#Deee-Lite World Clique

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

GROOVE IS IN THE PHOTO-SESSION.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a portrait Lady Miss Kier, Supa DJ Dmitry, & Towa Tei of NYC-based/ American house and dance music group DEEE-LITE, photographed by Bob Gruen at Westbeth Studios, NYC, USA, in March 1991.

Source: https://morrisonhotelgallery.com/products/deee-lite-nyc-1991-kgzgo3.

[cosmonautroger]

Deee-Lite, World Clique, 1990

[shyphonics]

Salad Days, Chapter 8: Tell Me Now, and I Won't Ask Again

(Rodrick Heffley x reader)

chapter directory

hi hello I'm here and apologizing in advance for the turn this story took because I started having emotions while I was writing it lmao.

I have once again added a few secret songs to the playlist, so go and check that out if you're so inclined :) thank you so much to everyone who's read this. I'm having a time.

Life's an illusion, love is the dream

But I don't know what it is

Everyone's saying things to me

But I know it's okay, okay

Everybody's happy nowadays

Everybody's happy nowadays

~

Rodrick nods to Buck as he finishes loading up his truck, stretching his arms above his head and hopping into the driver’s seat. It’s been just short of a week since he’d last seen you. He sighs, looking at the dashboard, trying to shoo the thoughts of you away. He’d almost broken the night before and opened up his email account, taken a chance and said something, anything to you.

He’d ended up being too scared.

There’s no point.

Besides, he kind of likes his new job. He just drives around all day, does some light physical labor, and the people at the restaurants, or liquor stores, or wherever he is that day, smile and thank him. Tell him he’s a good, fast worker. He’d specifically requested no downtown bars on his route.

Buck had laughed and said I can’t blame ya. We’ll make Tony do it.

The engine roars to life, and he scans through the radio stations until it lands on a good-sounding song. The music is upbeat, with a high, meandering guitar riff.

Life's an illusion

Love is a dream

Life's the illusion

Love is the dream

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot. The words of the song prick his ears, and he ignores them, pretending they mean nothing to him as the song fades out.

Then he hears a voice.

An all too familiar voice.

This is 98.7, radio free Port Hanna. Buzzcocks, Singles Going Steady, 1979. Personally, it's in my top five. Sometimes, I just feel like-

Suddenly, he sees flashes of your apartment, the lights above your bed. Your kitchen counter. Your face, so close to his, praising him. You, on top of him. Your soft skin. The smell of your soap, and the tile of your bathroom.

I really, definitely like you.

He switches the station fast, to some lifeless buttrock. He leaves it there. This is… fine. A month or two ago, he might have even liked this song. He sighs, stopping at a red light and looking at the map in his passenger seat. He notices a red line veering off from his uptown stops. He picks up the map. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

That looks like The Strike.

 As he gets closer, glancing down at the map, he realizes it’s not, but it’s close. He drives by, seeing the giant, boarded up window, which somebody has painted we’ll be back, fuckers! on. The front of the building is fenced off. He feels bile rise in his throat.

His delivery is 2 doors down, a liquor store on the corner, Phoenix Liquors. The guy inside is friendly, with red hair and a silver nose ring.

“Oh, hey! Are you my delivery guy?” He sounds excited.

“Y-yeah!” Rodrick stutters.

“Oh, thank god. It’s usually this guy named Terry, and he’s an asshole.” The man laughs.

Rodrick wracks his brain. Terry, Terry…

“Oh! Yeah, Terry’s weird. He has these pictures of, like, women in 80s aerobics clothes in his truck.” Rodrick laughs.

The man cackles, steadying himself with a hand on the counter.

“God, that makes so much sense.” He laughs, “I’m Joey, by the way. You look… really familiar.”

Rodrick panics, feeling sweat start to prick at his hairline.

“I, um, uh…” He pulls his hat down, trying to cover his face.

“You played at The Strike last Friday! That’s it. You’re a drummer, right?”

“No, I…” Rodrick laughs nervously.

“Yeah! You guys were fucking sick as hell! You played ‘Rise Above’! What was your band called again? Löded Diper?.”

“No, no,” Rodrick’s voice falls to a hushed tone, “I mean, yes, but no…”

“Dude. You guys were great. I’m in Put Down, I’d love to play a show with you guys sometime.”

“Really?” Rodrick’s eyes widen, “I- I mean, no I’m kinda… I don’t know when we’ll play again, y’know?”

Joey looks at him in disbelief.

“What? Are you guys doing, like, a weird album release thing? Building hype? Because people loved you. You got a mention in The Eye this week. Alex Garcia, the music reporter, really liked you guys. Which is a big deal. Because he kinda hates everyone.” Joey smiles.

“What?” Rodrick perks up.

“Yeah! You gotta take your chance while you got it, man.”

Rodrick’s mind goes blank. Joey’s eyes are kind, and Rodrick feels like he can trust him.

“I, uh… I kinda…”

Joey cocks his head to the side.

“I kinda messed things up with somebody important.”

“Who?”

“Um, the lead singer of The Shrieks?” Rodrick’s voice sounds small, afraid.

“Oh.” Joey laughs, “Yeah, she doesn’t fuck around. We’re friends though, do you want me to ask about you? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.”

“No!” Rodrick blurts out, then calms down, “No, no, I… it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I… I should start loading in.” Rodrick sighs, walking away from the counter.

He makes his way back to the truck out front, keeping his head down in case anyone from The Strike is outside.

He comes back to find that Joey has put a doorstop down, and smiles. What a nice guy. Rodrick gets to work, wheeling cases of bottles and cans into the store, stocking them, and starting over. A different song seems to be playing every time he comes back. Joey makes light conversation, and time seems to fly. Before he knows it, he only has one load of cans left. He wheels his dolly through the front door for the last time, loading the final empty shelf with a quirkily-labeled local beer, the can featuring a topless woman riding a dragon. He wheels the dolly back up to the counter.

