. Part of the reason the public loves pop music so much is the drama of the story. You have people who have no idea about the drama and just wanna listen to Phil Collins records and that’s fine, but there’s a whole other group of people that love the back story—how it’s made and why people fall out and fall in love. It’s almost treating the world of music like you’re watching a soap opera and people love that.

Why do people fall in love?

Probably some sort of chemical function. I don’t wanna be unromantic about it but it fulfills a necessary function for the human race.

L.A. Record (US Magazine), April 2011

[thehotelbellamuerte2022]

The Hotel Bella Muerte: The Dream

That night, though I had fallen asleep quickly, I slept fitfully. I dreamed of all that the raven told me, now playing out in my mind, in the early hours of that morning. Though many would call it merely a dream, I personally call it a vision of events long past. That night as I slept in the floral high backed chair I dreamt of the man who had built the hotel and town it resided in, the ancient peoples of that land and the events that transpired between the two. The story that unfolded had brought great clarity to my mind and great insight, just as the raven had said it would. You see long ago before the Spanish settled and colonized much of the southwest, there lived many different tribes and nations of people who took care of the land every bit as much as it took care of them. I had heard of many of the tribes from various museums I had visited as a child; one of the great perks of living “out west”, though I never understood fully their experience and way of life. As an outsider looking in I know I never truly will, but after that night I tried.

 In the olden days, back somewhere around the 15th century, the Spanish came to North America and began to settle there, colonizing much of the land as well as the peoples that lived there, particularly the Pueblo people. They drove many of them from their homes, destroyed their dwellings and lands, and severed their connections to the sacred religious system they had upheld for centuries. After years of censorship and oppression, the Pueblo were able to drive the Spanish away, retaking their lands and homes, and finally being able to return to their cultural beliefs and way of life. For a time all seemed well, but the Spanish then returned only to once again drive them away or oppress the peoples of that land to the point they had to choose between genocide and extinction or adapting to the new way of life the Spanish provided for survivals sake. By the time 1802 arrived and the man who built the hotel came from the East, the Pueblo peoples had experienced over 300 years of oppression, genocide, dislocation, and many variations of physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual violence at the hands of the colonizers. The impact of the many long years of violence caused the Pueblo tribes to lose many things of cultural and spiritual significance to them such as their sacred lands, burial grounds, songs and dances, tribal languages, the wisdom of their elders, and their traditional ways of life. When the man who built the hotel came in they were already a decimated people, scattered and marred by the senseless violence of the past, but some remained.

 In my dream that night, I stood barefoot on the land, as I watched the lives and traditions of a once mighty people, my feet etching footprints in the earth as it pulsed beneath me, almost as if it had a life of its own and a heartbeat. As I stood there, I saw a village before me, the homes and dwellings constructed from adobe and limestone bricks. Some had more than one story to them, others simply stood at ground level, but they melded with the land, resembling the mountains and cliffs that stood around them, instead of merely erecting crude and harsh structures that took away from the beauty of that place. The people in the village went about their lives, baking and cooking their traditional foods, hunting in the forests and flatlands for mule deer and other creatures. I also looked on as they tended their flocks of various animals and their ever growing farmlands. They planted many things, maize and corn for their breads, pumpkins in multiple colors, squash of many varieties, and beans of many varieties. I saw many women old and young, even some children and teens, create beautiful pottery. The older women made pots that were colored tan or cream with splashes of red or yellow coloring in geometric shapes, some even depicted their folklore and stories that had been passed from generation to generation; the younger ones often made pots that were colored black on black with swirling, gorgeous designs and shapes. The elders, mainly the older men of the village, were making dolls for the little girls or bows and arrows for the boys. The dolls were not made from the same type of porcelain or bisque dolls that lived in the doll room, nor simple dolls made from twigs, twine, and other readily usable substances, these dolls were so much more special and unique than that. Made with care from wood carvings, decorated with feathers, pieces of leather, and scraps of hand woven cloth; they were often painted. They were designed to teach the children of the village of the stories of their religion, their spirituality, and their culture. Each doll represented the natural things of the earth, depicting the sun, moon, and other heavenly bodies, animals, ancestors and much more. Once they were complete, the people of the village believed they took on lives of their own.

 The land of the Pueblo people was beautiful beyond words. I had never truly had the opportunity to see the unmarred and spacious, wide open plains due to the buildings and towns that had been erected in my time, but here in my dream there was nothing, just wide open space. The weather was warm like it tends to be in late spring, the shadow of the mountains providing the perfect amount of shade to keep the sun’s direct light from burning your eyes. The hills rose and fell in some places, allowing the calming, gentle wind to flow through your hair as it made a slight whisper through the air.  Bushes and hardy grasses grew in the flatlands as well as the scraggly, water thirsty trees that spread their branches wide to drink in the sun’s rays, and some areas had nothing but sandy dirt patches. The land gave off a steady and peaceful calm. Everything felt as though it was alive, with spirits of their own as well as stories that they could tell. I think in that place, I actually felt pride for the first time over a place that I had the privilege of walking, talking, and living in. I watched as many years began go by, slowly and yet fast, as if time didn’t exist and was relative. Many days and nights passed, as did the seasons, and all I could do was merely look on as the sun and moon wheeled overhead.

 My attention was now turned to a sound, one that had been present longer than I had perceived it. It came from behind me, a slow, rhythmic padding that came ever closer to where I stood. I was not afraid of it and I did not try to run from it, I simply stayed put at turned my head to the side. There walking up to my side, was a man. He was older than me though younger than an old man. He had long, raven black hair came to his waist; it flowed in the wind and shone in the light of the now in the moonlit night. His skin was many shades darker than mine, a beautiful olive tan complexion, one I had always admired and desperately wanted as a child instead of my own alabaster skin. His eyes were shade of brown I had never seen before, with flecks of amber and honey hues. He looked at me and spoke in a language I didn’t know, yet, somehow in this place I could understand.

“Tell me child, do you like what you see?”

“Yes, very much so, what is this place?” I answered.

“It is the land of the Pueblo, my children, though you would almost not recognize it to see it in your time.” He replied.

“These people, your people, what happened to them?” I asked

“They were scattered and torn by the many wars that stained this once sacred land with blood. Watch and you will see.” He said as he bowed his head in reverence and grief.

Then almost as he had said, the scene before my eyes began to change dramatically. The once peaceful village was now in chaos and ruin as the army of white settlers came to take their homes from them. Fire now lit up the sky as buildings and farmlands burned in the night, as the foreigners slaughtered the people that had lived there. I was unable to do anything, stuck in place and unable to move my feet or scream out to warn them, utterly powerless to stop what was happening. Some ran for the hills and were cut down in their efforts to flee. Death was dealt that day without bias or consideration to age or sex, young or old, male and female alike were now lying in the blood soaked fields. Some, however, were able to escape or allowed to live by the invading forces. I couldn’t tell; I merely wanted to run away.

