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hansoulchews · 2 years

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Enchanted (6/11 of Exile) |Vernon Chwe x Reader

Pairing: Vernon Chwe x gn! reader / past Park Seo Joon x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

Sypnosis: Famous singer-songwriter, y/n, quietly released an album 2 years after ghosting the music scene suddenly. After their infamous scandal in which y/n was videoed to be in an altercation with established actor, Park Seo Joon at a restaurant, y/n ceased all their music activities and went into hiding, refusing to comment further on the issue. Lucky for all you conspiracy theorists! It seems as though all the questions left unanswered in 2019 are finally addressed (or so we think!) in this unexpected album drop.

A/N: Ahhhh we finally got to Vernon 😭😭 It feels like forever but here we are!!! I hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I did writing it hehe

Series Masterlist | Next

Enchanted is a song that describes the infatuation after meeting someone for the first time, wondering if the feeling is reciprocated. This song parallels White Horse, in which the fairytale imagery is very prominent, only contrasting between infatuation and heartache. This song acts as a turning point in the heartbreak anthems we have been listening to. We are curious to know if this song is about a new person in y/n’s life. Due to the bridge trending on TikTok on the first day of the release, the song has peaked the Melon Charts, ranking #2, just below ‘All Too Well’ (10 minutes version). Funnily, y/n has said that the bridge of this song was their favourite as it represented the authenticity of their stream of consciousness when penning down the sound. Click here for the premiere of y/n’s live commentary of the album during the listening party.

October 2019

You smoothed out the creases in your outfit, ensuring that everything was in place before you head out for the party. Yes, party.

Joshua had organized a get-together with the members as well as some of the idol groups for a Halloween party. Initially, you vehemently rejected his invitation, unsure if you’re ready to show your face to your colleagues and peers of the same industry. Joshua then assured you that you don’t have to come if you don’t want to but that if you wanted to go, it was a safe space and that everyone who is attending has to sign an NDA.

After deliberating (and honestly, the FOMO feeling as you see Minghao and Hoshi buying their costumes and props), you changed your mind and decided to go to the party. When Joshua heard that, he immediately pulled out his phone and coincidentally had a costume online site tab opened. That was how you spent the rest of your Sunday, 3 weeks before the party.

Seungkwan was the co-organizer of the party. And as the residential Virgo moon party planner, of course he had a list for everything. Especially a guest list. To help you mentally prepare yourself for the party, Seungkwan, who you never had the chance to meet before, emailed you the guest list. You were relieved to see that all the guests invited were musicians and not actors.

Seungkwan and Joshua went big with this party, renting out a ballroom at a fancy hotel with a private entrance to ensure privacy of the idols attending. The ballroom was not so big, allowing more casual and intimate exchanges and conversations. The DJ played instrumentals of familiar tracks, sometimes even of the idols who are present.

You were extremely nervous.

You just hoped that the topic of Seo Joon wouldn't arise at this party.

The plan to make you feel comfortable at this party was to have one of the guys to hang back with you. Woozi volunteered himself, of course, not really foreseeing himself socializing and moving around a lot at the party.

You decided to come as Ramona Flowers. You were lowkey scared the wig was gonna slide off at any given time because it was one of those party wigs that you just have to put on and use the small combs in the inner side for security. Woozi got you a classic drink he knew you would like, cranberry vodka, while he chose wheat beer, not wanting to get tipsy as he was still heading back to the studio later in the night to work on an incomplete song.

However, Woozi’s plan to sit and chill with you changed when Yoongi approached him and whisked him away, interested in his current projects and just wanting to catch up with him. You sighed, not really blaming Woozi. It was not his obligation to babysit a whole grown ass adult at a fun party.

You took the chance to look around. There were idols you recognized but were not really familiar with as you were a soloist and your schedule is less packed than theirs, not really giving you the opportunity to socialize with them. You felt a few tentative looks too. It was expected. An artist that had an unclarified scandal and who completely ghosted the industry is in their presence. You decided to take that as a chance to step out of the ballroom to take a breath of fresh air near the foyer. You sat down at the garden bench nearby.

“Have you seen this girl?” You turned around. It was Vernon dressed as Victor from Corpse Bride, holding a piece of tissue paper with the messy sketch that Scott Pilgrim did of Ramona in the house party scene. You let out an unexpected giggle.

“I didn’t think anyone would even make a reference about me to me.”

“Eh, gotta give you credit for nailing the look down to the T.” He shrugged.

You touched your chest, feigning flattery. Vernon let out a small chuckle.

You could hear the slight hum and vibration from the liveliness of the party. Other than that, you shared silence with Vernon.

“You alright? I saw Woozi Hyung going with Yoongi to his studio.”

Vernon and you had a weird… friendship? You weren’t really friends but because you have been hanging out even more (and now as late as you can) at Woozi’s studio where Vernon has been dropping by to submit lyrics or to just chill at, you have become quite familiar with him. There were never opportunities for the both of you to spend time alone together. Now, it feels a bit awkward but anticipatory.

“I’m okay. Just… There's too much going on in there and I don’t know if I can fit in.” You said softly, a bit shy that you were pouring out your honest thoughts towards this guy you barely knew.

“I understand. It can be too much.” Vernon mumbled. He kept quiet afterwards. Awkward silence seems to be a common thing between you and Vernon. It made you feel a bit uneasy but it definitely piqued your interest, to know what kind of person he is, what he is really thinking about (and at times, what he thinks of you…).

“But I admire you… it takes a lot of courage to show up when there are people who have concluded their perceptions of you as fact.” There was a faint blush creeping up his ears but it was so dark outside that you couldn’t catch it.

You bit down a shy smile. “Thank you…” You trailed off, debating whether you should say the next thing you were thinking about. But the silence continued to drone on, making you slightly antsy. Fuck it.

“What about you? Have you concluded your perception of me?”

Vernon looked at you with a contemplative look in his eyes. His intense stare (and his handsome face) made you look away from him, unable to stand his strong gaze.

He hummed for a bit. “I don’t know you enough to conclude any perceptions.”

You nod your head, understanding his answer.

Vernon’s mind was churning. He didn’t know if he should say this but it has been at the back of his head for a while now.

“But, I do want to know you more… you know… to make my conclusion.” He scratched the back of his head and it made you laugh a bit. You felt better that he was feeling and acting as awkward as you.

“We have plenty of opportunities…” You said with a small voice, not sure if he was serious about knowing you more.

“Yeah, I see you a lot nowadays. Maybe we can hang out at Woozi Hyung’s studio more comfortably now.” He bit down on his lips, feeling a bit nervous. He could feel that this moment would alter and shift where he stands with you, from somewhat strangers/acquaintances to possible friends. As he witnesses your friendships with his other members bloom, he feels curious to know if you will grow to be as comfortable with him.

Vernon had always admired you as an artist. Your writing style and how the storytelling flow is formatted in your songs inspires him in his own lyric writing process. Of course, he is too shy to tell you this.

Joshua knows of his little celebrity crush on you and was the one who urged Vernon to approach you to check up on you when he saw you exiting the ballroom. Vernon completely got your costume when you stepped in the party and was thinking of… smooth ways to approach you. He quickly took one of the napkins and asked one of the managers for a pen, knowing that he always has one on him all the time. He knew Scott Pilgrim vs The World by heart, including all references, so he decided to quickly scribble the drawing Scott did of Ramona as he went around to ask if anyone knew her.

