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agendabymooner · 8 months

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comfort crowd ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc) - tltl series

“telling you i’m fine i don’t really need nobody. but you said through a sigh that i said that lie already.”

summary: too many things happened during max verstappen's debut in met gala 2017 as sylvie's date - but it wasn't anything that he couldn't handle. after all, this was the first step to accepting their past issues - admittance. (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)(7)(8)(9)

content warning: use of explicit language, anxiety/panic attack, max verstappen and ofc being "just friends", mentions of j*s verstappen (paternal relationship issues mostly not just him), gossip outlets being crappy as ever, hurt/comfort, max's fashion choices being shit on by ofc, shakespeare reference (macbeth), mentions alcohol consumption, mentions of toto wolff x ofc (tilly marie)

note: releasing this now regardless of how many times i said i'll be updating my masterlist. character directory is now available! enjoy xx

masterlist

“That doesn’t look too bad,” Max murmured as he continued to examine the sketch in front of him. The Alexander Wang sketch taunted his creativity skills, and if he was being honest— he didn’t even think he’d have one.

Sylvie hummed, her eyes looking down at her Pinterest board. She had just emailed her agent about the catsuit that she would be wearing, telling her that she was set and ready to go for the event. She only needed to work then she’d fly to New York as soon as the Russian GP came to an end. THAT and she needed to ensure that Max’s suit from Alexander McQueen was ready for the event as well.

“You said they’ll sew you into the catsuit?” Max asked, curious as to why Sylvie wasn’t responding with her words as he looked up. The Dutchman found her staring at her screen.

He looked around the room and had found an elastic hair tie lying next to the papers and Sylvie’s laptop, grabbing it carefully before flinging it in her direction. She flinched at the impact of the band, making Max giggle as Sylvie glared.

“Use your words, Emilian,” Sylvie hissed at him, grabbing the abandoned elastic before flinging it back to him. The man caught it in his hands as he continued to giggle.

“You’re the one who should use your words; I was asking you something,” Sylvie merely nodded as she stared mindlessly somewhere. Max’s brows raised, her silence prompting him to ask, “Alright, out with it. What are you thinking about?”

His words brought her back to reality, her eyes staring at his blue ones. She asked, “Can you cut my hair?”

“What- no!” Max exclaimed. Her hair was at shoulder length last Monaco GP, and now months later it returned to the rib cage length and continued to grow.

She had expressed how annoyed she could be having to put it up as she often ran around the grid, media pens and paddock to communicate with other PR managers and drivers. While Max empathized with her, he couldn’t help but think that her request was nothing but obtuse.

“Come on, Maxieeee~” Sylvie whined, begging him as she continued, “Just cut it to shoulder length and we’ll be sold.”

She was cute, indeed, but between Blanche Ford’s wrath and Sylvie— yeah no, Max would rather refuse Sylvie’s request. “No, I’m not going to cut it. Why don’t you head to a salon, instead?”

“I can save money and time if you did it,” Sylvie argued, petulance written all over her face but Max had the same look in his face.

“You’d think that being a Ford would help you afford a haircut,” Max sassed, remembering how Sylvie had practically slandered his outfit last January. “Even Lewis could get away with his hairstyle.”

“I’m telling Lewis,” Sylvie threatened with a pointed finger, but Max continued to stare at her with a challenging look. She easily gave in as she groaned, “Come on- I don’t have time to get a haircut at a salon.”

“Yes you do,” Max scowled. “Why can’t you just ask your agent to hire a hairstylist when we get to New York tomorrow?”

“Too much work,” Sylvie said, uninterested in his suggestion.

Max scoffed, “And you thought it’ll be a piece of cake if I did it?”

“Last resort,” Sylvie replied, her tone now showing her boredom as she sighed in annoyance.

“You are unbelievably lazy at times,” Max shook his head in amusement, pulling out his phone to text his own manager to see if they’d be able to hire a hairdresser for the event on Monday.

“I’d say a unique character,” Sylvie told him with an amused grin, her head leaning against the sofa as she looked up to the ceiling.

“Of course you would,” Max rolled his eyes.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“It’s hard to believe you when you keep pulling my leg like a clown,” Max joked.

“You’re friends with a pathological liar,” Sylvie cackled, earning a laugh from her best friend. “If anything, you’re the clown for believing everything I say.”

He couldn’t help it. It was hard not to believe when you’d go to hell and back for her. They were so much like the modern day Lady Macbeth and Macbeth— except they weren’t really interested in taking over the world. It was just that Max could be easily manipulated by Sylvie (even if she doesn’t) and he’d let her get away from that.

His thoughts were interrupted by a text from his manager as he read it. He immediately responded with a simple thank you and a request.

“Don’t cut your hair— not right now,” Max instructed Sylvie, leaving the woman to shoot him a confused look as she wondered what prompted him to say that. He continued, “My manager’s generous enough to send an email for you— just so you can get your haircut. Because you want to save some time. It only took me ten minutes to get you booked—“

“Ugh you areeeee amazing, Maxie!” Sylvie squealed, hopping off the sofa to launch herself into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him for a second, then realized what she was doing before she pulled away with her cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I know,” Max playfully shoved her off, “you’ve said that a lot of times. But then again as you said, you’re a pathological liar.”

“You know, I was excited about taking you to New York for the MET gala— Alexander McQueen even got you a suit that I definitely hadn’t personally overseen,” Sylvie huffed out, kicking Max lightly as she continued, “But then you agreed that I’m a liar- so now I’m regretting every single bit of it.”

“No you’re not,” Max snorted.

“You’re right. I’m excited to see you outside of your shitty skinny jeans and Red Bull polo combo.”

“Oh so now you’re shitting on my workday outfit?”

“Not just you— don’t be too self-conscious; even Daniel’s getting shit from me because of those skinny jeans. That man has thighs and he’s hiding them away through those ugly jeans? Ugh, seriously.”

FIRST MONDAY OF MAY

“Maxwell! Did you fit in the suit?” Sylvie called as her eyes were trained on the reflection of the bedroom door. Max stepped out of the room with an annoyed look, but her eyes were trained on the body that wore the suit.

She was surprised at how perfectly tailored the suit was for him. The details of his suit were intricate and had the same appearance and texture as the ones that she wore, but they have topped a black pinstriped fabric with the hand sewn lace and butterfly details. Underneath his double breasted blazer was a black silk shirt with white printed details.

The blazer had hidden away most of his sculpted upper body, but not his neck area. Wrapped around his neck was a white gold tennis necklace, glimmering under the chandelier of the suite as much as his watch did.

Cartier, as far as Sylvie knew. It was the one that she got for him on Christmas, after all. That and the Graff Diamonds wrapped around his wrist that she certainly hadn’t purchased for more than fifty grand. She definitely hadn’t bought something that expensive. Could you just imagine the stories that would come out if they realized that Sylvie’s love language was expensive gift giving?

But she couldn’t allow her eyes to linger any longer than she had as she looked up at Max’s annoyed expression. His Dutch accent rang out inside the suite quite a little bit louder that even the hairdryer was rendered slightly silent.