“Please stop this!” I begged the man as I averted my eyes, no longer being able to bear what was happening before me.

“I cannot, for it has already happened, you are merely seeing what took place long ago. Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end and try as we might we cannot change the deeds of any once set in motion, you can only learn from the past to prevent them from ever happening again in the future.” The man replied. “Look now and see what became of my people.”

As much as I didn’t want to, I looked back, taking a deep breath before I did. The scene had changed once again. It was now daytime, the night raid now over. I watched as the white men now gathered the bodies of the slain, and threw then each, one after the other, into a great burning shallow grave. If my heart had broken at seeing the village people’s fate, it shattered now watching their corpses handled with such disrespect as the men laughed and sang songs, blissfully ignorant and oblivious to the pain and sorrow they had caused. I saw one man in particular, who hadn’t been at the slaying the night before, orchestrate the burning of the dead as he laughed the loudest among them. I watched as time once again sped up, how they marred that once perfect land by decimating the fields of plenty, as they slaughtered the animals just as they had done their masters, as they lay bare the land and flattened the fields and burial grounds, as they began to build alien structures over them, and as they built a town and hotel I knew the look of all too well, the same man responsible and in charge of it all. It made me sick. How dare they, how dare they take what was not rightfully theirs by force, how dare they kill those beautiful peoples, how dare they destroy all they had built and created, how dare they mock the dead, and how dare they erect a town where they buried their ancestors. Yet, there they were, going about life in a new hustling and bustling, profitable town. It was just too much.

 I looked back at the man now, as he stood in reverence of those who had been lost. For a time we just stood there, neither of us speaking. I looked back once more at the now completed town. It was now once again night and in the distance, at the edge of the town, I saw a shadow move, then another and another. After a few more moments I could just make out the shadows as men and women, the remaining villagers that had survived, coming back quietly into the now sleepy little town. After some time, they all gathered at the town’s square, right in front of the hotel. The people, who considered witchcraft as a crime, punishable by death, now changed their minds and sought to curse the land and the man responsible for the deaths of their loved ones. How I knew this I didn’t know and watched on as they began to quietly, in the still and breathless night, begin a ritual where they danced and chanted in their native language. They called out to their gods and their ancestors, as well as those who had perished fighting and fleeing their lands. They gave curses to their once beloved land, seeking to desolate the fields of the white men just as they had set fire to and destroyed theirs, they called for the rain to disappear, drying up the manmade wells and the rivers surrounding the town, they begged the gods to allow the spirits of the dead to rise and kill all those who killed them, and lastly they placed a special curse on the man who took the land and his descendants for the generations that followed, to serve forever those whom they had wronged, and never find rest in life or in their death, placing them in a sort of limbo, for the rest of their days.

 As their now loud singing, chants and dancing continued I watched as the charred remains of the dead rose from their shallow graves and walked the earth a second time. Entering into the town, they came, to slaughter and destroy all they could before the sun rose once again in the morning. They could only walk in darkness, under the safety of the moon for the sun would burn them further and cause them great pain. I saw them begin to enter homes and buildings; that was when the blood curdling screams began and people tried to flee their homes just as the native people had tried to flee theirs. The chanting of the Pueblo people grew ever louder in the night as buildings began to catch fire from the lightning strikes that had begun to descend from the skies, lighting up the night in thunderous applause. Their gods and ancestors had heard their cries, giving them all they had asked for. The screams died down as the townspeople perished in the flames and at the hands of the risen dead.  Now many of the buildings were destroyed save for the ones at the center of town. The last buildings would make it through the night, though badly damaged, yet The Hotel Bella Muerte stood tall and defiant, weathering the storm. No flames touched the building and the dead were not permitted inside though they swarmed the building. Why I didn’t know at the time, but would one day come to find out. The night began to come to a close and the sun rose in the sky. The native people returned to their places of hiding after completing their ritual and their dead laid back down in the shallow graves at the edge of town. Then all went dark and I was left in a void place with nothing and no one but me and the man who had shown me the vision. We stood there silent for some time, until we began to once again speak.

“What happened to the Pueblo tribe that lived in on this land and what became of the man who was responsible for the loss of their land and the death of their people?” I asked after the length of time had passed.

“They were never the same. Some went to the north, some to the south, some to the east and some to the west. They met up with different tribes and communities and became a scattered people. Their traditions were forgotten and their religious power faded till after generations it was lost.” The man replied. “As for the man who took the land from them, he himself paid a heavy price, and until the world ends, his descendants for every other generation will be forced to serve my people, the generation before learning the meaning of the loss of their loved ones.

“Why did you show me all this,” I gestured to the now emptiness in front of me.

“So you would understand why you are here. These lands have always had guardians to look after them and uphold their peace. It is your turn now; it has been passed on to you, Autumn.” He said pointing at me.

“What if I don’t want this? What if I don’t want this responsibility?” I asked him.

“It is not your choice to make, it was written in the stars highest in the heavens and in the roots of mountains deepest in all the earth. From the beginning of time and until time comes to an end. This is your burden to bear. Bear it with honor for the people who were lost and for the people who belonged to the land.” He said to me turning then from me and beginning to walk away.

“Wait!” I shouted after he began to fade into the dark. “I don’t even know your name. What is your name?”

“Awonawilona.” He replied as disappeared into a fine mist.

 My eyes shot open. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. I stared at the ceiling not moving as a minute or two passed. I was back at the hotel. I sat up cracking my neck as I did so in effort to ease the tension in my neck and shoulders from the night of sleeping upright in the chair and I took a look around the room. I saw nothing. No Jesus, no creepy ass dolls, just me the room and the furniture within. I breathed a sigh of relief and halfway hoped the day and night before had all been a dream as well, but I knew in my gut it wasn’t. I rose from the chair and walked down the hall. Just outside my door was another picture frame. An old picture lay within the frame. It was a picture of the man in my dream; the man who had taken the land and built the town. He stood proudly in front of the hotel with what I assumed to be his family. The placard under the photo read, Mr. John Benett, Mrs. Rosa Benett, and twins Miss Mary and Martha Bennet our town’s founder and family. I froze in my tracks. Mary and Martha? Surely they weren’t the same Mary and Martha who owned the hotel right? They had to be someone else or simply named after the towns founding family. I must have stared at that picture for an eternity and a half. I had never before seen Mary and Martha but I was almost certain it couldn’t possibly be the same two people. How could they be, this picture must have been taken in or around 1802 and it was currently 2013. I shook off the thought and tried to convince myself that it was completely ridiculous when I heard a loud ding, it was once again the bell downstairs.  