“Yeah, I would love to hang out with you. Either at Woozi’s studio or…” Liquid courage really helped you to be this brave to propose an outing (not a date, not a date) with a man as attractive as Vernon.

“Or?” Vernon raised his eyebrow.

“Or.” You laughed as you said that, slowly stepping back, ready to join back the party. Vernon pursed his lips and nodded, trying to appear cool.

“Let’s head back inside. It’s getting cold.” Vernon changed the subject, allowing the promise of possibilities to hang between you both in a lighthearted way.

Once you reentered the party, Vernon led you to the rest of the members who have now settled themselves at one section of the ballroom, snacks and alcohol completely covering the low table.

You spent the rest of the night in a comfortable and enjoyable exchange with the rest of the members. Oftentimes, you catch Vernon looking at you, making you a bit flustered and shy. When he catches your gaze, he’d give a warm smile and there was a nice feeling blooming in your chest.

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years

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lights will guide you home

read on ao3

Jake never thought he’d be the kind of person that felt a particularly strong bond to his home. He never saw himself loving his home, or longing to return there in the evenings, and he’d made peace with it.

He had grown up with home meaning loneliness - an empty apartment with various paint supplies and action figures arbitrarily scattered over free surfaces, sometimes loosely grouped after a half-hearted attempt at tidying up. If his dad was home, being home had too often meant slamming doors and raised voices, fighting echoing through walls and stripping away what bits of safety Jake associated with his living quarters.

He had resorted to other places for a feeling of home - to his Nana’s apartment and Gina’s house, to any other place where a safer, better home had been created for him to borrow when he needed one. He’d seen the charm of a home in the snack-filled fridge and softly playing music of his Nana’s apartment, in the sparkling decorations covering near every inch of Gina’s room. He’d felt comfortable there, felt happy, but he still hadn't thought of it as his home - only the closest thing he had. A bonus to the home he rarely enjoyed spending time in.

His college room hadn't been much of a home either. It had been a place to stay, dump his school books and store his alcohol and learn how to sleep with the noise of his roommate Kyle’s sonorous snoring filling the room. He tolerated it, felt a certain kind of pride and self-fulfillment when he put up a cherished Die Hard-poster over his bunk, but he hadn’t thought of it as home. Ending the day there had been a necessary ordeal rather than a goal to look forward to.

He spent the odd weekend and breaks at his childhood home. In a way, it was easier to stay there now, where even one home-cooked meal was an improvement to his abysmal college eating habits and even a night of playing charades and watching TV soaps with his mom was better than a ten-minute phone call, but for every time he returned there, it felt less like a current home and more like a past one.

The first place that truly became his own was Nana’s apartment, given to him as a gracious rent-controlled gift after she passed away. He’d filled the space with massage chairs and mix boards and Dorito bags, put up Die Hard-posters wherever there was free wall space to be found and created something which closely resembled a John McClane shrine in the bedroom. As far as living places go, Jake was convinced this was the best one of his life thus far. There was no one to complain about the mess or insist he’d get rid of the life-size Bruce Willis cardboard figure, no other person telling him to go to bed or snoring like a chainsaw or stumbling in drunk in the middle of the night. It was his home and his rules - whoever else spent time there only did so because he wanted them to. In comparison to anything he’d had before, it was heaven. He supposed it had to count as a home.

After graduating from the academy, Jake quickly discovered a thing about the reality of police work which hadn’t quite dawned on him during his many years fantasizing about it - it was time-consuming. Slowly but surely as the late nights and early mornings piled up, more and more of his smaller belongings made their way from his apartment to his desk, his changing room locker, his car. He saw less and less of his mom and non-work friends, more and more of his colleagues. With the hours spent at work increasing, the ones spent in his apartment decreased in a rapid decline, and soon briefing rooms, worn-out desk chairs with at least one broken rolly wheel and snack machines felt more like home than his apartment ever did.

The day he got promoted to Detective was the proudest and most nerve-wracking moment of his career. Proudest because he’d achieved one of his life’s goals, most nerve-wracking because it meant leaving his desk and his work partner Steve and every ounce of familiarity Jake had found at the 78th precinct. He was going to the 9-9 now, closer to his apartment but unknown to him otherwise, and he was queasy with nerves when he first exited through the fourth floor’s elevator doors.

He hadn't known it then, but there had been no reason for him to be nervous. A short-grown, overly enthusiastic man introduced himself to him after a mere two minutes, and from that moment onwards, Jake Peralta had a new best friend in Charles Boyle. He worked his first case together with Rosa Diaz, his classmate from the Police Academy, and found himself getting along well with both the precinct’s Captain and Sergeant of the Detective Squad. He learned how to handle the temperamental microwave, how to avoid the men's bathroom right after detectives Hitchcock and Scully had been in there, and found an old toy police car in his room to place on his already messy desk. He ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the break room, showered in the precinct’s facilities, and learned how to deal with the stank of the break room couch enough for occasional catnaps.

He barely noticed it happening himself, but when he went for a simple dinner at his mother's house and told her all about his new workplace, Karen had smiled and said: “Well, doesn't it look like you found your home?”.

Jake accepted that he had. After all, home was where your heart was, and his heart was firmly lodged somewhere in the cracks of the walls at the Nine-Nine.

When his poor financial skills forced him to exchange his Nana’s spacious flat for Gina's cramped starter apartment, he’d wondered for a while whether he would come to miss it. It had been his first own place, after all, but it hadn't ever felt like his home - more like a place he was borrowing for the time being. It was always someone else's place, lent to him but never truly his. Jake moved the belongings he kept to his new, smaller Cobbleditch flat, and in a few days, his living place was characteristically messy again. It still didn't feel much like a home or anything he looked forward to coming home to in the evenings, but he didn't mind. He had the Nine-Nine anyway.

The number of hours he spent in his apartment decreased further when he started dating Amy Santiago. Her apartment was bigger, cleaner and her shower had infinitely better water pressure than his own; it was heaven in comparison, however hesitant he was to admit it. He could see why Gina liked to make fun of Amy's taste in interior design, but Jake found it homely and comforting. It almost reminded him of what his Nana's apartment had looked like before he moved in, only better because it had Amy.

He never truly noticed the shift, but as the days and weeks turned into months, he found himself longing for the moment work was over in a way he had rarely experienced before. As much as Jake loved his job, he now lived with the knowledge that something - someone - waited for him when his shift was over. Evenings spent on a couch in front of Property Brothers with Amy there, her head leaned against his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his torso while laughing at his commentary of the program was a million times better than the evenings Jake spent alone. Evenings with her were something he wanted to come home to.

It was becoming clear to him before, more so for every night he fell asleep listening to the sound of his girlfriend’s breathing and woke up to the noise of her moving around in the bedroom, but it turned a salient, unquestionable fact to him during the time he spent in Witsec in Florida - he’d begun to see Amy’s apartment as more than a temporary place to stay. Florida was humid and foreign and wrong, Larry’s house was nothing like the comforting aura of his own or Amy’s apartment or even the Nine-Nine, he was in the wrong place and he wanted to go home. Seconds before the phone call, he’d been talking to Amy about taking the serious adult relationship step of moving in together and here he was miles and miles away from her, no clue of how she was doing or when they would next see each other. Jake had been further away from Brooklyn in terms of distance before, but he’d never felt further away from his home.