“First, you called me Emilio Estevez and now I’m Maxwell?” Max scowled, leaving the woman to grin cheekily as her hairdresser plugged in the straightener. “Yes I did fit in.”

“Good.”

“I was there for the fitting, Sylvie,” Max pointed out. He stood there for a moment to have his outfit fixed by Sylvie’s stylist, ensuring that his ensemble was displaying and showing in the right places. His hair was combed back and held in place by some hair gel, Sylvie thanking whichever god had gotten rid of his hat.

“You lose a lot of weight when you’re racing,” Sylvie shrugged nonchalantly, leaving Max to roll his eyes lightheartedly as he sat on the empty loveseat right by the window of the suite.

He sighed, already set to go as he stated aloud, “I’m surprised Tilly’s still invited.”

“As she should be,” Sylvie chuckled, remembering how sour it had turned out for her eldest sister when she worked at British Vogue.

Ever since the gossip/news outlet Fast Lane Daily published the article about Tilly’s immediate resignation in July 2014, the publishing company received a backlash about how poorly they recognized talent. Tilly returned in 2015, but she was just a guest at the MET Gala because of her prestigious title as an owner of a major company and a philanthropist. Some even said that it was Vogue’s karma for treating Tilly as a bait to get an inside look at a luxurious lifestyle like hers.

“You would think that with how she was treated she wasn’t going back,” Max said. “Now she’s here for what… the third time? And she isn’t just here as a staff member.”

“They didn’t think to care about who her family was,” Sylvie responded, “so when they got a glimpse of Toto in those photos, they immediately wanted to know what it’s like being a sugar baby to an older man.”

“If they only knew,” Max huffed a little, shaking his head in amusement as he remembered how TIME magazine had officially named her the richest woman after reaching her £1.5 billion by the end of 2016.

“Yup,” Sylvie laughed, “if they only knew.”

THE FAST LANE DAILY

SUPERMODEL SYLVIE FORD STUNS IN ALEXANDER WANG CATSUIT AT MET GALA 2017

The Met Gala 2017 was a night to remember, filled with fashion, glamour, and a star-studded guest list. Among the attendees, supermodel Sylvie Ford made a jaw-dropping entrance in a catsuit designed by the renowned Alexander Wang. However, what made her outfit even more remarkable was the fact that she was sewn into it just hours before the event, showcasing her dedication to fashion.

Prior to the gala, Sylvie also debuted a fresh haircut, which she proudly showcased on the red carpet. In an interview, she revealed that she had been insisting that her friend Max Verstappen, the F1 driver, cut her hair. However, Max, being the supportive friend he is, called his own manager to book a stylist for Sylvie. This gesture highlighted the strong bond between the two friends and their commitment to each other's success.

Sylvie Ford's stunning catsuit, crafted by Alexander Wang, accentuated her flawless figure and exuded an air of confidence and sophistication. The intricate design and impeccable tailoring showcased Sylvie's fashion-forward style, making her a true standout at the event.

But Sylvie and Max were not the only F1 personalities in attendance. Sylvie's sister, Tilly Marie, the owner of Hearth Automotive Groups, graced the gala alongside her partner, Mercedes AMG F1 Team Principal Toto Wolff. The power couple added their own touch of elegance and style to the event, further solidifying their status as influential figures in the F1 world.

Additionally, Sylvie's other sister, Stevie Marlene, a model herself, attended the gala representing Tommy Hilfiger alongside Tommy Hilfiger ambassador and Mercedes F1 driver, Lewis Hamilton. The duo made their own grand entrances, showcasing their unique styles and adding to the overall excitement of the evening.

Although the F1 personalities arrived separately and were seated at different tables, their presence at the Met Gala 2017 added an extra layer of intrigue and excitement to the event. Each individual brought their own sense of fashion and charisma, captivating the attention of onlookers and leaving a lasting impression.

As the night unfolded, Sylvie Ford, along with her F1 companions, enjoyed the festivities, mingling with other A-list celebrities and fashion icons. Their collective presence at the Met Gala 2017 showcased the strong connection between the worlds of fashion and motorsport, further solidifying their influence and status within their respective industries.

The Met Gala 2017 was undoubtedly a night to remember, and Sylvie Ford, along with her F1 friends and family, made their mark with their impeccable style and undeniable presence. Their individual entrances and unique fashion choices added to the allure of the event, leaving a lasting impression on the fashion world and fans alike.

SYLVIE & MAX: From Childhood Friends to Enemies to Long Lost Lovers.

Sylvie Ford is the only person who doesn’t give a sh*t about Jos Verstappen— and here’s why I love her for it.

From Providing Testimonies to Adopting a Pet Together: Here’s How to Become the Max Verstappen to her Sylvie Ford.

Sylvie Ford and her friendship with Max Verstappen shows that you can be two-faced for the benefit of your own mental state. Where is the support for Max when he needs it?

She hadn’t seen any of her sisters inside the venue and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She could have sworn she’d seen a certain tall Austrian man, but it must have been her anxiety speaking when she turned away and didn’t see him again. She tried finding the Tommy Hilfiger table but found nada; neither her sister Stevie nor Lewis were there.

She promised she wasn’t going to look at her social media. The story that everyone ran about her and Max used to be tame and decent. But she began regretting her decision to bring him as a date when the topic tripled across Twitter and Instagram— even TMZ had something to say about that.

Her mind began spinning when she read the article about how she’d only bring Max along to make Abel feel terrible about himself. Her mind thought of it too much and began wondering if Max thought of it as that?

Suddenly she felt herself shaking as she continued to recall the past few months. Moving in together, adopting a puppy, and having each other’s backs. She felt herself wanting to throw up at the thought of being nothing but a burden or something that took advantage of a vulnerable person. She couldn’t do that to Max. She had never done that to appease herself. She hadn’t done anything to take advantage of Max’s caring nature.

But everyone seemed to see her as someone so cruel. Like she would rip everyone’s heart out. At some point Jos told Max that she didn’t care about him and that he might as well let go. Yet Max never listened, only caring about her.

She felt disgusted with herself. She hadn’t done anything to make it up to him. She was a selfish prick, and she was here trying not to cry because her conscience continued to torment her. She didn’t deserve any help.

She reached down to text her manager, who should be somewhere in the venue.

Sylvie: Might not make it to after party. I feel sick.

Sarah J: Do you want me to call the chauffeur? Your sisters might look for you.

Sylvie: I’ll let them know l8r. Can’t breathe atm but pls.

Sarah: Where r u?

Sylvie: Bathroolm west winh

She couldn’t even remember how she ended up falling off.

“Sylv,” she hadn’t even noticed that her anxiety knocked her unconscious until she felt a shake of her shoulders. The rapid beating of her heart returned when she saw Max, who had found her slumped against the wall after running around trying to figure out where the fuck west wing was.

There was nothing scarier than finding her in such a state. Miserable, in pain and suffering. It was petrifying, not knowing how to deal with the pain should he struggle to do so in public while they take her away. He really didn’t want to see her being taken away by an ambulance. Not anytime soon.