[disappearingground]

Jenny Lewis Starts Over

Rolling Stone March 5, 2019

After saying goodbye to her mother and a 12-year relationship, an indie-rock icon finds a new clarity in art and life

By Jonah Weiner

There are 19 white stickers arranged across Jenny Lewis’ fridge. Each one carries a stamped date, the logo of Providence Holy Cross Medical Center, the word VISITOR and, in Lewis’ handwriting, a different beguiling little phrase: I taught him how to 2-step; Rosey posey put your snake finger on; You are a sunshine in a fruit. “Every day that I visited my mom in the hospital,” Lewis says, “I’d get one of these and write down something she’d say to me. She got more and more psychedelic as we kept upping the meds, and she’d say the most amazing things.” Lewis points at one — Glue me to the ceiling so you never leave — and sighs. “She had liver cancer. From untreated hepatitis C. She was a lifelong heroin addict and also mentally ill and . . . just a really sad situation.”

It’s a drizzly evening in early January, and Lewis is at her home in Los Angeles, drinking gamay wine and discussing things she’s never discussed publicly before. Some listeners over the years may have noticed scattered allusions in her songs to her mother’s troubles and the painful outlines of their relationship. In 2002, on an early album by her first band, Rilo Kiley, she described a mother who was “insane and high.” In 2006, on her debut solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, she sang, “Where my ma is now, I don’t know/She was living in her car, I was living on the road/And I hear she’s putting that stuff up her nose.” But Lewis has always been careful to let these lyrics speak mostly for themselves. When people ask about them, she’s frequently emphasized that the line between memoir and fiction in her songwriting is a slippery one. “Sometimes I don’t even remember what actually happened,” she says now, “and the song takes on its own life.”

On Lewis’ new record, On the Line, her mother appears again. This time she is in a hospital bed “under a cold white sheet,” and there’s no fiction at work. The earliest sticker on the fridge is dated August 20th, 2017, and by the end of October, at age 70, Linda Lewis was dead.

“We were estranged for 20 years, so this was the first time we’d hung out in two decades,” the 43-year-old singer-songwriter continues. “She was very sick, but I think she held on so we could have time to reconcile, and it created an opportunity for forgiveness. She didn’t have to say, ‘I’m so sorry’ —she said it by saying, ‘You’re a sunshine in a fruit.’ That was her way of saying ‘I love you.’ ”

Lewis started out as a kid actor, appearing on Eighties-era sitcoms like Life With Lucy, opposite Lucille Ball, and in movies like Troop Beverly Hills and The Wizard, opposite Fred Savage. By her twenties she’d all but quit acting and become a burgeoning indie-rock icon instead, known for her clarion voice, her killer ear for melody and her knack for evocative storytelling in a tweaked Americana style. Whereas Lewis’ last musical project, an ad hoc collaboration from 2016 called Nice as Fuck, was stripped down and upbeat, On the Line contains the most lush and melancholy music she’s ever made. The album has a grand rock sound — stately pianos, swelling strings, fuzzy electric guitar. Lewis cut its 11 songs at the venerable Capitol Studios in L.A. over just a few days last year, but she began writing them in this house in 2014, not long before her 12-year relationship with the Scottish-American musician Johnathan Rice deteriorated. She finished writing them after her bedside reconciliation with her mom.

Lewis gives the fridge a final look before turning out of the kitchen. “I wonder how long I’ll leave these up here,” she says.

Addiction, sobriety and self‑medication are running themes throughout On the Line. There are references to red wine, weed, grenadine, heroin, bourbon, Paxil, Marlboros, cognac, Candy Crush and, on the song “Party Clown,” a hallucinogenic Fuji apple. “Somehow I think the worst one of them all is Candy Crush,” Lewis says with a grin. “My mom started taking heroin when I was two or three, probably. So, growing up like that, there’s a realization that nothing is for free, and everything catches up with you — if you try to numb out, eventually you’re gonna have to face whatever it is you’re running away from.” She pauses. “I don’t have any judgment about it. Even with my mom: She did whatever she had to do, and she wasn’t able to kick it. Most people don’t make it out of heroin addiction. I don’t really blame her for it.”

Wine in hand, wearing a satiny cowgirl shirt and a bandanna tied around her neck that’s nearly the same shade of red as her hair, Lewis shows me around the house. Situated near leafy Laurel Canyon, it was built by a Disney animator in the Forties, and his touch is everywhere — delicate, hand-painted flowers on a wall here, trompe l’oeil flagstones on the floor there. In the living room a projector is playing the X-rated 1968 film The Girl on a Motorcycle, which stars Marianne Faithfull and is alternatively titled Naked Under Leather. Lewis has been on a leather kick recently, she says, showing me a photo-heavy 1977 book called Hard Corps: Studies in Leather and Sadomasochism that she recently scored on eBay. “I keep my whips and chains out in the pool house,” she says with a cackle.

Off the living room is the wood-paneled chamber where Lewis rehearses and writes. There’s a drum kit, a Wurlitzer organ and a little gas stove in the corner. Outside, near the pool, there’s a koi pond and a rose garden, all of it put in by the animator. Down the hall, there’s a roller-derby-themed pinball machine from around 1990 that periodically flashes the words WINNERS DON’T DO DRUGS in LED lights. Opposite the pinball is an enormous old promotional cutout for The Wizard, depicting Savage as an adolescent wearing a Nintendo Power Glove and an adolescent Lewis in acid-washed denim overalls. “This was at the movie theater in Van Nuys where I grew up — my mom made me go in and ask for it,” Lewis says. “My sister had it in storage, then had it framed for me and rented a truck to bring it over here. I wasn’t OK with this for many years, because early on in the history of my band, people would yell video-game references at me from the crowd. Now I just can’t believe that this is part of my weird story.”

She says she loved being on Hollywood sets as a kid, for complicated reasons. “I guess I liked being in that environment because it wasn’t home — it was this pretend-family vibe. My dad wasn’t around, so every time I got a job I kind of fell in love with ‘my father’ on set. I would just want that relationship.” (Her real-life dad, a musician named Eddie Gordon, was absent for most of her life, though he came back into Lewis’ orbit shortly before his own death, playing harmonica on her second solo album, 2008’s Acid Tongue.) Lewis’ off-set life in that era was consistently chaotic: “I think my mother was selling coke in the early Eighties,” she says. “She may have been Ricky Nelson’s dealer. And she was using the money I was making and parlaying it into her business. I’d come home from school and there’d be racks of fur coats, Krugerrands, boxes of Vuarnet sunglasses. All these bulk items in the house, drugs cooking on the stove, people coming in and out. Really interesting characters. I remember we had a Honda Civic, and one day it disappeared. Years later, I learned that someone had torched it as a warning to my mom. There was crazy shit going on.”

Lewis says that her elder sister, Leslie, became something like a proxy mother to her in their actual mother’s stead, and when Jenny co-founded Rilo Kiley with some L.A. buddies in the late Nineties, “that was my first chosen family.” Over the years she’d host jam sessions at home, inviting over members of like-minded acts such as Haim, Dawes and Conor Oberst, here and elsewhere in L.A. “I’ve always brought that jam vibe with me wherever I go,” Lewis says. “I feel compelled to play music, to play with people, or I’ll go crazy.”