“Hey, well, even if you don’t play, we should hang out, okay?” Joey smiles, “I’m always here, or at one of the bars. I kinda work everywhere."

Rodrick feels a pang of sadness in his chest, knowing he probably won’t make it out to hang out with Joey.

“Yeah… yeah, we totally should.”

“We’ve been around, like, if you guys wanna know where to tour when you’re ready, we’ve got a whole guide written up. I'll make you a copy."

Rodrick might as well have been slamming his head against the wall, like the idiot that he was. This guy is offering him tour advice, and he knows he’s not going to take it.

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

Joey holds his hand out for a high five, and Rodrick meets him halfway, smiling nervously. He freezes in the doorway as he hears your voice once more, low and stable over the store speakers.

Sorry for all the sap today, folks. It’s just one of those days.

Joey flashes him a sympathetic look, that he doesn’t stick around to see.

He makes his way back out to his truck, grabbing a copy of The Eye from a box outside. He sits in the driver's seat for a minute, bonking his head against the steering wheel. What is he doing? This is what he’s wanted, as long as he can remember, and he’s throwing it away, because…?

Because he’s a bad person.

He sits up, looking at himself in the rear view.

He’d forgotten to remind himself of that today.

Bad. Bad.

He stares into his own dark brown eyes, starting the truck and driving off, towards the other end of town. He can’t let himself forget. He did this to himself. No one else. It was him.

~

Tonight you’re mine completely

You give your love so sweetly

Tonight the light of love is in your eyes

But will you love me tomorrow?

~

It’s been a week since you saw Rodrick. Your radio plays are a little spiteful today, you’ll admit. All songs of scorn, or longing, and maybe a small part of you hopes that Rodrick is listening.

This is stupid. You’re strong. You should’ve forgotten him, written him off by now.

But you can’t.

Some part of you is still hoping he’ll call and apologize, have some magic excuse for leaving you hanging for a week. It doesn’t even have to be a good excuse. You really just want to hear his voice.

You hate that you’re so desperate to hear his voice.

You spin in your desk chair as a commercial break plays, a man yelling about discount tires. You’re tempted- so tempted- to send him another email. One with harsh words. One that will hurt him, maybe stick with him forever. You want him to feel just as bad as you do right now.

Something tells you this isn’t just him being a dumb guy, though.

Something tells you that something much bigger is at play.

You instinctively take the mic as the commercial break ends, your mind unfocused, running on pure routine. You barely even hear the words you say.

“98.7, radio free Port Hanna. Listen up, folks. Repairs are delayed. The city sent the fire marshal after us, and we’re on cable control duty until they say we’re good to go. I’m sure you can imagine the nightmare that guy walked into- power strips as far as the eye can see. But the window will be back tomorrow. Why don’t you come up and drive past us sometime?”

You sigh, preparing to hit play on your next pick.

“Stay strong, folks. You never know when the man is out to get’cha.”

The next song plays, and you stare into the grainy little screen of your cell phone. Then just like that, it's ringing. An unknown number. Your eyes nearly jump out of your skull.

You do have a rule with unknown numbers, though. You always let them talk first.

You answer the phone, bringing it to your ear, and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping against all hope that it's Rodrick.

The voice on the line is familiar, but in a way that makes your blood run cold. There's no way… it can't be.

It sounds like your dad. He's laughing, in a smug, awful tone.

“We found you,” he says, the laughter coming to a halt, “We finally found you.”

Your jaw drops, and your hands shake as you hang up as fast as you possibly can, the phone falling out of your hand and onto the floor.

No way. No fucking way. He's bluffing.

Then you remember… you were on TV last week. There's a good chance that news piece made it back to your hometown. You put your head in your hands, cursing yourself. Shit! Free access to what you look like and where you work got broadcasted straight to the man you've been trying to hide from for nearly 6 years. You don't know how much he's capable of on his own, but you should clearly be cautious if he found your fucking phone number.

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind, you'd just been so angry about what happened. Part of you had hoped he just wouldn't care anymore.

You check the clock. You're on air for another hour, and then it's straight to the bar for more work on repairs. You cross the studio and double check the lock on the door. Checking the window, you see that the parking lot is as empty as it should be on a day like this.

Cautiously, you pick your phone up and see several new texts.

You ungrateful brat.

You thought you could hide? You think you're smarter than us?

You're still sick. You need help.

I'll be waiting outside of that horrible bar to collect you and bring you home.

Your hands shake so hard, you can barely read what he's sent. You feel your breaths coming fast and ragged, trying to come up with any plan at all.

You have one beam of hope left. You hadn't said anything on the phone. He may know where you work, and what you look like, but he doesn't know for a fact that this is your phone.

You unlock the studio, rushing downstairs and giving the receptionist a frightened look.

“Bonnie…?”

She smiles, looking up from her knitting.

Bonnie is a woman who proudly describes herself as “funky.” She's in her mid 70s, and she dresses like she's in a Deee-Lite video. Her orange hair is tied back in a floral scarf, her eyes are lined in bright turquoise, and her lipstick is a jarring shade of coral. You smile back. She's one of the sweetest people you've ever met.

There is a reason that she's trusted to man the front door, though.

Bonnie doesn't take shit from anyone.

Not a lot of people know about your past, but you have had a few late night talks with Bonnie in the studio, and she knows your dad is not a man you want to see.

“Can you do me a huge favor?” You smile sheepishly, clasping your hands together to keep them from shaking.

She nods, putting the knitting aside, “Oh, please! I'm so bored.”

You laugh, despite the situation, and take your cell phone out of your pocket.

