#that MOTHERFUCKER sings and plays bass at the same time????????
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i sohuld change myi con
#i made a joke about shrooms earlier but honeslty. BAD fucking idea#i can make myself spiral into a breakdown already SOBER babey#but also hee hee.#might go a little silly mode#a little silly funny. besties#i should do my silly breathinge ercises but i dont WANT to calm down#i want to keep thinking FAST a FUCK#sonic the hedgehog looking ass#i lvo oyu les claypool#that MOTHERFUCKER sings and plays bass at the same time????????#literally isname#my guitar teacher did the sAME THING#fucking insane bastards WILD as shit#i miss my guitar teacher oh god#he was like 70 when i took lessons is his ass still alive???????????????????????/#i hope he is oh no now im sad#i stopped lessons due to covid and never starteda gain#bc my DUMB ASS DUMB MOTHERFUCKER SELF moved across the country#2000 miles!!!#and for what???#i dont regret it. but still#for what???#girl what are you DOING???#its not like home is any ebtter all my friends bailed to other states too#ichigan and WASHINGTONDC???#smart ass friend idk his major even. sorry i should know that#IM SORRYYYYYYYYY#my friend was gonna be teaching major but switched#and so did i1!!#gonna do library scieence
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Songbird || TWENTY-THREE
Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader
Warnings: none
Word Count: 3.1k
Part Summary: Y/N makes a decision that effects her and Eddie’s relationship.
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•••
TRACK TWENTY-THREE;
KISS ME HARD BEFORE YOU GO
***
4:15pm
4 Hours Earlier
“Anyone have a guess where they might be?” Rod questions, “Anyone?”
No one answered.
“For fuck’s sake, even Y/N isn’t here and she always is.” Rod says before walking away.
“Not like Billy to be missing soundcheck,” Warren comments, “Or Y/N for that matter.”
Warren takes a drag of his cigarette before turning to Eddie, “It’s a nice shiner you got there.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, he simply focuses on his bass.
“Eddie,” Warren says, taking a seat, “What’d you say to him, man?”
“Nothing, just, uh…some shit that needed to be said, that’s all.” Eddie says.
“Eddie, look, I’m gonna say some stuff, all right, and you’re gonna promise that you’re not gonna hate me for it,” Warren says, “What the fuck is wrong with you? So what if Billy’s an asshole? So what if you’re not the guy? I mean, you are in the biggest band in the fucking world right now. You get to fly around on jet planes and sleep on one hundred dollar bills, and we get to play songs that millions of people listen to and they fucking love ‘em. They love ‘em Eddie.”
“And don’t get me started on Y/N,” Warren continues, “The one woman most men want and you’re with her, not anyone else. And all that is still not enough for you?”
“Warren-”
“No, no, man. I’m serious. Like, this shit does not happen. To anyone. We’re the luckiest motherfuckers in the world, bro.”
“Warren, all due respect, I think I may be looking for a little more out of life than you are.” Eddie says.
Warren looks down and chuckles, “Yeah, man, tell that to Y/N, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
Eddie sighed, knowing that the comment he said wasn’t about Y/N but he didn’t argue, not wanting to cause any more of a stir.
As Warren begins walking away, Eddie calls out to him, “Where are you going?”
“Me? I don’t know,” Warren says, “Maybe I’m gonna go smoke a joint, pop sound thousand dollar champagne. Or - you know what - maybe I’ll call my girlfriend, the movie star. See you tonight, bro!”
***
Present Time
On Stage
As Y/N stepped up to the microphone, the crowd cheered. It caused Y/N to smile, her final time performing this song was already off to a good start. The band began playing and Y/N began singing, losing herself in the music completely.
At the beginning of the song, she closed her eyes as she sang, imagining what it would be like if this audience were here for her and only her. The banners would only have her name on them and they would all be singing along to the songs she wrote. The audience would be chanting her name, demanding an encore to which Y/N would come out and sing one final song - a different one every night so no two shows were the same.
When Y/N finally opened her eyes, she was transported back to where she was originally - performing with the band. However, she strived to make this the best performance she could give. Taking the microphone from the stand, Y/N began to walk around the stage.
…
KAREN SIRKO: That night Y/N’s voice was something else. I had never heard her sing like that before.
WARREN ROJAS: Y/N was a powerhouse that night! I get chills just thinking about it.
DAISY JONES: That song was a duet, but I stepped back and let Y/N have the whole stage. With a voice like hers she deserved the spotlight, especially with that song.
…
Eddie watched Y/N walk around the stage, her voice echoing throughout the arena. From the hundreds of times he had heard her sing the song, he had never heard her sing it the way she was. There was an emotion to her voice that he could place but he knew that he was a part of the cause of that emotion. All he wanted to do was run up to her, take her into his arms and apologise as many times as it took for her to forgive him.
Y/N wouldn’t even look at Eddie for longer than a few seconds at most. Eddie obviously thought that it was because of what he had said earlier but it couldn’t be further from the truth.
…
Y/N L/N: I was angry with what Eddie said, but I got over it quickly. I couldn’t look at him that entire performance because I knew what I was going to do after the show. I couldn’t face him.
…
In the final chorus of the song, Y/N finally turned to face Eddie as she sang from the other side of the stage. Eddie looked at her as she sang, nothing but love in his eyes. He had always loved Y/N’s voice and he loved it even more with the way she was singing now. The only thing he hated was that he was the cause of some of the pain behind her voice.
As Y/N finished her song, she turned away from Eddie, walking back to the front of the stage and the crowd erupted into cheers, chanting her name over and over again. Y/N smiled and bowed, soaking in the applause.
When the crowd began to quiet down, and Y/N took her place next to Graham, Daisy stepped up to the microphone.
“Let’s hear it for Y/N L/N, everyone!” Daisy says and the crowd cheered again and Y/N smiled, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage my sister and my best friend, Simone Jackson!”
***
8:33pm
Y/N stood in the greenroom with Warren and Simone. Y/N had heard of Simone Jackson before Daisy ever mentioned her, she had listened to a few of her songs. Simone’s type of music wasn’t typically Y/N’s go to, but she definitely replayed a few of her songs when she first heard them.
As the three of them conversed, Daisy walked into the room, causing their conversation to come to an abrupt halt.
“Oh wow.” Simone commented on the makeup on Daisy’s face.
“Finally, great! Gang’s all here.” Rod says.
“You look scared, Rod,” Daisy says, “And you should be.”
“Okay,” Rod says slowly, “All right, this time’s for real everybody.”
Y/N began to walk out of the greenroom, fully aware of Eddie walking just behind her. She wanted nothing more than to turn around, pull him away and talk to him but she knew that she needed to get through the show first.
***
Present Time
On Stage
“So, we have to go soon,” Billy says into the microphone, “But we can’t leave without paying some dues. I’m gonna need your help. You with me!”
The crowd cheered.
“On drums, a man who keeps time like a Rolex and who cuts grooves like a knife,” Billy introduces, “It’s Mister Warren Rojas!”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Billy says, taking the microphone from the stand, and begins to approach Eddie, though he swerves at the last second, instead focusing on Karen, “The classiest, coolest cucumber ever to play keys. It’s Miss Karen Sirko!”
Billy walks across the stage towards Y/N, “You know her and you love her, the woman that doesn’t shy away from the spotlight, it’s Miss Y/N L/N.”
“Up next, as good a man as you’ll ever meet. But sometimes I forget how lucky I am that he’s my brother. It’s Graham Dunne, everyone!”
Billy walks back to the front of the stage, “On bass, well that’s Eddie Roundtree,” Billy pauses, “All right, wait, wait, wait, let’s try that again, shall we? The master of the low end hammer, the man, the face that keeps pace on the bass, the groove layer, the four string slayer. It’s Eddie Demetrius Roundtree!”
Billy leans closer to Eddie and whispers into his ear, causing the smile that was on his face to drop.
“And finally, well, do I even need to say it?”
“Well, I want to hear you say it.” Daisy says.
“It’s Daisy Jones, everyone.”
“Billy Dunne, everybody!” Daisy announces.
As the band performed ‘Aurora’, Y/N looked at Eddie the whole time. He didn’t smile once and he didn’t even look anywhere but straight forward, much like Y/N had done at the beginning of the show. Finally when Eddie looked up, he made eye contact with Y/N and they didn’t break it the remainder of the song.
“Y/N,” Eddie says as soon as the band exits the stage, “Can I talk to you?”
Y/N sighed, “Eddie, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes there is!” He says desperately, “What I said to Billy, I shouldn’t have said that, I panicked when he questioned me and I didn’t know what to say. I regret it, I really do. I love you and only you and I can't bare it if I caused you any pain.”
Y/N sighed, “Eddie, listen, I’m over that now. I’m not going to lie, it did hurt when you told me, but I’m the one who asked what you said and you told me the truth.”
“So why are you avoiding me?” Eddie asked, taking her hands in his, “Tell me.”
“Eddie-”
“No, I don’t want any more excuses, I need you to tell me,” Eddie says, “You used to tell me everything.”
“I’m leaving tonight.” Y/N said.
Eddie paused, “Is that why you have a plane ticket in your bag?”
“How do you know about that?” Y/N questioned.
“It fell out of your bag after you left earlier.” Eddie says.
Y/N sighs, “I wasn’t going to use it initially. I don’t really know why I bought it.”
“This isn’t all because of me, right?” Eddie asks, his hand cupping her cheek.
“No, of course not,” Y/N says, “It’s nothing to do with you at all.”
Eddie rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. The two didn’t need to say any words to know what the other was saying. I love you.
By the time the band went on stage, Y/N was heartbroken, knowing it was getting closer and closer to the part of the night she was dreading the most, she wished she could just skip it entirely. The crowd cheered as everyone walked back onto the stage and Y/N forced a smile onto her face.
The crowd chanted ‘Look at Us Now’ over and over again as the band waited and listened.
“Let me hear it if you’re in love tonight!” Daisy yelled, “I’ve been in love. And it hurts, doesn’t it?”
Y/N spared a glance at Eddie and found that he was doing the same.
“But it doesn’t have to,” Daisy continued, “Love doesn’t have to be bombs and tears and blood. Love can be peace. And it can be beautiful. And if you’re lucky enough to find somebody who lifts you up, even when you don’t deserve it, that’s where the light is.”
Y/N continued to look at Eddie as a tear slipped down her cheek. She loved Eddie more than she loves anything else on the planet. But that was the problem, she loved him more than she loved herself. And before she could start loving him the way that was needed, she needed to love herself first.
“So my wish for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is find someone who helps you see the light.” Daisy says, “This is a love song.”
The band began playing Look At Us Now and the crowd cheered, probably the loudest they had the entire night. As it was Billy’s turn to start singing, he didn’t. He remained still at the microphone, tears threatening to spill. Holding the microphone out to the crowd, Daisy urged them to sing, to which they complied.
As Daisy began singing, she said one simple word to Billy which prompted him to leave the stage running. At that point Y/N knew that she wasn’t the only one leaving the band that night.
Daisy sang to each member of the band, completely focusing on the people she was performing with rather than the audience, it was her goodbye.
The song finished and the band slowly made their way to the front of the stage. Eddie stood next to her and intertwined their fingers together, giving her hand a squeeze.
As Y/N bowed with the band, she knew it would be the final time; there was no salvaging what had been broken long ago. As she stepped off the stage, she fought back against her tears. Y/N wasn't sad that the band was over; she was sad because she would never have the opportunity to perform with her friends again. Rod tried to get her attention as she walked past, but Y/N just continued, knowing she would break down if she stopped for only a minute.
Y/N was aware of Eddie walking behind her, the gentle hand on her lower back. It stayed there until they got into a taxi. No words were exchanged between the two; there didn't need to be. When they returned to the hotel and up to their room, Y/N hugged Eddie.
The two stood there in the centre of the room, swaying gently. It was silent; there was no sound of people talking, and there was no sound of cars outside the window. It was as if the world stood still.
"Eddie…" Y/N began but paused once she realised this would be the most challenging conversation ever.
Eddie rested his forehead on hers, cupping her cheeks gently, "I know."
"You don't hate me?" Y/N questioned.
"I could never hate you." Eddie says, brushing Y/N's hair out of her face.
"I just need some time," Y/N says, "I don't know how long that'll be, but I think I just need to do things and be on my own for a while."
"I understand." Eddie says, his thumb gently rubbing across her cheek.
"I still love you, Eddie, so much, that's why-" Y/N began to tear up, "That's why this is so hard for me."
"Shhhh," Eddie says, wiping the tears away, "I love you too, Y/N. I adore you."
It was at that point that Y/N began to break down. She clung onto Eddie for dear life, clutching at his jacket. Her sobs echoed through the room, and they jabbed a dagger into Eddie's heart.
The two remained on the hotel room floor until Y/N's sobs subsided. Her grip on the front of Eddie's jacket loosened a little as she tilted her head to look at him.
"I hate that I'm doing this to you, Eddie." Y/N says, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Hey," Eddie says, "You're not doing anything to me, okay? You need time and to be on your own for a while and I respect that," Eddie paused, "And I will wait for you. Whenever you decide to come back, I will be waiting."
"But I don't want you to do that," Y/N says, "I don't want you to wait around for me when there could be someone that you will love more than me."
"Impossible," Eddie whispered, "Because there is no one on this planet that I could possibly love more than you."
Y/N cupped Eddie's cheeks before pressing her lips against his. This kiss was different from the ones they had shared before, and this was a kiss that they both hoped they never had to experience and this was a goodbye kiss.
Eddie gripped onto Y/N, holding her close. It was the last time he would hold her this way for a while, possibly forever.
Eddie was the first to pull away, "I don't want to make this any more painful, Y/N."
Y/N looked down and nodded, "I know. I just don't want to leave."
"Y/N," Eddie says softly, "Go."
Y/N paused before nodding as she rose to her feet; her bag was already packed. She picked up her bag before she began the walk to the door. With each step, Y/N felt the door get further and further away.
"Hey," Eddie called out.
Y/N turned to him; he was still sitting on the floor. Something deep within her wanted him to beg her to stay and not leave him; there was hope in her heart.
"I love you, Y/N L/N." Eddie says.
Y/N, despite her tears, offered him a smile, "I love you too, Eddie Roundtree. More than you could possibly imagine."
Y/N turned around once again, her hand on the door handle. It was cold beneath her touch. Pushing it down, she pulled the door open. The hallway felt dark, and Y/N didn't want to step out into it; she was scared to do it without Eddie; she was afraid to do it without Warren, Karen, Graham, Camila, Daisy, and in a way, without Billy.
With a sigh, Y/N stepped out alone, closing the door behind her. There was no one but Y/N in the hallway, which is how it would be from now on. Sparing one final glance at the door, Y/N walked down the hallway.
…
Y/N L/N: I left Eddie because I needed to work on myself, and so did he. We were perfect for one another, but at that point in time, we couldn’t love each other at our full capacity; there were arguments and tears. I knew that night that I was the one who needed to leave because he wouldn't. That's not to say I didn't love him; I adored him, and he was my everything, but we needed to fix what was broken, and we couldn't do that together. I loved him so much that I let him go.
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#Eddie roundtree#eddie roundtree x reader#eddie loving#eddie loving x reader#daisy jones and the six x reader#daisy jones and the six#josh whitehouse
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wake up & it's over review 🛩️💥
the guitars in portrait of a blank slate are so fucking good the outro?????? the lyrics??? fucking hell this song is so fucking good i'd give it 11/10 for how fucking much i vibe with it its just the type of song i love. sits at the same table with wish me luck by wallows and freaks by surf course. we already heard call me what you like so i wont talk much abt it but its still so good i might say the guitars so far in this album are slaying. theres just something about the chorus of this song that makes me internally scream. the intro to consequences is so fucking good OH LORD lovejoy once again proving that this is my fav genre of music and they embody it 100%. the lyrics make this song the step sister of perfume and over-all fits with wilbur's agony-filled type of songs i fuck with it so hard. once again the guitars. another 11/10 song i'd love to scream it live so wilbur pull through and ACTUALLY come to a small slovak village for a concert like u mentioned thank u pal xx :) warsaw time! wilbur loves his european towns doesnt he. we love him for that. the lyrics are very much british coded (what a surprise) but i love them. "sometimes home is a cigarette, you're too straight edge to get it" speaks to my motherfucking soul. the chorus makes me giggle for some reason this song is very feel-good for me if i ignore the agony of some of the lyrics. "she hopes to god i just choke" WILBUR- brutally honest lyrics are my absolute fave. scum <3 i think i heard this song before??? did they play it on gigs before it was released??? wilbur's way of singing this song (esp the second verse) is very addicting imo. i love the guitar noise once again and also wilbur's pathetic tendencies in the lyrics. the little guitar/bass (??) solo in the middle absolutely slayed and made me dance in my seat. the outro fucking slapssss i am SCREAMING. it's golden hour somewhere has amazing lyrics. i dont know why but i love them so fucking much. once again very british indie style but im in love with it. the sound is also a little different to the rest of the album which is very refreshing but once again i am a bitch to the instruments i love how clear u can hear the guitars and the drums and everything.
over-all very amazing album, 10/10 on the first listen. definitely one of my favorite releases of this year !!! <3 once again finishing the rant with my top 3 which might just be portrait of a blank slate, warsaw and consequences !! very very good musically and lyrically, lovejoy my beloved, the wait was so worth it and i cant wait to make this album my whole personality again!