“Shit, good- you’re alive, good,” Max continued to swear as he placed his hand over her forehead, checking her temperature. She wasn’t too warm. Her body didn’t indicate anything about any illness— she just looked too pale.

“Fuck, fuck,” Sylvie cursed as she tried to stand, only to end up stumbling while Max supported her by grabbing her waist. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know, but Sarah said you’ve last texted her when she approached me— six minutes ago,” Max sighed in relief, content that Sylvie could speak. “You looked dead, Sylvie. I got scared. Do you want to head back?”

“Please,” Sylvie nodded before biting her lip nervously, “you don’t have to come along— you can stay as long as you’d like— stay with Stevie and everything.”

“It’s nice to know you’re as equally idiotic as you were a few hours ago,” Max joked. “I’m exhausted. I'm coming along.”

“Max—“

“I'm tired, I’m not going to go just because,” Max raised a brow at her. “You need to stop thinking you’re being a bother. If it makes you feel better I’m going back because I’m beat. This fucking place is full of people I’d rather not get in the mix with.”

“I’m one of those people, bastard,” Sylvie scoffed, making Max roll his eyes.

“You’re trying to fool the only person who’s seen you shove Mick- a three year old- to the pool when we were five and act like you haven’t? Nice try. C’mon, stop wasting time— I want to sleep and you need to get away from this stupid place.”

“We should get something to drink on the way back,” Sylvie suggested in a mutter.

“Passing out from a panic attack doesn’t exactly call for alcohol,” Max told her off quietly, his hand slipping to hold hers as he continued to guide her towards The Great Hall, “you need your anxiety meds— not tequila. Quit being stupid. You’re too smart and pretty for that shit.”

“I should apologize,” Sylvie murmured as she wiped her face with a warm, damp cloth. She was dressed in nothing but some white tank top and striped pajama bottom, her shoulder length hair tied into a messy ponytail with strands hanging out. She was staring at her reflection while she wiped away the smudged mascara that she attempted to remove five minutes ago.

Max leaned forward the sink while his right hand brushed his teeth, now looking at Sylvie’s reflection with a questioning frown while his mouth was full of toothpaste.

“For being a prick,” Sylvie continued with a sigh, looking down at the stained cloth before she wiped the remains of her foundation. Finishing off, she started her skincare routine and washed her face. “You’ve done so much for me this past year— or years, whatever. And I’ve done fuck all for you.”

Spitting out whatever it was he had, Max gargled and rinsed off his mouth. “Was this about the articles that just came out?”

“Not really,” Sylvie denied.

“Yes it is,” Max chuckled, wiping his mouth with a clean towel. “Why are you apologizing for that?”

“I just explained why,” Sylvie’s eye peeked at him while she continued to massage her foam lathered face. “Or are you trying to get an ego boost from my humiliation?”

“No, I’m genuinely asking why,” Max replied, now setting his toothbrush down and leaning against the counter while he watched his best friend rinse her face with warm water. The Dutchman handed her another clean towel, watching as the Red Bull communications coordinator patted her face dry. “There’s no reason to apologize.”

“Are you deaf or just obtuse?”

“You weren’t being selfish, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Max pointed out. “You were upset at me for years. You left the academy because of me—“

“I was expelled.”

“And you never asked for any help,” he continued nonetheless, earning a heavy frown from the woman. “In no way you’re selfish. I’m giving this support because I want to— you didn’t ask for it.”

“I still was rude to you,” Sylvie justified.

Max chuckled, “Nothing new but alright.”

“Max Emilian,” Sylvie scolded him.

“I’m joking,” Max pinched her cheek, making the model swat his hand away. “You didn’t ask for help, which isn’t selfish. The only selfish part of it was that I never had the chance to fix it. I lost my best friend because of it.”

“Teenage angst must’ve sucked us all in, huh,” Sylvie rolled her eyes with a huff. “It does suck. Not being able to tell you about university and all that. I went through four years of not seeing Victoria and spending my time with Lando. But, if you think of it now— I’m still around you, no?”

“Not in the track,” Max muttered, guilt written all over his face as he continued, “you should have considered the academy’s offer to review your performance.”

“Meh,” Sylvie murmured, “it’s a waste of time. I’m way past my academy days, Max.”

“Never too late for the track to have the first woman to ever drive the RB17.”

“I’ll stick to my routine,” Sylvie shook her head. “It’s less traumatic. It’s bad enough that I see—“

“I know, I know,” Max chuckled.

There was a long pause between the two of them, staring at each other for a moment before Sylvie turned away. She then looked back at him with, “Thank you. For coming with me instead of flying back to the Netherlands.”

“I was just spending my time with Dad before we could fly back to England,” Max waved her off. “It’s nothing big.”

“Sure it is,” Sylvie scoffed, “he’s still your dad.”

She hadn’t needed to utter the words not a good one because they both knew the truth.

A strong feeling haunted the two of them so much they wondered how to make the first move.

They knew each other too well that they’d know how to act when they even try something new. But they didn’t know their hearts well enough to trust the instinct that they had. They knew that it was easier for them to make the move and be with each other already.

They were practically together. The only thing that they missed was the label, and the fact that everyone around them already knew what they were as a whole. Everyone rooted for them, but for some reason, moving forward wasn’t too… easy.

As if they’d rather love each other without putting it out there. It’s such a shame that they’re still proving people right that things would never work out the way everyone wanted it.

At least they’ve admitted how much they missed each other. It was a step forward.

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nomatopeya · 1 year

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sharing my theories on the Side Order DLC, share yours too!

references to neurons/brain parts -references to body parts forming

references to hivemind/clone-like structures -so much dead ocean life (the "snowy" environment you can see on the trailer is called marine snow which is waste, dead skin, and other organic particulate that floats in the water column)

speaking of marine waste marine waste also makes a huge similarity to the name marina

it makes sense that the octoling is a mute brown hair color, almost gray, like a combination of pearl and marina's hair colours

I saw a comment that said this could be about marina's brain but i doubt it

im so in with the theory that marina tried getting order in place but has gone a little insane

because in the trailer there is a huge flash of a lot of images and the ones where pearl and marina are in the same photos are specifically blurried. the blurry photo of Off the Hook has Marina's head mostly out of frame, to me it seems to indicate a loss of identity or existentialism

and then you have the image of pearl in full quality looking down at you

and where's marina?? the only unblurred picture of marina we got was her singing but glitchy indicating something is wrong

are we gonna have to save marina

again the huge references to neurons/brain parts hint a lot that this will be a mindfuck for sure

pressumably an inkling giving the pointy parts? Giving the shadow of the shirt, it looks a lot like agent 4's agent outfit or maybe im reaching because i want her back and it would mke sense to have her back giving its located on the inkopolis square where she had her missions run

anybody else notice that theres another person in this elevator, as in shes being escorted trough an elevator?? the octoling is either looking at her own reflection or looking outside Bringing back the huge references to neurons and brain parts: was this poor octoling's brain messed with? she is being escorted, again not alone, presumably with someone that knows what's going on and is guiding her to some facility My guesses: This is agent 8 and she's gotten enrolled with another facility again my girl will never find peace

This is a clone similar to agent 8 and we get to see what was of agent 8's "siblings" (remember my points 1, 2, and 3? could this be the inside of the mind of a sanitized octoling, living in an endless reverie?)