“Well, I'm getting these harassing phone calls,” You start, frowning down at the little screen.

“From who?” She looks devastated.

“My, um… my dad. Remember how I said he's kind of a bad guy?”

She nods fiercely.

“He found me, and he called me, but he never heard my voice, so he doesn't know for sure that it's me.” You frown down at the phone, then look back up at her, “Bonnie, will you record a voicemail message on my phone?”

She leans back and laughs, nodding and reaching her hand out for the phone.

“Oh, this will be fun!” Her tone is devious.

This is Bonnie Forester. You’ve reached my personal telephone line. If you are a solicitor, I ask that you take me off of your list. I’m old, and I will not buy anything. Go to hell!

You burst into laughter the second she’s done.

“That’s perfect.” You grin as she hands you your phone back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.” She winks.

You make a mental note to bring her flowers or something on your next shift.

She picks up her needles and waves as you go back up to the studio. Songs are still playing from your CD queue, and you decide to call Mike before commercial.

“Perfect timing, kid,” he answers, “You ready to check 28 power strips?”

You sigh.

“Mike… is there a car parked outside the bar? One that looks out of place, maybe? A white BMW?”

You're not sure if your dad is still driving his stupid vanity car, but you wouldn't doubt it.

You hear his footsteps.

“Yup, white BMW. Yuck. Why? Are you psychic? Have you been hiding that from me this whole time? Do you know how useful that would've been?”

A laugh almost escapes, but the dread of the situation is just too consuming.

“That's my dad. I don't know if you remember, but-”

“Your dad?” Mike's tone is hushed, panicked, “The one who-”

“Yes!” You interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose, trying not to let any stray memories come in.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” You hear Mike pacing.

“He found me, I don't know. I have to assume he saw me on the news last week and tracked me down. I thought he would've stopped caring by this point!” You lean against the wall, hand on your chest, in some effort to comfort yourself.

“Should I go out there and say something?” Mike asks, “I’ll make something up! Tell him we forgot to paint the curb red.”

“He already knows I work there, Mike. There’s no point. He said he'd wait at the bar to ‘collect’ me.” You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Collect you?” Mike scoffs, “You’re a fucking adult!”

You sniffle, shaking your head, your voice starting to break, “What if he's got a court order or something? What if he can collect me, Mike?”

Mike is quiet.

“You're right. Don't come in, lay low. Finish your shift, and then go home.”

“Should I go home?” You feel yourself unraveling completely, your heart beating fast, your eyes twitching, “What if he knows where I live?”

“I'm watching his car. I'll let you know if the fucker moves. Just keep your door locked, and let me know if you need anything.”

You nod, wiping your eyes, “Thanks, Mike. I'm… I'm so sorry.”

“He should be fucking sorry. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hang up, collapsing into the rolling chair just in time to play a commercial break. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was never supposed to find you. He wasn’t supposed to give a shit anymore. You turn the playback volume as high as you can handle, trying to get him out of your head. Trying not to remember.

You feel like a zombie for the rest of your shift, finishing out your queue and waiting for Nick to come in for his shift.

You hear the doorknob rattling behind you and spin around, your eyes wide in fear. Nick puts his hands up in surrender.

You let him in, sighing in relief.

“Hey, paranoid, what's gotten into you?” He smiles, hanging up his jacket. His face drops when he looks at you.

“My dad is here. He's at the bar waiting for me.” Your voice comes out small, pitiful. You hold your elbows, slouching over.

“Your dad? Oh, fuck,” He whispers, “What are you going to do?”

“Run and hide,” you shrug, “Wouldn't be the first time.”

You grab your stuff and turn to face him, forcing an uneasy smile.

He sits in the chair, putting the headphones around his neck, and returns your uneasy look.

“Well, if you need help, you know where to find me."

"I know."

~

My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed

Dried up and bulging out my skull

My mouth is dry, my face is numb

Fucked up and spun out in my room

On my own, here we go

~

Rodrick sits in his usual stool at Jimmy's, a mug of beer in his hand, staring down at the bar. The top is smooth, clear plastic, with ads and business cards slipped underneath. Used cars, chiropractors, nail salons, and so many little concert fliers.

Most seem to be for smaller country, tribute, or solo acts, people that play in places like this.

Currently, a man sits in the corner with an electric guitar, playing a simple riff, with no rhythm to be found. His off-key crooning makes Rodrick want to cover his ears, but the guys from the plant are watching him closely, cheering him on.

He hates it here.

He opens his copy of The Eye, flipping through to the music section.

Hey, Friday Night's Alright for Fighting, Too

by Alex Garcia

A brawl broke out last Friday at The Strike, just a day before the vandalism took place. I personally think that the raw power of all 5 bands was too much for the local frat boys to handle, and their little brains just straight-up exploded.

Newcomers Löded Diper burst onto the the scene for the first time. Ignore their name, and go see them as soon as you can. With a powerful rhythm section, and a palpable friendship between the members, these guys are definitely one to watch. The chemistry was off the charts.

Dammit. That's a good review. That's a really good review. Rodrick leans forward, his elbow on the bar, his head in his hand.

The bartender is the same one as usual, Caitlin. She's about his age, with flat ironed hair and an eyebrow ring.

“This sucks.” She slumps down on her elbows in front of him.

“I know,” he shakes his head, taking a long drink of his beer. He feels a slight smile on his face. At least someone gets it.

“I'm going to this tonight,” She points down at the counter, to a small, square flier advertising a show at one of the bars downtown, Dime Store. His heart sinks, remembering that you'd said he could probably get a show there. “You wanna come with?”

He looks up. She's smiling sweetly, with one of her eyebrows raised. Is she… flirting with him? Rodrick swallows hard, his mouth falling open, but no words come out.