#liebestraum anon i got your ask and i waited with answering it because i wanted to give u my lovejoy thoughts so if youre reading this#just know that i will answer soon and this post was kind of for you too#review!#🌺
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okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞
a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)
also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌
--
1.
Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.
Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.
Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.
“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”
Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.
“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”
Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.
Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.
“The fuck are you singing for right now?”
Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.
“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”
Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”
Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”
Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.
“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”
Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.
Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—
“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”
Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.
Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.
Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”
Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.
2.
Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.
While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.
Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.
“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”
“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”
When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.
They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.
Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.
Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.
“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”
Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.
“I hear you call my naaaame”
He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.
“And it feels like… home.”
The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.
“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.
“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.
Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”
Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”
Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”
Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:
“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”
Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).
This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.
Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.
By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.
“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”
3.
Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.
Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.
Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.
Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.
“This spot reminded me of something.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.
“What?”
All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.
“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”
Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.
“No promises, no demands”
“Woooooah”
Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.
They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.
“Love is a battlefield.”
4.
It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.
Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.
Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.
“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”
Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.
“Yeah, me either.”
And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.
So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:
“At last….”
He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”
Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:
“My looove has come along”
Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.
Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.
Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.
#i wrote this so fast bc it is midterms szn and i am a busy bee! but simply needed to get this out of my brain#i love y’all and hope u enjoy the softness!!#also @ the anon asked me for more drunk happy husbands here u go<3#gallavich#gallavich fic#shameless#shameless fic#ian x mickey#ixm#ian and mickey#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#gallavich fanfiction
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obnoxious songs they blast while picking you up | pt. 1
Ft. Daichi, Sugawara, Tanaka, Hinata, Kuroo, Yaku, Oikawa, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Daisho
Warnings: Language, dorky boys, some songs are 18+ lmao sorry kids
A/n: I don’t really know where this idea came from. I was just vibing and listening to music and had the epiphany that I listen to obnoxious shit and decided to put some of them into writing and then it turned into this lol. I feel like half the boys in this show are petty as fuck and would do this just because of a small fight. This is also published to Ao3 and there will be a part 2!
Daichi – Bad Boys from COPS
This fucker probably pulls up to your job in a police car, windows rolled down, and blasts this song. Everyone in the general vicinity is just staring. You are too, but you’re staying in place because your husband is the worst human on earth.
He points at you and motions for you to get in the car, smirking.
You can’t even see his eyes. He’s wearing the classic cop aviators.
Honestly, fuck this guy.
You’re head is lowered as you shamble toward the car, face red, before getting in the passenger seat.
“I’m never asking you to pick me up again, Daichi.”
“Awe, you love it, babe. Plus you’re riding in style.”
This isn’t what you’d call style, especially when he blasting this particular song.
He even has the audacity to turn on the sirens and the lights as he drives away from your workplace.
You’ll have your revenge. . .
Sugawara – Can-Can by Offenbach
You think the person pulling up in a car that’s blasting Can-Can is a genius while also being extremely annoying, until you realize that’s your genius but annoying ass husband.
Sugawara rolls down the window and smirks at you. He’s trying to look cool, doing the whole single-hand on the steering wheel and one arm out the window thing.
And really, he would look cool if he wasn’t playing Can-Can.
“Twerk for me babe.”
You pull the hood of your jacket up and awkwardly walk to the car.
Your face is bright red, but let’s be real, the second you are both in the car together you’re headbutting your asses off to Can-Can because it’s an amazing song.
Fuck y’all if you disagree.
(Jk I love you anyway)
Yeah, he blasts Can-Can a lot at home just because it's amazing.
Usually he does it before cleaning the house because it's very motivating.
Tanaka – Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes
First off, this is the best song that’s ever been created in the history of music.
You can fight me on that.
Anyway-
Tanaka pulls up in your guys’ mini van because it just had the oil changed, and as payback for making him drive a mini van, he thinks he’ll be a little cooler if he just blasts the most badass song ever.
It’s really not. . .
Everyone is staring at Tanaka because for some reason your mini van has hella bass so it’s just vibrating everything in the general vicinity.
You stare at him, smiling, but internally raging. Your husband stares back, smirking widely and very mischievously.
He even dares to lean over the passenger seat and open the door for you.
“C’mon, baby. Get in and be cool with me.”
Hinata – Fur Elise by Beethoven (Klutch Dubstep Remix)
He’s not even trying to be embarrassing. He’s just legitimately vibing with this song when he picks you up.
He probably just got out of volleyball practice, too, so he’s in a tanktop and shorts, sunglasses on his head, and looks like he’s on top of the world as he waits for you to come over to where he’s pulled up and he’s literally headbanging to the song.
It takes you like a whole minute before you realize that’s literally your husband.
You’re like *surprised pikachu face*.
Just let him vibe. . . Don’t ruin his vibe. . .
You just go to the car and get in the passenger seat quietly. He doesn’t even notice because he’s vibing so hard. He’s doing hand movements and everything, as if he’s the one playing the piano.
When the song ends and he sees you sitting there, his face just lights up.
“Hey, baby! How was work?”
You smile and go on to tell him about your day. You don’t bother to tell him that your entire workplace just witnessed him aggressively headbanging to Fur Elise.
Kuroo – WAP by Cardi B feat. Megan Thee Stallion (but the Rihanna S&M mashup)
You and your husband had a fight earlier that morning. It was over basically nothing (it was about you not making him breakfast because you woke up late -.- This petty fucker—), and you did not apologize to him.
Never let a fight linger with Kuroo’s petty ass.
You watch your husband’s car pull up to the curb, where you’re waiting for him. The music could literally be heard from three blocks away.
Kuroo rolls down the window, smirking, and turns to you.
Deadass, this fucker is shirtless, and wearing aviator sunglasses that he casually pulls down to look at you from over the rim. His hair is even slicked back and he looks hot.
His arm is dangling over the steering wheel and the song is just blasting.
“Hey, kitten~”
Your face is absolutely burning. Everyone in the general vicinity is staring at this shirtless, attractive motherfucker who you unfortunately chose to marry.
“I’m not making you breakfast for a week, Kuroo.”
You don’t even call him by his first name even though you literally have the same last name as him.
“What!? >:(“
This is probably how he picks you up everyday until you make him breakfast.
Yaku – S my D by Blood on the Dancefloor
This is another case of the man being a petty bitch because of a minor fight.
You may or may not have called your husband short earlier this morning, and you both laughed it off after he scolded you for calling him short. You genuinely thought it was over with until. . .
. . . he’s picking you up for work.
You didn’t even know this song existed until this exact moment, but the lyrics are so vulgar.
Yaku has all the windows down and is screaming this song as it blasts from the speakers.
You deadass just turn around and pretend you don’t know him.
You’re literally five seconds away from just walking home, honestly.
“Isn’t that your husband, Yaku-chan?” one of your coworkers asks.
You glance at the car where your husband is still jamming.
“Hm, nope. Don’t know that guy. What a weirdo.”
Yeah, everyone knows you’re married to that lunatic but no one says anything.
Oikawa – I’m a Barbie Girl by Aqua
Why wouldn’t he? This fucker probably thinks he’s a living Ken doll.
Jk, but seriously.
You guys had a fight a whole week ago about his haircut. All you said was that he should cut it a little because it was growing into his eyes and he gasps like you’ve just murdered his whole family.
Yeah, he’s dramatic.
So, the next time you ask him to pick you up from work? Well, he’s obviously playing this song and he’s actually jamming to it.
He’s wearing sunglasses and staring at you like he’s staring into your soul.
He only sings the Ken parts and points at you at the Barbie parts like he expects you to actually sing back.
You’re so embarrassed because everyone is staring.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows the obvious implications of the song so all the older people around are mildly horrified.
“C’mon, Barbie. Let’s go home,” Oikawa says, winking.
You’ve never wanted to murder your husband as bad as you do right now.
Matsukawa – Skibidi by Little Big
First off, go watch the music video if you haven’t.
. . is this even a surprise?
Your husband is chaotic and he probably forced you to learn the dance with him. You both will randomly turn it on at inopportune moments and fully expect the other person to start the dance (someone do this with me).
You shouldn’t be surprised when your husband pulls up, looking innocent, before beginning to blare the song with all the windows rolled down.
Suddenly he looks like a maniac with the way he’s grinning.
Your jaw drops to the ground and you just stand there for a moment in shock.
Your face is bright red but you’re smiling stubbornly as you begin the horrific dance.
Matsukawa laughs. He literally gets out of the car and starts dancing with you like an idiot.
Everyone is watching in awe and honestly they should be jealous that you guys have so much fun.
Best husband.
Hanamaki – I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers
This is probably a common occurrence honestly. This bitch is chaotic as shit so if you think he wasn’t going to be harassing you every time he picks you up then you’re wrong.
At this point it’s just a challenge to see how far he can go.
Pulls up blaring this song and rolls down the window revealing him to be wearing a beach-themed button up (ya know, the classic dad ones) and he’s smirking like a fucking maniac.
Points at you just before the chorus.
You’re smiling like an idiot because he’s just so stupid and lovable.
“I WOULD WALK 500 MILES AND I WOULD WALK 500 MORE~!!”
He’s screaming so loud that you can’t believe his vocal chords haven’t snapped.
Maki starts doing the rope-pull thing and you play along and go to the car.
Yes, you guys sit in the parking lot screaming that song together until it ends.
Honestly, everyone at your workplace just thinks your husband is the coolest guy ever.
Daisho – Daddy by PSY
Probably thought he was the funniest guy on the face of the Earth when he pulled up to your job blaring this song. He looks like a real cool guy, too.
Sunglasses, short-sleeved shirt to show off muscular biceps, slicked hair.
Ya man has the whole shebang.
You just stare at him, jaw dropped when Daisho turns to you with a smirk. He’s nudges his sunglasses down a little to look at you over the rim.
“Hey, babe,” he greets, too casually for your liking.
The music is so loud that you barely even hear him.
His smirk only stretches wider when he sees your growing embarrassment.
“C’mon, you like my body, just admit it!” he calls.
You get into the car before he can keep talking. You quickly roll up your window but the other three are still down and you know in your heart that there’s no escaping your husband’s will to embarrass you.
“I’ll get payback.”
“Sure you will, babe.”
#haikyuu#haikyu#haikyuu!!#daichi x reader#sugawara x reader#tanaka x reader#hinata x reader#kuroo x reader#yaku x reader#oikawa x reader#matsukawa x you#hanamaki x reader#daisho x reader#daichi sawamura#sugawara koshi#tanaka ryunosuke#hinata shoyo#kuroo tetsurou#yaku morisuke#oikawa toru#matsukawa issei#hanamaki takahiro#daishou suguru#headcanons#funny#comedy#smut#haikyuu smut#haikyuu x reader smut#haikyuu x reader
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Audio taken from Blur Archive Project’s archive folder (with their permission), which you can find for yourself here:
https://mega.nz/folder/FNlQjQjA#rOWvMfq6rmdmI3W7ScOgSQ
You can also hear much clearer versions of some of the concert versions of the songs/characters speaking here:
https://mega.nz/folder/FNlQjQjA#rOWvMfq6rmdmI3W7ScOgSQ/folder/0MkzRKiR
Keep in mind not all the songs/character audio are cut in that second link.
Transcript under the cut:
19-2000
Murdoc: Ooooh, oh yeah? Oh yeah? What about thaaaat? Hey, listen—No, listen—you gotta listen to me here! I’ve got a really good idea! Why don’t we all go back to my place afterwards and get down to a little bit of Engelbert Humperdinck or something, yeah? He kicks butt that man! Englebert really kicks butt! (laughs) Haaaaaaiiiiiiil Sataaaaan! (laughs)
Note: Engelbert Humperdinck is a singer big in the U.K. He’s still releasing music today.
Punk
(loud bass guitar solo)
Noodle: Stoooop!
Murdoc: (flourishes then stops) Alright. (annoyed) Well, alright!
(feedback)
2-D: I-I think I need ta—
Murdoc: Yaaaaaay.
2-D: I think I need ta change my pants after that one! That was fuckin’ loud! Woooo!
Murdoc: Oh, I love feedback! Listen to that! Thank you very much!
2-D: We-We have to.... Good night, everyone!
Murdoc: (at the same time) Good night!
2-D: Thank you very much!
Murdoc: G’night, ‘cester.
2-D: Good night!
5/4 (encore)
Russel: Aw yeah! Yes, yes, London! Y’all wanna hear some more?
2-D: Yeeaah!
(cheering)
Noodle: Enjoyed yourselves, everyone?
2-D: (presumably being dragged back) Eeeh, ah, oh ah, noooo, Murdoc!
Murdoc: (at the same time) Do you really want to hear some more?
(crowd cheering “Yes!”)
Russel: Y’all wanna hear some more?
(crowd cheering “Yeah!” louder)
Russel: Yeeaaaah! They done fucked up this song, so we gon’ play it again! You with that?
(cheering)
Russel: Murdoc, man, let’s get this song right.
Murdoc: Kick butt!
2-D: (at the same time) Woooo!
Russel: I don’t hear nothin’! We won’t play nothin’ ‘cause I don’t hear nothin’!
(cheering)
Russel: I got to hear some noise! C’mon, London! I got to hear some noise! Yeaaah! Gorillaz in your midst, motherfuckers! This...This is Russel talkin’ to ya! We came to funk you tonight! Y’all ready? Y’all ready for this?
(cheering)
Russel: Then make some noise.
(cheering)
Kick it to ‘em!
(at the end of the song)
Noodle: I did iiiiiit! (laughs)
Clint Eastwood (encore)
2-D: (chorus for Clint Eastwood)
You sing!
Phi Life Cypher: I ain’t happy! ...Sunshine!
2-D: Sing!
Phi Life Cypher: Useless! My future!
(at the end of the song)
Phi Life Cypher: Yeah!
Murdoc: Ooooh yeah.
Phi Life Cypher: It’s the Gorillaz! Yeah!
Murdoc: Thank yooouuuu—Ah shit. (pauses) Thank yooouuu! Did you enjoy that, London?
(cheering)
Did you enjoy that, London?!
(more cheering)
Thank you! All back to my house! A-And we can sit there eating crisps! Yeaaaah! Or maybe some lemonade! Haaaaaaiiiiiil Satan! (laughs) Thank you very much! Good night! I’ve got to go to bed! I haven’t slept in a week! (laughs) Love you all in a special way.
2-D: Good night, Londoooooooon!
#this one is really fun#you can kinda feel the band members interacting backstage without seeing it#like I imagine Noodle getting mad that Murdoc decided to do a long bass solo at the end instead of ending it normally#and 2-D yelling when (I think) Murdoc is making him do an encore#Gorillaz#19-2000#Punk#5/4#Clint Eastwood#Stereo I Want it On (Audio)#2001 London Forum#concert audio
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ERYS
“People love to just talk about me by name and say, "Oh, Jaden Smith this, Jaden Smith that." It’s time for a new awakening and a new consciousness.” - Jaden on his album SYRE, Complex Magazine November 2017
Jaden Christopher Syre Smith was the boy born into the shadow of his father’s fame. However he took his birth into the public eye as an opportunity, not a blessing. Jaden uses music to make a name for himself, fighting to bring his own identity out of the shadows of his famous father. Smith’s second album, ERYS, details Erys emerging from the death of his opposingly naive and Icarus-like self, Syre. Jaden depicts the rise, fall, and conflict of his autobiographical character Erys in four tracks; ‘i-drip-or-is’, ‘Again’, ‘Got It’, and ‘Fire Dept’; these four songs are the centrefold of the entire album, where Erys becomes Syre and Syre becomes Erys. Through Erys’ aggressive and angry flaunting of his perceived power, Jaden explores the recklessness of an overinflated ego. Erys becomes a successful drug dealer for the drug ‘Vision’ in Los Angeles, however the money and power eat away at him as he overestimates his ability to control ‘Vision’. This is assisted by the internal conflict between Erys and Syre, as Syre’s gentle and lost voice wanders throughout the tracks urging Erys to understand that his reckless behaviour won’t fix their problems. The introduction of internal conflict within ERYS expresses the integrity of Jaden’s inner conflicts during the process of finding his true identity, how his polar opposite identities had to converge at a point to create a completed state of being. This conflict is also used to address the taboo of adolescence in relation to drug culture. Jaden’s “strict, hard rap album” is a force to be reckoned with; “every song, back to back, high tempo, a lot of bass like just crazy.”
