#I just miss the genuine feeling of watching an Indie project made by a small team or even made by just one person
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floydtheflorist · 17 days ago
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FINALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION THAT ACTUALLY SEEMS TO BE MADE WITH CARE BY REAL HUMAN BEINGS WHO ACTUALLY WANT TO MAKE SOMETHING GENUINE THAN A BIG STUDIO THAT PRETEND TO BE "INDIE" AND DRINKS OFF THE FANS' MONEY. THANK GOD
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onestowatch · 6 years ago
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Meet VOILÀ, the Duo Riding Their Heartbreaks to Greener Pastures [Q&A]
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VOILÀ has found their sound. That’s not always an easy thing for artists to say less than a year after releasing their debut single, but the Los Angeles-based duo has carved out a niche for themselves with earnest lyrics and passionate songwriting. Now with their debut album on the horizon in 2019, they’re doing everything they can to make their impact impossible to overlook, while maintaining their relatability in the process.
Luke Eisner and Gus Ross first met in a classroom at USC, and it wasn’t long before they began creating their own music outside the course. The duo DJ’d plenty of parties during their time in college, but eventually they moved on from the electronic realm in an effort to better express themselves through the music. Listen to their latest song, “Don’t,” which slotted in at #19 on Spotify’s New Music Friday playlist, and you’ll understand why it was a great decision; with refreshing guitars and heartfelt lyricism, VOILÀ makes it easy for listeners to access them, and hard to turn away from once they have.
They certainly sound genuine when their voices are playing through the speakers, and it shines through just as clearly when talking to them in person. They’re quick to laugh and crack jokes, keeping a light-hearted nature even as they thoughtfully discuss their music and what they hope to accomplish with it. We recently caught up with the duo to talk about their new single, as well as a few career highlights and pivotal moments in their journey so far.
OTW: You recently dropped “Don’t” -- tell us about the inspiration and story behind the song.
Luke: We started with a guitar riff, and then in terms of the story behind the song, I compare it to an analogy. Basically when I was growing up, there was this willow tree in my front yard, and I’d always try and climb it, and everyone was like, “Why are you trying to climb this tree?” My friends were like, “You’ll get hurt,” my parents said I was wasting my time; I still have this scar on my elbow from falling off of it. But what they didn’t know is that when you did get to the top, it was the most beautiful view of my subdivision, the kind of view that made you forget how much you hated the climb. And I grew up and fell in love with a girl who was like that willow tree, so that’s kind of what the song is about to me.
Gus: Exactly, the climb --  is it worth the pain? It’s an addiction you just can’t get rid of.
Luke: Yeah, it paralleled romance so much, where everyone is like, “It’s not good for you,” and you even know it’s not good for you, like my elbow is split open. But it’s that one thing that meant something to you, so you just keep coming back to it.
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OTW: You both met at USC, and graduated in May. What was your biggest takeaway from your time at school?
Luke: Gus is sitting here in a leopard shirt, that’s the biggest takeaway. [Laughs]
Gus: Actually though, we met on the first day of class; it’s weird. He came and sat by me, for the record. We just kept working and working on a few different projects, and about a year ago we really got down to business with this. And then it’s been non-stop ever since, which is wicked.
Luke: USC’s very good at selecting people to come to the school that are passionate about something, so that was the biggest takeaway. This Trojan network thing, just being around all the kids they bring there is so invaluable.
OTW: You guys started out making electronic music, and then you switched to more indie-pop because it felt you could tell your stories better. Do you think you’ve found your sound now?
Gus: 100%. We just finished writing new songs with two different writing teams, and we have the sound. Every single song we make now, we can say that’s a VOILÀ song. It took a while, it took 3 years of just sitting, writing, making music, to really stumble across it. I think that’s important.
Luke: It’s funny, now we can go back to old songs that don’t have that sound, and we’re starting to re-do some of them. The idea is still there since the story is still true to us, but we’re redoing it with our new sound. That’s exciting.
OTW: Was there a moment where you knew you found it, or was it a gradual change?
Gus: Definitely gradual. We’ve written one album that’s unreleased, 17 songs. Off that album, we probably have 10 signature VOILÀ songs, and the rest were sort of the outliers. The next batch of songs that we’re on now, which is another album’s worth, all the songs are more in-line. Instead of ten being very similar, we have 12 or 13, and you sort of get closer and closer to a sound through that.
OTW: In terms of your lyrics, you guys sing about heartbreak in a lot of your music. What do you think is the best way to get through a breakup?
Luke: For me, it’s always literature, for everything. Whenever I’m trying to find the words to say something, you put it in a song, or you look for the words somewhere else. I was going back to a lot of the classic novels and romance structures; when you read them, it’s something about witnessing something else go through it even though they’re fictional. It’s the relatability, and the happy ending even if there isn’t one.
Gus: For me, I’m not good at it, so I’m probably the wrong person to ask. [Laughs] I think you have to embrace it, though. I’m a big believer that being broken early in your life is very beneficial when you can look back at it; I had a horrible experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me, it really makes you know yourself. But I can’t tell you how to get out of it, you just have to power through.