Caitlin is pretty, and nice, and tough as hell for working in a horrible place like this.

He can't say he's interested in her, though. She's not you. He's still thinking about you, even if he's accepted that he's completely ruined his chance.

Not to mention, he can't show his face down there, even if he was interested.

“I…” he looks down, “I can't, I'm sorry. I'm really busy.”

He looks up, sheepish, knowing that was a shitty lie.

Caitlin looks disappointed.

“Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. I get it.” She stands up straight, grabbing a rag and wiping down the empty side of the bar.

Rodrick lets his head fall with a thunk. Dumbass.

“Y'know, if you have a girlfriend or something, you can just say it. It's better than some lame ‘I’m busy’ bullshit.” She looks down at him, mocking him with a deep, dopey voice as she repeats his words.

He picks his head up, eyes still down towards the bar, focusing on an ad for a dog groomer. The picture is old and warped, and the dog looks like some sort of monster.

“I don't have a girlfriend, I just…” He sighs.

“Oh, you like someone.” She teases.

“Sure, you could say that.”

“And you screwed it up, because you're a dumb guy?” She laughs, but her face is sympathetic when he looks at her.

He nods. That’s a pretty good way to put it.

“You should call her or something, it can't be that bad.” She comes back to stand in front of him.

“It's that bad. I'm that bad. I'm a bad guy.” He sulks.

“You? C’mon,” She laughs, “You’re not a bad guy. You're the only one of these assholes who's actually nice to me.”

Rodrick turns to look at his horrible coworkers. Buck is singing with the guitar guy. They’re doing a Creed song. Fucking Creed. Buck is crying. He rolls his eyes, turning back to Caitlin.

“Yeah, they’re pretty fucking horrible. I don’t mean that I’m mean, though. Like, I’m not rude or anything. More like… sometimes I think I was just born bad. I do bad things, and I don’t even realize they’re bad. Or that I’m doing them! I try my best, but I just spread… badness. Everywhere I go. I’m a bad person.” He shrinks back in the barstool.

Caitlin gives him a look of absolute pity. It makes him want to disappear.

“Jesus. What the hell did you do to this girl to make you think that?” She laughs softly, shaking her head.

“I got into a stupid fight with a stupid asshole at her bar, and the stupid asshole went and vandalized the bar, so it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have even given him a second look.”

“How… exactly is what happened to The Strike your fault?” She looks unimpressed, “Sure, bar fights are fucking stupid, but did you start the fight? Or did he?”

“Well,” Rodrick thinks back, “He pushed me, I pushed him, he sucker punched me in the face.”

“Buddy,” Caitlin laughs, “That is not your fault.”

“But…” Rodrick looks down, “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me when it happened, and when she figured out it was the guy who punched me who did it.”

“How did she look at you? Show me.”

“Like… like…” Rodrick frowns, and shakes his head, doing his best impression, trying to match the rage that had been in your eyes. Caitlin covers her mouth as she laughs.

“Okay, that just looks generally pissed off. Did she say anything?”

“She said,” Rodrick thinks, “She… she said… ‘don’t feel bad, it’s not your fault, I’m just pissed off’.”

Caitlin looks at Rodrick like he is the dumbest man in the world.

“...what?” Rodrick asks quietly, after a moment of silence.

“She said it’s not your fault!”

“She didn’t mean it, it’s totally my fault.” Rodrick groans.

“She would’ve told you if it were your fault. So, what you’re telling me is, this girl had her workplace vandalized and a guy she presumably liked completely stop talking to her on the same day?”

“See?” Rodrick blurts out, “Even if the bar wasn’t my fault, that’s not good either! Either way, I suck!”

“Do you know what you can do about that?” Caitlin gets closer to him, smiling.

Rodrick is quiet.

“Call her!” She enunciates carefully.

Rodrick stutters, starting and abandoning several sentences, finally landing on, “I can’t.”

Caitlin rolls her eyes.

“She probably doesn’t even like me anymore! She probably just wanted it to be a one night stand after all! She was probably just being nice when she said she wanted to see me again! She’s, like, hardcore!”

Caitlin’s eyes go wide.

“One night stand?! Rodrick!”

“What?!”

“You slept with her?” She yells.

The music stops. Rodrick’s coworkers all look at him, and start hooting and hollering as they always do.

Yeah, alright, Ricky! Atta boy!

Rodrick puts his head down in shame.

Caitlin lowers her head, whispering.

“Okay, dude, I do not think you’re a bad guy, but you seriously need to call this girl. Like, right now.”

“I… I don’t have her number.” He admits.

Caitlin puts her face in her hands, rubbing her temples.

“You can not be serious! Okay,” Caitlin flips her phone open, “I have everybody’s numbers, what’s her name?”

She scrolls through her contact list, and fuck. There you are. Caitlin keeps an iron grip on his arm as he dials, and he takes deep breaths as it rings.

This is Bonnie Forester. You’ve reached my personal telephone line. If you are a solicitor, I ask that you take me off of your list. I’m old, and I will not buy anything. Go to hell!

Rodrick stares, dumbfounded, at the phone.

“She didn't answer?” Caitlin releases his arm, leaning over the bar.

“It was… an old lady's voicemail.”

She looks at him, confused. He dials again, this time putting it on speakerphone.

This is Bonnie Forester. You’ve reached my personal telephone line. If you are a solicitor, I ask that you take me off of your list. I’m old, and I will not buy anything. Go to hell!

“She changed her number.” Rodrick murmurs, looking down.

“No, no,” Caitlin looks at her own phone, her eyebrows hitched in worry, “I met her, like, 2 years ago, she's probably just changed it since then. Or I took it down wrong!”

Rodrick crumples onto the bar, groaning.