Without context, Jaden’s music is the amalgamation of the typical hip-hop genre; autotune, models, drugs, cars, power, fame. By manipulating these features, Jaden uses hip-hop to his advantage in creating an egotistical Erys. ‘i-drip-or-is’ boasts;
“LV head to toe, MSFTS necklace on
They be stressin' 'cause I'm reckless and I'm flexin' hard
Flexin' super hard, she a superstar
With the stupid car, and it's supercharged
Rolex, he went to Luther, got my jeweler far”,
luxury brand names flying throughout the first verse, the picture is set. Interestingly, Erys has already acknowledged his tendency to be reckless in the second line, yet the context provides evidence that he believes this to be a good quality. Erys’ ego continues on in the next track, ‘Again’, where Erys talks about his fame, money and power;
“Now the gang got no shit to do, they just a chatterbox
Now I wear a muzzle to the bank, because I laugh a lot
Now I tell the paparazzi "Turn the fucking cameras off"”
gangs are out of the drug business as a result of Erys’ ‘Vision’ drug, he laughs so loud at the bank that they muzzle him, and he is being plastered all over the press. Thanks to Erys’ drug dealing business, he has achieved all facets considered for an individual to be successful. As a result, Erys believes he has solved his problem with his love interest as depicted in ‘Got It’;
“She want that brand new designer, that Louis bandana
I told her I got it
She want that wrist with the water and Virgil the wallet
I told her I got it
She said her ex n**** wildin' and giving her problems
I told her I got it.”
But this is not the end of the story. As Erys parties on top of the world, ‘Vision’ gets the better of him, and we see his collapse in the fastest song on the album, ‘Fire Dept’. Erys’ monotonous voice screams through the electric guitar and banging drums;
“Go fire department, call my mom
Said, "Your son dancin' on fire, it's all night long"
I think I just decided, need a ride home
95 percent, I go hard, still killing the vibe though”,
as he realises he needs urgent help. The last line pierces through the ears. Erys is acknowledging that he is losing energy coming down from 100 percent to 95, yet refusing to believe his power is dying, claiming to be “still killing the vibe”. Ego has trapped him in a state of denial. As the song progresses, Erys’ drug-induced screeches become more aggressive and the tempo increases, confessing “I think I lost my car/I can't see straight, I'm fucked” pokes out through the madness of his nonsensical rambling about his surroundings. Erys has lost control.
Erys’ rise to the top pushed him to his limits, and he has fallen as fast as he has risen. This short lived spark of incomprehensible power perfectly demonstrates the double edged sword of the human ego. Erys’ ego pushed him to reach incredible milestones of not only material success, but likely impossible spiritual experiences created by his drug ‘Vision’. However ego becomes an external force with no intention to cooperate with human ability, and pushes Erys to OD on ‘Vision’, resulting in his reckless regression. Jaden has become a master swordsmith with his storytelling genius, with ego being his deadliest double edged sword sticking out of ERYS as a forever-imminent threat. The concept of ego courses like blood through the body of four explosive tracks. Ego is a perilous feat of humanity, and Erys is being destroyed by his.
If one listened intently to the tracks, they would notice a solitary voice wafting through ‘Again’ and ‘Fire Dept’. This is Syre, trapped in the dark by the emergence of Erys. Audibly, Syre is juxtaposed against Erys by tenderly singing instead of belligerently rapping. Additionally, Erys’s voice has been manipulated by autotune of various degrees, which distinguishes Jaden’s natural voice for Syre. Syre’s presence in Erys’ rise is the most pertinent feat of ERYS because this is what makes Erys human. Syre may have died, however the true parts of his soul remain, his real thoughts and feelings. In ‘Again’, the music fades and echoes. Syre emerges singing of the girl he loves and how he has become adrift; “Girl, we can paint such a pretty life…I admit I'm lost, can I hitch a ride?/Something bout your voice, like a lullaby.” Yet Erys interrupts Syre’s digression with frustration;
“Who the fuck turned this shit on, n****
I told you don't play no motherfucking wack shit
Big drip only”.
It is tacit Erys is fighting to silence his inner self, believing that his new behaviour is the only way to overcome his hardship as it has worked on his external image. This also explains why Erys feels the need to always drop big luxury brands in his lyrics (particularly in ‘i-drip-or-is’ and ‘Again’), because the clothing he wears on his body is a conspicuous external composition of his ability to succeed. As Syre mentioned their love interest, Erys comes back with ‘Got It’, as described earlier, being an entire song about how he can now provide for the girl that they once couldn’t help. This feeds into the psyche of Erys believing that he is better off living the life that he has now, because on paper it all makes sense. Syre makes another appearance after Erys goes off the deep end at the end of ‘Fire Dept’ and continues his digression about his love interest;
“Think about
Your life
Too much
I'm losin' light
I'm cruising on
I think a lot
I think about
You a lot
Too much
Do too much
I should be movin' on
(For sure).”
This time, Erys cannot fight Syre’s appearance, and the song ends without interruption.
The conflict between Syre and Erys is a trademark of adolescent growth. Jaden uses this conflict to show how he had suppressed his true emotions by using drugs and money as a bandaid on his emotional and spiritual wounds. This is a common trend in adolescence, to believe that material wealth or a chemical alteration of the brain is the only solution to fixing hard problems. Syre and Erys’ conflict cries at our unforgiving society for help, for the aid that adolescents so desperately need to deal with their struggles. It seems that the youth do not have the resources they need to navigate a life that is expected of them, and thus they cope with what is available - drug culture. Just as Erys learnt to push ‘Vision’ across the city of Los Angeles, young people dealing with problems beyond their control resort to drug taking or dealing to handle their problems, and it destroys them just as Erys has been destroyed - even if they know deep down that drugs won’t fix their problems.
Syre and Erys also represent Jaden’s state of being. The conflict between the two characters is a metaphorical picture of Jaden’s internal fight against himself in his journey to finding his true identity. It is no question that Jaden Smith would’ve lived perfectly fine under the care of his father, yet he chooses to make his own name. This makes him a striking individual due to the immense care he takes in creating his true identity. By creating conflict between his two characters, Jaden immortalizes his story in his own words. He immortalizes the importance of finding one’s true identity, and inspires the youth of his generation to do the same. Syre and Erys eventually go on to merge into one person; Jaden. The existence of this resolution is an integral part of urging young people to become their real selves, because it shows that having a true identity is real, and achievable.
Jaden’s second album ERYS supersedes expectations of a boy born into fame and privilege. Following the completion of the SYRE and ERYS projects, Jaden is showing the world that he is more than his family name. Often teenagers want the world to understand they are their own person with their own dreams, feelings, desires and struggles. Jaden, in my opinion, expressed this best.
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Okay, so I don’t really talk about music much on this blog other than to post a song I’m listening to and wanted to share, but I really want to talk about this song here. See, after really liking Touch Off, I started diving into the rest of Uverworld’s discography, which of course started with checking out another of their biggest hits Odd Future, which many will probably recognize as one of My Hero Academia’s opening themes.
And my first time I was like, “Hey, this is pretty catchy!” But then I listened to it again, and again, and again, and just kept noticing things, and now...
Guys, I am in awe of this song.
And not because of any deep lyrics or stuff like that. No, I am in awe because after several listens, I realized why I kept coming back to this song in particular.
And just so we’re clear, I am not a musician. I can’t play any instruments, I can’t carry a tune to save my life, I can’t read music or really know anything about music theory. But I do know when something works, and am very good at breaking things I like down to their bare elements and figuring out exactly why they work.
And in this case, Odd Future is a song literally made out of hooks. I mean, most songs have a few hooks, some catchy melodies that stick in your head that weave in and out of the song. But with Odd Future, it’s like they went into their drawer of unused hooks, grabbed a great big handful, stuck them in a row, and somehow made it work. The hook changes every few seconds, some come back but usually with some new element, others only appear once in the whole song, and yet it still works as a complete song!
To begin, it begins with a huge punch to the face, a big (yet quick) preview of the chorus with the digitized vocals, thrumming guitars, and couple finger snaps.
Now that the song has your attention, it transitions into an ear-catching jazzy piano riff with a little digital stutter in the middle.
Okay, time for the first verse. First couple lines are sun in a high falsetto with the guitar strumming behind it and heavy distorted bass.
Then the vocals suddenly deepen into a short rap break with the noticeable “One Step” singalong English bits, broken up by high falsetto “Hoos!”
Drums kick in, and now he’s singing in a more smooth R&B style accompanied by romantic piano. Drums then cut off to give more focus on the vocals and piano. This happens in literally seconds and yet each part stands out.
Okay, first chorus time! First part is mostly the same as the intro, only the line is complete this time.
For the second part, the finger snaps are replaced with metronome percussion to encouraging clapping along, an awesome repeating single piano key kicks in, the synth starts thumping, and the vocals are suddenly undigitized (I understand that switching between digitized and undigitized vocals is something of a trademark for them, and the singer even has two microphones so he can do that in live shows, and it’s honestly kind of adorable).
HEY HEY!
Guess what, we have an early bridge for everyone in the stadium to go completely crazy! Beat drop with EDM chopped vocals while the singer repeats the song’s title and the steady percussion keeps the momentum going.
Then it slows things down just a little bit for the second verse. Back to R&B singing, only faster this time and accompanied by “Shape of You” synths for the first part.
Synths stay for the second part, but the vocals weave in and out of being digitized with more English singalong parts (What’s going on?).
Drum break!
Second chorus! Digitized vocals remain, but finger snaps are replaced by rapidly tapping the cymbals, which swiftly transitions into full percussion accompaniment.
Second part, same as the second part of the first chorus, except now the guitar and drums are just cutting loose to give it some extra teeth.
Second bridge! And now we come to another Uverworld staple, the kickass saxophone solo, now with heavy clap-along percussion and electric guitar.
Third chorus! First part follows the same melody as the first two choruses, but the vocals aren’t digitized this time to let you know we’re in the endgame, and now we have that slamming synth.
Second part is the same as the second chorus’s second part.
Time to transition into the outro, and all MHA fans know what to say here! “I KEEP MY IDEALS” motherfuckers! Final vocal breakdown, instruments go fucking nuts, and we even have a little bit of those chopped EDM vocals vaguely in the background as things wind down, ending on that lingering synth.
So...yeah. That’s why I’ve been so focused on this song. So many damned elements and hooks from so many different genres, many of them not even feeling like they should be from the same song, but somehow managing to weave together into a huge stadium crowd pleaser. Damn.
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Fugazi, New Horizons, Richmond, VA USA 10/7/1987 (FLS #0004)
What I like about these early recordings are the intimate settings and the dynamics that usually result from that. Only about 50 people attended this particular concert in Richmond, Virginia and it seems that plenty of friends came down from D.C. to take part in the events.
Note that this is only the second Fugazi gig that is played outside of D.C., the recording of the previous show in Chapel Hill, North Carolina unfortunately is not available at this time.
An early And The Same improvisation serves as a sound check and gets things going. Song #1 follows suit and features Guy on backing vocals for the very first time! Guy actually also pitches in vocally during Waiting Room, Merchandise and The Word, and basically seems to be gearing up to become a definite band member at this point.
A tremendous rendition of Furniture is up next, and although Brendan seems to miss a beat here and there, he really makes this one count with a couple of finger licking subtle drum fills. In Defense of Humans is a treat, providing ample opportunity for Ian’s signature guitar bursts. Turn Off Your Guns gets another solid play as well, and is introduced as “a popular little ditty-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-ditty about suicide.”
The band then adds another song to the set list as an early, unfinished version of Keep Your Eyes Open (featured on the 1991 album Steady Diet of Nothing) is premiered and this one really lights the recording up for me personally. The band actually drops the ball about half-way through the song, after which Ian pleads to try over, inviting people to shout “Fuck Brendan” should they mess up again. Some attendees seem to pick up on this, which in turn sets off a spark, causing Brendan to make up his own chorus. The result is hilarious, with Ian singing the chorus “We must, we must, we must” and Brendan interpolating “Fuck Eli” (probably Eli Janney, a D.C. affiliate).
Joe then leads us skillfully into Waiting Room, while Ian takes his time to explain it is a song about “waiting until you get with the right motherfucking people and making it work” and that “it’s worth the wait ‘cause the energy level will definitely be much much higher”, arguable relating the origin of the song to the cumbersome formation of the band itself.
Interlude 5 basically includes a little jam session, providing people with an opportunity “to see exactly what it is like in the very practice space at Dischord House”. Ian and Joe add some authenticity by getting some people to bark to get a feel of the dogs upstairs, and even try to get someone to mimic Jeff (Nelson).
A great version of Merchandise is up next, during which Ian finds yet another opportunity to elaborate on the meaning of the song. By now, the mood is very casual and everyone seems to feel very much at ease, which results in an engaging version of the Joe #1 instrumental during which Ian repeatedly, yet unsuccessfully opens the floor (and mic) for anyone willing to get something off his or her chest or to even recite some poetry.
As would often be the case during Fugazi gigs from here on out, Ian fully praises a local food joint, in this case Grace Place, what seems to have been one of the first vegetarian restaurants in the state of Virginia, maybe even the first in Richmond (it seems to have closed its doors in the 1990s). An incredibly fun and downright sizzling version of The Word concludes the set and evening, eliciting shouts and hoots from band and audience members alike.
Listening to this recording, you can easily pick up on the jovial mood of those present, everyone having a great time. It is quite infectious and I very much enjoyed listening to it, actually wishing I could have been there.
Overall, I think the drums, bass and guitars sound very well in the mix, the vocals come across rather shrill though, and are a bit sharp on my ears.
The set list:
1. And The Same Instrumental 2. Song #1 3. Furniture 4. Interlude 1 5. In Defense of Humans 6. Interlude 2 7. Turn Off Your Guns 8. Interlude 3 9. KYEO 10. Interlude 4 11. Waiting Room 12. Interlude 5 13. Merchandise 14. Interlude 6 15. Joe #1 16. The Word 17. Outro
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Bluegrass Basics #1
WHAT IS BLUEGRASS?
I realize that, what with this being a bluegrass blog and all, I should probably start by explaining... this.
If you’ve hung out with me in the last year and a half, then you’ve been subjected (probably against your will, kicking and screaming) to a Haddock Talks About Bluegrass conversation. Within seconds, you may be bombarded to an inescapable wall of sound as I shriek about G runs, five-strings, and dudes wearing hats named weird stuff like Lester, Burkett, Arthel, Dorris, Junebug, Haskel, and Chi Chi. Understandably, to cope and survive, your mind might have blocked out the worst of the memories... leaving you now with the question, “Well, what is bluegrass? And why does Haddock find it so cool?”
At its simplest, bluegrass is a folk-inspired genre of music originating from the Southern United States that utilizes a core group of acoustic string instruments: guitar, banjo, string bass, mandolin, fiddle, and dobro. However, bluegrass is not a direct preservation of old folk music. Its biggest influences are Scots-Irish fiddle tunes, African-American blues, and gospel music, and in that you can hear a lot of "old" sounds. But bluegrass also began within a commercial setting. Most people date it to the mid-1940s—yes, it's that new!—and it not only integrated new compositions and contemporary songs, but it brought about innovative instrumental techniques that most audiences had never heard before. Since its inception, bluegrass has been a music of unique juxtaposition; it's simultaneously homespun and commercial, simple and technically complex, straddling tradition with truly progressive innovation.
Also. Unlike almost every other genre that exist out there ever, bluegrass can be traced back to and centralized around a *SINGLE* human being. Yeah. That’s right. ONE dude essentially started his own motherfucking genre.
Enter: the Father of Bluegrass. Mr. Bill Monroe (1911-1996).
This guy.
1. HOW THIS SHIT GOT STARTED
Bill Monroe’s music at the time was considered hillbilly music. (“Hillbilly” was the name of the genre before we changed it to “country”). He was a radio star starting in the 1930s, and by the late 1930s, Bill and his band had become members of a popular, wide-reaching hillbilly music program, the Grand Ole Opry, whose radio signal stretched across the American South. Bill’s music wove together several influences: in particular, he combined the sound of old Scots-Irish fiddle tunes with the pitch bends, syncopation, and blue notes of African-American blues. For good measure, he chucked in four-part gospel songs, threw his singing into the high tenor stratosphere, and pushed the music forward with an urgent drive.
And the name of his act? Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys.
Hmhm... something sounds familiar here... something to do with “blue” and “grass,” maybe.
Bill’s music underwent changes, different personnel, different instruments. Every musician’s contribution is important and worth noting, but regrettably my post would be too long if I talked about them here. I will, however, mention what’s often considered the last piece of the puzzle. On December 8, 1945, Bill introduced a new musician he had just hired, a twenty-one year old banjo picker whose style of playing was so unexpected to audiences that you could barely hear the music above the amazed cheers and shouts from the live crowd. People who heard it on the radio talked about the banjo picker all week; some blokes debated about whether one person was playing or several, or if it was even a banjo at all. I know peeps today don’t tend to think of banjos as “cool” and all, but he was shredding up the instrument like some banjo Jimi Hendrix, as far as they were concerned. It was so exciting. Bill was already a popular performer; under this ensemble he had between then and 1948, he was launched to even more popularity.
I’m not trying to focus just on the banjo, but my point here is to emphasize how bluegrass did invoke monumentally new ideas.
That 1946-1948 group is what we usually consider the first-ever bluegrass band. They created the initial blueprint by which a unique band style emerged. Now, some standard musical features of the genre got locked in during the 1950s after several seminal Blue Grass Boys bandmates left and formed their own band. But this original group’s sound started A Movement™ that trickled down over the decades. New-budding musicians began imitating Bill’s sound in their bands. And also, Bill’s band had constant turnover, meaning that a ton of people went into the Blue Grass Boys, got influenced by Bill, then left to form their own ensembles, carrying with them the musical ideas they’d learned from Monroe.