Luke: Everyone says to wear your heart on your sleeve; why not wear a broken heart? You have to embrace it, be proud of the scar.
OTW: Gus, you grew up in London while Luke grew up in Wisconsin. When you guys came to LA, what was your first culture shock moment?
Gus: Everything’s massive in the US, everything. From the cars to the signs to the people, everything. When I touched down, I accidentally missed orientation, I ended up skipping up the whole thing. I was there and I was thinking “this surely won’t matter,” and it was the biggest mistake. I got here and everything was dark, it was 9pm and the last day of orientation. The doors were locked and I didn’t have a card, I had to bang on the doors to get in. I had to wait until Monday and I came on a Saturday, it was miserable for a day or two until I finally got in the swing of it. The culture shock though, I still have that now. I don’t think it stops.
Luke: For me, when I got to LA, I got scouted to do modeling. Being from small-town Wisconsin, like buzzcut, beer drinking, football Wisconsin, I thought that didn’t exist. I vividly remember standing in this shoot, and there’s a guy with a bucket of potatoes, and he’s tossing the potatoes at me to catch for the pictures. I’m in this long robe, I’m wearing makeup for the first time in my life and my hair is all wavy, and I remember thinking, “what has happened?” [Laughs] It all hit me at one time, literally, as the potatoes were flying at me.
OTW: Do you still do modeling? How hard is it to balance that with your music?
Luke: You know, it fuels the music thing, because it’s my income. Every time I’m working I’m thankful for that opportunity, because it allows us to progress here, financially. So I’m thankful, but every time I do it I’m reminded about how passionate I am about this.
OTW: This summer, you opened up for Kesha, The Fray, and X Ambassadors. Talk about what that experience was like for you guys.
Gus: Amazing. It really opens your eyes to how open you’ve got to be, as an artist, when you’re singing about your own tragedies on stage. You really have to embrace that; there’s no act up there, everyone is seeing into your own life.  In Kesha’s case, it was like 15,000 people, it’s insane. It makes you grow suddenly, and realize your vision very fast.
Luke: When you hear people singing your own heartbreak back at you, it’s an interesting concept. It’s both healing and appalling at the same time. For me, performing with The Fray was one of those full-circle moments. The first song I had ever performed in my life was in my fourth grade talent show, it was “How to Save a Life.” And then there was a moment where I was watching them do it, I was speechless. You just hope that you can create music that there’s another kid in fourth grade who can get the song, and then they’ll open up for you.
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OTW: What’s the atmosphere you want to create at your live shows?
Gus: I think it’s kind of a mixture, between an Ed Sheeran show which can be very intimate, and then you also have the rocky pop aspect of a Twenty One Pilots show. You have the anthemic song where everyone can move, but you also have a number that’s more introspective, more raw. It’s sort of these people not really knowing exactly where they are, there’s happy and proud moments, but you also really have to stop and think for a second.
Luke: I want people to walk away feeling like they’ve had every opportunity to access us, whether that’s physically, like after the show I want to meet as many people as I possibly can. Same with the music, I want the communication to be so thorough, that they really feel like they’ve been through the story. I think accessibility is one thing that makes a lot of performers that I admire.
OTW: Last question -- who are some Ones to Watch artists that you’re excited about?
Gus: Ooh, there’s quite a few. We were just on BBC Introducing last weekend, there’s a guy who we’ve been on there a couple times called Jack Vallier.
Gus: Also, I love Ella Mai, British singer. She’s incredible, she really is something. That “Boo’d Up” song I saw blew up, but she’s been at it for a little bit, I really like her. A very different genre from us. And then Luke’s kind of into country music.
Luke: I love country music, I love the lyricism. I think some of the best lyricists are in Nashville. There’s this guy Spencer Crandall, who had found our music and messaged me. He’s unbelievable, he’s so accessible. He replies to everybody, he messages people all the time.
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basklin · 7 years ago
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A love letter to Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number
or how I learned to stop worrying and love the game.
Hotline Miami 2 turned 3 yesterday, I thought I’d write something up for it!
The following contains spoilers for both Hotline Miami and Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number. I'm going to put it under a read more seeing as I got carried away.
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I didn't get to play the game on its release date, I was busy with real life. My sister was playing a part in her university theatre troupe and had a role as Miss Prism in The Importance of Being Earnest, it coincided with the date of Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number's release and I was going to go back to the house me and my family were staying in at the time. It was a moment of respite during a time of year where I was working on my final art presentation for my school and I had worked non stop on it. I wanted to play the game since its announcement and having finished the first Hotline Miami less than a year before, I had waited so long, I could wait a day longer, my time was my own to work with. The comics by Dayjob Studio had gotten me really excited for the game at the time as well, more than happy to see my favorite medium put to use in promoting a game I was looking forward to.