He came home from Florida with an injured leg, frosted tips, a head woozy from pain medication and a heart full of gratefulness about the fact that he had a place to call his home. Between the Nine-Nine, his own apartment and Amy’s place, Jake wasn’t certain where it was, but he knew for sure they were all paradises in comparison to the hellscape of Coral Palms. He fell asleep in Amy’s bed the first night back, being held close by the pair of arms he associated most with safety and love, and he woke up to soft kisses pressed to his cheeks, neck, nose - wherever she could reach. Reaching for her face so he could do the same without having to get up and put weight on his leg, he’d grinned wider than ever as he’d opened his eyes to her beaming smile. He’d known it then - this was coming home.

He moved in with her shortly before Christmas, rushing it once the decision was made. Jake had been reluctant to give up his apartment; the prospect of having it taken away made him think of it much more as a home and something he wanted to keep, but he'd eventually realized a substantial part of the reluctance was pure competitiveness. He’d understood it after he let her win; what items he truly associated with his home, like Die Hard merch and sneakers and his favorite cozy blanket with arms - a beloved Christmas gift from Charles - was stuff he could bring with him to Amy's place. He was sure they would even be able to find a place for the basketball hoop somewhere. What mattered was that he was moving in together with his girlfriend of one and a half years, earning himself more grown-up points than ever before while making a happier life for himself.

It was a weird change at first. They already spent most of their time together split between work and two apartments, but this was something else and something yet more intense. Amy was always around, and he loved it but felt unsure of how to handle it when she complained about his sneakers or tendency to forget taking out the trash. Likewise, he learned that Amy at least once a week tried cooking something that left their kitchen filled with a new abominable stench, and that she had a habit of moving his things away when he was just getting around to looking at them.

It took adjusting. It took a long, messy and wonderful month of adjusting for them both, but eventually, they had settled into a routine that suited them both. Amy learned to ask before she moved something of his, Jake let Amy write a post-it note about the trash to stick to the inside of the cupboard, and they made a deal about how often and under which conditions Amy could try her wings in the kitchen. It wasn't long before it felt so natural Jake wondered if this was the home he’d searched for all of his life; not just Amy, but also the space they shared. The one thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to stay forever. If he’d felt this way about the Nine-Nine, it was multiplied tenfold now.

The distance from home wasn’t the worst thing about prison, but out of the hundred-or-so things Jake could come up with, it was at least in the top five. He missed Amy, missed his work and his friends, he missed meals that didn’t taste like blended cat food and he missed home. It would hit him when he lay awake long after the sound of Caleb’s snoring began, the realization slamming over him like a militant wave, and he would force himself to stay silent but a few tears would slip out anyway.

He missed getting up in the mornings and finding his clothes quickly with the help of the organization system Amy had arranged in his closet. He missed making coffee for two and pouring them in matching mugs. He missed eating breakfast in tranquil silence, her reading a newspaper while he looked at his phone, both of them looking up at odd moments for a shared smile. He missed going to work together and he missed coming home at the end of the day.

Coming home soon became one of Jake’s most common daydream topics in prison. Not just getting out, but coming home, walking through the doorway and breathing in that particular home-smell he only sensed when he had been gone for a while. He never understood the charm of it when he was younger, never found enough sense of comfort in a place to desperately long for it, but in the murky darkness of his cell at 02.30 a.m., it was crystal clear. He wanted to go home. Not just to the Nine-Nine, but home home.

When the day finally arrived, it was nothing like his dream scenarios of golden limousines and tons of reporters asking him and Rosa questions, but perfect simply because Amy picked him up. A car ride, flight, and car ride later, they were standing outside the well-known red door.

“Are you happy to be home?” She had asked, and he’d looked right at her to confirm that he had never been more exalted in his life.

Prison did bring him a new level of appreciation for his home. Small details which had bothered him earlier, such as the volume of his girlfriend’s 6 a.m. alarm and their upstairs neighbor’s tendency to do workouts with lots of jumping late at night, were now things he cherished all because they were part of his home. After living most of his years questioning whether he’d ever find a home aside from his workplace, Jake promised himself after prison to be grateful for every day he spent in the Brooklyn apartment. Twice in his life now he’d been forcefully separated from it, and twice he’d been allowed to return. He would never take it for granted.

Instead, he was thankful for every day he got to come home and drape his jacket over a chair, try to prepare something edible for dinner or a snack depending on the time of day, and make himself comfortable on the couch. Most often with Amy, sometimes alone - the perfect chance to watch Die Hard without her complaints - and every now and then with Charles, who claimed Jake’s television was much better for Disney movies. He longed during slow or tiring days at work for a day off to sleep in, wake up next to Amy, convince her to stay in their bed with him a little longer. He was grateful for every family game night with the Nine-Nine even though it always ended with something breaking, every slow day off where he didn’t feel the need to leave the house, every occasion his and Amy’s combined efforts in the kitchen produced a decent meal.

He’d lost it all before, couldn’t know for sure he wouldn’t lose it all again, but until that day came - if it did - he would spend every day appreciative this was his home.

It was a home shared by two people, and then one day, they started preparing for it to be shared by three. A rainy November evening, Jake carried his sleeping daughter in the car seat over the doorstep, and from that moment onwards, it was her home, too.

He would make sure that she never associated her home with slamming doors and raised voices, but always associated it with safety and love. He’d promised this to himself before she was born, but repeated it to her the first time she fell asleep on him on the couch.

The Peralta-Santiago apartment adjusted okay to a third inhabitant, but began to feel just a little too crowded once the number was raised to four. They searched for months led by Amy and a thick house hunting binder, but eventually, they found the perfect object to buy.

Despite already being a married father of two when it happened, Jake had never felt quite as grown up as he did when they signed the papers for their new place. A two-story, four-bedroom house with a newly renovated kitchen and small garden in a child-friendly area was theirs, and they high-fived afterward, laughing together in disbelief.

Packing together with a four-year-old and an eleven-month-old proved a near-impossible challenge. Their oldest daughter could be some help if she was in the right mood or motivated by the promise of ice cream, but their youngest found the prospect of using the boxes to stand and then emptying out whatever items were in there one by one to be funnier than anything else. Packing became something they had to do late at night or with someone babysitting, making it that much more difficult to find the time. Jake thought it was practically a miracle they even got done before the new owners moved in.

He stood in the doorway for a minute extra before they left on moving day, holding his youngest daughter and thinking that she was the only one of them who would never come to remember this place.

This apartment had been the first place aside from the Nine-Nine where he’d found a home he was safe in, a home he loved and wanted to come home to at the end of the day. He never thought he’d find one, but he had, and it had changed his entire world for the better.

He was going to make a new home now - together with Amy and together with their daughters. Despite the pressure, he’d never been more excited.

A small hand, tugging at his shirt from behind, brought him back to reality.

“Dad”, Leah told him with a decisive glare. “Come on, we have to go.”

He’d smiled, taking one of her hands in his. “Do you think you’ll miss this place, Lee?”

The four-year-old had simply shrugged at that, not stopping for a moment of reflection. “No. You said we were getting a trampoline when we move and mom said I could maybe get a Moana wall. Let's go!”

She’d pulled at his arm and Jake had no choice but to follow, leaving their old home behind without a last glance.

Home is where your heart is.

They were getting a trampoline for the new place, after all.