(And by “constant turnover,” I mean—no joke—Bill had something like 200 official band members over the course of his career.)
^^^ The “Classic Band” of Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, c. 1947. From left to right: Bill Monroe (mandolin), Chubby Wise (fiddle), Birch Monroe (bass), Lester Flatt (guitar), and Earl Scruggs (banjo). When talking about the classic band, the bassist usually listed is Cedric Rainwater, but here (and legitimately part of the band at the time) is Bill’s older brother Birch.
In the late 1950s and 1960s, mainstream country music had to find a way to compete with the new and oh-so-frustratingly-popular rock-and-roll. Mainstream country music strayed away from scratchy fiddles and banjers and moved to smooth, pop-inspired, electric guitars and background orchestration. And if you didn’t sound like that, you probably weren’t going to be played on mainstream country radio. But there was a notable cluster of acoustic string band musicians who had been left behind... those people and groups who had branched straight off Bill Monroe. By this point, they were distinct enough that their music began to be regularly referred to as... yeah, you guessed it... bluegrass music.
Having been ignored by radio, bluegrass continued through other means, such as festivals that began in the late 60s and 70s. Many musicians brought their own instruments to jam, and to this day, bluegrass is a genre in which it’s common to both pick tunes with friends and family as a social event and go out to see professional performers.
As new generations have entered bluegrass, new ideas and sounds have funneled into it. However, I feel like the theme of combining tradition with innovation remains. For instance, in the 1960s with the Folk Revival, second generation bluegrass musicians simultaneously inserted more several-centuries-old folk songs into the bluegrass repertoire (ex: Fox on the Run), and brought in contemporary rock and pop elements to their bands’s sounds. And while today you may meet bluegrass purists who want to stick with what they heard in the 40s and 50s, you’ll see just as many if not more musicians continue to innovate and expand the genre.
And expand it they will.
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2. WHAT MAKES BLUEGRASS MUSIC BLUEGRASS?
As I’ve said before, bluegrass is a somewhat progressive amalgamation and reformulation of older music styles combined with contemporary music. Bluegrass might have been based in part on ideas from British Isles fiddle tunes and African-American blues, but it’s certainly not regurgitating how people played in decades past. Familiar, old elements combine with new, creative, and original concepts. You keep a healthy dose of both old and new.
It’s because of bluegrass that the banjo was completely reformulated as an instrument: changed from a comedic prop that was strummed into an intensely-picked solo instrument. Within bluegrass, banjo performance technique has continued to evolve, new ideas and styles building on top of one another. And let’s not forget the other instruments! The first dobro in a bluegrass band went in extremely unique directions compared to what was heard at the time, taking influences from everything down to banjo technique. At the same time, bluegrass has provided the space for styles like the old-time hoedown fiddle in periods of music where fiddle was ignored.
But....... as you’ve probably been wondering this entire post.... what does this genre sound like?
^^^ The typical instrument set-up for a bluegrass band. In the back is a string bass. In front, left to right, is a banjo, mandolin, fiddle, guitar, and dobro. If you’re not familiar with how to distinguish instruments: basses are plucked and low pitch; banjos sound twangy and play short note values; mandolins are a high-pitched instrument with a mellower sound that often employ tremolo (quickly undulating notes by strumming the strings up and down rapidly); fiddle is... I mean, it’s a violin; guitar is a mellower acoustic instrument that blends sonically with everything; and the dobro (maybe you’ve heard it referred to as a “steel guitar” or “Hawaiian guitar”) has a... uhhh... it’s a unique hound dog tone I have difficulties describing but is very distinct to hear.
A typical ensemble consists of mandolin, guitar, banjo, fiddle, string bass, and sometimes dobro. On rarer occasions, you may see other instruments like autoharp or harmonica (drums are usually considered horrible, forbidden things, even though... for the record... some high-profile bluegrass bands have used them). You’ll notice bluegrass is a distinctly acoustic string band sound.
There are also, of course, vocals, and in bluegrass, there is notable emphasis on tight two-, three-, and four-part harmony. However, what’s interesting about bluegrass as versus, say, other strains of country, is that for bluegrass, it’s about the full band and not just the lead singer. It’s as important to pay attention to the technically-driven solos (“breaks”) that the instruments play between sung verses. Many bluegrass pieces are straight out instrumentals, too.
Every instrument has a role or roles it fulfills in a bluegrass band. In the background, instruments may play rhythm or fills. Rhythm keeps the basic beat. Fills are unobtrusive melodic-sounding fragments that hide behind the vocalist(s) singing the main melody. And when there’s no singing, instruments take turns in the spotlight playing breaks. You can hear any instrument play a break. It’s to note that breaks are often improvised or semi-improvised, which is half of the fun and skill of watching the musicians perform. Ergo, even if the song itself may or may not have simple chord structures and lyrics, it’s also technically advanced with an expectation that every musician can perform fast-paced solos they improvise on the fly.
There’s different types of guitar styles I’ve seen in bluegrass. I’m not a guitarist, so I don’t want to elaborate too far and share incorrect information. However, it’s fair to say that guitar can be anything from a backup rhythm chord strummer to a flat-picked, fast-paced, melodic soloist. There is a VERY distinct guitar fill that happens at the end of lines, phrases, or sections called the G run you’ll hear everywhere. Fiddle I’ve also heard a wide variety of styles. On the dobro side, the dobro tends not to be the “Hawaiian” sound you may be familiar with on a steel guitar, but more geared toward quick, technical, bluesy stuff. Bluegrass banjo has several styles, but the most prototypical is the Scruggs style, where the banjo does rapid-fire, ornamented, three-fingered picking in which a melody line is pulled out at the same time you’re also picking background chord notes.
To describe bluegrass vocals, you’ll sometimes hear the phrase “high lonesome” thrown around. I don’t hear anywhere as much high lonesome sound in contemporary bands as I do first generation, but the high lonesome sound is a description of piercing, high-range vocals. Bill Monroe would even take songs that were usually played in the key of G and pitch them higher into A or B, pushing his and the ensemble’s vocals into a higher range. I remember listening to Monroe and thinking to myself, “Even though it’s male vocals, why is it so easy for me to sing to?” Because I’m a fucking mezzosoprano, and there’s times Monroe hits and holds notes that are at the top of my range. Hot damn.
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Rhythmically, bluegrass tends to be a driving genre of music. A term that gets thrown around a bit is “drive.” Even on the slow songs, you may hear the instruments push or strain forward. Beat-wise, bluegrass tends to emphasize both a strong downbeat and hit heavy offbeats in a boom-chick style. That last sentence might not have made sense to non-musicians, so I’ll explain...
When we listen to music, we can clap to it. We can also count along to any song as we clap. Music has an innate structure where, when we count, the sound seems organized in groups of two, three, or four. So, when we count to music, we’ll count repetitively. One song may be groups of two (you’ll count “One two, one two, one two”), groups of three (“One two three, one two three”), or groups of four. Every time you hit the “one,” it sounds bigger. It’s more emphasized. It’s restarting the pattern or unit of counting that’s inherent to the rhythmic structure of music.
Now, you can subdivide those numbers between your claps. That means you’d count “One (and) two (and), one (and) two (and),” where the “ands” tend to feel smaller and less-emphasized. Those “ands” are called offbeats. In bluegrass, you’ll hear both the numbers and the “ands” clearly hit. The string bass will play the one’s and two’s, while perhaps the mandolin and banjo are emphatically hitting the “ands” in the background.
There are subgenres within bluegrass. You may hear people refer to newgrass, progressive bluegrass, jamgrass, punkgrass, etc. Put a word in front of it, add the word “grass,” and it probably exists. Jewgrass exists and it’s awesome. There’s fusions, too. The Native Howl is a band that combines thrash metal and bluegrass. Gangstagrass is a band that combines bluegrass with hip hop. It’s also to note that bluegrass has long since become international, and there are notable communities and bands of bluegrass from everywhere to Japan to the Czech Republic.
3. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR GETTING STARTED?
Ummhmhmhm I honestly need a separate post to begin sharing videos, bands, periods of bluegrass, and more. It’s diverse and I love everything from the music coming out in 2020 to the stuff heard in 1947.
I realize that this post skews more toward first generation bluegrass and the starting bands in Ye Olde Days. Because of that, I’ll say this much: the Big Three bands of the early years were Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys, and the Stanley Brothers and the Clinch Mountain Boys. Bill Monroe’s music is “the original” and is based, at least in his mind, the most on the fiddle tunes he grew up with. Flatt & Scruggs skew somewhat more toward a popular culture sound with smoother vocals and instruments like the dobro that other early bluegrass bands did not use. The Stanley Brothers lean the most to mountain old-time music. Every band is wonderful in their own way and I love listening to all.
I’ll leave this post with what was my gateway song into bluegrass. This was the first song I listened to with the intent of experiencing bluegrass, not expecting to like it, but being pleasantly surprised. I fell in love with the song and... well... as you’ve seen... I’m a year and a half into the genre and still charging strong.
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I look forward to continuing to learn about bluegrass, refine my understanding of it, and share those discoveries with y’all in my future posts.
#thatbanjobusiness#that banjo business#music#I keep being nervous to post INFORMATIVE posts on these topics being like#'what if I got something wrong???'#bruh [talking to myself]#HOW MANY MOVIES AND VIDEOS AND DOCUMENTARIES AND INTERVIEWS AND BOOKS HAVE YOU GONE THROUGH#SHUT UP YOUR IMPOSTOR SYNDROME TRAP AND ACCEPT YOU KNOW SOME SHIT#besides I can always hide behind 'well I JUST STARTED getting into the music'#which is true#to be clear: I did not grow up with this music#so bear that in mind with all my posts#I am LEARNING and EXPLORING for the first time in my late 20s#Bluegrass Basics#blabbing Haddock#General Banjo Business#Country Music History#Bill Monroe#daddy boi billiam#music history events
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Hey There, Demons - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]
Synopsis: You, drummer for the Spooky Kids, aka the Dumbass Idiots, decide with the band to go ghost hunting in LA one night after a show. Bad idea for the most part, good idea for the sole reason of finally putting you and Manson together in a dark room. Feelings? What are those?
Notes: Spooky Kids era! I’ve been watching a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved, so here you go. Also features a bit of Twiggy x Pogo for good measure.
"I don't believe in ghosts."
You toss a napkin at Brian. "Poser." You're all sitting in an airport, waiting for your flight from Jacksonville to Los Angeles for a show tonight.
He grins. "Nah. I'm just bullshitting, of course I do. I mean, I've never seen one, other than that whole Necronomicon thing when I was a kid, but half of me thinks that was from drinking bong water.”
“Yeah. Well. Imagination is a beautiful thing."
He licks his lips. "Especially when I'm jacking off."
"Gross," you mutter.
"That's not what you said last night."
"You wish," you huff.
"Cool it you two, we all know you're banging," Pogo calls out, and starts making high pitched moaning noises. You (and everyone else in the band) looks at the keyboardist, wondering if it'd attract even more attention to tape his mouth shut. "Ah! Ah! Ah!”
Jeordie joins in. “Oh, god! Oh, Brian! Yes! What a big dick you have!"
"All the better to fuck you with," Brian plays along. Jeordie climbs into Brian’s lap.
"Stop it, big boy, you're turning me on!"
"I don't sound like that," you mutter.
"Ohhh yeeeeah," Jeordie groans out a climax, and Daisy scoffs, slipping on his sunglasses to avoid the odd stares you're getting.
"I'll have what he's having."
"Unless... Brian is the one taking it," Pogo muses, "That's possible." He drops his voice. "Mmmm. Bette, make me your bitch!"
"Yeah, I just love it when (y/n) gets the strap on out and destroys my ass," Brian grumbles. You blush a little, but hide it under a laugh.
"Again. You wish."
“Am I the only one who finds it very hard to believe (y/n) would put out for Bri?” Jeordie asks. It’s Brian’s turn to toss something at his best friend.
“We all know if she had good taste in men, she’d be fucking me already.”
You hold up three fingers. “Read between the lines.”
You and Brian had been skirting around one another since you had joined the band. You had known Jeordie since working at a crappy part time job at a used record shop with him, and had met the others when Brian had moved to Florida from Ohio, which was a few years ago. They had gotten this band together with another drummer who called himself Sarah Lee Lucas.
Recently, Sarah had left the band to pursue something else, and since banging on things with sticks isn't too hard in your books, you convinced the Spooky Kids to hand you the drumsticks as the newly christened member, Bette Davis x Jeffery Dahmer: Bette Dahmer. It hadn't been easy to convince them to let a girl in, since they’re all a bunch of juvenile assholes, but with Jeordie backing you, eventually they caved.
"Back to the matter at hand," Brian says.
"Hand job," Jeordie giggles, picking a scab off. He pouts as it bleeds.
"Later," Brian quips, standing on a chair. You tug him down before a security guard can do it, and he falls on his ass. "Ow, fuck you."
"That's what anal feels like," you say.
"You would know Bets, you probably take it up the ass from fifty guys at a time, ya fuckin whore," Pogo laughs.
"Stephen, Jesus," Daisy chuckles a little. Pogo has zero filter, and sometimes it's refreshing, sometimes it's annoying. You take your wad of gum out, balling it up, and use your hair elastic to slingshot it right in his face. The guy just picks it up and pops it in his mouth.
"Aw!"
"Ew!"
"You're fucking disgusting, man."
"Eat shit and die." Pogo gives you all the finger, and Jeordie speaks up, laying his head in your lap and stretching out over the airport seats.
"Someone said something about ghosts. I like ghosts. Space ghosts."
"Yes!" Brian brings it back. "Thank you Jeordie, back on track. We are all going ghost hunting tonight, after the show."
"Who died and made you god?" Pogo asks.
"God did," Brian snapped. "And when I'm god everyone dies."
"That's profound, poetry-man," you smirk, crossing your arms, "Got any more emo shit to say before Scott gives every reason why we shouldn't break into some haunted building tonight with video cameras?"
"Who has a video camera?" Jeordie asks, wide eyed, "I wanna see how big my dick looks on screen."
"It looks just like your namesake," Brian says. "Twiggy." Jeordie looks crestfallen.
"It's not that small," you assure him, "It's average, but not small."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I'd let you have a go, if you weren’t..." You smirk, alluding to the crush Jeordie had on another band member. He goes red.
"If Brian wasn't already balls deep in that," Pogo chides.
"I bet your dick looks like a pickle," you shoot back, sticking your tongue out.
"Wanna check?"
"Okay," Daisy blushes, standing up, "Just cause we're a band, doesn't mean we need to have an orgy."
"What was the point, then?" you joke.
"Anyway. Like Bette said, I really don't think we should be doing this tonight. If we get arrested for trespassing, what'll that do to the band?"
Brian crosses his arms. "Well I'm the leader, and I say it'd give us a cool reputation!”
"Right. Members of the Marilyn Manson family get arrested for... what, looking for ghosts? What a hardcore group of people.”
"We can tell the press we killed someone. Besides, this is the type of shit we’re supposed to do as a metal band. We gotta do dumb, risky things that make us look like bonified Satanists. Otherwise we’re just posers like the rest of ‘em.”
“No, we just have to go on a couple benders in hotel rooms with some blow and a couple tatted up prostitutes, and we’ll fit in.”
“Look, we can do cocaine off girls’ tits and go ghost hunting and still be rock stars, so shut the fuck up Berkowitz, we're doing it," Brian says. Daisy puts his hands up, unwilling to argue with him any more than he already has. So, it’s settled.
You bump your foot against Brian's, and he gives a lopsided smile, brushing the long black hair out of his face and bumping your foot back. Momentarily, his attention is diverted.
"Will someone go get Jeordie? He's pissing in the water fountain."
--
You look out at the crowd. This is a bigger audience than usual here in LA.
“Lots of motherfuckers came out to see us,” Bri comes by to whisper at you, parting his hair and making sure his lipstick is nice and smeared. You nod, and toss him his big floppy top hat. He sticks it on his head as you’re introduced.
“All the way from the South Florida music scene, we’ve got Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids!”
Jeordie starts the first song, Negative Three, off with a bassline intro, and you start the band off with a four count on your drumsticks, then hit the drums as Brian begins to wail into the mic.
“Give me your blood, your teeth, your high school pictures...”
You watch him, not skipping a beat on your rhythm. Daisy headbangs as you launch into the chorus, and Twiggy fiddles with his bass guitar across the stage, dressed in one of his ragdoll dresses. Pogo is to the right of you, hammering away at his keys and jolting around. You always have a good time performing with the guys, but Brian’s got your attention tonight.
He keeps looking back at you, for some reason.
You almost don’t realize the change in song and the fact that you’d been playing it, and nearly jump when Brian screams into the mic: “I bring you!”
You look away from his shirtless figure, and focus on putting on a good show with them as the crowd moshes in front of you.
--
After the show, everyone stops back at the motel quickly, drying off and getting changed. You all reconvene after getting into more comfortable clothes, avoid the small group of fans waiting to follow you, and get ready to leave.