I got back to my student flat in the early afternoon and made myself lunch, downloaded the game (updates and bug fixes included) and happily started it up. I'm ashamed to say now that I was expecting most of what the first few levels had to offer, since I'd spoiled myself on a leak that came out a few months before the official release of the game. I originally wasn't going to watch it, but a friend who'd watched before me said there was a character with my name in it, seeing as that was so rare to me, I caved in really fast. (Fun fact: it was the direct inspiration for one of the first comics I did for that game)
I have to point out that I'm thankful that the game's slasher style tutorial wasn't spoiled in the leaked gameplay footage, as it was a genuine joy to see the amount of details in the level design at my own pace. There was a big buzz around that level when journalists were framing it as an unwanted shocking sexual assault scene in a game about senseless violence and cartoonish gore. The game's meta commentary about sequels and how that kind of scene is used in horror movies for upping the shock value was lost on me too, but we can't be expected to get the point of a moment in media the first time. The presentation in most cases for this is frankly overblown and lasts around 3 seconds, a pair of pixellated buttcheeks over a woman I didn't even know the name of yet wasn't going to put me in a catatonic state, but a trigger warning  asking a player if they want to be spared from that kind of scene before the start of the game is always a worthy inclusion.
Even today the first 5 levels of Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number are the perfect representation of the rest of the game: big sprawling detailed areas, a diversity in those locations, playstyles associated with named characters, and an actual commentary on violent video game protagonists.
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As mentioned before, I was very much looking forward to the game's release and getting around to playing it. I had gone cold turkey on playing the previous installment, wishing to discover the gameplay anew and making my patience feel like a reward when I got around to playing it.
I wrote “named characters” because giving them a name makes them more real, part of the world, with motivations unique to them. Not just an avatar the player can slip into and mirror back what the little amount of pixels with a human shape might be beginning to feel when committing violent acts. That also means there are more stories that come bundled together, they're more present than ever and harder to ignore for a player who wants to skip to the next action set. The arcade game format of the first game alongside its simplicity is lost, but more story is what I wanted in the sequel, so I can't complain.
Playstyles and characters were a joy to discover and experiment with these characters comprise of:
The Fans, covered in colourful war paint with their individual animal masks and expertise, all set out to go on a vigilante murder spree, chainsaws and guns in hand.
Manny Pardo, the detective whose motives remain unclear, with a more gun oriented gameplay.
Evan Wright, the writer with the one with the most unusual playstyle of the lot, seeing as he tries to do non-lethal takedowns of people he chooses himself to be around needlessly putting him and his family in danger in pursuit of the truth behind the first game's phone calls. This unique gameplay can be made into the default one by going too far on ground executions, making him go into a blind rage and seeing red.
The Soldier, limited to a single gun of your choosing whose ammunition must be replenished through carefully placed boxes throughout the level and an army knife for close range combat.
The Mafia, comprising of the Son of the former leader of the Russian mafia and his Henchman. The former wanting to reinstate the dominance of the Russian mafia after the Colombian cartel took over and the latter wishing to break free of this cycle. The Son has the same array of skills as the Fans, exception made of the chainsaw and gun combo, making him a reckless one man army, and a cool parallel between the Russian mafia and the vigilantes in animal masks.
And the last playstyle, what feels like the default way to play the game, is the one found in the first game. Simultaneously not making you feel contrived to play a certain way, but not making you feel overpowered either. It's shared between a handful of characters in the game: the Henchman , the Rat, the Pig Butcher, and the Snake. (although the latter is able to play in a fists only way with one of his masks)
Guns only, dodge rolling, fists only, a chainsaw and gun at the same time, double MP5s, and even non-lethal gameplay help to define everybody really well, beyond words and appearances.
Getting to explore levels that are massive and open was the biggest game changer, being tunnel visioned and sticking to melee weapons became a death sentence for some levels with frustration quickly rising. I remember reading the advice that guns made too much noise in Hotline Miami, the result was sticking to a melee weapon and executing fallen enemies; which rewarded you with more immediate points than firing with the different array of guns, but rising combo counters and being wary of cover definitely became the name of the game in the sequel, for better or worse.
Gone were the collection of small colourful appartement buildings, what felt like cardboard boxes with “Miami, Florida” scrawled in felt tip pen on them; instead we have unique looking buildings, that feel inhabited, grubby at times, and more unwelcome than ever for a gunfight. More windows, and getting shot from offscreen, and enemies for which you have to use a specific kind of weapons on to progress through the level, all at the same time.
Multitasking is asked from the player, being aware of the enemies in your surroundings along with the abilities and limitations of the character you are playing. Not to mention hard mode which you unlock after finishing the game for the first time, with more reaction time and ammunition conservation playing a bigger role by then. Hotline Miami's puzzle side could expand to its full potential and the developers have truly made a better game. More thought, more gameplay, more amazing music tracks from a variety of indie musicians, and more story was put into Wrong Number, it was everything I was hoping for and I wasn't disappointed by the game at all... At first.
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This isn't going to relate to a few people, but I try to finish games as fast as I can. Not speedrun them mind you, I like playing games too much for that, but finish it from beginning to end in a timely fashion. In the past, my interest dropped very fast for games that require time, knowledge of all its controls, or reflexes to beat and will get frustrated if I can't get back into the groove of it after a few months of not playing it. I tend to start over because I've either lost track of the story or of the rhythm of later chapters. On top of that, I didn't want to be spoiled accidentally or put it off too long. I remember finishing Hotline Miami's main story in one sitting only coming back the next day to finish the Biker levels, why not do it with Wrong Number?