Caitlin grimaces, putting a tentative hand on his back.

“Hey, hey. This doesn't mean anything.”

“It means fucking everything,” his mouth pulls into a frown, “It means she hates me.”

It's quiet for a while. Caitlin slowly takes her hand off his back, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Well,” she finally says, “Come out with me, then.”

He lifts his head.

“As friends! Just as friends.” She clarifies, waving her hands, “C'mon, I'm off in 20 minutes. Let's have a good time at a bar for once.”

He looks at her for a while, before finally agreeing.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

~

You don’t want me anymore

So I just walk right out that door

Played a game right from the start

I trust you, you use me, now my heart’s torn apart

So I'm sailin’, yeah I'm sailin’ on

I'm movin’, yeah I'm movin’ on

Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on

~

Your cell phone rings once again, and you debate snapping it right in half. You sit, curled on your couch, staring at it in fear. This is a new number. Probably your mom's phone. You consider yourself lucky that Bonnie had been there to help you out. The message will at least throw them off your scent a little.

You've received one text from Mike, ugly car is at Motel 6 on Coal Ave.

That's a relief, at least.

You feel like you're going crazy.

A thunderstorm rages outside your apartment, and you're suddenly hating how many windows you have inside. The entire outside-facing wall is essentially just one big window. Every time lightning strikes, you find yourself thinking, that's it. He saw me.

Yet, when you check the window, nobody unusual is parked on the street below.

You're struck with a passing thought as a clap of thunder rattles your windows.

What if…?

No way.

Why would Rodrick call now?

You carefully pick up your phone, looking at 2 missed calls. You'd bet good money on that being your mom's cell phone, or even your dad having a backup number.

You'd really like to hear from Rodrick, though. Now more than ever.

As pathetic as that may be.

You take a deep breath. If you don't talk, nobody will know it's you.

You dial. It rings for what seems like forever.

I'm sorry, but the person you have dialed has a voicemail box that hasn't been-

You hang up quickly. Dammit. Now you have no idea.

You eye your laptop for a second before opening it.

Rodrick hasn't emailed you. You decide to send another one to him.

Not to hurt him. Not to destroy him. Just to see.

~

From: worldsbestbartender@aol.com

To: bigrod@plainviewcommunitycollege.edu, lodeddiperrawks@aol.com

Subject: Did you call me?

Rodrick.

Are you calling me? I assume the ship has sailed and I don't know why you would be. Dick move, by the way.

Let me know if that was you who called me twice in a row tonight and I'll answer. I can't answer mystery numbers right now. I don't want to explain and you probably don't care anyway.

Just please let me know.

~

You drop your head as you hit send.

You doubt he'll answer. You doubt it was him.

But the chance is enough to make you wonder.

Enough to make you miss him.

You know he wouldn't have some grand plan to save you from this situation, but that's not what you need, anyway. You have a feeling that Rodrick’s form of support would just be sitting on the couch with you until you could fix things yourself.

That's what you need.

You stare at your inbox for a while, refreshing over and over, feeling more helpless. You wonder where he is. If he's even thought about you once.

You feel so weak.

You feel so angry.

No person should make you feel like this. You're better than this.

A knock at your door scares you within an inch of your life, and you cover your mouth to stifle any sound you might make. You creep towards the door, peeking through the peephole.

It’s Nick, with his hands shoved in his jacket pocket. You open the door and let him in.

“Hey,” He closes the door behind him, locking the deadbolt, “Any word?”

“Nothing. I got 2 calls, but it might be… someone else.”

He eyes you strangely, then takes his hands out of his pockets.

“I had this crazy idea,” He reveals what he’s got to you.

2 plane tickets from the nearby regional airport to LAX. You take them, staring up at him in disbelief.

“It’s crazy, I know,” He scratches the back of his head, “I just thought, if you’re gonna run, you might as well go far, far away. Somewhere exciting.”

You keep your eyes on him, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“And I’d wanna go with you.”

“What? Like, run away together?” You hand him the tickets back.

He looks at the floor.

“Look. Ever since I met you, I…”

“Don’t, Nick. I know you feel bad for me, but don’t say anything you don’t mean, okay?”

You walk to your couch, sitting with your hands in your lap.

“I mean it,” He appears in front of you. He looks so sincere, “I love you. In whatever way you want me to.”

You don’t really know what you feel for Nick. He’s been there, with you, since the beginning, but…

Do you love him? As a friend, maybe. You decide to shelve those feelings for now.

“I can’t leave, Nick.”

His face drops when you don’t respond to his confession.

“I have too many things here worth fighting for. I can’t leave. Plus, who’s to say my dad can’t find me wherever I go? I have to stay here and fix this.” You look out the window as another flash of lightning strikes.

Nick looks at you for a long time, head down, shoulders slouched. He finally speaks.

“Just think about it, okay?”

(tag list: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam @stargurl-01)

[spilladabalia]

Deee-Lite - Good Beat

[gallimaufryish]

Deee-Lite, 1990 (Lady Miss Kier, DJ Dmitry, Towa Tei)

[omfayeov]

[mitjalovse]

Here's what I think – the 90's dance music could be seen as something much more eclectic than what the narratives that are forming around that. Sure, the popular version of that had many outfits that basically took EVERYTHING – the caps are intentional – for their sound. One of them was Deee-Lite. The latter – I have said this before – should be seen as much better than they were given a credit for, yet you have to understand, i.e. their major hit you can hear on the link was just too tough to handle, though what a hit that was! While their tune has EVERYTHING the 90's consisted of, the piece continues to have a certain power. Why? Well, the fact most of the members of the group still do great work implies an answer.

[fraelchilde]

Let the people call me naive I believe I believe I believe

[twistedappletree]

feelin’ kinda high like a hendrix haze,

music makes motion, moves like a maze.