“You were great tonight,” Brian says.
“Really? I nearly missed the beginning of Lunchbox,” you huff.
“Nah, I didn’t notice it. If I had, I would’ve yelled at you til you cried.” He gives a shit eating grin.
The Viper Room. The five of you stare at it. The sun has long since set after the show, and you're in front of the LA nightclub with amateur ghost hunting equipment. (AKA, anything you could find at a five and dime store on the sunset strip this late at night).
"River Phoenix died here,” Jeordie mentions.
“And Johnny Depp owns the place," Daisy remarks.
"I know him," Brian says.
"River Phoenix?” Pogo asks, stroking his beard. “Yeah? You climb into his grave often?"
"Depp, I know Johnny Depp."
"If you know Johnny Depp, then Twiggy's Luke Skywalker," Pogo scoffs.
"Like my father before me," Twiggy mumbles.
"No, I know him! I was an extra on his show, 21 Jump Street. He's cool, we're friends."
"Suuuure."
Even Jeordie snickers at that, after emerging from his Star Wars fantasy. "Fuck you guys," Brian mutters, "If Johnny was here right now--"
"Oh, you're on a first name basis, huh?"
"If Johnny was here right now, you fucking clown asshole, he'd say hi Brian, and tell you to go fuck yourself."
"He'd say ‘hi Brian’?" you tease, and he smiles.
"Yes, he would. He's nice."
“Would he like me?”
“Anyone would like you.”
"Does he think this place is haunted?"
"I don't know," the singer hums, "I never asked."
You pick the lock, all enter, and shut the door behind you. It's pitch black, and frankly a little nerve-wracking.
"We shouldn't be here," Daisy sing songs.
"One more word out of you and we're feeding you to the ghosts," Pogo says.
"The same could be said for you," you say to the keyboardist. He shoots a dirty look your way that you can't see through the dark. "I did some reading,” you admit, and everyone turns to you. “Apparently there’s a body buried downstairs, in the crawlspace.”
“Johnny’s a killer,” Jeordie whispers in awe.
“That’s fucking rad,” Brian mutters, “I have even more respect for the guy now.”
“It wasn’t Johnny, don’t say that shit out loud in Hollywood or you’ll get sued,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So aside from the bones, the ghostly activity is downstairs in the basement, the VIP room, and by the bar.”
"I know where I'll be," Jeordie smiles, and walks over to the bar. "Pour me a stiff one River, and don't spare the rum."
Pogo sighs. "C'mon, Daisy. The odd couple are going down to the basement."
"Uh, now I think I should be the one to stay at the bar." Daisy shakes his head. "If Jeordie does, we'll have smashed bottles and cop sirens."
"Fine," Jeordie complains, shoving his red and black dreads out of his face.
“Whatever, dude. It’s just a bunch of bullshit anyway,” Pogo mutters, “It’s like Santa Clause, parents invent ghosts and all that shit to scare kids into behaving themselves, the ever present fascism of the oppressed American youth...” Jeordie follows the ranting keyboardist downstairs, shooting you a desperate look. You just smile, giving a little good luck wave.
“That leaves you and me in the VIP room,” you say, turning to Brian.
“That it does,” he replies, licking his lip ring. “Just don’t try to hold my hand. That’s sick.”
“If you touch me, I’ll scream,” you retort, and walk ahead of him. He admires your ass with the flashlight, and you smile a little.
Downstairs in the basement, Pogo starts banging on the walls.
“Hello! My friends, my ghoulish friends! My... ghoulfriends, if you will. ANYONE WHO’S GOT THEIR BONES BURIED BACK HERE, MAKE A NOISE! Fart or something!” He swings his arms around.
“Did Johnny Depp kill you?” Jeordie asks, eyes wide. He twitches at a car honk outside.
Pogo bounces up and down. “Come attack me, bones! Make me one of you! Come on, murder me and bury me, daddy! I’m into that kinky shit! I am here for the taking!”
“That sounds a little forceful,” Jeordie whispers.
“On my part, or their part?” Silence.
“Good point.”
They keep walking around, and Jeordie trips on something. Pogo keeps banging and yelling obnoxiously. “GOBLINS, GHOULIES, FROM LAST HALLOWEEN! AWAKEN THE SPIRITS WITH YOUR TAMBOR—hey Jeordie, what the fuck are you doing on the ground?”
“I just like the taste of carpet,” Jeordie retorts, sarcasm apparently not evident enough for Pogo to catch it.
“Jesus, what are you on? I want some.”
“Help me up?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the mad clown mutters, and leans down. Jeordie takes his arm, and the two look at each other for a few seconds, the flashlight beneath them illuminating the specks of dust floating through the inch or so between their faces. “Uh...” Pogo whispers, deep voice grumbling.
“Yeah,” Jeordie swallows, and the two stand again, looking away from one another.
Upstairs, you and Brian enter the VIP room.
“Hey there demons, it’s me. Marilyn Manson,” he says, “This is my concubine, Bette Dahmer. Scare us.”
You glare at him. “Actually, scare me. You can just kill him.” The two of you look around with the flashlight a bit, inspecting the dark wallpaper and decor.
“This is kinda spooky,” Brian admits.
“It’s nice,” you say, stroking the dust off a lamp, “Very gothic. I can see why movie stars like this place.”
“Yeah.” Brian turns the flashlight on and off, finally setting it on a small table and letting the beam keep the room dimly lit. “Lots of old Hollywood glamour. You’d fit right in.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, you’d look pretty in an old Marilyn Monroe dress. Or at least one of Jeordie’s.”
“What if Marilyn Monroe came here?” you giggle.
“Hey, Mar! Thanks for the name!” Brian calls, “If we get rich and famous, we’ll give you the royalties!” You lounge out on one of the couches, and he eyes you. “You could be sitting on a ghost right now,” he says, “You could have a ghost inside you.”
“Mm?”
“You could be sitting right on his big ghost cock.”
“That’s hot.”
“You could have me inside you too, if you wanted.”
“Y’know, I think we’ve been on the road too long,” you laugh, “Pogo’s jokes are getting to you.”
“It’s not the jokes.”
“Yeah, well. If I’m starting to look hot to you, you must be delirious.”
“Nah... I really do think you’re hot, Bets.”
He sits next to you, and you look over at him. “Seriously?”
He ducks his head. “Yeah.”
“I... feel the same way. I mean, I was never ever gonna tell you, cause soon, with any luck, we’ll be big rock and roll stars, and you-- well, you know how it works. You’ll have a million groupies, you’ll be drowning in free pussy.”
“Fuck the groupies. I want your pussy.”
You laugh. “You say that now.”
“Yeah, I do. Til someone better comes along, which I doubt will happen.” He lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. It was weird onstage—usually I can hide it, but tonight... I don’t know. You sitting there, in that top, with your eyes... you were just...” He looks down again, his old shyness coming back. You don’t know what to say. You can only stare at his lips.
Over at the bar, Daisy sits patiently, watching the glass he’s set on a napkin. “Hello, ghosts. It’s me, Scott. You can call me Daisy if you like. If you can hear me, move the cup.”
He stares at the cup. The cup does not move.
Downstairs, Pogo and Twiggy are awkwardly trying to continue their ghost hunt without talking about the moment they just had.
“So, uh, so ghoulies. Where ya from?” Pogo shouts. “Is SATAN in the room with us? We are BIG FANS, sir.” Jeordie starts giggling about something. “What is it?!”
“I just heard a bang above us.”
“That means the demons have come out to play, Jeordie-boy!” Pogo cackles, hopping up on a booth seat and drumming the ceiling.
“No. It means Bette and Manson are screwing around,” Twigs laughs. Then his face gets dead serious. “What if, uh...”
“What if what?” Pogo glances over suspiciously.
“What if... they weren’t the only ones?”
You gasp, standing up and staring at the shattered lamp that had just fallen off the table. “Oh my god. That wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“They’re totally gonna think we’re screwing around up here.”
“Maybe we are,” Brian gets up too, tucking his hair behind his ear.
“Y-you wanna?” you back up. He nods, and falls on top of you on the other couch.
At the bar, Daisy sits, staring at the cup. He patters his fingers on his knees. “It’s okay, ghosts,” he says, smiling politely, “I can wait.”
He stares at it some more. The cup does not move.
In the room, you reach your hand up Brian’s back underneath his black t-shirt. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Shut up and take my pants off.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up. Take your own pants o... ohhh, god, yeah.” Brian reaches up to massage your breasts, and you throw your head back, undoing his fly. “How long have you wanted to do this?”
“Since the day I walked into the dumb record shop and stole that David Bowie EP.”
“What the fuck?! I got fired for that!”
Downstairs, Pogo runs a hand over his smooth bald head. “I don’t know, man. This sounds very gay to me.”
“I mean,” Jeordie scuffs his shoe on the ground, “It doesn’t have to be. Or like, it could be. If you’re cool with that.”
“If I’m cool with being a homo?”
“...Yeah.”
Pogo looks up at Jeordie, and sighs. “For you?” He glances around the dark, creepy basement, then back to the bassist. “I could be cool with that.”
Daisy changes tactics. “Here. Don’t like moving cups? That’s okay, neither do I sometimes. Let’s try this again.” He smiles. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, god... Brian!” you moan from the VIP room.
“Br... Brian!” Daisy says, excitedly, standing up. “You have the same name as my friend! Oh god... okay, um... how did you die, Brian?”
“Get inside me,” you groan, and Brian takes his boxers down, kissing you as he sinks into your tight heat. The two of you moan, base instincts taking over.
“In... inside you?!” Daisy repeats, eyes lighting up at the apparent paranormal activity he’s discovered. “Oh! You died from an overdose, just like River, didn’t you? You had too many narcotics inside you!”
Downstairs, Pogo steps forward, and swallows. Jeordie closes his eyes, and waits. Suddenly, a car screeches through a red light outside, and Jeordie practically jumps into Pogo’s arms, forcing the two together at the lips. Pogo’s eyes fly open, and Jeordie’s close again, enjoying the kiss. They break away, and stare at one another. Pogo swears, and goes in for another kiss.
“Harder,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around the singer’s neck. He pushes his hips in faster.
“You like it rough, sweetheart?”
“Yeah Bri, I like it rough, yeah...”
He reaches down, finding your sweet spot. You arch into him, scratching your nails up his slender back. He keeps pounding into you, and grunts into your neck.
“Baby, baby, baby...”
“Do you have a message for me, or for any members of our band?” Daisy asks, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “You know... some insider’s industry tips?” He winks.
“Goood, you’re so fucking good!”
Daisy raises his eyebrows. “I... well thank you! Thank you very much, we really try to reach people with our music.”
“What the fuck are you blabbering about?” Pogo mutters on the stairs, wiping Twiggy’s lipstick off his chin. Daisy beckons them over.
“Shhh! Watch this. I’m sorry I ever doubted you guys... the spirits are so active in this place! Forget making records. We could be mediums!” Jeordie joined Pogo over by the bar as Daisy went on. “Okay—if you’re here with us now, give us a sign.”
There’s a loud bang, followed by a creak and a faint gasp. Jeordie and Pogo look at one another, actually a little bit freaked out by the response. Then comes the “communication.”
“I’m coming, oh-- I’m coming!”
“Where?!” Daisy cries, “Show yourself, come!” Pogo sighs, and Jeordie falls to the floor, laughing.
“I think they already did, pal.” The keyboardist raises his painted on eyebrows, and points to the VIP room. You stumble out, hair messed to hell, and Brian comes out behind you, buckling up his belt. Daisy stares at the two of you for the longest time, before getting up and walking toward the door.
The rest of you go to walk out, deeming the place a paranormal dud, when a gust of wind blows behind you. Brian’s about to turn around, accusing Jeordie of leaving a window open or something, but there’s nothing there. Then, everything happens at once. Daisy’s cup tips over the side of the counter and shatters. The door to the VIP room slams shut, and you all start to hear thumping footsteps coming up the stairs from the basement.
You and Brian grab at each other, running out first while laughing. Pogo shoves Jeordie over and bolts out. A few seconds later, he runs back in, grabbing the bassist by the hand and dragging him out too. Daisy stays, getting out the video camera. Brian walks back in, guiding the guitarist out calmly, and closes the club’s front door with a click.
“Hey uh, Bri?” you say, taking his arm. He grunts, putting an arm around you. “Next time you see your friend Johnny Depp... maybe don’t mention that we fucked in his haunted club. Kay?”
#marilyn manson#marilyn manson x reader#reader x marilyn manson#this band is just too much fun to write for#that's probably why I keep doing sk era stuff#madonna wayne gacy#twiggy ramirez#twiggy x pogo#pogo x twiggy#brian warner x reader#reader x Brian warner#brian hugh warner#the spooky kids#marilyn manson and the spooky kids#ghost hunting#buzzfeed unsolved#inspired by buzzfeed unsolved#marilyn manson smut#marilyn manson fanfiction#daisy berkowitz#bette dahmer#marilyn manson imagine#marilyn manson imagines#marilyn manson fandom#mansonite#mansonites
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Trond Kallevåg Hansen.
Bedehus & Hawaii, 2019.
Hubro.
( Mastered By – Giuseppe Ielasi )
( Guitar, Marxophone, Keyboards, Xylophone – Geir Sundstøl )
~
[ Album Review |
1) Bird is the Worm + 2) Brightly Off-coloured Discophile ]
1) There are so many different reasons a particular album will connect with me, and often, it’s more than one reason. It’s a joy to attempt to convey those emotions and thoughts in the written form, to bring the imagery in my head, heart, and soul to life on the page. But occasionally I encounter an album that is so damn beautiful in some ineffable way that all I want to do is simply type the words this is pure beauty over and over again. This is pure beauty this is pure beauty this is pure beauty this is pure beauty. Guitarist Trond Kallevåg Hansen has crafted an album that captures the Nordic countryside and the Pacific ocean shore, and he’s joined by musicians who have a talent at doing the same, especially fellow guitarist Geir Sundstøl, who, also, creates music of pure beauty and has left me equally captivated. 2019 has had its share of gorgeous recordings see the light of day, but perhaps none more oso than Bedehus & Hawaii. This is pure beauty. Sometimes that’s all that can be said, and really, there is nothing more that needs saying.
2) Sometimes when an album creates the mood of the sun warming your skin, with a gentle breeze blowing, and for some reason you’re sitting on a large front porch in some fucking rocking chair, staring out at the horizon, and popping off random “yeps” into the air, it’s easy to ignore. Its sounds drift in so smoothly you don’t realize how it makes the entire space a thousand times more chill. Musicians like Bill Frisell, Ry Cooder, and Gustavo Santaolalla are virtuosos of this “oh, fuck ya” space. These kinds of albums aren’t here to throw bricks through your window, shit in a paper bag and light it on fire, or break down socioeconomic whatever-the-fuck. These albums don’t argue with you. They’re not the fighting type. But they get their way whether you like it or not. All they want is for you to chill the fuck out. Their goal is to create sound waves that relax those shoulders, unclench that jaw, and place you in that perfect happy high state where you softly shut your eyes and smile like some dumb idiot. That’s what Trond does on this album by combining folk instrumentation with fancy-shmancy jazz techniques. It’s a folky jazz bubble bath, motherfuckers. So lie back, take it in, and enjoy.
The slide guitar, or pedal steel, can often be an overlooked instrument. When you do find yourself in front of one, you wonder how the fuck you ever forgot about their beautiful sound and why you ever stopped listening to it in the first place. Their bends and sustained notes have the ability to create twangy melodies that ring out like a swan’s song singing out to a benevolent Hillybilly God named Cletus; this makes sense considering Bedehus is Norwegian for “chill as fuck church house on a bucolic hillside” (not a direct translation). Geir Sundstøl plays this shit with the sensitivity of an eyeball and the foresight of a wizard. There’s not a single strain or ill-placed note in the batch. It all comes and goes with the naturalness of an ocean tide.
Next to the talents of Geir, you’ve got Trond throwing down Frisell-inspired guitar, Alexander Hoholm playing a clean, hearty, and pitch-perfect double bass, and Ivar Myhrset Asheim playing percussion like God fucking intended; bringing attention to what’s already there, not being a fucking centrepiece like some attention-seeking child that shat itself, and Adrian Løseth Waade showing what’s up on the fiddle. Albums like this don’t seem overly impressive at first. They’re easily overlooked. It’s not until you realize how easy it is to ruin such a delightful mood that you understand the talent behind them. One single blip, one blop, one note played too hard or soft and the entire diaphanous sheet of sound gets drenched with piss. And that’s where the tension comes from. To properly execute these kind of jams, you require a team of precise hands. Each instrument must work together to cut back the layers of callousness without ever touching a nerve or hitting the meat. If you’re a jazzhead, you’ll understand these techniques well and enjoy their performance. But if you don’t know or give a fuck about technique, this album may have even more to offer. Sure it’s pretty cool to know how a magic trick is performed, but it’s an entirely different thing to actually believe that it’s magic.