In 2015, having split up with Rice for reasons we don’t get into, Lewis went to New York, crashing at the empty apartment of her friend Annie Clark, a.k.a. St. Vincent. “I couldn’t stay in this house,” Lewis says. “Johnathan and I were basically married. When you’re with someone that long, you share consciousness with them. I didn’t finish any of my stories — Johnathan finished every story for me. So part of the reason I went to New York was to find my inner monologue. I wanted to know what that voice was.”

The result, some three years later, is On the Line. Lewis made it with a particularly impressive surrogate family whose members included not only Beck and Ryan Adams, with whom she’d worked before, but also an older generation of studio pros: Rolling Stones producer Don Was, Heartbreakers keyboardist Benmont Tench, session drummer Jim Keltner (sideman for John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Steely Dan) and — to her delight and surprise — Ringo Starr. “He was cool — he just showed up one day with a smoothie and did double-drums with Jim on two songs,” Lewis says, adding that she’s not totally sure why the former Beatle came aboard. “I think Don Was showed him some of the songs, invited him to come down, and he was into it.”

[Editors’ note: This story went to press before the February 13th publication of a New York Times report on accusations of sexual misconduct by Ryan Adams. In a February 15th tweet, Lewis made the following statement: “I am deeply troubled by Ryan Adams’ alleged behavior. Although he and I had a working professional relationship, I stand in solidarity with the women who have come forward.”]

A decade-plus into her solo career, Lewis found herself trying new things in the studio. Keeping things spontaneous was a priority: She recorded all her vocal tracks live while playing her instruments, rather than tracking them in later. When Beck inserted a bit of placeholder Auto-Tune on a song called “Little White Dove,” Lewis decided she loved it and kept it in unchanged. (It reminded her of the Detroit rapper DeJ Loaf, whose single “Try Me” Lewis adores.) When it came to mixing, she says she took inspiration from Kanye West’s Ye — clearing out the midrange, focusing on the low end and the highs.

She sits on an oversize armchair in her living room and looks around the house. These days she splits time between L.A. and Nashville, where she jams with a whole other group of friends, including Karen Elson. Three years since her breakup, Lewis says, “I know how to take care of myself. It’s been really lonely, and really hard at times, and to go through the stuff with my mom alone—”

She starts to cry, untying her neckerchief and using it to blot her tears. “This is why I wear a bandanna,” she jokes. “But that’s the thing: I had to visit her, then come home and be alone and process my life with her.”

On the wall in front of her, Marianne Faithfull is making love to Alain Delon, but Lewis isn’t paying attention. “Life is crazy, but it’s incredible,” she goes on. “How amazing to see someone pass over. It’s magical. It’s the most intimate. It’s like a poem, and you don’t know the last line until you get there. But you show up.”

[biofunmy]

Shrink an Orchestra to a Single Piano, Keeping the Magic

In 1988, when I interviewed the pianist Vladimir Horowitz at his elegant Manhattan townhouse, I asked him if he had any regrets. His answer surprised me. He said he deeply regretted never having played Liszt’s transcriptions of the Beethoven symphonies in public.

“These are the greatest works for the piano, tremendous works,” he said.

Transcriptions of Beethoven symphonies, long thought of as a little trashy, as the “greatest works” for the piano? Greater than, say, Beethoven’s piano sonatas?

Yes, Horowitz said, in the sense that these Liszt scores are arguments for what the piano is capable of — for what the piano, in essence, is meant for.

“For me, the piano is the orchestra,” he said. “I don’t like the sound of a piano as a piano. I like to imitate the orchestra — the oboe, the clarinet, the violin and, of course, the singing voice. Every note of those symphonies is in these Liszt works.”

He added that he played the transcriptions all the time for himself, but thought that audiences would not understand the music.

“We are such snobs,” he said ruefully.

Perhaps we are no longer so snobby. A new generation of pianists seems to have caught up with Horowitz’s perspective. Though they present daunting technical challenges, Liszt’s transcriptions of the Beethoven symphonies — as well as his versions of other symphonic works, opera excerpts and songs — are not just virtuosic gimmicks. Rather, they are a great composer’s attempt to use his beloved piano as a means to recreate, penetrate and get at the essence of the original music — without the distractions of the orchestra or voice.

Recently there have been many notable examples of adventurous younger pianists not only championing transcriptions by Liszt and other composers, but also writing their own. Earlier this year, Behzod Abduraimov began a recital at the 92nd Street Y with Liszt’s transcription of Wagner’s “Liebestod” from “Tristan und Isolde,” and ended with Prokofiev’s transcriptions of 10 pieces from his own “Romeo and Juliet” ballet score.

A month later Beatrice Rana, for her New York recital debut at Zankel Hall, played dazzling transcriptions of three pieces from Stravinsky’s “Firebird.”

On his remarkable recent album, “Life,” the superb Igor Levit includes two Liszt transcriptions of Wagner (the “Liebestod” and the Solemn March to the Holy Grail from “Parsifal”) as well as Brahms’s transcription, for the left hand, of Bach’s Chaconne from the Partita No. 2 for Solo Violin.

On another recent album, Jeremy Denk took listeners on a seven-century survey of music, including his transcriptions of some medieval and Renaissance vocal pieces by Machaut, Ockeghem, Josquin and other early composers.

Horowitz, who died in 1989 at 86, believed that the piano’s adaptability is at once its limitation and its glory. This view was echoed by Alfred Brendel in his 2013 book “A Pianist’s A-Z”: The piano “serves a purpose,” he wrote; it’s an “instrument of transformation.” It permits the pianist to suggest the singing voice and the timbres of other instruments.

This “propensity for metamorphosis,” he writes, is “our supreme privilege.” A single pianist can take on the sole responsibility for a performance, becoming “his own conductor and singer.”

Fear of backlash from audiences and critics may have prevented Horowitz from performing Liszt’s transcriptions of the Beethoven symphonies. But Glenn Gould, who looked for opportunities to challenge assumptions, had no such reluctance. He recorded two of them: the Fifth and the Sixth Symphonies. The first movement of the Fifth offers exhilarating proof that Gould took these scores seriously.

To pick one classic recording of this orchestral staple for comparison, Karajan’s take on the first movement with the Berlin Philharmonic is stirring, weighty and rich. Gould could be a quirky interpreter. But his account of the Liszt transcription of that movement is straightforward and revelatory. Minus the myriad orchestra colorings, Gould’s spirited playing makes you listen anew to the music. Textures, inner voices and the grand structure of the piece emerge excitingly. Yet you also relish the performance as a sheer act of pianistic virtuosity.