[kwaggysshardmindemporium]

Hey guess who just remembered they haven't done a blog about albums in like two weeks hint it's me. See, I normally do them during downtime at work, was home from work for a week because reasons, and thus snapped myself out of the habit. So here's some rapid fire albums.

Reign In Blood by Slayer. So, I do talk about this on Tumblr occasionally but I'm Jewish. The opening song of this album made me DEEPLY uncomfortable as it's a song about Mengele. I thought the band was mining my culture's suffering for content at best, glorifying Nazis at worst. I did some googling about it to see if this was the case, and found a quote that said essentially "I didn't put any lyrics condemning Mengele's cruel experiments because if I need to TELL you they're atrocities I can't help you." And like fuck man 11/10 attitude honestly. Doesn't make me like the song as it's still a rough listen, but I respect that. Anyway, rest of the album is good. 3/5.

Either Or by Elliott Smith. This album was boring and this far out from having listened to it I cannot remember a god damn thing about it. I apparently gave it a 3/5. Moving on.

The Only Ones by The Only Ones. Similarly, don't remember a god damn thing in hindsight about this album. Also 3/5.

Let It Be by The Replacements. Same story, same rating. 3/5. This is why I try to do the blogs same day when I remember, folks. Would like to quickly clarify that these ratings aren't a "default"score, but specifically the rating I gave it the following day when I generated the next album.

Urban Hymns by The Verve. This album wasn't my thing, but I was still impressed by what they were going for. The album starts with their famous song "Bittersweet Symphony," and climbs and climbs in energy, then drops the energy off a cliff for the last few songs. It is genuinely pretty effective, makes you pay attention, and really takes you places. It's genuinely cool. I didn't really LIKE the songs much, but I respect the creative choices. Also a 3/5, but with a recommendation you listen anyway because I could see someone being inspired to make something truly fucking amazing listening to this.

Seventeen Seconds by The Cure. This one hurts y'all. I like The Cure. They're a good band. This album sucks in a way that isn't even fun to unpack. 2/5.

Technique by New Order. Okay so I only know New Order from like "Blue Monday," while is a cool but very dreary song and very much not my thing. This album punched my expectations in the face, doused them in gasoline, then tossed a match at them while they tried to get back up. It's just plain fucking fun to listen to and you should listen to it. 4/5. If you're wondering based on that statement why it's not a 5, you gotta really understand how low my expectations were on this.

World Clique by Deee Lite. This album isn't very good and "Groove Is In The Heart" is an overrated song. This feels like an opinion that might be controversial maybe but whatever. 2/5.

Play by Moby. This album starts fun and then gets progressively less fun the further you go, to the point where I was begging the album to end about three songs before it actually did, so the rating here is kind of like the average of the first half of the album and the last half. "South Side" is still a fucking jam, but the rest of it ain't gonna change your life. 3/5

Lastly, Groovin' by The Young Rascals. This album has the unfortunate distinction of having a song that played on the work radio when I worked at Walgreens (the title track), and so I automatically hate that song. Listening to it in private on my morning drive didn't make it better. But I'm also not gonna give it an auto-1 because I have unresolved emotions about my former employers. "You Better Run" is a fun song. 3/5.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Alright so here is another set of reviews. This time it's my brother who is very much into fun and goofy music so enjoy this selection from my brother Jason!

The Aquabats - Fury Of The Aquabats!

The Aquabats are living cartoons. Concentrated essence of childhood fun. They are a child friendly ska punk Gwar. Even though this album is from long before their purely kid oriented Yo Gabba Gabba! days there is still a distinct family friendly atmosphere to The Fury Of The Aquabats! It has a similar energy to Homestar Runner or The Muppet Show where it is kid friendly media made for adults. And, like those examples, it works because they are having so much goddamn fun with it. It is deliberately and pointedly stupid. Magic Chicken is a song about chicken. I'm laughing because it's funny. The Cat With Two Heads has the line "I was in my laboratory creating what i thought would be we something great for the world, a two headed cat. You can pet one kitty's head and pet the other kitty's head, but little did i know the power of atomic energy would create a

two headed man eating monster!"

So have I convinced you to listen to a 90s ska album yet? Because this is a very pure example of the genre musically. It has the pop punk pacing and fast paced ska rhythm and the horn section and everything. It does admittedly have some, uh, genre diversions I guess I'll call them. Attacked By Snakes is a tango song and Lobster Bucket is a zydeco type thing sometimes. The MC Bat Commander is a perfect vocalist for this kind of music. He's so goofy, but you never really get the impression that he isn't taking it seriously. Or at least he is meeting the music and lyrics on their own terms. It is very endearing. Plus this album has a little bonus that other Aquabats albums lack. Do the drums sound like really competent to you? Like way too much for a pop punk band? Yeah that's Travis Barker of Blink-182 fame. He's probably the most talented punk drummer and he lends a fantastic energy to these songs.

Deee-Lite - World Clique

If you know Deee-Lite already then you probably know them as the one hit wonder who did Grooves Is In The Heart. Well this album deserves more recognition than just having produced a hit single. Deee-Lite channel the 60s flower child throwback aesthetic harder than any other artist of the 90s and they bring that energy to house music. Now I feel like a lot of electronic music fans start to dismiss an artist the minute they hear pop vocals, but this is totally unfair. Dee-Lite use vocals the way they would use any other instrument on a house track. The repetitive vocal lines mesh with the piano samples, drum loops, and funky bass.