To this day, I regret playing Hotline Miami 2 in one sitting. After 3 hours without a break, I had a slight headache, by the time I had finished the game 6 hours later, I had a migraine. By playing it the way I had, I'd successfully completed the game, but gotten a feeling of disgust by the end of it. I've had hangovers that felt better.
On a side note, that day I got a call from a classmate who wanted my opinion on the direction of his end of the year comic presentation was going. He came round when I was in the middle of Deathwish, on the level with Corey, what felt like the ultimate test of skill at the time. And I definitely gave vibes that I wanted to get back into the action, despite taking the time to answer questions and discuss his comic project (if you're reading this Jean, I'm really sorry, come round for tea sometime!). Time feels very fuzzy for this, as I seem to remember spending too much time on that stage, listening to the track Roller Mobster by Carpenter Brut over and over and slowly growing to resent it. I've gotten better since then and like the song just fine now, but I still have trouble with that level.
The assault on the Russian Mafia's headquarter by the Fans is a 4 floor action packed romp, where they all have their own floor for themselves and aim to meet each other on the roof of the building. Things don't go as planned for reasons that weren't explained immediately. Only after Deathwish do we realise that the Fans we had played as had fallen in battle one by one and died during their siege as we were playing the next floor. Now, characters whose gameplay were unique at that point got killed offscreen, with one onscreen by the police, rightfully so as they had only themselves to blame for their demise. I felt drained by the time I had come to what I thought was the end of the game. It turned out that it was the midpoint of the whole story. A pit in my stomach was slowly forming: there was going to be more after all this?
More of everything is both a blessing and a curse, more music leaves room for tracks I'll have a hard time liking, more violence means I'll slowly be apathetic to the character's struggles, and more characters is forgetting the levels that features only one of them, wondering why they were even there in the first place and if they could have been cut in favour of a smaller cast with their unique gameplay. Excitement had passed and doubt had settled in: character driven stories are what I love most of all and the cast was slowly thinning down. Those who had died weren't seen again in the story, was it going to keep my interest? I certainly expected it to.
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I finally took a break to have dinner and a stretch before coming back to continue Casualties, the final level featuring the Soldier. The stages between that one and Deathwish are wonderful, great even, but they felt as thought they don't fit into the main story, I remember later trying to rearrange all the levels, keeping in mind which levels concluded each chapters and found that everything fitted really well together as it did. I was still getting over the previous levels so maybe I wasn't enjoying them as much as I should at the time.
I'm going to be honest when I say I forget the Soldier is in the game every time. An actual wartime setting, in an alien looking Hawaii none the less, with a gameplay that's really enjoyable and prepared me for hard mode's ammunition conservation gameplay very well should be memorable. It may be due to the fact that his inclusion was to give a background to the protagonist of Hotline Miami and give the origins of the secret organisation behind the phone calls of the first game, with parallels to mission euphemisms over walkie talkies, commando style hits, and sense of loss to a cycle of violence that doesn't care for its victims or its players. The character's final moments didn't bite as hard this time, even though that one felt the most undeserved out of the whole cast.
The next four levels featuring Richter the Rat are some of the best I've experienced, by that point we were focusing on a new character we'd met in the previous game and of which I didn't think much of at the time. Seeing him was an unexpected surprise for me, a really good one because of all its touching cutscenes and tight levels. Even in his last chapter, with the track Le Perv by Carpenter Brut, reminiscent of Deathwish's nauseating track, was honestly a joy to play through, despite the difficulty. It also was a nice conclusion for the Writer's story, who instigates the Rat's recollection of the events, with a final choice between continuing the book about the vigilante group and its mysterious phone calls or reconnecting with his estranged family while there is still time and discontinuing the cycle of violence, neither choice affects the outcome of the finale, but there is definitely an obvious conclusion in there, for me at least.
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Nowadays, I know all the elements and numerous characters were included in Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number so that everything would be done in one game. Everything Dennaton wanted to experiment with, characters that tied different storylines together and both made sense of the first game and concluded its story for good. Hotline Miami didn't have room for flamethrowers or more storylines with other operators, it was an overarching story for the player, to be in the shoes of a hitman in an animal mask, with room to interpret the story for ourselves. The sequel doesn't stand on its own from a narrative sense: I'd be utterly confused by some of the stories of Hotline Miami 2 if I hadn't played the first game, since everything stems from the events of Hotline Miami. The result is that it all feels very heavy to take in all at once.
I really didn't care for Jacket's background, or why he did anything in the first game. He doesn't have a name, or a voice, or a personality, he's really boring in a story sense, but he's the perfect game protagonist. If he can be anything you want him to be, there's no room to dislike him, aside for his violent actions which he doesn't justify to himself in any way, he just does as he is told, like the soldier he once was. We feel what he feels during the violent missions, the sense that we get better and better at the game, the character doesn't improve, as there's no character to improve, we as the player are improving level by level.
So when the sequel explained that he was a veteran that fought in a war we never get the context for or care about, my first thought was that “he was just Rambo”. I hadn't watched Rambo at the time and only ever saw that character in old Atari games where you kill nameless soldiers. He'd always seemed like the generic action movie soldier that looks cool shooting away at his enemies. But since then, I've sat down to watch the first Rambo and saw the tale about young man coming back from war without education, aside from how to kill, back to a country that doesn't need him, and even despises him. It's an incredibly sad thing to watch a character broken by committing and being the victim of violence only to be rejected by the society they served.