It’s just as revealing to compare a few outstanding recent recordings of piano transcriptions with the original versions. Stewart Goodyear, taking up the legacy of Liszt, wrote an uncannily detailed and brilliant solo piano transcription of Tchaikovsky’s “The Nutcracker” — not just the suite, but the entire two-act ballet score, which he recorded in 2015 on the Steinway & Sons label. This is a piece he has loved since childhood, he explains in the liner notes, and his affection comes through in every moment.

One might think that Tchaikovsky’s imaginative orchestration is integral to the pleasures of this music. During the Overture, for example, on Rostropovich’s stylish recording with the Berlin Philharmonic, the conductor lavishes attention on the various instrumental colors.

But Mr. Goodyear’s piano version of the same passage offers remarkable clarity — even at the lithe, sparkling tempo he takes. You hear every detail. In the manner of Horowitz, he tries to evoke on the piano the sounds of woodwinds, brass and light, rippling strings — and he succeeds. When I first heard this recording, I was impressed with the virtuosity and dedication. More important, though, I was reminded what ingenious music this is.

Mr. Denk has long been fascinated by the connections he hears between seemingly distant musical eras, a theme he explores extensively on his recent Nonesuch album. A standout example is Dufay’s 15th-century French chanson “Franc cuer gentil.” On a beautiful recorded version of the original by the ensemble Grand Désir, a radiant, light-voiced soprano sings the tune graciously, accompanied by supple lutes and other instruments.

But in his playing of the piano transcription, Mr. Denk highlights what you might not notice listening to the original: the intricacy of the counterpoint as lines mingle and cross; the jumpy vitality of the syncopated rhythms. The music sounds a little less dated, a little closer to our own time.

Sibelius’s wistful “Valse Triste,” with its restrained, sighing melody and warm, dusky strings, has become a popular encore piece. On his recording with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon), the conductor Neemi Järvi sensitively balances elegance and sadness.

But Alexandre Tharaud’s playing of a transcription, for a recording called “Autograph” (Erato), reminds you that this waltz may be sad, but it’s still a dance. The lilt and transparency of his playing lighten the mood — yet, somehow, the music seems even sadder than usual, perhaps because of the simplicity and directness of the solo piano arrangement.

Ms. Rana, who in the last few years has emerged as one of the outstanding pianists of her generation, had a lot on the line for her debut recital at Zankel this year. So it was a daring move to end with Guido Agosti’s 1928 transcription of the “Danse Infernale,” “Berceuse” and “Finale” from Stravinsky’s “The Firebird,” a ballet score best known today as a surefire symphonic work in the concert hall.

As a child I loved Stravinsky’s own recording of the piece, which even then impressed me as the ultimate in orchestral brilliance. Surely a piano transcription would risk sounding slick.

Not so. The slashing frenzy and harmonic grit of the “Dance Infernale,” the forlorn beauty of the “Berceuse,” and the incremental buildup in the jubilant, fanfare-like “Finale” all came through with stunning freshness in Mr. Rana’s solo performance.

Here she was being not just the conductor of Stravinsky’s breakthrough work, but also every instrument in the orchestra. Horowitz would have approved. And Liszt would have been proud.

Sahred From Source link Arts

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[samflahertyxx-blog]

Acting/ development of character.

Wednesday 23rd May

In this session we did a run of both the musicals. I felt confident with the energy I put in however, I realised I need to get off script to feel my character develop more as each run through I feel as though I just stand there and act with no emotion however, I cant work properly with a script in my hands therefore it was down to me to get rid of the script. After this run we found out that rock of Ages was finally improving and it was honestly the best news we could of possibly received considering each time we get feedback its always bad. Each number still needed more energy because there was just no love or passion there therefore there was not really a musical at this point. Some personal comments we received were:

- [ ] Radio GaGa practice dancing and singing at the same time to make them both strong. - [ ] Work on ‘someone to love’ backing vocals. - [ ] Only one heard out of female voices in ‘Killer Queen’ - [ ] pointed out for vocals in ‘I want it all’

We will rock you!- 2nd run through - [ ] Radio GaGa still not loud enough!! - [ ] stronger as a group! - [ ] cut out Galileo in the prison cell - [ ] I want it all- better aggression - [ ] ‘We will rock you’ finale get the audience on their feet - [ ] ‘I want it all’ improved level of volume and the rock theme. Face needs to show what your saying.

No massive comments were given on rock of ages in this session apart from it improved. 

Friday 25th May 

In this session we just decided to focus on Rock of ages to make sure it stayed as strong was it did on the previous session. I felt better on this run as I became more familiar with my lines and I finally brought my costume in. One comment which I'm used to getting and got again today was to put more emotion in the songs because recently I've just stood there and sang and shown nothing however, I need to start showing how my characters feeling through my voice and facial expressions. As next week is half term my next aim is to learn all my lines so I can think more in to character development.

- [ ] Good costume choice shows country and rock - [ ] Swap lines around : 1.Reading he book to get to place 2.say hi to the hooker after reading the book - [ ] Get a bag to create a more realistic mugging - [ ] I wanna rock choreography and singing really dropped. - [ ] emote in ‘more then words’ standing against the wall looked good. - [ ] take the mirror off Olivia and look in the mirror before going off. - [ ] waiting for a girl has no emotion- needs more practice so we can actually start ton pretend we have a connection. our connection needs to look real. - [ ] need to practice being a lesbian. - [ ] need to project in all songs because band will be louder on the night of the performance then in rehearsal- Class need to start putting more energy in and going for it more instead of letting other members of the class do it for you. - [ ] need to go for the fight, really shout at Becky.- need to project at each other more and start going for it to build the climax to give Lonny something to come over and disrupt.

Monday 4th June

In this session we did a full run through of the musical and I successfully came back from the half term with all my lines learnt. However, one thing I did forget was some of the dances especially one vision. The reason of this was because I was so focused on developing my character and researching different versions of Rock of Ages so I can see all the differences of how they play my character I hadn't had time to go over the routine. As it was the first session back peoples attitude were quite negative as they didn't want to be back rehearsing they would of rather been at home but to become professional you have to put all that behind you.

We will rock you - [ ] Not enough energy and is insulting to the show!! Directors weren’t focused as we didn’t show enough!- we don't deserve to do the musical at this point because we aren't giving it what it deserves. - [ ] GaGa kids smiley cheesy robots. - [ ] Low professionalism in the run. - [ ] Perform to the top of the theatre! - [ ] Entrances and exits need fixing. - [ ] No excitement or danger in the numbers. Need to be a push pull relationship with the band. - [ ] Need to be confident with the dances.

Rock of ages - [ ] Need more emotion shown on songs- Again I got this comment even though this time I was more focused unmaking sure my lines were perfected therefore I believe I could have it for next rehearsal.  - [ ] Need more of a connection with Becky in ‘waiting for a girl.’- We still don't show any connections on stage together even though were trying I believe it is just coming across very awkward. - [ ] Provide magic you don’t get when watching the telly.- We need to show the audience why they should of came and watched the show and didn't stay at home and watch the telly.