Speaking of funky bass, this album has a few performers with a pedigree. Three former Parliament-Funkadelic members feature on this album, trombonist Fred Wesley, saxophonist Maceo Parker, and bass legend Boots Collins. Plus A Tribe Called Quest member Q-Tip gets a verse on Grooves Is In The Heart. That element of P-Funk goofiness is apparent in their peace and love lyricism and overt cheesiness. And while a lot of memorable tracks like Try Me On and Groove Is In The Heart are more hip house to pop oriented the rest is populated by songs like What Is Love that show off a more traditional house style. The album has enough variety and good enough pacing that you don't need to throw these songs into a DJ mix when you can just throw on this whole album and get the same experience.

Shonen Knife - Brand New Knife

I can't pretend this is my absolute favorite Shonen Knife album, I'm more of a Burning Farm or Pretty Little Baka Guy kinda girl. But Shonen Knife doesn't exactly disappoint here either. There's a simplicity to their lyricism and playing that leaves little room to actually fuck it up. The punk rock meets 60s girl group sound feels like it should be influenced by cuddlecore musicians except for the fact that Shonen Knife's sound predates that movement by a decade. This album is smack dab in the middle of the height of that scene though (low heights admittedly) and there is definitely a bit of a cleaner sound than on previous Shonen Knife records that reflects the styles of the time and the rising success of the band. I don't personally believe that higher production quality does much for them, but as long as they are still singing about food and other things that make them happy Shonen Knife will always be a treat to listen to.

Bitch Ass Darius - Follow The Sound

This is the greatest DJ mix ever. Booty bass or ghetto house or ghettotech or whatever you want to call it is a chatic style of house that adopted a lot of hip hop tendencies and then ramped things up to eleven by using the most sexually explicit lyrics possible. Follow The Sound is the most ridiculous example of this already ridiculous genre.

Bitch Ass Darius is an anomaly to me. I can't find out who they are or if they made any more mixes under a different alias. A friend showed me this mix once and I don't know where he found it. The experience of listening to the mix is kind of similar. In between recognizable samples will be snippets of things that you couldn't place the origin of in a million years. And even if you could they probably fly by so fast you don't have time to parse what he just sampled before the world's foulest lyrics start repeating some shit like "he's not my baby daddy he's just a sperm donor" or "I wanna fuck your mouth". A lot of typical booty bass samples are present which means nothing if you aren't a freak like me, but if You've ever heard that memetic snippet that goes "ass n titties, ass n titties, ass ass ass ass ass n titties" that was DJ Assault who is a staple of the genre and that exact sample is in this mix. But the typical hyper crude samples are interspersed with something way weirder. Random seconds long snippets of literally anything else. I can't explain the experience adequately because everything is always happening so fast. My favorite example that I have managed to catch is that he rapid fire samples Michael Jackson (pitched and sped up naturally) saying "beat it, beat it!" And then without missing a beat counterpointing it with the Weird Al parody lyrics "eat it, eat it!" This happens in maybe one and a half seconds. The contrast of samples is a great vehicle for delivering the comedy inherent in the genre while also delivering a good example of the music. Despite feeling like it's poking fun it still remains respectful of the chaos of booty bass music. The album dwells on nothing. It doesn't care if you heard that because listen to this! Follow The Sound is the purest and most perfect sonic overload. If you have problems with auditory overstimulation then seriously consider skipping this album. But if you have ADHD like me then you are about to find your new favorite thing.

Accept - Balls To The Wall

This album is gay af. It was noted at the time and the band acknowledged it. To quote drummer Stefan Kaufmann "It's a phenomenon that should be taken into consideration. Because it exists on a wide scale and should be demystified. In fact, this is a phenomenon of society that needs to be taken as such. For a long time gay people have been considered as sick or insane. And yet, it's time to respect these people, open our minds which are often closed."

This is the kind of music that I think most people are thinking of when they say "heavy metal". It is riff driven heavy music with corny lyrics about tough guy stuff. Like having sex with men. Accept is like if AC/DC was self aware. And thankfully the only ballad in the album is actually good too. It's hard to review this style of metal without sounding dismissive. The camp is obviously deliberate here so I don't feel as bad poking a little fun because I think I'm laughing with them a bit. But really this is a simple and effective album with no weak tracks and themes that it plays straight. Which doesn't seem like much but in the world of late 70s early 80s heavy metal its really raising the bar for future acts.

Desmond Dekker & The Aces - 007 Shanty Town

Before ska was associated with middle school boys with frosted tips and cargo pants, before the days of London teens in ill fitting suits and checkerboard patterns, before dub and reggae there was Desmond Dekker. One of the 60s original ska artists. With a sound that blended Jamaican mento music with a solid helping of jazz and R&B to create a unique blend of Jamaican pop music.

The unique beat that we all know and love (you love it right?!) is created by muted guitar downstrokes on the one and three beats and loud staccato upstrokes on the two and four. Add in some horns, walking bass, and vocal harmonies and you've got the blueprint for basically all ska. And this combination, the crisp staccato guitar and horns especially, grant a uniquely sunny disposition to basically the entire genre so that even when Desmond Dekker is singing about poverty or crime there is an underlying love for his home in every song. Plus a lot of the gangster aesthetic is pure kitsch and is strangely one of the major aspects of the genre to have maintained throughout the years. Ska artists all wanna be in Oceans Eleven even in back in 1967.

Mastodon - Leviathan

If 17 year old me knew that in the year 2023 I was still going off about how much I love this album I think she would call me a slur and have a weird feeling about being called 'she'. I've liked this album for a while and the more metal I listen to the more I appreciate Mastodon. They are somewhere between being sludge, progressive, and death metal and they navigate that in-between with skill. The chugging skudginess can easily erupt into speedy solos and there is an abundance of complexities in the musical arrangements.