Following up the clone theory: These two placed in line, placed in Order Marina tried making a clone? marina tried making a child? pearlina child real??/hj Marina is deffinetely NOT okay, and im really intrigued about that

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #splatoon dlc #side order #expansion pass side order #expansion pass #splatoon expansion pass #splatoon side order #splatoon 3 side order #You will see me reblogging this the more ideas i get

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uomo-accattivante · 6 years

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On 21 August 2017, the Great American Eclipse caused a diagonal swathe of darkness to fall across the United States from Charleston, South Carolina on the East Coast to Lincoln City, Oregon on the West. In Manhattan, which was several hundred miles outside the path of totality, a gentle gloom fell over the city. Yet still office workers emptied out onto the pavements, wearing special paper glasses if they had been organised; holding up their phones and blinking nervously if they hadn’t. Despite promises that it was to be lit up for the occasion, there was no discernible twinkle from the Empire State Building; on Fifth Avenue, the darkened glass façade of Trump Tower grew a little dimmer. In Central Park Zoo, where children and tourists brandished pinhole cameras made from cereal boxes, Betty, a grizzly bear, seized the opportunity to take an unscrutinised dip.

Across the East River in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Oscar Isaac, a 38-year-old Guatemalan-American actor and one of the profession’s most talented, dynamic and versatile recent prospects, was, like Betty, feeling too much in the sun. It was his day off from playing Hamlet in an acclaimed production at the Public Theater in Manhattan and he was at home on vocal rest. He kept a vague eye on the sky from the balcony of the one-bedroom apartment he shares — until their imminent move to a leafier part of Brooklyn — with his wife, the Danish documentary film-maker Elvira Lind, their Boston Terrier French Bulldog-cross Moby (also called a “Frenchton”, though not by him), and more recently, and to Moby’s initial consternation, their four-month-old son, Eugene.

Plus, he’s seen this kind of thing before. “I was in Guatemala in 1992 when there was a full solar eclipse,” he says the next day, sitting at a table in the restaurant of a fashionably austere hotel near his Williamsburg apartment, dressed in dark T-shirt and jeans and looking — amazingly, given his current theatrical and parental commitments — decidedly fresh. “The animals went crazy; across the whole city you could hear the dogs howling.” Isaac happened to be in Central America, he’ll mention later, because Hurricane Andrew had ripped the roof off the family home in Miami, Florida, while he and his mother, uncle, siblings and cousins huddled inside under couches and cushions. So yes, within the spectrum of Oscar Isaac’s experiences, the Great American Eclipse is no biggie.

Yet there is another upcoming celestial event that will have a reasonably significant impact on Isaac’s life. On 15 December, Star Wars: The Last Jedi will be released in cinemas, which, if you bought a ticket to Star Wars: The Force Awakens — and helped it gross more than $2bn worldwide — you’ll know is a pretty big deal. You’ll also know that Isaac plays Poe Dameron, a hunky, wise-cracking X-wing fighter pilot for the Resistance who became one of the most popular characters of writer-director JJ Abram’s reboot of the franchise thanks to Isaac’s charismatic performance and deadpan delivery (see his “Who talks first?” exchange with Vader-lite baddie Kylo Ren: one of the film’s only comedic beats).

And if you did see Star Wars: The Force Awakens you’ll know that, due to some major father-son conflict, there’s now an opening for a loveable, rogueish, leather-jacket-wearing hero… “Heeeeeh!” says Isaac, Fonzie-style, when I say as much. “Well, there could be, but I think what [The Last Jedi director] Rian [Johnson] did was make it less about filling a slot and more about what the story needs. The fact is now that the Resistance has been whittled to just a handful of people, they’re running for their lives, and Leia is grooming me — him — to be a leader of the Resistance, as opposed to a dashing, rogue hero.”

While he says he has “not that much more, but a little more to do” in this film, he can at least be assured he survives it; he starts filming Episode IX early next year.

If Poe seems like one of the new Star Wars firmament now — alongside John Boyega’s Finn, Daisy Ridley’s Rey and Poe’s spherical robot sidekick BB-8 — it’s only because Isaac willed it. Abrams had originally planned to kill Poe off, but when he met Isaac to discuss him taking the part, Isaac expressed some reservations. “I said that I wasn’t sure because I had already done that role in other movies where you kind of set it up for the main people and then you die spectacularly,” he remembers. “What’s funny is that [producer] Kathleen Kennedy was in the room and she was like, ‘Yeah, you did that for us in Bourne!’” (Sure enough, in 2012’s Bourne Legacy, Jeremy Renner’s character, Aaron Cross, steps out of an Alaskan log cabin while Isaac’s character, Outcome Agent 3, stays inside; a few seconds later the cabin is obliterated by a missile fired from a passing drone.)

This ability to back himself — judiciously and, one can imagine after meeting him, with no small amount of steely charm — seems to have served Isaac well so far. It’s what also saw him through the casting process for his breakthrough role in Joel and Ethan Coen’s 2014 film Inside Llewyn Davis, about a struggling folk singer in Sixties New York, partly based on the memoir of nearly-was musician Dave Van Ronk. Isaac, an accomplished musician himself, got wind that the Coens were casting and pestered his agent and manager to send over a tape, eventually landing himself an audition.

“I knew it was based on Dave Van Ronk and I looked nothing like him,” says Isaac. “He was a 6ft 5in, 300lb Swede and I was coming in there like… ‘Oh man.’” But then he noticed that the casting execs had with them a picture of the singer-songwriter Ray LaMontagne. “Suddenly, I got some confidence because he’s small and dark so I said to the casting director, ‘Oh cool, is that a reference?’ And they were like, 'No, he just came in here and he killed it.’” Isaac throws his head back and laughs. “They literally said, 'He killed it.’ It was so good!”

In the end it was Isaac who killed it in Inside Llewyn Davis, with a performance that was funny, sad, cantankerous and moving. The film was nominated for two Oscars and three Golden Globes, one of them for Isaac in the category of: “Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture — comedy or musical” (he lost to Leonardo DiCaprio for The Wolf of Wall Street). No cigar that time, but in 2016 he won a Golden Globe for his turn as a doomed mayor in David Simon’s HBO drama, Show Me a Hero. This year, and with peculiar hillbilly affectation, Vanity Fair proclaimed Isaac “the best dang actor of his generation”. It is not much of a stretch to imagine that, some day very soon, Isaac may become the first Oscar since Hammerstein to win the award whose name he shares. Certainly, the stars seem ready to align.