#jazz#jazz fusion#folk music#trond kallevåg hansen#2019#hubro#giuseppe ielasi#geir sundstøl#2010s#2010s jazz#bird is the worm#brightly off-coloured discophile#review
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Professional Matters
Chapter 2
I took a sigh of relief when I pulled into the parking lot of the studio. I was all the way on south side LA in a moderately sketchy area. I had never been to this studio but I knew it was notorious for west coast rappers. I glanced at the time on my console to see I was running a bit later than expected. After I got my work done for the day, I ended up falling asleep and having to rush home, change and head back out again.
I didn’t want to do too much so I decided on a white tee, black jeans and Yeezys. I pulled down the mirror compartment in my car and fixed my hair for the fourth time in the last 30 minutes. My chestnut hair was starting to get so long again even though it felt like I just got a haircut. I kind of didn’t know what to do with it, but honestly I look good with most styles so it doesn't bother me too much.
The bags under my eyes were a different story. My brown eyes were bright but I couldn’t deny how tired I was. Between all my obligations, things are getting very thin. But the money and progress I’m making is worth the bags though. After boosting my confidence for another moment, I closed the mirror, turned off my engine and climbed out my Lexus.
Walking into the building, I straightened out my clothes and adjusted my jewelry. I didn’t want to do too much so I decided on a white tee, black jeans, Yeezy’s and a couple gold chains. I know a lot of people in the industry feel the need to be flashy but I’m comfortable not having all that (yet).
I had to be buzzed in at the door and upon entrance, I gave the receptionist my name.
“Justin Bieber. For the 999 session?” The woman checked her computer. I didn’t realize my name would have to be on a list but I guess Juice really is blowing up. I’m proud.
“Yeah.”
“Alright they’re down the hall on the right to the very back. Studio 11. Make sure the recording light isn’t on before you go in.”
“Thank you, beautiful“ I smiled before setting off to the room. Even though the building looked a little rough from the outside, I was well kept and obviously historical. I couldn’t help but be in awe seeing all the signatures and pictures along the wall. From Biggie to Wayne, everyone had a picture up. I could be making history just by walking through here. As soon as I made it to door eleven, the recording light conveniently turned off. I wasn’t nervous but sometimes in this industry you just never know what to expect. With a sigh I did a quick double knock on the door before twisting the handle.
“Broooooo you made!” Juice exclaimed as soon as he saw me walk in. With a wobble and laugh, he passed the half naked girls in the studio to dap me up before pulling me into a hug.
“Fuck yeah bro. It's nice to see you too. Thank you for inviting me,” I shook his hand again and began to take in the room. It was a decent size studio space with really nice equipment that I would just die to work with. There were three couches on one side of the room and the recording booth on the opposite side.
Like last time, there was a lot of people in the studio. Though I recognized his manager, Max, and a couple of others from his team, everyone else in the room seemed to be friends and groupies. They laughed loudly while mixing and preparing their drugs, drinks and substances of choice. One girl with two red streaks in her gave me a wink before snorting two lines off a compact mirror.
“You want anything?” Juice asked as he started shuffling around.
“Nah bro. I might roll up but that’s it,” I turned down his offer causing a few of the girls to boo me. I rolled my eyes and redirected our attention. “So what you on today?”
“Bro honestly my homegirl came into LA today so this a chill session. She produces so we were just going to be on the freestyles today. She got a few beats I been waiting to hear,” Juice nodded before sparking his blunt.
“Say less,” I nodded though I was a bit disappointed. Obviously I didn’t expect him to tell me to get in the booth and start recording, but shit I did have hope... No telling if any of the other people in the room were hoping for the same.
“We just got started an hour ago. I don’t know what Milli bout to play but I might have you hop on. I low-key want an R&B hook and that song you posted was hard as fuck. That R&B shit always gon’ hit.”
“Thanks man. I was think that-“
“It’s shot o fucking clock motherfuckers!” The door to the room swung open with a crash. When my eyes focused on the commotion, I swear my heart stopped for half a second. Standing in the doorway was single handedly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Her brown skin was glistening as she showed her perfect smile before kissing the unopened Hennessy bottle in her hand. She was wearing baggy cargo pants that swallowed her whole frame and one of the smallest tube tops in existence. The streetwear look created a contrast so stark, it complimented her body drastically... even though her body was far from her best feature.
Her beauty was ethereal, especially in the face. Her big, wide set eyes squinted as she stormed towards us and stole the blunt from Juice Wrld’s hand. It hung between her glitter gloss lathered lips as she poured the first shot of Hennessy into Juice’s mouth. I watched her pour carefully into the rapper’s mouth as she inhaled the blunt deeply, causing smoke to fill the vicinity.
“Shit my bad,” She giggled, swatting away the smoke from our faces. Though her lips were pressed around the blunt, you could tell she was struggling not to smile and drop it. As soon as Juice swallowed his shot, he took the blunt back with an eye cringing laugh. Upon the moment the smoke cleared, she was staring me dead in my eyes. She acknowledged me for the first time with a smirk but it felt like I had seen her face a million times.
Curious.
Next she pushed her bleach blonde hair back behind her ears before leaning back her head back and taking a shot herself. With her neck lifted I noticed the large intricate butterfly tatted on her neck. I have never seen a pretty girl with a neck tattoo that bold, but it was sexy as fuck.
“Shot O Clock?” She challenged me. Her brown eyes moved from mine as she examined my face and looked me up and down before meeting my eyes again. I recognized the look she gave and I didn’t want to ignore it. I nodded at her invitation and with a smile she grabbed my chin and pulled me down closer to her height.
Her touch. Everything changed.
I don’t know how to describe what I was feeling other than my heart and dick instantly jumping as she pushed my head back. What the fuck? She poured much more liquor into my mouth than I expected, a bit running out the side of my mouth. I lifted my head back and swallowed all she gave me obediently and wiped away the rest. She smiled before leaning into me. I almost jumped at how close she was getting to me, not knowing her next moved. Just when she was close enough to press up on me, she reached on the table behind me and grabbed something.
Swiftly she leaned back and shook the black hat in her hand, insinuating innocence. I already knew she was far from that. She put the Chanel bucket hat onto her bone straight \hair, completing her outfit.
“Shit bro sorry I’m fuck tweaking. This my homegirl KCM, she’s producing today,” Juice Wrld spoke. He apologized for the awkwardness but I felt anything but that. It felt like time stopped when I looked at this girl.
“KCM?” I questioned not missing a beat. I looked down and met her eyes, challenging a response.
“Karma Countin’ Millions,” She said proudly before reaching her dainty hand out to shake mine. “Karma. Producer.”
“Justin Bieber. Singer,” I took her hand.
“What do you sing, Justin Bieber?”
“Anything.” I tried to compose myself.
“He’ll fuck up R&B in a heartbeat,” Juice spoke as Karma and I let go of each other’s hand. "Lowkey may want him on that third beat you sent me.”
My ears perked at the sound of that. I came here for a reason and I can’t be thirsty over this producer for many other reasons. The two main ones being Hailey and taking this opportunity seriously. She was pretty but pretty isn’t enough to make me fuck myself over.
“Yeah, just let me know bro,” I redirected my focus to pressing matters.
“I’ve actually been playing around with that beat. Added in drums and synthetics,” Karma moved past a topless brunette and plopped into the chair at the desk. “Both of y’all, take two shots while I pull this up,” She demanded before clicking away at the computer screen.
-------------------
“Aight, I think this is it!” Karma called, causing the room to quiet down. At this point, I was slouched on the couch trapped between three coked out hoes and I was very fucked up. I think if I were to stand, I would most definitely fall. Karma had us taking shots every twenty minutes so the fact that she’s able to keep her eyes open, let alone produce right now is extremely impressive.
Honestly she was impressive across the board. I don’t want to say I underestimated her based on appearance but I definitely didn’t expect all this. She is a product of pure talent.
“Aye, hold up. Lemme get on Live ri quick. This hoe going too crazy,” Karma unplugged the headphone jack before unlocking her phone. A few moments later, she had her screen propped up against the monitor as people continued to join the stream.
“Y’all come over here,” She nodded over at Juice and I. He grabbed his styrofoam cup and stumbled to the other side of the studio. With only two stumbles I managed to sit on the stool behind Karma as I watched her press play. Immediately the hum of the bass came in on the song, more amplified than ever.
"Vibe on this bitch, though A lighter
Nah, in the room
Oh
Uh-huh” Juice’s intro started lowly.
“New Juice Wrld, New Justin Bieber. Produced by KCM.” Karma introduced before leaning back in her seat and sparked another blunt as my voice started to ring out.
"Tell me where you wanna go, I can take you there. We can fly across the globe baby don't be scared. Don't be scared. Baby don't be scared, no, no,” I sang along but never in my life, had I heard my voice recorded and produced like this. The nodding of my head was instant as the deep autotune transitioned into my normal pitch over the heavy base.
"You deserve a storybook ending, fairytale, fairytale. You deserve a storybook ending, fairytale, fairytale,” Karma chopped up the rest of my chorus, allowing the perfect transition to Juice’s verse.
"You work numbers, work wonders
You done woke me up from my eternal slumber
I'm the lightning, you're the thunder
There's a difference 'tween, "I need you, " and, "I want you"
Girl, I need you
Good sex led to conversations getting a little deeper, uh
Tell me your darkest secrets, shit you wouldn't even tell Jesus, uh My karma been tweaking so much, I don't even believe in karma.”
Everyone in the studio was nodding their heads as the rest of the song poured out the speakers. This was a hit. For sure. I couldn’t see all that well but I know I saw verified checks, fire emojis, and heart eyes flooding the comment section.
“This is one of 5 songs made tonight. All freestyled. Fuck outta here. These niggas next up. Lemme play this next shit,” Karma yelled before cutting the first song and going to the second, which was even harder. I was only on back vocals but I was appreciative to get any play time, especially on two different songs.
“That’s all imma give y’all, we're dropping this shit sunday night so y’all better be ready to stream. Follow my bros Juice and Justin. Super talented kids."
“999. Young niggas doing this shit” Juice called. “Bye live!”
“Bye!” I spoke up just as she was ending the stream. Karma quickly spun in her hair and looked at the pair of us.
“20 minutes left in this session. We just made hits. Where’s the after party?” She asked. Fuck. After party? I couldn’t think straight now and we were working this fucked up... I’m scared to find out what after party means.
“Honestly I might go h-“
“Don’t say home,” Karma cut me off "You got any songs out? Any new songs? Is your soundcloud and IG boomin?”
“Um well-“
“They’re about to be. You just made a song with one of the most popular up and coming rappers from the North. You’re on and people gon know your name very soon. Celebrate with us tonight,” She pleaded. Even after hours of work, drinking and drugs her beauty never swayed. It’s not that she is irresistible, it's that she’s right (or that’s the reasoning I was trying to convince myself).
I’ve waited so long for a big opportunity and here it is, potentially. I deserve to celebrate. “Okay.”
“I was about to say don’t make me beg,” She hummed with a more than suggestive undertone.
“I should’ve held out then,” rolled off my tongue swiftly. I couldn’t help myself.
“Don’t play with me, Justin Bieber,” She had a smile on her face but I knew nothing was a joke. She wants me.
“Max, get food and shit sent to the house. Hoes, tell y’all friends it's an afterparty at my crib," Juice called to the room.
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here's some controversy that has nothing to do with social issues.
a lot of people hate the band five finger death punch. saying those words provoked a visceral response in half the people reading this, and a "who?" in the other half. they're a groove metal band; similar to slipknot, mudvayne, disturbed, all that remains, system of a down, korn, and killswitch engage. they're one of those really controversial bands that are hated because they're ~not real metal~ by dumbshits who think that NWOBHM is the only valid metal genre. even though england ruined metal and punk but that's a conbfetsation for another day.
now, if you just don't like metal, that's fine. I don't expect everyone to like every genre. so obviously you won't like them, or any band in the genre. obviously. and these are not the people who are being targeted with this post. no, this goes to those who love metallica, ozzy, megadeth, slayer, pantera, testament, opeth, tool, manowar, meshuggah, children of bodom, cannibal corpse, fear factory, mercyful fate: this is to the people who love metal. now, I say this as one of us, but metalheads are one of the most judgmental groups of people in history. and frequently I find that metalheads make the same remarks in regards to their opinions on five finger death punch.
they do nothing but covers. they just yell and cuss. forty year old men with teenage angst. bad musicianship. they look stupid. they fuck their sisters and daughters. they sold out to the military. they're gay. they do too many ballads. they're redneck bait. they're toxic masculinity and macho personified. they rely on guest stars to carry their songs. they're talentless hacks.
these are all complaints I've heard multiple times from multiple people. and frankly I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hearing the bullshit complaints rather than the ACTUAL REASONS why they aren't the best band in the world. which I'll go through now.
they have an overreliance on breakdowns as if they were a post-hardcore band but they're not. breaking benjamin also skirts the line between post-grunge metal and post-hardcore and have many breakdowns, but the difference is that BB's breakdowns have math rock roots and use different patterns that syncopate well. five finger's breakdowns are... eighth notes. it's the difference between, say, black veil brides- who have excellent syncopated breakdowns- and as I lay dying, who have shitty and boring breakdowns. the only difference is that AILD has blast beats (and is fronted by an abusive asshole), and five finger has... ivan growling threats or whatever because they think that it sounds cool to have metal blaring while he says shit like "you wanna disrespect me? I will slap you so fucking hard you'll feel like you kissed a freight train, fuck you," or "if there was ever a time for you to back the fuck up it's right fuckin here and right fuckin now" or "it's not the size of the dog in the fight it's the size of the fight in the dog," or "in the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete, drawn only to be washed away; in the time that I've been given, I am what I am", etc, all preceding screams. and no these are not exaggerations, these are literally exact quotes. there's also one that plays radio chatter from the military while he goes "hut hut oorah", which is different slightly. and in any case, they have done nearly a hundred different solos over their career, there is NO REASON for them to have such a ridiculous amount of breakdowns. they rival memphis may fire in that regard, but MMF actually has great breakdowns. churko is a metal producer, NOT a hardcore producer, and they sound empty when you strip out the vocals.
sometimes they will overuse a chorus, and hit the pop music pitfalls of having a song that's over half chorus. I'm sure they did this so the label would be happy with singles because the music industry is a commercialized garbage fire and holding it against the artists would be so fucking stupid especially since tool (the best metal band in existence) fucking said it best, "all you know about me is what I sold you, I sold out long before you ever knew my name, I sold my soul to make a record, dipshit, then you bought one; I've got some advice for you little buddy, before you point your finger you should know that I'm the man and if I'm the man then he's he man and you're the man as well so you can take that fucking finger and shove it up your ass". translation; the fact that you know a band at all means that they sold out to even exist in the first place because that's what selling out is. so even this complaint I have that sometimes they have repeated chorus is more of a complaint about a music industry which dumbs things down to sell radioplay to the lowest common denominator, which EVERY SINGLE ARTIST IS GUILTY OF. so moving on.
sometimes they'll have songs which are fairly simple from a harmonic/mechanical standpoint. opening verse chorus verse chorus solo bridge chorus chorus ending. verse goes some mix of eighth and quarter notes and rests in 4:4, solo is just the vocal line of the chorus, bass and drums are nonexistent and only serve to be a melodic backbone, and the music only exists to serve the lyrics... oh wait I can make the exact same arguments about metallica, rage against the machine, pantera, disturbed, and a hundred other bands. those guys aren't hated as much as five finger. hmm. wonder why.
the lyrics are often angsty. namely that they deal with honor, government corruption, mental illness, we live in a society, religious corruption, abandonment issues, recovering from toxic relationships, hey wait a minute these are all just insanely common topics for metal songs!
they usually play in the same key- wait shit every band has a favored key.
they do a lot of covers- wait shit they have literally more ALBUMS than covers.
(yeah that's weird to me too, but they only did a new level by pantera, from out of nowhere by faith no more, bad company by bad company, mama said knock you out by LL cool J, house of the rising sun by the animals, gone away by offspring, and blue on black by kenny wayne shepard... that's 7. they have 8 albums now.)
so shut the fuck up forever about the cover songs. metallica and the deftones and a perfect circle all had fucking cover ALBUMS, van halen only has a career because of the kinks, and every single rock band in the world is just ripping off the beatles, pink floyd, black sabbath, the who, led zeppelin, and cream. pick a legitimate reason to hate on a band, hypocrite.
alright what else...
"they're gay"
I'm not gonna dignify that with a response.
"they suck"
so does your favorite band. boom roasted.
"they're bad at music"
I'd like to see you do better then.
"they sold out to the military"
no they support the veterans and the troops; they fucking hate the military if you pay any attention at all. they believe in the good parts of the military that the government pays half our taxes to make us believe. you're not better than anyone else just because you see through one specific piece of propaganda because odds are you're blinded by another dozen. they write songs about how war is hell and how when vets come home they should be treated better. and anyway when you're in the dog eat dog world of the music industry hey guess what you need a market to sell to or else it's back to baskin robbins. I don't blame them for one second. if I had the option of endorsing cops to pay my bills you bet your ass I'll fly a blue lives matter flag and sell my soul to make money, and then donate shit to the black lives matter movement. flying a flag is worthless if I can do actual good with the money that those dumbasses send in. and name better irony than fighting to abolish a group that pays me to do it go on I'll wait.