Wednesday 6th June

In this session we saw that we were a lot further behind rehearsals then we should of been therefore, we made up for this by doing two rehearsals in one day. I believe this was a good idea because we needed the extra practice and our bodies needed to get used to performing full out so they wouldn't get tired quickly. Both runs were successful however, the second run was the most successful and this shocked me as I thought it would be worse as I thought people would of lost energy after already doing once. I was so pleased with how both of these runs went because not once did my emotion in songs needed to be improved I was honestly so proud off myself that I finally was able to get where I wanted to be in the song. My voice want the only thing showing emotion, it was now also my body language.

1st run

We will rock you - [ ] Radio GaGa complicite... more work on the cannon. - [ ] killer queen- best it’s been... lots of acting used, better vocals and facial expressions. - [ ] need to stay still in ‘one vision’ when your on the floor or stood still. Need to stay rigid so it looks more powerful.

Rock of ages - [ ] opening number feels like the opening to a musical. More playfulness has been added. Ending needs to be stronger. - [ ] need a leaflet and a suitcase and need a penny. - [ ] work on timing when I come and distract Becky from her song writing. - [ ] improvise Micheal Jackson section of ‘anyway you want it’ if can’t do the dance. - [ ] better movement transformation to show I’m sad when I’m coming off of the phone and start the song ‘more then words’ - [ ] Good vocals with trills on ‘harden my heart’ - [ ] Transition for the strip club needs to be tidier.

2nd run

We will rock you - [ ] we will rock is more pantomime and rock of ages is musical as it’s more cheesy - [ ] one vision is great energy but stops as soon as they sing ends. Need to make a dramatic exit. - [ ] 80% there - [ ] killer queen dance v good - [ ] I want it all first time u want applause

Rock of ages - [ ] too early AGAINN!!! Enter and said ‘Hey’ - [ ] listen to to Judas Priests - [ ] I want to know what love is- needs to be played to the audience - [ ] songs are better - [ ] acting has improved - [ ] need slurped and leaflet - [ ] good I wanna rock and here I go again - [ ] goood fight between me and Becky.

Friday 8th June 

Today we a full tech run of both the musicals and I believe this went a lot slower then it should of. The reason of this is because it was some peoples first time using microphones therefore we had to take things at a slow pace so people were able to keep up with what they were doing. People started to get very frustrated with this run because of how slow it was going however, I found this very unprofessional because we've all been in the same position at one point. I believe with the lighting and the mics I feel like I could really get into character this session as we had the full scenery.  - [ ] make sure you always turn the mics off. - [ ] 80% of the show is been given. - [ ] still only 1 person catching people’s eye. - [ ] everyone needs to put passion init or it won’t work. - [ ] don’t be afraid of the microphone- play with it more. - [ ] if instrumental from the band starts while your speaking you have to say your lines in the mic. - [ ] Rock of ages- hit me with your best shot weakest number. Go to the back on the blocks instead of doing the Micheal Jackson move and have a chat, do makeup and hair and then come back to place ready for the repeat of the first verse. - [ ] knee slide needs working on in Don’t stop believing- more enthusiasm - [ ] Noticed for carrying on smiling even though I was probably in pain ahaha - [ ] if your doing a ballad- needs to be cheesy 80’s video RESEARCH!!!-  - [ ] need to make songs more comedic and play them less serious- This note confused me as in the previous sessions I've been told to add emotion in. - [ ] need to make the audience feel like they wanna rock out. Need to play the characters and songs rights because the people who are watching it, will know these songs as it’s from there era. - [ ] colours and feather bowers for hit me with your best shot

Thursday 14th June 

In this we did a run through of Rock of ages and I felt as though my character had finally started to develop each comment I receive I take it away and practice to make my character better and in each session I come in positive attitude and give 100% effort. After being told rock of ages drop after twenty minutes I was gutted because I try all the time and its unprofessional people who are bringing the whole class down because they don't want to try to they'd rather be else where. 

‘Your’e only as strong as your weakest member’ therefore the whole class get brought down.

- [ ] Diction and clarity - Making sure are lines are clear enough for the audience to understand. - [ ] loose energy 20 minutes after rock of ages has started

Friday 15th June 

Finally things started to come together more but most importantly me and becky started to have a connection. This is really important to me as it’s something we’ve been trying to improve on since we started rehearsals and it finally started to seem as though it was coming together. The hardest thing was to make mine and becky’s kiss feel as though it was real and we had a connection this was because it was such an awkward thing to do without an audience there. At first I felt as though the audience would make it worse but I've now realised it doesn't. if someone came in rehearsals to watch it felt so much easier and natural. - [ ] More work on singing - [ ] need a mic for radio GaGa - this is because the journey of the mics keep changing. - [ ] killer queen number should be what everyone goes for - [ ] journey of he mics need to be remembered, can’t use different mics all the time - [ ] ‘nothing but a good time’ and ‘don’t get better then this’ said to the audience because they need to know they won't get anything better then this show. - [ ] I wanna know what love is harmony good. Make sure both harmonies are done - [ ] waiting for a girl- playing with it more better today. - [ ] Big songs, people are going missing- not everyone’s pulling in the same direction (people rely on others and people are becoming more tired as they have to do the work that people don't want to do.

Tuesday 19th June

This was the week of the show and one of our last rehearsals and I honestly couldn't wait for show day! However, even though I like to take comments on board and work on them I was so angry at how many improvements I had to make before the show. The reason of this is because I have been playing the exact same character since day one of rehearsal and made improvements so why didn't I get these notes sooner to give me more time to work on them? This frustrated me however, I wanted to prove to my directors I had what it takes to be challenged even if the show was only a few days away. Rehearsals were more enjoyable now then stress because I felt like we finally had a show therefore people were enjoying out more and coming into sessions in more of a professional manner. One thing that made me feel like I have achieved something was the vocals were now louder then the band and the audience were struggling to hear them because of how much effort everyone was giving.

I was little down hearted after this session because it was mentioned I had no emotion in some of the songs however, I believe I was able to change this before show day! I felt like this session it was because I was to excites to show emotion because it was show week!

We will rock you - [ ] we will rock you looks like we’ve got more of a show - [ ] chorus are miming most of the time- people are using more of their energy to make up  - [ ] reaction good of the GaGa kids. - [ ] killer queen is the first musical theatre number cause it seems like we’re performing that one more then the others. - [ ] research what rocking out looks like.