Of course, life stories do not run as neatly as all that and Isaac’s could have gone quite differently. He was born Óscar Isaac Hernández Estrada in Guatemala City, to which his father, Óscar, now a pulmonologist, had moved from Washington DC in order to attend medical school (having escaped to the States from Cuba just before the revolution) and where he met Isaac’s mother, Eugenia. Five months after Isaac was born, the family — also including an older sister, Nicole, and later joined by a younger brother, Michael — moved to America in order for Óscar Senior to complete his residencies: first to Baltimore, then New Orleans, eventually settling in Miami when Isaac was six.

Miami didn’t sit entirely right with him. “The Latin culture is so strong which was really nice,” he says, “but you had to drive everywhere, and it’s also strangely quite conservative. Money is valued, and nice cars and clothes, and what you look like, and that can get sort of tedious.” Still it was there, aged 11, that he took to the stage for the first time. The Christian middle school he attended put on performances in which the kids would mime to songs telling loosely biblical stories, including one in which Jesus and the Devil take part in a boxing match in heaven (note the word “loosely”). For that one, Isaac played the Devil. In another, he played Jesus calling Lazarus from the grave. “So yeah,” he laughs, “I’ve got the full range!’

He enjoyed the mixture of the attention and the “extreme nature of putting yourself out there in front of a bunch of people”, plus it gave him some release from stresses at home: his parents were separating and his mother became ill. His school failed to see these as sufficiently mitigating factors for Isaac’s subsequent wayward behaviour and, following an incident with a fire extinguisher, he was expelled. “It wasn’t that bad. They wanted me out of there. I was very happy to go.”

Following his parents’ divorce, he moved with his mother to Palm Beach, Florida, where he enrolled at a public high school. “It was glorious, I loved it,” says Isaac. “I loved it so much. I could walk to the beach every day, and go to this wild school where I became friends with so many different kinds of people. I met these guys who lived in the trailer parks in Boynton Beach and started a band, and my mom and my little brother would come and spy on me to see if I was doing drugs or anything, and I never was.”

Never?

“No, because I didn’t drink till I was, like, 24. Even though I stopped being religious, I liked the individuality of being the guy who didn’t do that stuff. Maybe it was the observer part of me… I liked being a little bit detached, and I wasn’t interested in doing something that was going to make me lose control.”

When he was 14, Isaac and his band-mates played at a talent show. They chose to perform 'Rape Me’ by Nirvana. “I remember singing to the parents, 'Rape meeee!’” Isaac laughs so hard he gives a little snort. “Yeah,” he says, composing himself again, “we didn’t win.” But something stuck and Isaac ended up being in a series of ska-punk outfits, first Paperface, then The Worms and later The Blinking Underdogs who, legend has it, would go on to support Green Day. “Supported… Ha! It was a festival…” says Isaac. “But hey, we played the same day, at the same festival, within a few hours of each other.” (On YouTube you can find a clip from 2001 of The Blinking Underdogs performing in a battle of the bands contest at somewhere called Spanky’s. Isaac is wearing a 'New York City’ T-shirt and brandishing a wine-coloured Flying V electric guitar.)

Still, Isaac’s path was uncertain. At one point he thought about joining the Marines. “The sax player in my band had grown up in a military family so we were like, 'Hey, let’s work out and get all ripped and be badasses!’” he says. “I was like, 'Yeah, I’ll do combat photography!’ My dad was really against it. He said, 'Clinton’s just going to make up a war for you guys to go to,’ so I had to have the recruiters come all the way down to Miami where my dad was living and they convinced him to let me join. I did the exam, I took the oath, but then we had gotten the money together to record an album with The Worms. I decided I’d join the Reserves instead. I said I wanted to do combat photography. They said, 'We don’t do that in the Reserves, but we can give you anti-tank?’ Ha! I was like, 'it’s a liiiiiittle different to what I was thinking…’”

Even when he started doing a few professional theatre gigs in Miami he was still toying with the idea of a music career, until one day, while in New York playing a young Fidel Castro in an off-Broadway production of Rogelio Martinez’s play, When it’s Cocktail Time in Cuba, he happened to pass by renowned performing arts school Juilliard. On a whim, he asked for an audition. He was told the deadline had passed. He insisted. They gave him a form. He filled it in and brought it back the next day. They post-dated it. He got in. And the rest is history. Only it wasn’t.

“In the second year they would do cuts,” Isaac says. “If you don’t do better they kick you out. All the acting teachers wanted me on probation, because they didn’t think I was trying hard enough.” Not for the first or last time, he held his ground. “It was just to spur me to do better I think, but I definitely argued.”

He stayed for the full course at Juilliard, though it was a challenge, not only because he’d relaxed his own non-drinking rule but also because he was maintaining a long-distance relationship with a girlfriend back in Florida. “For me, the twenties were the more difficult part of life. Four years is just… masochistic. We were a particularly close group but still, it’s really intense.” (Among his fellow students at the time were the actress Jessica Chastain, with whom he starred in the 2014 mob drama A Most Violent Year, and Sam Gold, his director in Hamlet.) He says he broadly kept it together: “I was never a mess, I just had a lot of confusion.” He got himself an agent in the graduation scrum, and soon started picking up work: a Law & Order here, a Shakespeare in the Park there; even, in 2006, a biblical story to rival his early efforts, playing Joseph in The Nativity Story (the first film to hold its premiere at the Vatican, no less).

By the time he enrolled at Juilliard he had already dropped “Hernández” and started going by Oscar Isaac, his two first given names. And for good reason. “When I was in Miami, there were a couple of other Oscar Hernándezes I would see at auditions. All [casting directors] would see me for was 'the gangster’ or whatever, so I was like, 'Well, let me see if this helps.’ I remember there was a casting director down there because [Men in Black director] Barry Sonnenfeld was doing a movie; she said, 'Let’s bring in this Oscar Isaac,’ and he was like, 'No no no! I just want Cubans!’ I saw Barry Sonnenfeld a couple of years ago and I told him that story — 'I don’t want a Jew, I want a Cuban!’”

Perhaps it’s a sad indictment of the entertainment industry that a Latino actor can’t expect a fair run at parts without erasing some of the ethnic signifiers in his own name, but on a personal basis at least, Isaac’s diverse role roster speaks to the canniness of his decision. He has played an English king in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood(2010), a Russian security guard in Madonna’s Edward-and-Mrs-Simpson drama W.E. (2011), an Armenian medical student in Terry George’s The Promise (2017) and — yes, Barry — a small, dark American Jew channelling a large blond Swede.

But then, of course, there are roles he’s played where ethnicity was all but irrelevant and talent was everything. Carey Mulligan’s ex-con husband Standard in Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive in 2011 (another contender for his “spectacular deaths” series); mysterious technocrat Nathan Bateman in the beautifully poised sci-fi Ex Machina (2014) written and directed by Alex Garland (with whom he has also shot Annihilation — dashing between different sound stages at Pinewood while shooting The Last Jedi — which is due out next year). Or this month’s Suburbicon, a neat black comedy directed by George Clooney from an ancient Coen brothers script, in which Isaac cameos as a claims investigator looking into some dodgy paperwork filed by Julianne Moore and Matt Damon, and lights up every one of his brief scenes.