"you're just a fanboy"
a) it's fangirl but metal elitists don't give a shit about the LGBTQ and b) just because I like a band doesn't in any way diminish the validity of my statements and any bias I might have is easily countered by whatever bias you might have and c) they're not even my favorite band you idiot I just think there's way worse out there just like I think it's unfair to say nickelback is the worst band in existence when drunk mom rock like hinder buckcherry savingabel and kidrock exists, and limp bizkit is standing right there, and d) they're not even the worst groove metal band, just look at fucking lamb of god, and e) if I was a fangirl I wouldn't have pointed out the flaws you fucking brainless troglodyte, and f) even if they were my favorite band in the world it doesn't matter if you think they suck because music taste is subjective anyway you goddamn moron. those guys write their own music, play their own music, perform their own music, and they love their fanbase more than most other bands. andrew biersack and kellin quinn and pepper keenan and glenn danzig and liam gallagher and axl rose and van halen and ted nugent and kurt cobain HATE their fans, or at least are huge fucking assholes. but not five finger. jeremy played until he literally broke his back; he's as devoted as phil collins, and if he made like atreyu and sang while drumming he'd be singing from a wheelchair, or like dave grohl when he broke his leg right in the middle of a concert, went to the hospital and got set and put in a cast, THEN CAME RIGHT BACK TO THE FUCKING SHOW AND PLAYED GUITAR AND SANG IN A CAST AND WHEELCHAIR. oh but wait, people say phil collins and dave grohl suck too, and turn around and suck mustaine's dick even though he's the biggest asshole in thrash metal behind tom araya and drunk james hetfield. point being, just because x doesn't like y doesn't diminish z's opinion.
"the singer fucked his daughter lol lol his grandchild is his son too lol lol his daughter is his wife lol lol it's funny because rednecks and incest lol lol" he's from colorado not alabama you dumb motherfuckers, and all the lol incest in georgia jokes are rooted in good ol yankee classism. also the guitarist is hungarian so the american redneck jokes don't even fuckin work. shut the hell up, you have all of the intellectual capacity of a common bog leech.
you can dislike the band. you can say you don't like it. you can say that you'd rather listen to different music. that's fine! that's okay! listen to justin bieber if you like him, listen to taylor swift if you like her, listen to new kids on the block if you want! I don't care! but stop expressing your opinions that you stole from someone else as fact. all you're doing is meme bandwagoning so you can find a community because you don't have the social skills necessary to meet people through the things you love so instead you try to pull serotonin out of making other people feel as miserable as you do.
with that being said, fuck all of the annoying dudebro douchebags who listen to the band and show 5FDP next to the confederate flag, blue lives matter flag, don't tread on me flag, punisher skull, trump sticker, and the crossed assault rifles on the back of your truck. you're all shit for reasons other than your music taste.
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A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 100 Xs2) "Day 26: Seattle and Old Side Chicks
@creatureofthen1ght-v3 @crystalbaby12 @5sosfam1dlover @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @rosefilledhearts-blog
They're playing The Show Box tonight.
"SEATTLE!!!!" Colson shouts as Sex Drive fades out. "How you doin' tonight?" He asks to their roars. "We got a special show lined up just for you... You ready to FUCKING DO THIS!?!" He screams.
The nightclub rattles in excitement around him. Leading off with Habits, they flow into Breaking News 2. Slim and Colson rocking across the stage together as lights and smoke flash and flow around them. El Diablo follows with LOCO, GTS and Wild Boy. Colson jumping into the crowd twice already.
Luna joins him OnStage for an overly sexual performance of Bad Things. Unable to keep their hands off each other. Throwing their matching tattooed arms up into the air as they dance and bop around, singing to one another. Colson drives the crowd wild when he grabs Luna as she heads OffStage. Spinning her around to dip and kiss her passionately before allowing her to go as he shouts her name to the crowd.
"Oooh... This Motherfucker..." Luna thinks. Pussy dripping for Colson as she walks SideStage.
Meeting up with Sam, Dom and The Ash's, Sam hands her joint as Ashleigh passes her their usual bottle of Jameson. The five friends laugh and sing together as The Boys run through Trap Paris, Candy, The Break Up and See My Tears. Dom dipping off at some point to prepare.
Strumming the opening chords to I Think I'm Okay, Colson shouts "I WANT THE ROOF BLOWN OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKER TONIGHT!!!!"
🎼Watch me//Take a good thing//And fuck it all up//In one night//Catch me//I'm the one//On the run//Away from//The headlights//No sleep//Up all week// Wasting time//With people//I don't like
I THINK//SOMETHING'S//FUCKING//WRONG WITH ME🎶
The audience sings with him so loudly they almost drown him out like alcohol. The energy is INSANE.
🎶I HURT MYSELF//SOMETIMES//IS THAT TO SCARY//FOR YOU🎶
Chanting the lyrics with Colson as if they are their own personal mantra. The line still kills Luna's insides for Colson. Hearing it shouted along with a few thousand people is intense. Her eyes well up as her heart hurts for every disenfranchised individual in her presence who personally relates to it. Self harm is a serious and scary thing.
The building EXPLODES when Dom comes running onto the stage. Surprised and ecstatic over his appearance. He slams through the chorus with Colson before stepping up solo.
🎶Roll me up//And smoke me love//We could fly//Into the night🎶
You can barely hear Dom over the sea of voices singing with him. It's incredible to watch. The sound of unity so powerful it could give anyone goosebumps.
Both Boys are off. Surfing on top of the thousands of people willing to hold them up. Not needing to sing because the room is doing it for them.
Making their way back to the stage, they round out the song together. Singing GoodNight at different times at different ranges.
Luna has to have Ashleigh check her make up as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. She needs to get her shit together to go back on by the time The Boys finish. The reaction to Colson and Dom's song being so raw, Luna couldn't help but find herself to be emotional. For as hardcore as Colson is, Luna knows he is truly the sweetest, most lonely boy ever. Sometimes it makes her so sad for him, wanting nothing more than to protect him from himself. How do you do that though?
"SEEEATOOOLLL!!!!!" Dom shouts "WE LOFE YOOOU!!!"
"FUCK YEAH, WE DO!!" Colson shouts with him as they stand side by side.
The Girls are moving around behind them. Setting up OnStage. They've decided to twist the fuck outta Seattle. Rook is still sat behind his kit as Baze hands Sam a bass guitar. Luna picking up the electric she had rehearsed with earlier as Tech places microphones and stands down for both her and Ashley.
"So, much that we cooked up this little rendition just for YOU!! KICK IT!!" Colson calls as him and Dom step aside.
Everyone within ear shot loses their fucking minds the minute Luna hits those first famous chords to Smells Like Teen Spirit. Rook and Sam knocking in hard behind her. Luna's warm voice snakes around the opening lyrics. She stays on beat but her voice is smoother and more trained than Cobain's while still holding his same haunting drawl.
🎼Loooad up on guns//Briiing your friends//It's fun to lose//And toooo pretend//She's over bored//And seeelf assured//Oooh no//I know//A dirty word🎶
Flipping the script, The Girls are covering Nirvana. Ashley stepping in as her and Luna croon together. Harmonizing like an intriguing mix of handcuffs and silk.
🎶Hello//Hello//Hello//Hoooow low//Hello//Hello//Hello//Hoooow low//Hello//Hello//Hello//Hoooow low//Hello//Hello//Hello🎶
Rook, Sam and Luna ripping into their instruments as Ashley let's her voice fly loose. Raw. Not caring to be perfect as she belts the lyrics fiercely.
🎶With the liiiights out//It's less dangerousss//Here we arrre nooow//Entertain uuuus//I feel stuuuupid//And contagiouuusss//Here we aaaare now//Entertain usss//A mulattooo//An albinooo//A mosquitooo//My libidooo//YEAH🎶
Luna slams into her guitar as her vocals slip in again. Matching up with Ashley as they use a flat tone.
🎶HEY//YAY🎶
Colson, Dom and Baze are setting themselves up SideStage. They're gonna follow them with a Bikini Kill song before The Girls fully finish.
The stage is shaking from the mosh pit happening just yards away from The Girl's feet. Luna and Ashley grin at each other. Regardless of personal feelings, it's a great fucking song. Luna hitting those significant chords on her guitar again as her voice wraps itself throughout the lyrics.
🎶I'm worse//Aaat what//I dooo best//And fooor this gift//I feeeeel blessed//Our littlllle group//Has alllways beeeeen//And alwaaaays wiiiill//Until the ennnnd🎶
Luna and Ashley hum through the Hellos and How Lows before Ashley comes in to wail through the chorus again. Her voice the perfect balance of clarity and rasp. Instruments floating around her impeccably.
🎶With the liiiights out//It's less dangerousss//Here we are nooow//Entertain uuuus//I feel stuuuupid//And contagiouuusss//Here we aaaare now//Entertain usss//A mulattooo//An albinooo//A mosquitooo//My libidooo//YEAH🎶
Rook, Sam and Luna pound through the slight jam session flawlessly. You can hear Luna's guitar whine out Hello continuously before Rook rumbles them down. Luna taking her place back at the microphone.
🎶And I fooorget//Just whyyyy I taste//Oh yeeeah//I guess//It maaakes me smile//I found it haaaard//It's hard to find//Oh well//Whaaateeverr//Neeverrrmiiiind🎶
Ashley and Luna harmonizing as they repeat Hellos and How Lows again before Ashley slays the chorus once more. Sending the audience into another physical frenzy along with Rook's drums. You can't hear neither Ashley nor Luna over the crowd as they scream over and over about A Denial with them.
Instead of fading out, Rook picks up his pace to a faster punk beat. It's kinda funny as Baze switches out with Sam. Dom with Ashley and Colson with Luna.
Colson snatching a quick kiss off of Luna before his deep voice alters the punk girl anthem. It's sound is harder and less poppy than the one The Girl's covered.
🎼That girl//Thinks she's the queeeeen//Of the neighborhood//She's gooot//The hottest trike//In toowwwn//That girl//She holds her head//Up sooo high//I think I wanna//Be her//Booyfriend//Yeah🎶
During rehearsal, Luna had shown Dom and Colson where to change up certain lyrics to fit the swap.... And also because she's a fucking cunt.
Dom hits the mic, nailing the chorus. Being in Seattle, most of the crowd is singing along with him.
🎶Rebel girrrrl//Rebel girrrrl//Rebel girrrrl//You are the queeeeen//Of my worrrld//Rebel girrrl//Rebel girrrl//I know I wanna//Take you home//I wanna take off//Your clothes//UNH🎶
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Bikini Kill is one of Seattle's few surviving bands. Tobi Vale being the first girl Kurt Cobain was ever mesmerized by, crushing on her hard. As one of The Original Riot Grls, she had no time for the quiet blue eyed boy. The band's lead singer Kathleen Hanna making fun of him one night, writing Kurt Loves Teen Spirit on his bedroom wall in Olympia. It was a direct reference to Tobi's deodorant. His most famous hit being inspired by a girl who couldn't be bothered by him. How ironic. Courtney Love HATES Tobi Vale. Courtney Love HATES Smells Like Teen Spirit. Luna HATES Courtney Love. Being more of a Pixies fan, Luna never cared much for Nirvana. Even before his daughter became one of her bestfriends. Luna's lack of interest in her family being a great source of comfort to Frances. Her hatred for Courtney being born and growing naturally. Watching first hand how The Mother's selfish and self destructive behavior had affected Frannie through the long years of their friendship. Pissing Luna off more and more with every missteps. Playing the 90s theme song with Colson covering Rebel Girl beside it, IN Seattle, is the ultimate FUCK YOU to Courtney Love from Luna. It's also probably the ONLY time she's ever secretly hoped her performance will pop up on YouTube.
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Making the song his along with Dom as Rook, Baze and AJ slaughter the quick paced, bass driven, punk tune with them. Colson's deep voice penetrates the next set of lyrics as he slams into his guitar.
🎶When she taaalks//I hear the revolution//In her hiiiips//There's revolution//When she waaaalks//The revolution's coming//In her kiiiiss//I taste the revolutiooonnnn🎶
Colson screams before Dom hits the chorus again. Each with their own Rebel Girl in mind throughout the song.
🎶Rebel girrrrl//Rebel girrrrl//Rebel girrrrl//You are the queeeeen//Of my worrrld//Rebel girrrl//Rebel girrrl//I know I wanna//Take you home//I wanna take off//Your clothes//UNH🎶
The Boys flow into the gnarly jam session. Rook's drums throbbing as AJ shreds relentlessly. If there's one thing Luna's learned tonight, it is that, THIS motherfucker can RIP.
Colson comes in again, leathery voice shouting out the strong, female positive lyrics. Luna did this on purpose. Switching up the two bands, she wanted the gender flip. Just like Nightmare. It's an important symbolism of feminism and equality. Being smart and lucky enough to fall in love with a man who has a daughter and shares her views.
Never a quiet man. Colson is known for not holding back from stepping up or speaking out for what he believes in. Standing solidly beside Luna, pushing for A Change, they WHOLE heartily believe it can happen. Or will die continuing to fight for Casie and her generation's sake.
🎶That girl//Thinks she's//The queeeen//Of the neighborhoooood//I got newwsss//For you//SHE IISSS//They say//She's a dyke//But I know//She iiissss//MY GIRLFRIEND//YEAH🎶
Colson and Dom come in together. As Colson slashes his guitar, he looks over at his friend. On instinct Dom turns to catch his eye. Grinning, they shout the chorus together. Both of their Rebel Girls standing behind them ready to take over.
🎶Rebel girrrrl//Rebel girrrrl//Rebel girrrrl//You are the queeeeen//Of my worrrld//Rebel girrrl//Rebel girrrl//I know I wanna//Take you home//I wanna take off//Your clothes//UNH🎶
Shifting slightly to the side, each boy steps from the mic. Releasing it to their partner. Colson's guitar tearing it's way up and down Luna's spine from behind. Without missing a beat Luna and Ashley take the last hook together. Female Empowerment being their overall Life Goal.
🎶Love you//Like a sister//Always//Soul sister//Rebel girl//Come and be//My best friend//Will you Rebel girl//I really like you//I really wanna be//Your bestfriend//Be my reeeeebel grrrrrrrllll🎶
As Rook and Baze fade them out, the room is uncontrollable. Seattle LOVES it's hometown hero's. Courtney Love does not fit into that category.
"That was killer..." Colson says lowly in Luna's ear as he kisses the back of her neck.
With her body flush, it's her duty to take the mic right now. Nuzzling her head back into him, she drops a low I Love You before hitting it.
"SEATTLE!!!!!" She shouts as she tries to calm her insides. "HOW ARE YOU?" She asks to their cheers. "We've got one more cover.... How many of you know of Andrew Wood and Mother Love Bone?" She asks.
Only half the nightclub answers her. She expected this.
"A little lesson in music history..." She smiles.
The crowd hoots out for knowledge. Loving the interaction as Luna strolls around the stage. Talking with her hands as she tells the story.
"Andrew Wood and Mother Love Bone were the pioneers of the Seattle scene." This is heard by a louder cheer and a grin on her face. "We lost him unfortunately... In '89. The remaining band took up Eddie Vedder and became Pearl Jam."
A mixed reaction fills the atmosphere. Some knowing the story. Some caught off guard.
"Hold on... Hold on... Hold on...it goes deeper." Luna shushes them.
She squats down on the middle of the stage. Continuing her story as Tech sets up behind her.
"Andrew Wood was Chris Cornell's bestfriend and roommate at the time of his death." This draws a sadness from the crowd. "I know, friends.... I know..." She sadly comforts them. "That's why were gonna play this next diddy. It is in honor of Andrew. Originally sang by Chris and Eddie.... I KNOW you'll know it when you hear it.... So when you do... You FUCKING SING!!!" Luna shouts to their erupting agreements.
Standing up, Luna grabs the electric she's been using. She begins to slowly pick the soft opening chords with Rook, Sam and Baze behind her.
By their reaction this time, Colson is pretty sure they've lost the roof. Watching his sea of family, he loves the way his woman speaks with them.
In Luna's opinion, Chris Cornell had the greatest voice of his generation. In her mind, there's more pressure to nail this upcoming song more than the prior. It's personal and the social relevance meaning more to her than the Top 40 Hit.
Luna starts them off, making everyone around them ooze with sentiment. Her strong, layered voice a smart match to represent Cornell.
🎼Well//I don't mind//Steealing bread//From the moooouths//Of decadeeeence//Hmmmmm//But I can't feeeeed//On the powerless//When my cup's//Already overfiiiiilled//Yeeeah//Mhhhm🎶
Luna's vocal range is both bold and delicate enough to hold it's own against the already emotional song. Allowing a tinge of pain to slip through her as she sings. The crowd joining her.
🎶But//It's on the taaable//The fiiire's cooookin'//And they're farmin' babies//The slaves are all woooorkinnn'//Blood is on the taaable//The moooouths//Are all chooookinnn'//But I'm goin' hungryyyyy//Yeeeeah🎶
Rook, Baze, Sam and Luna flip through the chords of the slightly dark melody. Colson's deep voice perfect as he steps up to the mic and takes on Eddie's verse. His family helping him as they sing along still.