#hope you enjoyed this guys #back after a chaotic chaotic month #my writing #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #b99 #brooklyn nine-nine #jake peralta

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reflektormag · 6 years

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Three Point Perspective: Arctic Monkeys Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

Freda Looker

The long-awaited Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino graced us with its epic release last Friday. Without a single released prior to the Monkey’s first San Diego show at The Observatory North Park since AM’s 2013 release, fans were left with the question of what the new era would sound like. With Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino finally being released, there are several themes that are spread throughout the tracks such as the importance of cell phones in modern society, and the effects of fame. ‘Star Treatment’ kicks off the album with Alex reflecting on his past times before the fame. Followed by ‘One Point Perspective’, a much darker track which seems to involve questioning fame once again and how it affects the band. Both ‘American Sports’ and ‘The Ultracheese’ from the very first second consist of Johnny Cash and Bowie’s spacey vibes. There’s no surprise that the band decided to incorporate a tad of Bowie in their new album after The Last Shadow Puppets decided to cover Bowie’s ‘Moonage Daydream’ during their Everything You’ve Come To Expect tour. The title track and ‘Science Fiction’ are lyrically the most creative listens. With lines such as, “Jesus in the day spa, filling out the information form’, and “Reflections in the silver screen of strange societies, swamp monster with a hard-on for connectivity”, reminding me of how much more lyrically impressive Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino is compared to AM. The transition specifically between ‘Golden Trunks’ and what seems to be most fan’s favoured track ‘Four Out of Five’ is a definite pick me up from ‘Golden Trunks’ dark political lines, “Bendable figures with a fresh new pack of lies” and a person’s blind devotion ‘“When true love takes a grip, it leaves you without a choice”. When the album’s titles were released ‘The World's First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip’ intrigued most. Assuming that there will be a heavy guitar riff or a similar AM ‘R U Mine?’ sound from the ‘roughness’ of the title was the complete opposite. What ‘The World's First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip’ brings is the most Suck It and See throwback feelings. The chorus throughout ‘She Looks Like Fun’ being the most intriguing with Alex referring to modern society scrolling through their Instagram feeds, “Good morning/Cheeseburger/Snowboarding”. ‘Batphone’ continues this theme of technology and how individuals aren’t living in ‘the reality’. Overall, it seems that opinions have been split from fans of AM’s 2013 era, but I personally am completely lyrically blown away from Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino’s entirety. It’s almost like a continuation of Everything You’ve Come To Expect with similar sounds of ‘The Bourne Identity’ and ‘Aviation’, but minus Miles. With new the additions of the piano, and synthesizers I believe that they have enhanced the new direction that the Monkey’s have stepped toward and I already can’t wait for what they’ll decide to make next.

Leila Ricca

Four out of five stars on Arctic Monkeys’ comeback ‘Tranquillity Base Hotel and Casino’

After five years of silence, the Arctic Monkeys make their much-awaited return with surprising and hypnotic ‘Tranquillity Base Hotel and Casino’. Perfectly managing to avoid self-parody or stylistic repetitions, this new album appears as a startling reinvention, a meandering and puzzling journey beyond known territories. Just like mankind first set foot on the moon on the ‘Tranquillity base’ site, the Arctic Monkeys disembark in an unknown universe in which they reveal a new, unexpected aspect of themselves.

It would be difficult to distinguish a single in this album: unlike 2013 structured indie rock success ‘AM’, ‘Tranquillity Base Hotel and Casino’ appears as a puzzle, a tangled enigma with no apparent solution, the value of which precisely resides in this sophisticated lack of clarity. As the album opens with the bewitching track ‘Star Treatment’, one is confounded in disorientation, before eventually letting the album settle a logic of its own. Some songs appear nearly unconstructed, yet simultaneously refined and complex, echoing the way in which the lyrics present a dense yet also elliptic unique form of prose, like a stream of consciousness, melodically unfolding itself. Turner’s deep and captivating voice strongly reminds of Gainsbourg’s early 70s half-spoken verses, sometimes erudite and poetic, sometimes full of derision, such as on the opening line of the album: ‘I just wanted to be one of the Strokes’. A sense of irony, or at least of strong self-awareness emerges throughout the tracks of the album, reflecting a conscious decision to move away from an older musical style that it would make no sense to replicate, in order to engage in a necessary and well-executed new path.

‘Tranquillity Base Hotel & Casino’ however seems to reflect Turner’s personal evolution more than it presents a real fruition of the Arctic Monkeys as a band, and the instrumentals, although displaying intense and elegant arrangements, create a harmonious echo to the vocals rather than they truly establish the band’s presence. The addition of the piano accompanying Turner’s reflective vocals partially replaces Helder’s vibrant drums that helped define the band’s early albums and marks a notable shift, both asserting a form of musical maturity, and avowing the forfeiture of a constitutive element of the band’s sound. ‘Tranquillity base hotel & casino’ seems to retain a sense of continuity with Turner’s side project The Last Shadow Puppets, and particularly of their 2016 album ‘Everything You’ve Come to Expect’, although it appears to be more intricate and subtle in many of its aspects. Final song ‘Ultracheese’ captures the best this album has to offer, presenting a rich and magnetic journey in this captivating new universe.

Despite its obviously divisive aspects, this album undeniably presents an extremely successfully crafted creation, a melodic and truly bewitching masterpiece. ‘Tranquillity Base Hotel & Casino’ reflects the Arctic Monkeys’ ability to transcend genres and provide their audience with impressive yet always effective transformations.

Sarah Beckford

The year is 2018 and the Arctic Monkeys have returned. To celebrate their return, they’ve given us their sixth record, Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino. And yes, though it’s 2018, this album feels like it belongs right in between vinyl copies of the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds and David Bowie record. With this record, one has to remember this album isn’t the sequel to AM, nor it should it be viewed as its heir. This is a record that’s beyond its years that also dwells in the time before it, and it’s more conceptual than full story sometimes- nonetheless it’s still a record.

The album starts with ‘Star Treatment,’ a glittering Bowie-esque opening that’s chock full of jazz tones, vocal effects, and piano. Here, Alex Turner plays the reflective celebrity, singing in whispery echoed tones about how he wishes he was one of the Strokes, or just someone unforgettable. Peppered with pop culture references and metaphor, ‘Star Treatment’ is sultry and mysterious, as if Turner’s singing in dim light surrounded by fog and old-school movie lights.

After ‘Star Treatment’ is ‘One Point Perspective,’ has an opening much like the opening piano notes of Panic! At the Disco’s ‘Nine in the Afternoon,’ but has a much different mood than the aforementioned. This song instrumentally blends classical elements with lounge music and is reflective like the blues as Turner, or at least the song’s character laments former dreams and youthful aspirations. The music helps fill in the gaps on this track a great deal, as there are a number of instrumental breaks. The album then abruptly shifts into the spoken-word like ‘American Sports,’ is a veiled commentary on the similarities and differences between the fictional society described in the album and present-day- “Breaking news, they take the truth and make it fluid…A montage of the latest ancient ruins/Soundtracked by a chorus of "You don't know what you're doing"”.