The personal interpretations about Jacket is one of the best parts of Hotline Miami, as much as its gameplay, graphics, and music. Wrong Number builds upon that foundation by taking multiple interpretations of what Jacket could be and extends it to the cast of the sequel: he could be a jingoist with a burning hate for Russians (Jake the Snake) just as much as he could be scared for his life and willing to protect a person he loves (Richter the Rat). He's the now unwanted soldier of a war that is long lost (the Fans) just as much as he is the patriot in service of a minority struggling for his rightful place in a hostile environment (the Son). He's also a serial killer in an animal mask (the Pig Butcher) just as much as he is a killer with his own motives that don't have to be revealed to the player (Manny Pardo the Detective). And Biker’s search for answers is mirrored by the Writer, it was only fate that they would eventually meet up.
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After the levels with Richter, we have the final 5 levels featuring another one of my favourite characters: the Son. He's the de facto leader of the Russian mafia, a scarred one man army with what feels like the strongest desire of the cast of characters: taking back Miami from the Colombian cartel, the new organised crime network in charge. His Father, the final antagonist of Hotline Miami, felt like a strong businessman with the plan of gaining power over the city through assimilation: striking a deal between the Colombians and their cocaine distribution, owning methadone clinics for the new addicts to heroin and cocaine, and gaining the favour of local politicians. The Son is nothing like that. He has a more aggressive show of power and control, separating himself from organically made drugs in favor for more potent artificial ones produced locally and actively killing his competition through violence, being in a revolution similar to the masked vigilantes in an attempt to undo the damage caused by Jacket in the first game.
As an aside, Manny Pardo has his final level in the middle, throughout the game we are teased with his personal investigation, the one of a serial killer called the Miami Mutilator, separate from the main plot of the game. It all comes to a head in his last level when it's revealed that he is the one behind the murders of the Mutilator, in an attempt to overshadow the media's attention of the masked vigilantes. The interpretation I developed over time was that his story arc was a meta commentary on sequels having their own story and an inevitable lack of interest from fans of the first game, curious instead about a continuation of the first game's narrative.
I remember originally thinking from the game's trailer that Manny Pardo was Jacket and getting really curious about how the story was going to go about, until I realised that he was in fact another character with his own motives and losing interest almost immediately in favour of the Fans revealed alongside him in the video. When it emerged that he was a detective, it seemed immediately more interesting than Jacket ever was, that it would be a character in search of answers, similar to the likes of Biker from the first game. The expectation was subverted, as it turns out that he has more current things to worry about and masked vigilantes are a thing of the past, crime doesn't stop happening and random violence is the norm in the world of Hotline Miami.
After the Detective's final level, we have what has to be one of the hardest challenges of the game: the final showdown between the Son and the Colombian cartel's Boss in his sprawling villa. Even after having been playing the game for almost 8 continuous hours, it really felt like what the game was leading us up to, from random street thugs to the drug army in Miami. And yet, even when the level was all said and done, there was yet another level after that. We are back to what felt like the finale a few hours ago: Deathwish, only this time it's the Son's side of the story, overdosing on his own artificial drugs and going on a overcoloured haze of hallucinatory violence.
Apocalypse is the name of that level, and it's a beautiful boss rush, where all the Fans are turned into monstrous animal shaped fever dreams that the Son has set himself out to destroy in his terrible drug trip, alongside his own men, turned into unrecognisable demons. It all leads to the rooftop, where a rainbow bridge invites us off into the void as the game's credits show up on the screen. The credits fade in favour of the rest of the cast, alive and unperturbed by the finale we as the player went through, only to realise that events offscreen trigger the end of the world, nuclear bombs vaporise them all and...
I didn't get it.
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It took a good night's sleep and a bit of thinking to understand what Hotline Miami 2:Wrong Number was about: deconstructing Hotline Miami. The first game's conclusion had a hopeful tone to it, with mocking comments by the developer's stand-ins if we came back looking for more answers by playing Biker's additional levels, with actual answers that feel forced if you actually manage to find all the clues within the game. The sequel ends the world with nuclear clouds and if we start a new game, we get a new introduction at the start of the game essentially asking: “why are you back?”. There were no more answers the game could provide.
Violence is at the core of both of the games and it never seemed to stop. Hotline Miami left us wanting more, Hotline Miami 2 left us with the most violent thing known to humanity. I remember thinking that it was a deus ex machina ending, an answer to problems that seemed unsolvable. But inside the game there’s all this rising tension, focusing so much on the characters distracted me from the fact that it was culminating towards the end of the world. All the characters were trying to solve all their problems through violence, but the world wasn't going to get better through those methods. It was the only conclusion a game like that could have and I love it more than ever.
I cannot thank Dennaton enough for the incredible time I had and keep coming back to with Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number. It has made me explore media I never would have discovered otherwise and draw things I never imagined I would come to draw. Happy 3rd anniversary to an incredible game, and I look forward to the future.