🎶I don't mind//Stealing bread//From the mouths//Of decaaaaadence//But I can't feed//On the powerless//When my cup's alreadyyy//Overfiiiilllledd//Oh ohhhh//But//It's on the table//The fire is cookinnnnn'//And they're farmin' babies//The slaves are all wooorrrkin'//Annnnd//It's on the table//Their mouths//Are all choookinnnn'//But I'm going hungry🎶
Dom backs Colson. Wailing. AJ matches Sam with a second rhythm guitar as Rook bangs into his kit. Baze nailing the bass as Luna's fingers fly over the lead.
🎶I'm goin' hungrrryyy🎶
Ashley pops in with the next verse as Luna backs her. The crowd flowing with Luna and Ashley at different times.
🎶I'm goin' hungrryy🎶
🎶Oooohhh//I'm huuuungrrryyy AYYY🎶
Colson and Dom coming back in together at different times. All four voices stacking themselves on top of each other's along with The Band. As the crowd continues to sing along with them, it's anything short of amazing.
🎶I'm goin' hungrryy🎶
🎶I'm goin' hungrraaayyy🎶
🎶I'm goin' hugrrriiyyy🎶
🎶I'm goin' huuuungrAyAyAyyyy🎶
Dom and Ashley shift their voices together to continue singing about Goin' Hungry. Their vocals following together beautifully as the instruments rage behind them along with the voices of the audience.
Luna stepping in to take over Cornell's major part. Voice lacing around the lyrics of Not Minding Stealing Bread as she belts them. Ashley and Dom still behind her repeating separately how they're Goin' Hungry.
Colson's deep voice slides in to add another chapter of theft to the story as he sings beside Luna. Picking up the rhythm, Dom and Ashley drop out. Leaving Colson and Luna to play off each other's voices as they sing about Goin' Hungry.
🎶Oooohh//I'M GOIN HUNGRAAAAY AY YEEE🎶
Luna bellows alone one last time as Rook and her guitar lead them out. The Show Box BURSTS with hoots, claps and cheers as they end.
Grinning, Colson grabs Luna. As her guitar hits his chest hard, he doesn't care. With all the electricity flowing through him, he can't feel it. Only her lips. Breaking away from her, he turns to address the crowd.
"YO!!! GIVE IT UP AGAIN FOR MY GIRL, THAT BROOKLYN BITCH AND MY HOMIES YOUNGBLUD AND HALSEY!!!" Colson shouts to the volcanic club.
As Ashley and Dom head OffStage, Luna grabs her mic again. Always pushing.
"WE NEED CHAAAANGE!!!" She screams to the unshakable crowds agreement.
"She's so fucking cool...." Colson can't help the smile on his face as he watches Luna.
Grabbing one more kiss, Luna bounces OffStage. Meeting up with Ashley, Dom, Sam and Ashleigh, the three are still zipping with energy. Sam promptly passing Luna a joint as Ashleigh shouts that They Were Fucking INCREDIBLE. Luna can't help but beam as she holds the joint between her lips and grabs for a five people hug. Friendship really is a BEAUTIFUL thing.
The show's not even halfway through. Hollywood Whore kicking in next before Rap Devil and Until I Die. Switching spots with Rook as they cover Shout At The Devil.
It's honestly Luna's favorite cover of The Band's. Not even because of the song. As much as she loves Colson, she adores Rook and loves to see him shine the way he does when he takes the mic. His performance is so on point, you just KNOW he was raised with music in his blood. Even if you're unaware of where he hails from.
Still running, Colson grabs his guitar for his cover of Ocean Eyes. Catching Luna's as he sings. Both of their hearts swelling for the other over the reason he covered it.
Next comes a slew of more songs. Slim making his way back UpStage. Their friends watching SideStage as they get fucked up and sing along to Golden God, ALPHA OMEGA, Lately, Bad Motherfucker, Wake&Bake, Rehab and 27.
The lights drop to The Family's calls for an ENCORE. Loving them the way they do, The Boys oblige. Heading back out to encore Sail.
"THANK YOU, SEATTLE!!!!" Colson shouts before finally heading OffStage for the night.
-------------------------------------------------
Carrying Luna over his shoulder down the venue hallway, Colson sees the artwork of one of The Boys. Laughing, he turns Luna to see also.
"I bet it was Rook...." She guesses with a chuckle.
"Nah... Too short." He continues to laugh. "Grab my phone and post it to my Insta, please." Colson asks Luna.
Slipping her hand along his perky ass into his back pocket, she pulls out his phone. Snapping the picture at his request.
"Here.... You know I don't Instagram..." Luna deadpans as she hands the device to him from around the side of his lean body.
Laughing again, he shakes his head at her refusal to even interact with the app at all. Continuing to carry her to his dressing room as he posts it.
××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
"Always follow the signs.
😈👅💦🐈🍆💥"
#seattle #hoteldiablo"
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
"Holy SHIIIIT, Loons...." Colson groans out.
Laying his head back in delight as her tight pussy slowly slides up and down him. Teasing and pleasing his cock as she takes her time riding him. Colson takes her face into his large hands. Kissing her softly.
"Unnhh, I missed you...." He says as another grunt escapes him.
"Mmmm. Me tooo." She purrs.
Moving his mouth from her lips to her neck, Luna leans back, hands on his thighs as he seeks out her plump breasts. Sucking and nibbling on her piercings, Colson makes Luna shift against him faster. Rocking him deeper inside of her. She grabs the top of his hair. Pulling on it to keep her pace steady, he grabs and shakes her ass as it bounces.
"Mmmm... Gimme that dick." Luna moans.
Her demands excites Colson even more. Grabbing one hip firmly and snatching for her hair, he takes control. Sucking on her neck as he slams her up and down his cock. Moving her body like a willing doll. Making her walls clench and body quiver.
"My dirty girl likes that's... Hmm?" He says into her neck.
Luna can only utter sounds of pleasure as he fills her body. Feeling herself close, she starts to thrust into his rhythm. Colson pushes back, grabbing both of Luna's tits as they begin bucking against each other. Bitting the side of his neck, she makes him cum with her.
"Oooh, FUCK...." He shouts as they explode together.
Feeling his body go limp, Luna nuzzles into his naked chest. Kissing her forehead, they sit. The sound of the blood pumping through his heart synching up with her own.
Lifting her head, she asks him To Roll A Joint to his nod. Climbing off of him, Luna chops up her third set of rails today. Colson's fourth.
"What the fuck? I told you off your ass..." He teases as Luna looks at him perplexed. "You didn't get my voicemail?" He asks with a hint of disappointment as he lights the joint.
Luna shakes her head No as they bend down to do their lines together. Lifting up, she adjusts herself. Checking her nose and make-up.
Calling her voicemail as they pass the bone back and forth, Colson is definitely on there. Talking about porn and doing drugs off of her ass.
"And you say I'M WILD!!" Luna laughs as they head towards the door, looking over her shoulder coyly taunts. "There's always later."
Her words making Colson's member stand at full salute for her. Again.
---------------------------------------------------
Word Limit (2 of 3)
To be continued.....
❇Writer's Note: Feel free to share with whomever 😘
#colson baker smut#colson baker imagines#colsonbaker#colson baker x reader#colson baker#machine gun kelly smut#machine gun kelly x reader#machine gun kelly#mgkconcert#mgk imagines#mgk imagine#mgk fanfic#mgk#mgk smut#est 19xx#est4life#est19xx#est#lunatic#not safe for minors#not safe for tumblr#fanfic#fandom#fantasy#fangirl#original#drunknights#drugs#long post#longstory
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The night has been advertised by multiple commercials in the civilian’s homes, and even dead bodies littered on some residence lawns. It’s dusk on a Thursday in February. The gates to the Fire and Ice Festival are lowered after hours of waiting in the biting Chicago tundra, and the crowd, over 4,000 strong, rushes in. Most are expecting a night of drunken freedom, cozied up by the outdoor heaters that promise a warm welcome, but some foresee the chaos bound to erupt across the lawn.
The first act takes the stage, and anyone who isn’t inebriated, courtesy of the open bar, is perceptive enough to realize that, no, that’s not Kanye West. Instead they are mesmerized by the lyrical lip syncher Dante Yeast—he looks enough like him, it’s better not to question it. One would think that the O’Sheas, Vasiles, and the Fausts all gathered in one spot would spell disaster, yet the evening rolls on without a hitch, despite the tensions slowly building in its periphery. Fausts members, too, are scattered across the ocean of bodies, but some faces are missing, figureheads who pull the strings.
Maybe they’re absorbed by the crowd; maybe they thought better of attending, but there’s a sense of unease that settles in the air. It’s not quite right, but no one can put a finger on why. Another beer, and the thought is lost is the swell of the music—if they didn’t know any better, they’d think the bass replicates the sound of distant explosions.
You’re free to start plotting. You can start posting starters/threads tomorrow, February 20th, 2020 at 7:30PM CST ! Part II coming February 24th ( Plot Slots can be found below the cut ! )
We’re going to allow each person to choose two plot slots for two characters max .If there are any leftovers, we’ll let members know when they can sign up for thirds.
You’ll notice that some of these plots are public, so feel free to have your character react to them/ notice them even if they aren’t happening directly to your character. However, if something feels like it happened privately to another character, please check in with their Mun to see if it’s okay for your character to know.
To be clear: these are not the only things that happen to your character during this plot drop and you are more than welcome to cook up your own trouble.
To sign up for a plot slot message the main! You can start doing that as soon as right now!
CHARACTER A, CHARACTER B, CHARACTER C, are approached by the venue to play as impersonators for the opening act of the show. However, it turns out…they are the show along with other noteworthy impersonators.
CHARACTER D & CHARACTER E end up camped out at the ticket box office on the other side of the lawn seats. They want a refund for the musical event after their cards were erroneously charged the next day on ADAM & EVE. Much to their surprise they come face to face with CHARACTER F( Faust ).
AUTUMN DAWSON is shitfaced prior to arriving at the music festival. They try to crowd surf before the opening act, and would get immediately dropped if NATHAN BURR didn’t catch their fall.
CHARACTER I & CHARACTER J purchased tickets to meet the bands backstage. They are led by the security detail of the event to two tents filled with a scent of gunpowder. Upon further inspection, they find a crate of fireworks. Do what you will.
CHARACTER K jumps on stage to hijack the mic and accidentally falls and breaks their ankle.
CHARACTER L & CHARACTER M are dosed with PCP by a stranger serving up “free” cocktails. Everything is a blur and they both snap back to reality an hour later, but they’re in the middle of an intense fist fight.
EFFIE FAUST & CHARACTER O engage in a mud wrestling contest that is being judged by no one whatsoever.
CHARACTER P & CHARACTER Q make out in a port-o-potty, but realize shortly after they’re locked inside. It’s up to CHARACTER R to either let them out...or tip them over.
CHARACTER S is mistaken as Pat Benatar. ASLI DEMIR drunkenly convinces them to go on stage to sing LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.
CHARACTER U & CHARACTER V go hard on the alcoholic beverages & psychedelic treats at the start of the festival, by the end of it neither of them know where their shoes or wallets are.
CHARACTER W finds their soulmate in a drunken stupor and grinds on them for the better half of two hours, only to realize the grindee is ZHI ROU, who has been uncomfortably shifting away from them this entire time.
CHARACTER Y breaks all of their glow sticks and covers themselves in the liquid. It’s all fun and games until that shit starts to burn. CHARACTER Z does their best to quench CHARACTER Y with every bottled water they can find.
CHARACTER A1, CHARACTER B1, & CHARACTER C1 are hired security guards for the event. They have no clue who hired them to do it.
INGRID VASILE starts to overdose on COCAINE. LEV VASILE notices their struggle and assists them to the med tent. DOMINIC MURPHY is around the med tent and notices the commotion.
CHARACTER F1 tries to charge their phone using the musical equipment & gets electrocuted. Also it starts to play the most recent song listened to on their phone which is SONG OF THEIR CHOICE.
GRIFFIN DYER is held up at security when they try to enter the venue, because they tried to smuggle in a small animal. CHARACTER H1 isn’t really security and jacks the animal instead.
SERENITY MICHAELS starts to question their sanity when they see a small animal run in circles in front of them and jet off towards the direction of the port-o-potty.
RACHEL BYRNE feels something small and furry scaling the back of their dress, and, assuming it’s someone’s hand, slaps DAHLIA CAVALLI in the mouth before the small animal scurries away and they have to apologize.
CHARACTER L1 chases the small animal and just when they are sure they’ve caught it, the animal bites them on the neck. CHARACTER M1, who is higher than a motherfucker and hallucinating, sees CHARACTER L1 cradling their neck and automatically assumes a vampiric transformation is happening. CHARACTER L1 has to survive the following attack from a stranger with a pocket knife.
CHARACTER N1 is on their fifth drink at the venue. They hear a loud slurping noise, only to find the small animal lapping their beer in hand. Out of surprise they scream which causes the animal to shit on their hand and run away. CHARACTER O1 looks on in amazement, wonder, and terror as CHARACTER N1 wipes their hand on an unknowing CHARACTER P1. CHARACTER O1 is conflicted if they should say anything but takes a Snapchat video of the whole scenario anyway. It goes viral on Tik Tok the following evening.
The small animal finally gets caught by SANTIAGO PEREZ in a battle that lasts 10 minutes. The small animal is then given to CHARACTER R1 whom they assume is the owner.
CHARACTER S1 is lost to the world, and passes out directly in front of CHARACTER T1 that had just spent twenty minutes in line for a cup of water. The cup of water is spilled on top of CHARACTER S1.
NAOMI WASHINGTON & CHARACTER V1 become instant buddies when they chant to the sound of “SHOTS” around the crowd. IRINA KOSHKIN takes this literally and pulls out their gun ready to fire.
CHARACTER X1, CHARACTER Y1, CHARACTER Z1 all show up to the venue wearing the same exact outfit. You have declared them your number 1 enemy for the entirety of the music festival.
CHARACTER A2 is high as fuck and thinks they’re making a flower crown for CHARACTER B2…..except it’s a crown of shrooms instead. CHARACTER B2 wears the crown, but has to swat CHARACTER C2 away who keeps trying to eat them.
CHARACTER D2, CHARACTER E2, CHARACTER F2 suffer from dehydration. They try to find help at the med tent, but they can’t find where it is.
ROSA LEON gets handsy with the bartender at the open bar and leads them away for a quick fuck, allowing RYAN HAYES and CHARACTER I2 to raid the bar freely.
CHARACTER J2 is the aforementioned bartender and realizes a moment too late their station is being cleared out. Instead of returning to their position, they throw on some neon bracelets and join the party.
CHARACTER K2 is doing some sick backflips in the middle of the crowd and are called out by the currently performing act mid-set for drawing attention away from the stage. CHARACTER K2 does another backflip to retaliate, but accidentally kicks CHARACTER L2 in the face.
JESSE VALENCIA hijacks a ELECTRIC BLUE STRATOCASTER from the backstage, and they are not caught.
DAVUT DEMIR feels like they’re being watched and finds a silhouette with a rifle narrowed in on them perched upon a nearby building. They quickly retreat to find OPHELIA O’SHEA and P2 and warn them about the occurrence, who realize there are multiple snipers surrounding the pavilion.
CHARACTER Q2 swears they heard a sound of explosions over the music, being in front nearest to the stage. They grab the microphone and scream, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.” CHARACTER R2 & CHARACTER S2 start to openly panic.
CHARACTER T2 (O’Shea) gets into a physical altercation with CHARACTER U2 (Vasile). They don’t stop until one or the other is knocked unconscious.
ANDREA REED & BIRDIE MENDOZA try to leave the event, but notice that they’re trapped in the auditorium. CHARACTER X2 makes it to their vehicle, but is stuck in place by the surrounding vehicles around them. Unable to escape fully, they return back to the venue.
CHARACTER Y2 hates their life at this music venue, because they’re stuck behind a rather sweaty individual. Their sweat keeps hitting them in the face, and at one point, they catch it in their mouth. It incites a ferocious bout of vomiting, and CHARACTER Z2 is trying to help, thinking they’ve been drugged, but CHARACTER Y2 can’t even explain what it is that made them sick.
TATIANA BLANTER is hit with a spare bullet, but no one is able to find where the source is. As no one around seems to have their gun out. CHARACTER B3 conceals their weapon perfectly.
NOVA DEVERAUX suffers a panic attack due to the crowd gathered, and clings onto CLARA DAVILLA who is unable to get them to the med tent.
CHARACTER E3 feels something warm splash on their face. They are unsure if it’s warm beer or urine. They’re pretty sure it’s warm beer, but remain conflicted the rest of the festival. CHARACTER F3 offers the shirt off their back for CHARACTER E3 to wipe the liquid off their face.
CHARACTER G3 is doing photography for the event, but realizes midway through the show that the performers aren’t who they say they are. They spot a face they know to be Faust affiliated in the crowd and scurry off toward the exit, only to be stopped by CHARACTER H3 (Faust) at the door.
MILES ST CLARE is the first to notice the lack of Fausts at the start of the music venue. They make their way to the police station in hopes of figuring it out, but instead they encounter burning police cars and chaos.
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