The album’s title track is woozy and moody, and Turner uses his voice and volume to make for an interesting narration to the story presented in the song. He gives us a slightly morose and faraway idea of what exactly we’re supposed to visualize- as if we’re staring at Earth right from this supposed lunar resort’s call center. But Turner paints life there is not all that it’s what it’s cracked up to be as he sings, “And do you celebrate your dark side/Then wish you'd never left the house? /Have you ever spent a generation trying to figure that one out?”. ‘Golden Trunks,’ is possibly unintentional political commentary, but besides that, much like the rest of the album, it uses metaphor and lyric to graze pointed satire and musings about society, which is a prevalent theme on the album. It’s as if perpetually being in this world that Turner’s created moves one to think more and open up as well, considering this is the closest thing we have to a love song on this album.

Next is ‘Four Out of Five,’ which possibly wins the prize for fan favorite. ‘Four Out of Five’ is the grounding track, the one that sounds the most like the quintessential Arctic Monkeys we’re familiar with since the song is the perfect balance of mysterious but quotable lyrics, a catchy bassline, and an outro that drives one to hit the replay button. Lyrically, the song further explains the concept of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, while also leaving fans to wonder the intricacies of an information-action ratio, the idea that we have a myriad of information that we’ve no idea how to deal with. ‘The World’s First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip’ discusses the instantaneous nature of technology and Turner wonders if its effects are positive or not- and yes, the title of the song was somehow wonderfully in the lyrics, which is a feat all on its own. ‘Science Fiction’ asks for a lasting impression that might be temporary- “So I tried to write a song to make you blush/But I’ve a feeling that the whole thing/May well just end up too clever for its own good/The way some science fiction does”. ‘She Looks Like Fun’ is the most lyrically confusing yet genius track on the record, with a chorus so bizarre it almost makes sense, but doesn’t. The album closes with ‘The Ultracheese,’ a piano-heavy track that brings the album back to where it started- a reflection upon what’s been gained, lost, and blurred through celebrity and life in general. It’s a beautiful, downtempo ballad between a man, his mind, and his piano that provides a clearer close to a record that’s quite interesting.

With ‘Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino,’ Alex Turner and Co. are not here to make lovely ballads. If the Arctic Monkeys have been christened as indie-rock gods, then these gods are acting in their sovereignty to do as they please, not to save what’s in need to be saved. This is the Arctic Monkeys at their most honest, and even if this honesty is befuddling lyrically, it’s still honesty displayed in its most semi-autobiographical form.

#reviews #arcticmonkeys #sarahbeckford #leilaricca #fredalooker

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warmau · 7 years

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Your………… friends to lovers au………………… it gives me life. If you have the time (it's fine if you don't!), could you so one for svt's woozi? Even if you don't, I just want to say your writing is A+++++++ and you're the best, mom!

find friends-to-lovers! seungcheol (here) & joshua (here)

you meet woozi when he first becomes a trainee at pledis and ,,, you’re one of the only people who when he explains that he wants to become an idol doesn’t just laugh it off or tell him to study on college entrance exams instead

nope, you genuinely tell him you’re going to cheer him on until he sees his dream through to the end

and that’s how woozi figures out that,,,,,you know what,,,,you’re someone he wants to have around

that and you guys bond over the fact that you’re polar opposites

like woozi can sometimes seclude himself and come off brash,,,but you’re always open and sweet

and woozi might not admit it aloud but your constant encouragement and telling him to look on the bright side of every bad situation he had to go through as a trainee,,,,like,,,

it helped him. it really helped him not lose his grip on debut

and when he finally debuted,,,,you were one of the first people he told

and you could remember for the first time hearing him choke up over the phone and you just !!!! told him that seriously - he was always going to make it, you always believed in him!!!

and woozi regards you as one of the friends that he can be 100% honest with

which is hard for him as a leader he takes on burdens for others and doesn’t let his feelings out

but you know,,,,,his hardships and you make him feel better about anything,,,,

which is why when he asks if you two can meet on his off day you’re really surprised because,,,,,as an idol,,,,,,the chances he gets to rest as scarce

but you happily agree to let him come over

and you’re like sitting beside him in your living room,,,,you guys are watching s movie and woozi isn’t making his usual sarcastic commentary and you can tell something is weird

so you turn off the tv and you’re like,,,,,woozi,,,,,,i know when you’re not yourself - is something wrong?

and woozi denies it at first,,,,because he’s headstrong - he’s always been like this

but you just shake your head and tell him that as his friend, he doesn’t have to lie to you

and you can see the hesitation in his face, his eyes darting toward the ground and then his shoulders relax and he’s like

“there is a problem,,,,our next music video is going to have,,,,,,,,,a kiss in it,,,,”

and you tilt your head and you’re like ok????and???? and woozi makes a face and is like “i just,,, i just don’t know how to go about doing it - it’s been a long time since,,,,,,,,since ive done that!” and you’re like

trying not to giggle because,,,,,,,right woozi spent his teenage years training,,,,he didn’t date

but also,,,,,,he’s sitting there getting frustrated over a kiss for a music video,,,,,and you’re like wouldn’t your fans enjoy it if it seemed a bit fake??? you know if you made it awkward because oh no woozi you can’t kiss other people!!

and woozi gives you the -__- face and you’re like ok ok fine,,,but how can i help???

and woozi suddenly starts going red and he’s like i haD an idea,,,but,,,,,it’s dumb you know what nevermind

and you like lean closer and poke his side as he squirms away and you’re like teLL me,,,, and woozi crosses his arms and is like “no,,,,,,the more i think about it the more dumb it is”

and you’re like WOOZI as your friend ive heard and seen you do dumb stuff before - c’mon!!

and he’s like clicking his tongue with a sigh because f I ne,,,,,,,,,could you possibly let him practice a kiss on you,,,,jUST ONE ,,, he just wants to remember what to do

and you sit back in shock a little because even though you’re close your skinship is at a bare minimum with him,,,,but now,,,all of a sudden,,,,

and woozi takes your shocked silence as a no as he gets up and throws the pillow he was holding and he’s like sEE I saID IT WAS DUMb,,,anyway i have to go-

and you’re like “no, it’s ok! if it helps you lets do it!”

and somehow you and woozi end up sitting face to face,,, beads of sweat on both your forehead and it’s one fliMSY little kiss

but now that you’re facing each other,,,,you can clearly make out the handsome features of woozi’s familiar face,,, how you’ve always found him so,,,,,,,so cute even with his personality

and woozi keeps letting his inner thoughts ring in his brain about how he really really reA L L Y should ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest and how much ,,,,,,, he’s grown to find you,,,,his friEND,,,,,so attractive

and finally you can’t take it anymore the nudging closer but then pulling back,,,you and woozi debating quietly about how to do this

so you just put your hands on his shoulders and pull him toward you,,,,,

and it’s a kiss,,,, at first that’s ,,,,,,like a middle school kiss. just your lips touching, nothing else and you tense up because oh nO,,,,,you shouldn’t have done that

but suddenly woozi eases up and his hand falls onto the small of your back and he closes his eyes as he tilts his head

and oh god you’re kissing woozi???? whose grip tightens on you and who smells so good up close it kind of makes your head spin a bit

and how you think back over the time you watched him grow into this handsome, talented idol,,,,,,,,and how,,,,maybe kissing him,,,,has made you realize you’ve wanted this for a while

and by this you mean the feeling of being in woozi’s hands

and woozi is thinking the same thing about how he wants to hold you like this,,,,,,how he wants to be the only one who holds you like this

and the kiss turns into something that should have lasted a total of five seconds into something more

and when you pull away from each other woozi is the first to try to stammer out some excuse like,,, ooh,,,,im sorry i don’t know what came over me,,,

but you don’t want to listen to it you just lean in to kiss him again pulling him ontop of you as you fall backwards,,,

and when woozi finally has to leave he’s ,,,,, like,,,,,,,,about the music video,,,,, i don’t really want to do the kiss but the company-

and you’re like “it’s fine!!! did you think i’d be jealous?” and woozi jumps a bit because lmao it’s obvious that’s what he was getting to but he’s like huh what no im just saying,,,,,,,

and you grin and tell him to do his best during the filming and that you’ll cheer for him like you always do

but before woozi leaves, he tells you that this time cheer for him not just as a friend but as,,,,,,,,,something more

and he kisses your cheek so gently you can hardly feel it but the he turns around to go and you stand there with your hand over your cheek like,,,,,,,,,,,after all these years of knowing him,,,,,,,,,he really is cute,,,,,he really shouldn’t hide it,,,,