Isaac is a very modern kind of actor: one who shows range and versatility without being bland; who is handsome with his dark, intense eyes, heavy brows and thick curls, but not so freakishly handsome that it is distracting; who shows a casual disregard for the significance of celebrity and keeps his family, including his father, who remarried and had another son and daughter, close. It’s a testament to his skill that when he takes on a character, be it English royal or Greenwich Village pauper, it feels like — with the possible exception of Ray LaMontagne — it could never have been anyone else.

Today, though, he’s a Danish prince. To say that Isaac’s turn in Hamlet has caused a frenzy in New York would be something of an understatement. Certainly, it’s a sell-out. The Sunday before we meet, Al Pacino had been in. So scarce are tickets that Isaac’s own publicist says she’s unlikely to be able to get me one, and as soon as our interview is over I hightail it to the Public Theater to queue up to be put on the waiting list for returns for tonight’s performance. (I am seventh in line, and in my shameless desperation I tell the woman in front of me that I’ve flown over from London just to interview Isaac in the hope that she might let me jump the queue. She ponders it for a nanosecond, before another woman behind me starts talking about how her day job involves painting pictures of chimpanzees, and I lose the crowd.)

Clearly, Hamlet is occupying a great deal of Isaac’s available brain space right now, and not just the fact that he’s had to memorise approximately 1,500 lines. “Even tonight it’s different, what the play means to me,” he says. “It’s almost like a religious text, because it has the ambiguity of the Bible where you can look at one line and it can mean so many different things depending on how you meditate on it. Even when I have a night where I feel not particularly connected emotionally, it can still teach me. I’ll say a line and I’ll say, 'Ah, that’s good advice, Shakespeare, thank you.’”

Hamlet resonates with Isaac for reasons that he would never have foreseen or have wished for. While playing a young man mourning the untimely death of his father, Isaac was himself a young man mourning the untimely death of his mother, who died in February after an illness. Doing the play became a way to process his loss.

“It’s almost like this is the only framework where you can give expression to such intense emotions. Otherwise anywhere else is pretty inappropriate, unless you’re just in a room screaming to yourself,” he says. “This play is a beautiful morality tale about how to get through grief; to experience it every night for the last four months has definitely been cathartic but also educational; it has given structure to something that felt so overwhelming.”

In March, a month after Eugenia died, Isaac and Lind married, and then in April Eugene, named in remembrance of his late grandmother, was born. I ask Isaac about the shift in perspective that happens when you become a parent; whether he felt his own focus switch from being a son to being a father.

“It happened in a very dramatic way,” he says. “In a matter of three months my mother passed and my son was born, so that transition was very alive, to the point where I was telling my mom, 'I think you’re going to see him on the way out, tell him to listen to me as much as he can…’” He gives another laugh, but flat this time. “It was really tough because for me she was the only true example of unconditional love. It’s painful to know that that won’t exist for me anymore, other than me giving it to him. So now this isn’t happening” — he raises his arms towards the ceiling, gesturing a flow coming down towards him — “but now it goes this way” — he brings his arms down, making the same gesture, but flowing from him to the floor.

Does performing Hamlet, however pertinent its themes, ever feel like a way of refracting his own experiences, rather than feeling them in their rawest form?

“Yeah it is,” he says, “I’m sure when it’s over I don’t know how those things will live.” He pauses. “I’m a little bit… I don’t know if 'concerned’ is the right word, but as there’s only two weeks left of doing it, I’m curious to see what’s on the other end, when there’s no place to put it all.”

It’s a thoughtful, honest answer; one that doesn’t shy away from the emotional complexities of what he’s experiencing and is still to face, but admits to his own ignorance of what comes next. Because, although Isaac is clearly dedicated to his current lot, he has also suffered enough slings and arrows to know where self-determination has its limits.

What he does know is happening on the other end of Hamlet is “disconnection”, also known as a holiday, and he plans to travel with Lind to Maine where her documentary, Bobbi Jene, is screening at a film festival. Then he will fly to Buenos Aires for a couple of months filming Operation Finale, a drama about the 1960 Israeli capture of Adolf Eichmann which Isaac is producing and in which he also stars as Mossad agent Peter Malkin, with Eichmann played by Sir Ben Kingsley. At some point after that he will get sucked into the vortex of promotion for Star Wars: The Last Jedi, of which today’s interview is an early glimmer.

But before that, he will unlock the immaculate black bicycle that he had chained up outside the hotel and disappear back into Brooklyn. Later, he will take the subway to Manhattan an hour-and-a-half or so before curtain. To get himself ready, and if the mood takes him, he will listen to Venezuelan musician Arca’s self-titled album or Sufjan Stevens’ Carrie and Lowell, light a candle, and look at a picture of his mother that he keeps in his dressing room.

Then, just before seven o'clock, he will make his way to the stage where, for the next four hours, he will make the packed house believe he is thinking Hamlet’s thoughts for the very first time, and strut around in his underpants feigning madness, and — for reasons that make a lot more sense if you’re there which, thanks to a last-minute phone-call from the office of someone whose name I never did catch, I was — stab a lasagna. And then at the end of Act V, when Hamlet lies dead, and as lightning staggers across the night sky outside the theatre, finally bringing the promised drama to the Manhattan skyline, the audience, as one, will rise.

Fashion by Allan Kennedy. Star Wars: The Last Jedi is out on 15 December. The December issue of Esquire is out now.

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#oscar isaac #esquire uk #star wars #the last jedi #interview #david slijper #article

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mary-gs-travel · 7 years

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Two Days

How can I describe a months worth of time onboard the Africa Mercy in Douala, Cameroon? I am finding the task impossible, so today I set out to describe 2 days. Let’s start with this Monday.

A Messy, Magnificent, Manic Monday on the Mercy Ship

0630 Wake up to alarm. Climb out of top bunk as quietly as possible with a flashlight to avoid waking up my 3 roommates (If they’ve managed to sleep through my alarm). Brush teeth, wash face, and dress into my blue scrubs that I laid out on top of the mini-fridge the night before.

0645 Walk up 1 flight of stairs to stand in line in dining hall. Grab a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee. Sit in corner and keep head down. Eye contact invites the morning people to engage you in conversation; this must be avoided until the caffeine helps my brain realize that yes, I am, in fact, awake.

0700 Go down 2 flights of stairs to Deck 3. This is where work begins. I am assigned as Charge Nurse this dayshift, so as I step onto the ward I sign all the Day Crew in and out and make sure all our Nurses have arrived. I greet the few patients that are already awake. I lead the team in a quick prayer, and then we start handover report. I can feel the patient in Bed 10 poking my back through the curtain as we pray, and when I peak around the corner of the curtain I see her mischievous grin.

0715 Read the notes from the weekend’s Charge Nurses. Our woman in Bed 13 has been ill since Friday with various symptoms that don’t seem to make sense.

0730 Rounds (check on the patients) with the current surgeon onboard.

0735 I learn that 1 of our 2 bathrooms for the patients is not draining properly and has flooded. Page the Plumber.

0740 We’re out of a handful of medications. I scamper over to B-ward to pilfer some of what we need until Pharmacy comes by to restock our supply.