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aion-rsa · 4 years ago
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Days Gone PC Port Could Highlight Controversial Game’s B-Movie Charms
https://ift.tt/eA8V8J
In a way, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the PlayStation team recently confirmed they’re bringing Days Gone to PC as the first of several new PlayStation ports Not only was the PC port of Horizon Zero Dawn reportedly a tremendous success, but games ranging from Red Dead Redemption 2 to Bayonetta show that PC gamers are eager to buy properly done ports of titles they’ve previously been denied. The PC market has a way to extend the life of a game that more and more developers are finding hard to ignore.
Even still, you’re forgiven if hearing the name Days Gone caused you to raise an eyebrow. After all, it’s not just one of the most controversial PS4 exclusives; it’s a game that some consider to be the absolute worst PS4 exclusive this side of The Order 1886.
We’ve previously spoken about the Days Gone controversy in our review of the game and a look at how it oddly helped define the legacy of the PS4 itself, but the long and short of it is that Days Gone was, at the very least, an odd entry into the PS4’s legendary library. After years of hype, Days Gone proved to be a technically flawed attempt at a largely familiar open-world title that rode the end of the zombie pop culture wave to a decidedly mixed reaction.
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Yet, despite my many, many, complaints about Days Gone, I’m genuinely excited for the title to hit the PC market and potentially reignite the discourse surrounding the game. Whatever else that game is, it’s also one of the strangest pieces of “so bad, it’s good” storytelling in modern Triple-A gaming history, and it deserves to have the chance to be remembered as such.
Even if you were determined to enjoy Days Gone, the game’s launch problems made it hard to do so. Along with the usual glitches you’d expect from an open-world title (even if Cyberpunk 2077 abused the privilege), you’ve got a series of poor animations and worse detection features that often impact the actual gameplay. It’s the kind of issues you’d expect to see in more ambitious indie titles, but the fact they’re so prevalent in one of 2019’s biggest PS4 games is why legitimate unanswered questions remain regarding developer Bend Studio’s techniques and intentions.
Presumably, the PC version of Days Gone will address most of those technical problems by incorporating most of the fixes that have been added to the game via patches and a next-gen update. If that is the case, then it will make it that much easier for more people to witness Day Gone scenes such as this one where a bride’s wedding speech includes the words “Ride me as much as you ride your bike.”
That scene is considered to be the centerpiece of Days Gone‘s collection of downright weird storytelling and acting that elevate the title’s “How did this get made status?” to another level. It’s fairly amusing even out of context, but to truly appreciate it, you’ve got to play Days Gone to the point when you realize that the line “ride me as much as you ride your bike” is meant to be one of the emotional climaxes of the title’s love story.
It’s also very much worth mentioning that the line itself was seemingly taken from an early Sons of Anarchy episode in which “Opie” tells his bride that he promises to ride her “as much as my Harley.” It’s one of the many ways that the game borrows themes, characters, ideas, and, yes, even lines from the popular FX series.
Much like Sons of Anarchy, Days Gone‘s over-the-top biker characters have been embraced by a community that often insists that “soft” viewers just wouldn’t understand why they’re so cool. If you also feel that an endless parade of curses loosely strung together and growled out by heavily tattooed Canadian tuxedo aficionados (led by a hero The Irish News rightfully refered to as “Joe Kickass”) is the height of cool, you’re going to find a lot to love here.
To be fair, even those who don’t outright love these characters may find themselves strangely drawn to them after they’re willing to accept that they’re all essentially variations of the same basic archetype. Days Gone has been called Sons of Anarchy meets The Walking Dead, and that’s not just a line that looks good in marketing. There are times when it feels like that’s literally what the developers were going for, and it’s absolutely wild to see the commitment that went into biker cliches and zombie cliches battling it out across a 40-hour apocalypse cliche. It’s like an open-world game populated entirely by clones grown from Mickey Rourke’s Rogue Warrior character:
It doesn’t help that the game’s dialog adheres to this bizarre style that sees nearly every character regularly throw some “umms” and “ahhs” into their lines. It feels like the idea was that such speech patterns would make the game’s dialog feel more natural, but when you’re watching a small army of underdeveloped and comically tough bikers stammer through every line of dialog like they’re imitating Jame’s Stewart’s It’s a Wonderful Life performance, you eventually start to wonder whether Bend tried to push this concept just a bit too far.
The whole thing reminds me of Deadly Premonition. Much like that game, you’ve got a developer that is clearly inspired by a TV property (in that case, Twin Peaks) yet can’t seem to harness their fondness for that concept long enough to produce something that feels like a parody made by someone who intended to craft a tribute.
And you know what? I kind of love Days Gone for that. As a fan of some of so-called the worst movies ever made, there’s nothing more amusing to me than when someone misses the mark so wildly in pursuit of a passion project. It’s the difference between a bad major motion picture like the later Pirates of the Caribbean films and something like The Room or Troll 2. The people in the latter movies weren’t just getting through the day for a paycheck: they had an idea and, against all odds, they managed to get it out there in whatever form it was eventually able to survive in.