(but also he only shows it to you,,,,so you’re special hehe)

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen scenario #woozi scenarios #woozi scenario #jihoon scenarios #jihoon scenario #seventeen au #woozi au #jihoon au #member: woozi #sfw #woozi #seventeen #lee jihoon

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chorusfm · 4 years

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Sameer Gadhi of Young the Giant Gets SirusXM Show

Sameer Gadhi of Young the Giant will be heading up a new show on SirusXM. The press release can be found below. Sameer Gadhia, frontman for platinum selling rock band Young The Giant, is set to launchPoint Of Origin, a spotlight feature highlighting hand-picked, culturally-diverse, musical discoveries in the alternative space, airing regularly on SiriusXM’s Alt Nation (ch.36), starting today. Gadhia explains: “By its very definition, alternative music is supposed to challenge boundaries by providing new and unheard possibilities. Though the sonic landscape is diverse, the limelight has cast a vastly monochromatic field. I am living proof that this is not so, and my aim is to illuminate artists who express the truest definition of what alternative is and should be by identifying what connects us all to our shared love of music. Through this platform, I want to create opportunity for artists of color and help foster a divergent narrative for today and tomorrow's alternative music scene." Hosted and curated by Gadhia, Point Of Origin will focus on one artist over a two-week period by granting heavy, on-air exposure to one song from the artist. This will also be accompanied by commentary from Gadhia on the hand-picked artist and song. The first artist to be featured is Pennsylvania-native and a Pigeons & Planes “New Artist to Watch in 2020,” binki, who describes his sound as “packed with equal parts riotous funk, cavalier rap, with a bratty-rock swagger.” After creating buzz across the blog circuit, touring with Benee and Still Woozy, binki’s “Sea Sick” will garner its first national radio airplay as the first featured song on Point of Origin. For more information, visit www.pointoforigin.world. Gadhia had been called “one of the great contemporary rock voices” by The New York Times, he is the son of immigrants from Ahmadabad, India, who came to the U.S. in the 80’s shortly before he was born. Issues of culture and diversity have been something he’s ruminated on for most of his life, both consciously and subconsciously. The band’s 2016 album Home of the Strange deliberately honed in on the modern American immigrant story, a theme that was especially relevant to the quintet as they're each from different ethnic backgrounds with most being immigrants themselves or first-generation Americans. Gadhia wrote about balancing the two very different worlds of his ethnicity and nationality in an editorial piece for Salon (read HERE), and also had an in-depth conversation with NPR’s Ailsa Chang on the topic for “Weekend Edition” (listen/see HERE). Young the Giant is currently writing and recording music for their next album, much of which was chronicled in the band’s “Song A Day” project which sees band members sharing music clips with each other over Instagram, culminating with a completed song each Saturday. Fans can watch the process in their Instagram highlights HERE. SiriusXM subscribers can listen to Alt Nation (ch. 36) and other channels on SiriusXM radios, and those with streaming access can listen online, on-the-go with the SiriusXM mobile app and at home on a wide variety of connected devices, including smart TVs, devices with Amazon Alexa or the Google Assistant, Apple TV, PlayStation, Roku, Sonos speakers and more. The SiriusXM app also offers additional features such as SiriusXM video, Personalized Stations Powered by Pandora that listeners can curate themselves, and an On Demand library with more than 10,000 hours of archived shows, exclusive music performances, interviews and audio documentaries. Go to www.SiriusXM.com/streaming to learn more. --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/news/sameer-gadhi-of-young-the-giant-gets-sirusxm-show/

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how2to18 · 7 years

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A LABOR STRIKE and a heart-wrenching tragedy in 1913, Woody Guthrie at a hootenanny in a New York basement in 1945, and Bob Dylan in a recording studio in 1962 — these three seemingly unrelated events provide the framework for Daniel Wolff’s study of industrial violence in the United States, the folk music revival, and the evolution of rock ’n’ roll. Wolff’s narrative is an angry polemic and social commentary. The “mysteries” he explores reveal how economic depression, foreign wars, and racial discrimination shaped the music of two restless and fiery artists. Along the way, he delves into the world of copper mining, revising the official version of the 1913 tragedy in order to set the record straight.

Labor disputes and industrial disasters are not particularly unusual events in American history, but the macabre deaths of 74 people (60 of whom were children between the ages of two and 16) on Christmas Eve in a tall, jammed stairwell of the Italian Hall in strike-ridden Red Jacket, Michigan, in 1913 (renamed Calumet in 1929) was no ordinary catastrophe. Several thousand underground copper miners, mostly Finnish and Italian immigrants, had been on strike for more than six months, but they were running out of strike funds and faced a powerful business-led Citizens’ Alliance. As Christmas drew near, the mining union’s Women’s Auxiliary organized a big Christmas party to make sure that every child of a striking miner would receive a holiday gift. Hundreds of children and parents climbed up the high steps to the second floor ballroom of the Italian Hall and gathered around a large Christmas tree. A young girl played a piano and the crowd quieted down to listen. Although there remains a dispute as to what happened next, it is clear that some person or persons yelled, “Fire!” and that this provoked a mad stampede for the stairwell. Many children tripped and fell headlong down the steep stairs, landing with broken bones in front of the doors. For some reason, the doors would not open. The strikers claimed the anti-union thugs hired by the Alliance held the doors shut; the Alliance later claimed the doors opened to the inside. As more and more tried to escape, the stairway became jammed with panic-stricken children who piled on top of each other, breaking their painfully entangled arms and legs. Soon they began to suffocate. When the doors were finally opened, 74 bodies were carried back up the stairs and laid in rows by the Christmas tree.

The Keweenaw Peninsula is a 70-mile finger of land that juts into Lake Superior at the northernmost point of the state of Michigan. I stepped on the gas pedal and pushed my Chevrolet up to 55, heading south from Copper Harbor, the small town at the top of the peninsula. Michigan’s Upper Peninsula is physically separated from the rest of Michigan by the Straits of Mackinac and when you look at a map of the United States you might say, with perfect logic, that the Upper Peninsula really should be part of Wisconsin. Most of the UP is scenic northern forest, but wild, rugged, and largely undeveloped. I’m sure more wolverines live in the UP than humans, but they don’t get counted in the census. US Highway 41 is a six-lane freeway in Milwaukee, but up on the Keweenaw Peninsula it is a narrow two-lane road with tall pine trees standing like soldiers along the edge of the asphalt. Rounding a sharp turn, I suddenly saw five or six whitetail deer directly in front of me. I swerved and missed most of them, but one deer jumped in the same direction as my car, smashed into the hood, broke the windshield, flew over the top, and dashed into the forest. The car was not drivable. After a half hour or so, a Highway Patrolman pulled up to offer assistance. “It happens all the time,” he said. “There are a lot of deer and it can be hard to see them.” He called a tow truck and soon my damaged car was on its way to Snow’s Auto Repair in Calumet, Michigan.