Leviathan is the second in a tetralogy that incorporated their first four albums each being themed after a classical element. Leviathan is a concept album about Moby Dick and therefore is obviously water. If their more aggressive debut is fire and the sludgier Blood Mountain is earth then Leviathan's status as water follows. The riffing crashes like waves and there are a lot more melodic flowing sequences that also suggest water. Although the album is more strictly focused on its Moby Dick themeing. Leviathan crashes forward with an intensity that is honestly too much to just call sludge metal but it never hits the level of screaming that you expect from death metal. In retrospect Mastodon have always been a very progressive metal act and I think this album in particular does the best at blending all of their different styles into one package. That said all four of their original albums, Remission, Leviathan, Blood Mountain, and Crack The Skye are worth a listen.

K.d. Lang And The Reclines - Absolute Torch And Twang

Oh so my son of a bitch brother is gonna be a bigger lesbian than I am by giving me a k.d. Lang album I've never listened to huh? Before she transitioned to a more lounge / jazz style k.d. Lang was a full on country western musician with her band The Reclines. Country music had been in severe decline for over a decade but somehow Lang avoids any of the pitfalls of her contemporaries. Instead she mines decades worth of country music blending rock influenced outlaw styles, singing cowboy western styles, and 60s Nashville sound into a monolithic style that celebrates the history of the genre without just being a period piece. And her voice is just astounding. She can sing tender love ballads and rollicking honky tonk numbers with equal ferocity. Her mezzo-soprano is maybe the richest I've ever heard.

Luie Luie - Touchy

Luie Luie is here to tell you about a new dance called the Touchy. This is going to be a bitch to explain. Luie Luie was an outsider musician from the 70s and understanding that he was almost certainly on the autism spectrum goes a long way towards understanding what's going on here. You see Luie Luie was a nightclub manager who thought that people didn't touch enough while dancing anymore so he tried to make a new dance called The Touchy that would encourage touching but with clear rules for how you were allowed to touch you dance partner. It's strange but all very well meaning. He managed to finance the creation of an album and so Touchy was born.

So after Luie Luie tells you that he's invented a new dance and that he plays all the instruments on the album and that every touchy starts with a "wild horn intro" we get a wild horn intro and holy shit he's actually a really good musician. The touchy is basically a mix of mariachi, funk, soul, and lounge music. The slightly offbeat sound and cheap production are wildly endearing especially when you understand this as a passion project that is composed, performed, and recorded all by one man. Luie Luie is a fairly talented multi instrumentalist and where his technical skills falter he covers with incredible ear for complex arrangement. Some songs like El Touchy make for fairly danceable music, although I would rather sit and listen than dance and touch if I'm being honest. Although special mention should be given to the track Touch Of Light for it's intense layering of up to fourteen trumpet parts creating an elaborate tone poem that recalls the works of Ligeti. I'm eternally baffled and grateful for the Touchy it is the rare piece of outsider music that is actually as listenable as it is intriguing.

Kumi Tanioka - Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles OST

Crystal Chronicles is such a weird mess of a game. It has an intriguing narrative structure, but the repetitive gameplay loop makes finding the plot tedious. Plus it isn't really fun to play at all unless you have at least three people with game boy advances and gba link cables. I beat it single player when I was a kid because I'm neurodivergent.

Soundtracks are difficult to review. Should you review it as a stand alone album, pretend the source material doesn't exist? You would be missing crucial context and anyway a soundtrack that does stand alone as an album probably didn't work that well as a soundtrack then. Well the answer for me is to realize everything has context. Nothing exists in a void. If you saw an album with blood and gore on the cover and the title in a death metal font and then the album contained folk rock your opinion of the music would be colored by that experience even though the cover has no effect on theusic. So let your understanding of this music be colored by the fact that it is the soundtrack to a GameCube game.

Kumi Tanioka is mainly just the Crystal Chronicles composer and that's a shame because she is extremely good. Final Fantasy games have a long history of using their music to heavily influence the game's mood, but that is partially because of the efforts of long time composer Nobuo Uematsu. Tanioka manages to outdo even Uematsu when it comes to heavily themeing the soundtrack. The Crystal Chronicles OST features music heavily influenced by a mix of medieval folk styles. Music that plays in towns and in roads will have aspects of Byzantine music while your hometown festival is very Celtic. Some tracks like Twilight In Dreamland show some influence from South American music too. The idea of a world music soundtrack to a game about trying to travel ever farther into an unfamiliar world is quite brilliant.

The music is also melodically beautiful. And catchy. There are tracks that you are severe risk of getting stuck in your head especially Annual Festival or the opening vocal track Sound Of Wind. A lot of games have a vocal pop track tacked somewhere in there and sometimes it does work (I dunno how FFXV pulled off a Florence Welch cover of Stand By Me but goddamn it worked) but usually it's just an out of genre pop song that doesn't mesh with the game at all. Sound Of The Wind is a great song that works as a pop song units own right but also sticks to the medieval themeing of the rest of the soundtrack.

You might not appreciate listening to this as much if you haven't played the game. And honestly I can't in good faith recommend Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles, it's not a very good game. But this soundtrack is one of the ones I put on just to listen to and it is probably my second favorite Final Fantasy OST after FFIX.

[waspstar]

tagged by @underthewirez i chose skylarking by xtc :)

i tag ummm anybody who wants to do it just say i tagged you hehe

[deathclassic]

gimmie the number of the beast :ianguestwomb:

You got itttt

unfortunately its not as hardcore but still!

Deee-lite - World Clique

[wumblr]

found a copy of deee-lite world clique while i was looking for books on brazilian portuguese (of which i can have "for dummies," end of list, if i want to go to barnes and noble, which i don't) and first of all. i thought groove is in the heart was on the other album. and second of all the track after it is SO funny. why did they do that. is it like a metaphor or did that actually just literally happen to lady miss kier. made me laugh SEVERAL times. when will your fave ever put eating chips on an album they can't it's been done