Days Gone embodies the best of that spirit by being this game that I honestly believe was intended to be genuine in its characterizations, scenarios, and emotional beats. The fact it falls on its face after going over-the-top in pursuit of all of those concepts makes it this strange entry into a time when the biggest budgets are usually awarded to the teams that publishers know are going to avoid these exact kinds of passionate misfires and instead deliver something reliable.
Like a million monkeys sitting at a million typewriters trying to reproduce the works of Shakespeare, Days Gone attempts to recreate ideas that we’ve seen before and often fails at doing so. Yet, it trips so often out of pure enthusiasm for trying to get where it’s going that it’s weirdly easy to recommend checking this game out on PC just to experience it for yourself.
The post Days Gone PC Port Could Highlight Controversial Game’s B-Movie Charms appeared first on Den of Geek.
from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/37FtblH
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soundcheckentertainment · 8 years ago
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For many of us the May long weekend signifies the unofficial beginning of summer. Summer – with its warm days and long nights, gathering with family and friends to enjoy good eats, fine weather and the great outdoors.
Q the music…
CBC Music and Live Nation had a recipe for success when they teamed up at Ontario Place’s RBC Echo Beach in Toronto on Saturday May 27th, to kick off the start of summer (and Festival season) with the CBC Music Festival.
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
This 1 day festival was packed with land and water activities (SUP, kayak), food and beverage vendors, a VR tent, a scavenger hunt and showcased 20 Canadian artists performing across 4 stages for 9 solid hours.
And perform they did, for large and small crowds alike – including an impromptu gig by Scott Hellman in the commons with an intimate gathering of lucky fans. There really was something for everyone to enjoy, as was proven by the number of families in attendance. The fact that kids under 12 were admitted for free wasn’t just a brilliant marketing maneuver.
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
The Kid Zone had a wide range of activities for the little people, including a Rock N’ Roll Hair Salon and Tattoo Parlour (of the washable variety), an instrument petting zoo, as well as their own stage shows – hosted by CBC Studio K’s ‘Cottonball’. The area in front of the Kid’s stage became very crowded in the hour before Walk Off The Earth swung by to hang out for a Q&A session. Many in attendance wondering “What kind of instruments do you play?” “What’s your favourite song?” and “Who’s your favourite Super Hero?” to which each member of this down to earth group took turns answering. Before leaving the stage, they left their indelible mark on one tiny fan when they all agreed to sign her ukulele.
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
The first act to grace the Main Stage was an all-girl indie rock band called The Beaches, appropriately named for the Toronto neighbourhood they hail from. The smallish crowd that had gathered against the security fence surrounding the stage started growing from their very first electrified notes. Don’t let the idea of girl band confuse you, this wasn’t a Spice Girls performance; their sound was more Blondie meets The Runaways. Comprised of vocalist & bassist Jordan Miller, guitarist Kylie Miller, keyboardist Leandra Earl and Eliza Enman-McDaniel on the drums, these chicks know how to Rock N’ Roll and they brought it loud and hard! Performing a couple cover songs in between their own hits like “Little Pieces” and “Give it Up”, which is gaining radio play. This quartet quickly set the bar high for the rest of the day, and I’m sure gained more than a few new fans, myself included.
A wander past the food trucks and assorted market vendors was up next. It was a good thing too, because you couldn’t get near them later in the day. A sampling of pulpo, duck tacos, and curry fries filled the gap, washed down with a refreshing sudsy beverage. One nice thing about Echo Beach is that that the entire grounds are licensed, so attendees could wander from stage to stage with a can in hand, able to enjoy the music in person instead of relegated to far corner tent.
Needs sated, I detected a rhythmic hum filling the air, seeming to beckon me closer and drawing me in. It worked as I found myself standing outside the Tent Stage, catching a part of the Birds of Bellwoods set. These four young men from Toronto know how to bend the strings! Chris Blades on the electric guitar, Adrian Morningstar on the acoustic guitar, Steve Joffe on the Mandolin and Kintaro Akiyama on the upright bass (think cello). Their harmonies were smooth and I found myself wishing that I’d caught more than their last few songs. Definitely watch out for these up and coming talented musicians!
CBC Music Fest: William Prince. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
Back at the Main Stage we were treated to the stylings of William Prince. A phenomenal singer, songwriter, and storyteller, there’s a reason he was nominated for Aboriginal Artist of the year and won Juno for Contemporary Roots Album of the Year in 2017. His thought provoking lyrics and soft baritone voice were hauntingly beautiful. As people lounged on blankets around the stage soaking in the folk-country musical tales that were being sung, it seemed metaphorical of the ease with which William interacted with the gathered crowd, relating history and personal stories between songs. It’s hard to understand how we’ve not heard more from this Winnipeg native, but there is no doubt that we will be treated to future performances. In fact you can catch him for free at the NAC in Ottawa on July 13th at 6pm. Head to their website to secure free tickets.
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
I didn’t want to miss BROS over on the Q Stage, and arrived just in time to catch their introduction. You may know them from a little group called The Sheepdogs, however if that’s what you were hoping to hear, then you might have been disappointed…. but not really. Ewan and Shamus Currie added a brass ensemble to their keyboard and guitar and turned the funk WAY UP. An initial gathering of mainly classic rock fans exploded into an all ages dance-athon. From the tiny toddler wigglin’ his way into inadvertent splits, to the would-be Willie Nelson, and every type of stripe in-between, BROS got the crowd moving, grooving and loving what they were offering up. And when they broke news of the passing of Gregg Allman and dedicated a song, it only put pause on the festive spirit out of reverential respect.