Wolff contextualizes the story of 1913 in a comprehensive history of copper mining in the Upper Peninsula. Native Americans mined copper and used it to make hooks, knives, and jewelry. French explorers and Jesuit missionaries discovered new uses for copper, prospectors searched for more, and industrialists from the East invested large sums to go underground, recruiting thousands of immigrants from Wales, Russia, Italy, and Finland to drill and extract the ore. By reopening the historical record, Wolff resolves lingering mysteries about the tragedy:

Was there a fire? No.

Did someone actually yell “Fire!”? No one ever confessed to it.

Did the strikebreakers deliberately hold the door shut to prevent the children from leaving? No one claimed to have seen anyone hold the doors shut, although the strikers and their families were inside the building.

Did the doors at the bottom of the steps open to the inside, as is so often repeated in official descriptions of the tragedy? No.

It is these rumors and uncertainties that have passed for history, burying the truth under layers of obfuscation that anger Wolff and have led him toward Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. Woody Guthrie wrote (and rearranged) about 1,500 songs, but “1913 Massacre,” with its dark tone, solemnity, and dirge-like tempo, was a uniquely powerful piece of his repertoire. The dry humor and ironic double meanings often found in his compositions are jettisoned as Guthrie reports on the shockingly brutal facts in a matter-of-fact way. It suggests that the full extent of the horror sapped him of emotion. As Wolff correctly notes, we hear nothing about socialism or revolution or even unionism. Instead, Guthrie takes the listener along with him as an observer, a witness to what will unfold. “Take a trip with me back in 1913,” writes Guthrie.

Calumet, Michigan, in the copper country. I will take you to a place called Italian Hall, where the miners are having their Christmas ball. I will take you in a door and up the high stairs, singing and dancing is heard everywhere, I’ll let you shake hands with the people you see, and watch the kids dance around the big Christmas tree.

Guthrie crafted the song based on a memoir written by “Mother” Mary Bloor, an early Socialist and labor organizer well known in political circles for her courage in the face of repression and violence. Bloor’s daughter, Herta Geer, was the wife of Will Geer, the actor and political activist who had befriended Guthrie in Los Angeles in 1939 and introduced him to the local writers, actors, and musicians involved in the growing labor movement and the fight against fascism. Guthrie wrote the song in 1945, about five years after Bloor’s 300-page memoir, We Are Many, appeared. Although her section on Calumet is only a few pages long, it was crammed with detail, much of which Guthrie incorporated into his song.

Wolff uses “1913 Massacre” as an entry point into Guthrie’s life. Despite Guthrie’s self-created persona as the “Political Okie,” with his deliberate misspellings, improper grammar, and “aw shucks” demeanor, Guthrie was not an uncomplicated personality. As he writes his narrative of “1913 Massacre,” Wolff draws out some of those complexities. On the one hand, Guthrie’s situation in 1945 was more stable than ever. He had completed his military service and several tours in the Merchant Marine, and had survived a torpedoing. Working with Moe Asch he was recording scores of songs and beginning a new project called “American Documentary,” which he described as “a kind of musical newspaper,” using songs to illuminate and comment upon current events. His semi-autobiographical novel, Bound for Glory, had received 150 mostly positive reviews and encouraged Guthrie to begin a second novel, Seeds of Man. A song he had written in Los Angeles in 1939, “Oklahoma Hills,” recorded by his cousin Jack Guthrie, reached number one on the folk jukebox list in 1945. That same year, along with Pete Seeger and others, he founded People’s Songs. The United States and the Soviet Union remained united against the Axis powers, unions had made unprecedented progress during the war years, and organized labor emerged for the first time as an important political force at the national level.

But below the surface, Guthrie was troubled. His project with Moe Asch resulted in about 150 recordings, including collaborations with Seeger, Cisco Houston, Bess Lomax Hawes, and Sonny Terry, but the end product, an album entitled Struggle, was not widely distributed. A further recording effort, focused on Sacco and Vanzetti, also proved a disappointment. Wolff describes how Guthrie’s energy and focus began to wane as he succumbed to the debilitating disease that would devour him over the remaining 25 years of his life: “Just dizzy, woozy, blubberdy. And scubberdy and rustlety, tastely […] the soberest drunk I ever got on.” Guthrie’s disease was not accurately diagnosed as Huntington’s chorea until 1952, but he knew that the same inexorable force that had destroyed his mother now held him in its deadly grip. Even as he gathered with Seeger and others to form People’s Songs on New Year’s Eve, 1945, Guthrie must have been beset by deep anxiety. Wolff describes the scene:

They were trying to reinvent the movement, to survive the emerging Cold War, to preserve their hopes and ideals. The meeting soon turned into a hootenanny where everyone sang. When it was Guthrie’s turn, he could have launched into the punchy “Union Maid” or “Roll on, Columbia,” songs of confidence and optimism. Instead he sang a cautionary tune, that slow ballad about the miner’s Christmas that he was now calling 1913 Massacre.

Wolff notes that Guthrie’s productive years coincided almost exactly with the period of the Popular Front against fascism, from 1935 to 1945. That period had ended.

Through the windshield of the tow truck I saw a sign that read “Calumet, Michigan” and immediately recalled the song — a song that’s hard to forget. I had first encountered it on Arlo Guthrie’s album, Hobo’s Lullaby. I remember listening to the song and writing down the lyrics on a sheet of paper, lifting and dropping the needle of the record player a dozen times before I was able to capture all the words accurately. Then I sang the song to myself. And sang it again. And again.

Snow’s Auto Repair was located in the heart of what remained of Calumet after the copper veins were exhausted and the miners left for work out west. The year was 1988, but at Snow’s it seemed more like 1958. The sagging building, the forlorn signage, the old auto repair equipment, and the two elderly mechanics in dreary, oil-stained uniforms all recalled an earlier time. While I waited for the insurance adjuster to arrive and estimate the cost of repairs, I struck up a conversation with one of the mechanics.

“Say, can you tell me where the old Italian Hall is located?” I asked.

“The Italian Hall?” he responded.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s here. This is Calumet, right?”

“That’s right. This is Calumet.”

“Well, I’m just wondering where the Italian Hall is located. I’d like to see it.”

The mechanic raised his arm and pointed his work-worn index finger toward the window, in the direction of a large empty lot across the street. “That’s where it was. They tore it down last year. I guess you’re too late.”

Woody Guthrie appealed to KFVD radio listeners in Southern California and found a new audience among political activists, union organizers, and progressive writers who had never seen a bona fide Okie with left-wing politics. He cultivated his persona in songs, newspaper articles, and Bound for Glory. Even as he branched out into new areas, such as children’s song, Jewish songs, and novels and cartoons, the Okie persona never left him.