0745 Go up to Deck 6 for Monday Morning Meeting, where I take notes to relay information given back to the nurses who are on the wards and will miss the meeting. We learn about some places to go and not to go in town and about events that will be happening on the ship this week.

0830 Return to ward and do rounds (check on the patients) with Medical Doctor onboard. Be interrupted multiple times with questions and news that the second of our 2 toilets is no longer flushing. Send up a mental prayer that the plumber will arrive soon. Bed 4 has a hernia in addition to her childbirth injury. It causes her much discomfort, but our general surgeon is not yet onboard and the surgery schedule for hernias is already full. We can treat this patient’s women’s health issue, but not the hernia. I try to remind myself that treating something is better than nothing, but my insides feel rotten. If this women had proper access to healthcare, like I do in my home country, than she never would have suffered this childbirth injury in the first place.

0900 Check in with Nurse Team Leader and ask her all the questions that have arisen over the weekend and the past two hours. Hear the good news that 8 of our patients (5 who have already been discharged and 3 who are still onboard) will be in the Dress Ceremony today to celebrate their healing.

0930 Watch as a Nurse and Day Crew inform Bed 10 that she will be in the Dress Ceremony today. Enjoy the smiles.

1000 One of our Day Crew isn’t feeling well. At the Crew Clinic it was found she has a fever, so I sign her out to go home and rest.

1015 The toilets and vacuum system seem to be working again, thank you to the plumber. One of our Day Crew mopped up all the water and cleaned both bathrooms without anyone asking him to.

1030 Lab results are in, hand delivered by our Lab Crew. I page the Medical Doctor. Bed 13’s labs are not great, but not worse. Bed 10 has an infection, so after the dress ceremony she’ll need to stay a few more days for IV antibiotics. Two other patients have infections that will require antibiotics. One patient’s culture showed no infection, so she will get to be discharged tomorrow.

1100 Meet with Admissions, OR and Team Leaders to determine what beds the patients being admitted to the hospital this evening will be placed in. Today is a screening day for Women’s Health, and we don’t yet know who our admissions will be. Per suggestion of my Team Leader I have 3 beds set aside for admissions, but we won’t know until the last minute who those admissions will be.

1105 Meet with Ward Supervisor to discuss nurse staffing for the next 3 shifts. She leads us in a mini-devotional before we talk about how many nurses we have and how many we need to take care of our patients.

1130 Return to ward. Organize Nurse/Day Crew Lunch breaks. The Day Crew already had planned who would go first and who would go second.

1200 Another Day Crew feels unwell and complains of headache. I send her to the Crew Clinic and hope no one else is going to be sick today.

1230 Sit at desk and update patient information from the morning into the computer system while fielding questions from Nurses and Day Crew about various patient issues. Make assignments for which nurses will take care of which patients (including our still unknown admissions) on the next shift.

1250 I say goodbye to our patient being discharged. She is in her early twenties and came to us for a biopsy of a tumor. The results showed that the patient has advanced cancer that is beyond our abilities to treat. She is being sent back home with her husband. While onboard she and her husband received counseling with our Hospital Chaplaincy Team, and we’ve sent her with pain medication to manage her symptoms, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It is not enough. She deserves so much more than this.

1255 Go up to dining hall to grab lunch before it closes at 1300. Onion Soup and carrot sticks.

1320 Return to Ward. Check on Patients, Nurses and Daycrew. Find a saline syringe sitting on the Charge Nurse keyboard. Squirt saline water gun style at Nurse Ashley. Watch Bed 10 laugh.

1330 Find out that I was supposed to send half my Daycrew to a Malaria education session a half hour ago, but it’s too late now to send anyone.

1340 Bed 13 is vomiting.

1345 Find Malaria Education for Daycrew flyer underneath my stack of papers on the Charge Nurse desk… oh, that’s where that was. Try to input the last of the shift’s information into the computer before the next shift arrives.

1400 Shift change. I relay all the information from Monday Morning Meeting. Then we pray together before I give a handover report in the hallway (it’s too noisy in the ward) to the Charge Nurse taking my place.

1445 Return to the ward. All the patients except Bed 13 have been moved down the E-ward for the Dress Ceremony. I’m exhausted and am not sure if I really want to go sit for the Ceremony, but our Team Leader encourages me to go. “It’s the best part,” she says.

1500 I’m in E-Ward for the Dress Ceremony. 8 of our Ladies are walking into the ward singing songs of praise and worship. They are dressed in bright colors and look radiant. Our chaplaincy team has spent the morning setting up the ward and preparing the ladies. We celebrate with them and sing songs of worship. Each lady takes a turn to speak into the microphone and tell their story. They tell stories of loss turned to triumph. Each woman is presented with a gift. I get to present a gift to a patient that we all referred to as our Mama on the Ward. I have never given a gift before during a Dress Ceremony, and I am so honored that I was able to present Mama with hers.

1600 Picture time with the ladies in their Dress Ceremony outfits. We shared lots of hugs and laughter and joy. This is also the time where it starts to become bittersweet because soon I will have to say goodbye.

1620 I see a positive malaria test sitting on the counter in the Ward. So that’s why Bed 13 has been so ill.

1630 I fill in a few orders in charts that I hadn’t had time to do during the dayshift. I say goodbye to the patients in the ward and give hugs to the ladies headed off the ship.

1645 I walk up a flight of stairs, down the hallway, and into my cabin. Time to sit for a moment and process my day.

1730 Grabbed dinner from the dining hall. Dinner is a hamburger patty on bread with carrot sticks and a papaya. I took my meal to a conference room where a group of my friends and I watched Agent Carter (we are attempting to watch all the Marvel Movies and some TV shows in chronological order during this field service).

1900 Shower

1930 Play a round of Qwirkle with friends in the dining hall.

2100 Climb up into my bed and watch Game of Thrones on Movienight (our online video sharing system on the ship) until I fall asleep.

And then here is Today, Tuesday, a typical day off.

0930 Wake up to find 2 of my roommates had woken up and left while I slept. I lay in bed drowsing a little while longer because today I have no where to rush off to.

1000 My 3rd roommate has left and I have the cabin to myself. I turn on all the lights and use my electric kettle to boil some water to make coffee with my pour-over pot. I play some music without having to use headphones. I drink the Cameroonian coffee that I bought from the grocery store a few days ago. Sadly, it’s not very good. But I drink it slowly while I journal and relax on the couch in our room.

1200 I get dressed and venture out of my cabin to go look out a window. The sky is grey, cloud covered. I grab some lunch (Onion Soup, again, and a salad) from the dining hall and take it to the café. I eat lunch with friends and then spend the afternoon drinking more coffee and working on this record of my days. People filter through the area and I take many breaks from writing to chat.

1630 Nurse Ashley stops by my table to say hello. Promises revenge for yesterdays water-gun saline prank.

1715 Dinner is being served, but I’m not hungry. I grab a plate and wrap it up to save for later because dinner closes at 1830. I change into my Cameroon-appropriate exercise gear (got to keep those knees covered) and head out to the dock. I run some laps around our dock, which is lined with cargo containers and barbed wire that serves as our “Wall”.