Rock of ages - [ ] opening number is good but needs to be big!! - [ ] act as though your actually at the oscars. - [ ] need to show emotion in sister Christian instead of standing there, Giving nothing - [ ] emote after Becky said she loves me because I kind of heard her even tho I said I love her. Blush. - [ ] show I’m effected of the wafting wind to add humour to the song. (Girl like you) - [ ] show that stacee Jax amazes me, eyes and mouth open- I wanna know what love is. - [ ] still need to act innocent in the strip club ... Hungarian dance alter ego move needs to be worked on. - [ ] here I go again happy/ angry. People miming it. - [ ] laugh at each other in mine and Drew’s argument to create more tension. - [ ] every rose. NEED TO LEARN HARMONIES. Sit in the back in a train of thought and see justice walk past and then stop her to talk about my problems. - [ ] Giving it loads in don’t stop believing but need to put that much effort in all the other songs- need to want it in all the songs not just the finale!

Show day

I honestly couldn't of been any prouder of myself after the shows. When performing I could actually feel that I put emotion in when in rehearsals I was confused if I was or wasn't however, during the shows I felt it. I also started to use gestures in the show and it wasn't forced like it was in rehearsals it felt more natural and smooth. I was honestly so worried with how it was going to go but I felt myself shine at this role and I have been priverliged to have the opportunity to challenge myself and play my chapter like this one. Another thing which I did on show night which I don't believe I did in rehearsals was let myself go more. On show night my character was totally over the top and it felt right it didn't feel awkward or embarrassing I just had fun with it and I feel like this is the most important of a show. I felt as though there was even more of a connection with me and Becky as we became closer at the end of ‘waiting for a girl’ and if there was awkward moments between us we didn't feel awkward do to the audience having a moment of laughter. Something I would of improved on in the show was the robbing scene just because that does feel quite awkward to play as I don't feel like it happened fast enough also when I'm at the bourbon room and I jump of the blocks to get there coin, I kept forgetting to set the coin on stage however, I don't think the audience noticed. I am gutted the shows are over and I'd love to do it all again!

[trevorbailey61]

Paul Heaton & Jacqui Abbot/Billy Bragg

Westonbirt Arboretum, Gloucestershire Friday 15th July 2018

Towards the top of the long steep hill, the road takes a sharp left turn where through a gap in the hedge we can look back at the lowlands we have left behind. The Severn glistens in the summer sun, swelled by the water that has drained into it to leave its mark on the landscape that it has shaped. Alongside it, a mosaic of green fields lie on the flood plain and beyond these rise the hills of the border region, lands that carry the memory of the brutality on which nations are built. Reaching the top, the road slowly descends, we have climbed the escarpment that forms its western edge and are now driving through the Cotswolds, the iconic English landscape of rolling hills formed by the distinctive yellow jurassic limestone on which it is built and chocolate box villages. In the fields, the lush summer grass has been collected into huge bales, wrapped up in green plastic and piled up in the corner and in the distance the needle of a church steeple can be seen against the blue sky. A perfect summers evening, everything should be right with the world: then a sharp reminder that even here, it may not be. As I take in the scene around me, I notice the angular shape of three swifts, the scythe of their wings working independently as they follow the flight of the insects on which they feed. This shouldn’t be unusual, the aerial ballet of swifts and their eerie cries should be familiar in the summer skies but these are the first I have seen this year. Cold weather in April and the loss of suitable nesting sites may have played their part but the main problem is that this pleasant green landscape around us is devoid of insects, inconvenient hindrances that have to be eradicated as the efficiencies of the production line are applied to agriculture. The scene may seem reassuringly familiar but it is one in which it is becoming increasingly hard for the natural world to find a niche. I already tell others about how I used to be able to sit in the back garden and listen to a cuckoo, something that is now only a distant memory. Maybe it wont be long before we all we have are memories of other summer visitors who made their epic journeys from Africa to raise their young amongst us.

Swifts, swallows, house martins: summer visitors more at home in the air than they are on land and all sadly becoming absent from our skies. And with a link so tenuous it is worthy of a cringe, it also takes us to the reason why we are making this journey through what is arguably the most green and pleasant part of this green and pleasant land. In the early 80s, a young man who liked to refer to himself as P D Heaton was dividing his time between writing songs and making a round trip of over 700miles from his home in Surrey every other weekend to watch Sheffield United. Relocating to Hull, he felt his work needed an audience and with a friend, Stan Cullimore, he began to busk around the shopping centres of the city. It may well be there that the first performance “Happy Hour” was greeted with indifference or irritation as shoppers desperately tried to avoid the eye contact that would oblige them to drop a few coins in a hat. The duo also recorded a demo tape, a copy off which, Heaton tells us tonight, they sent to Billy Bragg who, despite a reputation that now sees him introduced as the hardest working man in the business, found time to give it a listen and bring it to the attention of his record label. This interest required a rhythm section to fill out the sound, cue the arrival of the the future Fatboy Slim, and a name, which of course was The Housemartins. Bragg undoubtedly received such tapes by the sack full, most of which would offer little other than rudimentary punk thrashing and sixth form political slogans which meant that the sunny melodies, witty lyrics and Heaton’s clear high pitched voice would have immediately stood out. The lyrics, which cleverly and mostly discretely referenced marxism with a little Christianity thrown in, would have immediately captured Bragg’s interest but just to make sure, they included the song “Flag Day”; a wake up call where the feel good act of charity is used to avoid any real change in a society that can tolerate such high levels of inequality. It is a theme that is still very much on Heaton’s mind when tonight, he asks how many of the crowd will return the next day to see Gary Barlow. Few are but the mention of his name is enough to provoke a rant about his tax affairs and how in a few months time he will be appearing on “Children in Need” encouraging youngsters to empty their pockets to support a hospital that “wouldn’t have to close if he paid his fucking taxes”. 

Like The Smiths, The Housemartins eschewed the styles of the time to produce bright, guitar based pop that that often disguised a serious message. Also like the The Smiths, they were not built to last and after a few singles, a couple of albums and a Christmas number 1, they disbanded, although unlike their Manc contemporaries they apparently remain on good terms. Heaton reflects on these early days during this 90 minute sell out show at Westonbirt Arboretum, in addition to noting the support Bragg gave them as they were getting started, he also reminisces about their first appearance on “Top of the Pops” where, convinced that theirs would only be a temporary stay at the top, they pestered their fellow acts for autographs. A couple of his early songs also find their way into the set, the exhilaration of “Five Get Over Excited” disguises the sinister lyrics, “Feigning concern, a conservative pastime” seems particularly apposite now, as does the flock mentality in “Sheep” in an era fuelled by a growth of rampant nationalism. The songs are mostly left to speak for themselves but Heaton does set the context of “Caravan of Love”, the final encore, explaining how he still remains proud of this acapella version of the Isley’s song and how its message of hope is one that still resonates. The encores also include a wonderfully exuberant run through “Happy Hour”, complete with giant balloons that roadies had to continually bat back into the audience so that the song could continue unhindered. Again the bright pop of the music hides that the song isn’t really about what you think it is about; a brilliant take down of 80s yuppie culture that could equally apply to millennial hipsters; “I think I might be happy if I wasn’t out with them”. 