Wolff contrasts this with Bobby Zimmerman’s constant reinventions of himself. First the artist who would be Dylan abandoned his early interests in rock and blues for the emerging folk scene and changed his last name. Then, after discovering some Guthrie records from one of his folkie friends in the Dinkytown section of Minneapolis, he immersed himself in the Guthrie persona. He learned all of Guthrie’s songs and limited his performances at coffee houses and parties to the man’s repertoire. He mimicked Guthrie’s guitar style, speech patterns, and clothing. He carefully read Bound for Glory and began to create tall tales about his background, claiming that he was from Albuquerque or Gallup or Illinois — anywhere but Hibbing, Minnesota. “Dylan made himself authentic,” writes Wolff.

He changed who he was to get closer to the truth. Or try to. The sound that eventually came over pop radio — his timed drawl, the rural edge, the off-center sense of humor — was a lot Guthrie. That’s how Dylan became an original — through imitation. It’s as if he ran from his middle-class, mid-20th-century Hibbing and went back to Guthrie’s ’30s. Or as he put it, “I was making my own depression.”

Veteran folkies from the Dinkytown scene who were familiar with Guthrie chided Dylan for going too far with his impersonation. So Dylan went east to find Guthrie, claiming that he hopped freight trains and hitchhiked like Woody, when he actually got a ride from a friend. Dylan’s visits with a dying man in Greystone Hospital have been treated elsewhere, but Wolff captures an important element of this encounter. While Dylan was performing Guthrie’s songs for his idol, who was no longer able to speak, he confronted the reality that Guthrie was effectively gone, that his world of the Depression and his war against fascism had disappeared, that his fervent political dreams had vanished in the wind. Later Dylan would write:

Woody Guthrie was my last idol he was the last idol because he was the first idol I’d ever met that taught me face t’ face that men are men shatterin’ even himself as an idol …

Dylan’s confrontation with Guthrie’s demise was the starting point for Dylan’s composition of “Song to Woody,” written only a few days after their first meeting.

The song draws heavily upon Guthrie, using, almost note by note, the haunting, dirge-like melody of “1913 Massacre,” and opening with the line, “Hey, hey, Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song,” which is derived from a similar opening Guthrie had used in a poem for Elizabeth Gurley Flynn. The song is a tribute but also a farewell. The lyrics set up comparisons between the Depression-era ’30s and the ’60s, between Guthrie’s old life and Dylan’s new life. “Listen to the song Dylan felt he needed to sing,” writes Wolff, “and you hear a kid who’s come a thousand miles only to discover that what he came for no longer exists.” The song is important for another reason: it marks the commencement of Bob Dylan, the singer-songwriter. Dylan’s first self-titled album included only two original songs — “Talkin’ New York,” a hillbilly’s satirical romp through the big city, and “Song to Woody.” Subsequent Dylan albums contained exclusively Dylan compositions.

Wolff may be right in locating the end of young Dylan’s idolization of Guthrie in “Song to Woody,” but the older folky continued to influence the younger artist. The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan and The Times They Are a-Changin’ featured songs with powerful but artful political themes. While hardline politicos in the folk scene complained that Dylan’s songs about old girlfriends meant that he was turning his back on the struggle, those who listened closely to “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll,” “Only a Pawn in Their Game,” and “The Times They are a-Changin’,” heard Dylan developing on the Guthrie tradition. Still, Dylan was carefully moving away from strictly political themes. Wolff quotes excerpts from a “letter back to Dinkytown,” which Dylan wrote for the 1963 Newport Folk Festival program, in which the artists refuses to answer the standard union organizing question posed in the powerful song written by Florence Patton Reece, “Which Side Are You On?”:

Hey man — I’m sorry — … the songs we used t sing an play the songs written fifty years ago the dirt farm songs — the dust bowl songs the depression songs … Woody’s songs … when there was a strike there’s only two kind of views … thru the union’s yes or thru the boss’s eyes … them two simple sides that was so easy t tell apart [have become] A COMPLICATED CIRCLE. The folk songs showed me the way an I got nothing but homage an holy thinkin’ for the ol songs and stories singin an writin what’s on my own mind … not by no kind of side not by no kind a category.

Dylan was preparing to reinvent himself again and he was not taking sides.

I turned to the mechanic at Snow’s and asked, “Where are the bricks?”

“What bricks?

“Well, the Italian Hall was made of bricks and they demolished it. So, what did they do with the bricks?”

“They hauled them away.”

“Yeah, but where did they go?”

“You want to know where the brinks are now?”

“Yes, where did they dump the bricks? Do you know?”

“Well, I don’t know why you want to know, but yeah, I know where they dumped them, sure.” He pointed out the window again. “Okay, go north for two stop lights. Then turn left and go until you get to the railroad tracks. Cross the tracks and take the first turn to the left. Keep going about a quarter mile until you see an island of poplar trees on the left. Then take the dirt road on the right for, I don’t know, a hundred yards or so. You’ll see a pile of bricks. If that’s what you’re looking for, that’s where you will find them.”

About a year later I was asked to perform in a Labor Concert in Kenosha, Wisconsin, along with Woody’s son, Arlo. I told Arlo I had learned the song “1913 Massacre” from his recording and that I wanted to give him a brick from the Italian Hall — a reminder of how our past can reemerge from under the weight of obfuscation.

Like the miners of Red Jacket, Michigan, who extracted copper from deep below the surface of the earth, Wolff helps us recover the truth about a tragic episode in our history.

Darryl Holter is a historian, entrepreneur, musician, and owner of an independent bookstore. He has taught history at the University of Wisconsin and UCLA and is an adjunct professor at USC.

The post “I’ll Take You to a Place Called Italian Hall”: On Daniel Wolff’s “Grown-Up Anger” and the Calumet Massacre of 1913 appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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topmixtrends · 7 years

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Was there a fire? No.

Did someone actually yell “Fire!”? No one ever confessed to it.

Did the doors at the bottom of the steps open to the inside, as is so often repeated in official descriptions of the tragedy? No.

Wolff notes that Guthrie’s productive years coincided almost exactly with the period of the Popular Front against fascism, from 1935 to 1945. That period had ended.

“Say, can you tell me where the old Italian Hall is located?” I asked.

“The Italian Hall?” he responded.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s here. This is Calumet, right?”

“That’s right. This is Calumet.”

“Well, I’m just wondering where the Italian Hall is located. I’d like to see it.”

Woody Guthrie was my last idol he was the last idol because he was the first idol I’d ever met that taught me face t’ face that men are men shatterin’ even himself as an idol …

Dylan’s confrontation with Guthrie’s demise was the starting point for Dylan’s composition of “Song to Woody,” written only a few days after their first meeting.

Dylan was preparing to reinvent himself again and he was not taking sides.

I turned to the mechanic at Snow’s and asked, “Where are the bricks?”

“What bricks?

“Well, the Italian Hall was made of bricks and they demolished it. So, what did they do with the bricks?”

“They hauled them away.”

“Yeah, but where did they go?”

“You want to know where the brinks are now?”

“Yes, where did they dump the bricks? Do you know?”

Like the miners of Red Jacket, Michigan, who extracted copper from deep below the surface of the earth, Wolff helps us recover the truth about a tragic episode in our history.

Darryl Holter is a historian, entrepreneur, musician, and owner of an independent bookstore. He has taught history at the University of Wisconsin and UCLA and is an adjunct professor at USC.

The post “I’ll Take You to a Place Called Italian Hall”: On Daniel Wolff’s “Grown-Up Anger” and the Calumet Massacre of 1913 appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://ift.tt/2yvkoPA

#Los Angeles Review of Books #topmixtrends

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