1845 Watch the sunset from Deck 8. The clouds have broken up and every now and then you can see snatches of Mount Cameroon off in the distance.

1930 Shower followed by dinner. I get a FaceTime call from home and get to see my sister and my nieces.

2000 Back to my room to finish this.

So there you go. A typical day at work and a typical day off. I felt like these two days expressed the highs and lows of ship life and working in a volunteer hospital. The pros and cons of living in such a tight knit community. The joys and sorrows of the Women’s Health ward.

#mercyships #nurselife #africamercy

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onestowatch · 5 years

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Bonnaroo 2019: 10 Ones to Catch (Who Aren’t Childish Gambino or Post Malone)

In a matter of a few short days, the sounds of music and ecstatic festival-goers will fill the air of Great Stage Park in Manchester, Tennessee, as Bonnaroo delivers what is sure to be another year to remember. With performances from the likes of legendary jam band Phish, Cardi B, Childish Gambino, The Lonely Island, and so much more, we cannot wait to once again find ourselves confusing one stage name for the other.

With that being said, there is one fact you certainly should not be confused about and that is which up-and-coming artists you need to catch at Bonnaroo this year. For our full list of not-to-be-missed sets, check below and be sure to listen to our curated playlist to familiarize yourself with all ten of our ones to catch at Bonnaroo 2019.

Faye Webster

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When & Where: Sunday, 12:45pm at This Tent

There is no separating Faye Webster from her art. “I have to write about very personal things for me to even to want to write,” the 21-year-old Atlanta, Georgia, native confesses when speaking on her now critically-acclaimed album Atlanta Millionaires Club. It is a praiseworthy album for many reasons and one you certainly need to hear live. From existing as a mesmerizing blend of alternative country and R&B to painting a deeply personal account of Webster as an artist and human with its storytelling-like approach to songwriting, this Atlanta native is irrefutably one to watch in the future and one to catch at Bonnaroo.

Jack Harlow

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When & Where: Thursday, 5:45pm at This Tent

Louisville, Kentucky, hip-hop artist Jack Harlow feels poised for rap stardom. With a wholly infectious Southern drawl that builds the foundation for his laidback flow, there is an effortless warmth to Harlow’s distinctive hip-hop stylings. It is a unique gift and flair the Louisville rapper flexes time and time again in his major label debut mixtape Loose, and whether he uses that gift to reference his New Balances or reference the Frankie Muniz–led move Agent Cody Banks, Harlow never fails to deliver an indispensable vibe.

bülow

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When & Where: Thursday, 9:30 at Who Stage

You need to look no further than bülow for tomorrow’s pop star. First coming to prominence with her 2017 breakout single “Not A Love Song,” the Germany-born artist burst onto the scene as a fresh and innovative voice in the realm of lovelorn and lovesick pop anthems. And in the span of less than two years since making her impeccable debut, bülow has racked up plays totaling over a hundred million and currently finds herself on tour with fellow pop phenom Lauv. As if that was not enough, she also dropped one of the best projects of 2019.

liily

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When & Where: Saturday, 8:30pm at Who Stage

liily is on the cusp of a DIY rock revolution. The project of four Los Angeles teenagers, liily is providing a safe space for fans of rock, new and old alike, to lose themselves in an ensuing mosh pit and a deluge of exhilarating electric guitars. There is crazed frenetic energy that bleeds forth from liily’s nostalgic yet inventive sonic meditations, which can be heard both in their debut EP, I Can Fool Anybody in This Town, and their heart-racing live show. Do yourself a favor and do not miss the beginning of this revolution.

Delacey

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Delacey may have only one single to her name but her promise is limitless. The 26-year-old California native grew up listening to her father’s record collection, finding inspiration in the likes of Billie Holiday and Stevie Nicks. Today, Delacey stands as a timeless voice in the realm of blues-minded pop, delivering a smoke-room filled vibe and arresting voice in the vein of Amy Winehouse. This is the first chapter of a voice poised to go down in history, and Bonnaroo will mark one of the first of many festival stages to come for this star to be.

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

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When & Where: Sunday, 5:15pm at Who Stage

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME, popularly shortened to iDKHOW, is keeping the dream of scene kids alive everywhere. Blending macabre, tongue-in-cheek lyrics with euphoric bouts of electrifying pop-rock, the Salt Lake City duo is making a stir in the alternative music scene and beyond. With only a single EP to their name, 2018’s 1981 Extended Play, Bonnaroo will give us what we and fans have been clamoring for for far too long–the chance to hear new music from iDKHOW.

Peach Pit

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When & Where: Thursday, 3:30pm at That Tent

If the crawl of summer had a sound, we imagine it would sound a little something like Peach Pit. The Vancouver-based indie rock outfit combines the lackadaisical vibe of endless summer days with a healthy helping of teenage angst for fair measure. It is the sort of everlasting music that instantly transports you to lazily enjoying your suburban youth, whether you may have actually lived such an experience or not. Trust us when we say that you will not want to miss out on this vibe quite like no other.

Hobo Johnson & The Lovemakers

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When & Where: Sunday, 3:30pm at Which Stage

Like the doting parents we are, it brings us nothing but joy to watch Hobo Johnson & The Lovemakers go from absolutely crushing it on their Ones To Watch–presented tour to preparing for what is sure to be a not-to-be-miss set at one of the biggest music festivals in America. With a foot in both the world of frenetic spoken word hip-hop and alternative rock, a Hobo Johnson & The Lovemakers’ show is bound to be quite like anything else you will see all weekend. So, grab a peach scone and a friend, and check out the astounding world of Hobo Johnson & The Lovemakers.

Mk.Gee

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When & Where: Thursday, 7:45 at Who Stage

Mk.Gee may just be the only artist on this list who can claim a Frank Ocean cosign, and upon a single listen to any track from either of his funk-driven projects, it is clear as day as to why. The dreamy project of Michael Gordon, Mk.Gee makes dance music for the soul. Calling to mind the groove-inducing, dance floor meditations of Toro y Moi, Mk.Gee weaves together elements of jazz, funk, electronica, R&B, and pop with an unprecedented creative flourish, bringing to life a sound that is entirely his own.

Clairo

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When & Where: Saturday, 12:20am at This Tent

In many ways, Clairo is what a pop star looks like in 2019. From first breaking onto the scene with the self-released and produced lo-fi bedroom number “Pretty Girl” to then playing festivals across the world, witnessing the monumental growth of the bedroom pop artist has been anything but a bore. And with the release of her latest single, “Bags,” Clairo is ushering in the next chapter of her life. Currently working towards her long-awaited debut album Immunity, Bonnaroo will be one of the first places to hear some of it live.

#bonnaroo #bonnaroo 2019 #ones to catch #faye webster #bulow #liily #jack harlow #delacey #clairo #hobo johnson #mk.gee #peach pit #idkhow #i dont know how but they found me

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