The Housemartins, for those of us who are of an age to appreciate the context, were important in showing that music could be much more than the programmed beats of Stock, Aitken and Waterman; something that dominated the charts then and the start of using technology to produce formulaic songs cynically built around familiar melodies and hooks. They are not, however, the main reason that so many have made their way to this Forestry Commission gig in rural Gloucestershire. Thanking the audience for their support, Heaton notes that of all the gigs on this forest tour, not only was this the first to sell-out but also that more tickets were released which were also quickly snapped up. This most conservative region of the country may not seem the natural setting for pop that makes little attempt to disguise its left wing inspiration, the car park is in the vast expanse of the grounds to the Westonbirt School hammering home the privilege against which much of the music is set, but comments by Heaton or Bragg on issues around Brexit, Trump, climate change, unions or inequality drew nothing but cheers from the crowd. Heaton does explain how in their gig at Thetford Forest, a fight had broken out between two people who had different views on Brexit, unfortunately, he notes, “the pro guy was ours”, but everyone in Gloucestershire was either on message or if not they kept their opinions to themselves. This popularity, even amongst those who do not share his politics, is because he would soon eclipse his early achievements by forming The Beautiful South from the remnants of The Housemartins. Still built around his distinctive voice and showing the same social and political context, the sound was, however, very different. The lyrics became more nuanced, often delivered in bittersweet tales that, despite being laced with irony, still managed to sound wistfully romantic. We cared about the subjects of these songs because their stories were told so clearly and the bright catchy melodies and beautifully inventive arrangements set them off perfectly. It proved to be hugely successful, their compilation “Carry On Up The Charts” gave him another Christmas Number 1 and they were soon to be found on the arena circuit. It is what has given those gathered here tonight a chance to relive their youth and half the set is made up of songs from the South.

“I’ll Sail This Ship Alone” is a reminder of just how well the songs can place themselves in the mind and how now they can stir such warm memories. Built around a mournful piano accompaniment, it is essentially a break up song where the hurt is carried through the sublime melody. Yet there is also defiance, this is not the end of the world, they will survive, they can be alone. The clarity and pitch of Heaton’s voice adds the melancholy that this gives the song its heart and, despite its size, the audience are quiet and appreciative allowing the words to drift out into the clear evening sky. The set is filled with many equally poignant moments, “One Last Love Song”, “Old Red Eyes in Back” and “Song for Whoever” all leave their emotional mark and even more upbeat songs such as “Good as Gold (Stupid as Mud)” and “You Keep It All In” carry an underlying sadness. The contribution of Irish singer, Briana Corrigan, to the South’s earliest songs persuaded them to promote her to a full band member, thus providing a female lead in the domestic dramas they were playing out. When she left in 1994, partly as a result of some of Heaton’s less than sensitive lyrics, she was replaced with a supermarket stacker from St Helens called Jacqui Abbott, thus starting a partnership that is still going strong tonight. Abbott covers Corrigan’s vocals well on “A Little Time” and “You Keep It All In” but her voice, fuller and with a more resonant lower range than Corrigan’s, gives the songs a slightly different feel. Despite suffering from a bad back, her movement is severely restricted throughout and she has to sit during the middle of the set, she is still wonderful on the two songs she originated, “Rotterdam” and the delightfully naughty “Don’t Marry Her”, Heaton checks before she sings this whether we are alright with the “explicit version”. 

With Abbott leaving the band in 2000, The Beautiful South continued for a few more years producing two more albums that showed that Heaton could still craft catchy and quirky songs, of which “Manchester”, a sodden tribute to his adopted home, is performed tonight. A conversation on Facebook, however, brought him back in touch with Abbott and a collaboration that is now into its fifth year and has produced three albums. Starting with “I Don’t See Them”, they play with the introduction allowing Heaton to act as the preacher building up the responses from the crowd. The band are quickly into their stride, tight and precise, the song driven along by the thumping beats that give the rhythm. The humour of “DIY” is fun, gently mocking men of a certain age who spend their weekends at B&Q, providing a companion to Billy Bragg’s “Handyman Blues” that he had performed earlier. Their most recent album, “Crooked Calypso” showed that Heaton retains the ability to write droll pithy lyrics that cover obesity, “Fat Man”, race and religion, “The Lord is a White Con” and inequality, “People Like Us”. Its not all about social injustice, however, with “I Gotta Praise” being a heart wrenching love song worthy of the South. They even managed to introduce a new song, a reflection on the music of artists such as Marvin Gaye that helped the young Heaton to form his own musical ideas. 

With so many gathered, the potential threat means that even in a remote location, there is still a high level of security to enter the site. This means that many are still queuing outside when Billy Bragg takes to the stage but the show must go on. Rather than a support act, he is probably more of a joint headline and a large group of fans have collected around the stage to give him an enthusiastic reception. Occasionally accompanied by the atmospheric slide provided by CJ Hillman, he is on fiery form, channelling his anger into songs that tackle environmental issues, “King Tide and The Sunny Day Flood”, immigration “Why We Build the Wall”, workers rights, “There is Power in a Union” and a state of the nation updating of Dylan’s “The Times They Are a Changing”. In between, he continues his role as the curator of Woody Guthrie’s legacy with interpretations of “I Ain’t Got No Home” and “She Came Along to Me” and there are plenty of favourites, “Levi Stubbs Tears”, “The Milkman of Human Kindness” and, of course, “A New England” complete with the Kirsty McColl verse. Introducing him at Latitude a few years ago, the announcer said that no festival is complete without Billy Bragg being on the bill and it is difficult to think of a park or field he hasn’t at some time played. Then he seemed a little restrained, toning down the politics and mainly focusing his songs that dealt with relationships. It would be nice to say that seeing him return to his impassioned best was something to treasure were it not for that the circumstances that have fuelled his anger are so desperate. 

There are many so many reasons to treasure a show as good as this, the inventive songs, the exquisite playing, the humour and the engaging personalities of the performers, but another is that it is difficult to think of younger performers who in future will, through their music, provide a commentary for the times in which we live. The other Forestry commission gigs this year include Gary Barlow, Paloma Faith and George Ezra who whilst they mostly make perfectly pleasant music, show little inclination to ask questions about the nature of the society in which we live; aside, of course, from Barlow’s tax status. Then, it is difficult to think of a young Bragg or Heaton being able to make their way in the music business today which seems to be ever more built around safety and predictability. There are no doubt those who try but to take their message beyond a dedicated few, they need the support that they are unlikely to get. Thus, as he has been doing for years, it is left to artists such as Billy Bragg to highlight to injustices heaped on the Windrush generation or the children taken from their parents at the US border. Music and the arts are central to our culture, both reflecting and shaping the world in which we live and in its way this tradition is as English as the Cotswold setting. And that is why we should be grateful that those we have seen tonight continue, as Heaton puts it, to be a thorn in the side of the Tories. Long may it continue.