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
Heading back to the Main Stage where I would ultimately end up the rest of the evening; the upcoming entertainers being part of the draw, the massive growing crowd being the other. Staking out a spot close to the stage would have required a lawn chair, a bottomless bladder and an unwillingness to enjoy any other artist since The Beaches took the stage hours before. Scott Helman was up next, and the squeals of teen and tween girls rose as he began his set with a little ‘PDA’. Relegated to standing on a small strip of pavement leaning against the VIP area, we were entertained by many of Scott’s familiar radio tunes, including: ‘That Sweater’, ‘Kinda Komplicated’ and ‘21 days’ – my personal fave, but that’s likely more a result of it being a song about zombies, and love, or maybe zombie love… but I digress. Whether he’s of the school of thought that “no press is bad press”, or he was experiencing overwhelming excitement, the crowd responded with amusement when he strangely exclaimed “Keep stealing my music!” Then realization set in, and he recovered with …. “or pay for it, if you want!” Scott’s genuine love and appreciation of his family was particularly evident when he enthusiastically exclaimed “That’s my Grandpa!” as one of many video cameras covering the event panned to a shot of a very proud looking patriarch grinning ear to ear, projected upon the side stage big screens. Scott ended his set with the catchy tune ‘Bungalow’ which brought more than half of the attendees to their feet, dancing and applauding.
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
I made the unfortunate decision to get food before Ruth B took the stage. However as mentioned previously this would become a futile exercise which resulted in missing most of her set. Hungry and dejected I gave up my quest and returned just in time to catch her original song ‘Lost Boy’ which was thoroughly enjoyable.
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
Up next was the day’s first headliner, Walk Off The Earth. By this point the sun had started its descent in the western sky and Echo Beach lived up to its name. The crowd’s thunderous greeting of the band’s arrival on stage was only the beginning of one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. Gathered with Whirley Tubes, and bells (and a back-up band) they opened the set with a recognizable YouTube cover of Adele’s ‘Hello’. They had the entire park on their feet from the moment they stepped on stage. Gianni, Sarah, Marshall, Joel and Mike Taylor aka Beard Guy, brought high energy and familiar tunes, of both original songs and covers, and were flawless in harmony and execution. Covering Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of you’ and Pharrell Williams ‘Happy’, the audience certainly was as we moved and danced along. They also delighted with a number of originals such as ‘Gang of Rhythm’, ‘Fire in my Soul’ and ‘Home we’ll go’ – a song written while on the road about missing Canada.
When the band asked for a song suggestion someone in the crowd yelled out ‘Queen’, to which Beard Guy agreed to play Bohemian Rhapsody on the piano as long as the audience sang along. It’s a good minute and a half into the song before I realized the other band members have disappeared from the stage, as myself and the other karaoke Kings and Queens in attendance belt out the lyrics. The rest of the band returned in time for the head banging guitar solo, and we all continued to jam out like it was one big backyard party. The night wouldn’t have been complete without a 5 peeps 1 (modified) guitar setup, and again the group delivered, playing Goyte’s ‘Someone that I used to know’, and morphing into snippets of a variety of familiar covers, including ‘Twist & Shout’. With beach balls flying through the air, the palpable feeling of inclusion, the pyro and glitter, the on stage Ninja fight during the ‘Tae kwon do’ song, the entire show was brilliant from beginning to end. As fireworks exploded overhead signifying the end of the set, WOTE walked off the stage and into the hearts of all in attendance.
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
Most of the families with young children headed out before the final act, but a couple of young girls camped out next to me told me they had waited all day to see their idol. Six time Juno award winner Serena Ryder took the stage and owned it for the remainder of the night. Opening with Stompa and like an implanted suggestion, the crowd got moving. The stage filled with lights and smoke, three guitarists including herself, drums, keyboard and two backup singers, she engaged the audience with her jazzy pop hit Electric Love. We were also treated to a song from her brand new Album ‘Utopia’ released just the day before. She returned to more familiar tunes such as ‘What I wouldn’t do’ before slowing the pace a little with a few songs like ‘Baby Come Back’ and ‘All for love’, which had the crowd swaying in unison. An intimate acoustic setting was created on a portion of the Main stage, complete with side table and night lamp, for which she asks the audience’s permission to continue. (Yes please! Do we mind?!) Serena’s song writing prowess speaks for itself, but to combine her powerful voice which conveys such emotion with gut wrenching lyrics can actually make one ‘Weak in the knees’; the performance of which had the crowd serenading her. Every phone in park swaying high overhead in her honour.
All in all the end of the night came too soon. So many Juno and various other award winners, many new up and coming acts, what an amazing way to showcase Canadian talent in a setting that is family friendly and that invites inclusion and participation. There were many other artists I didn’t get a chance to check out, but that gives me an excuse to return next year. I was blown away by the whole experience and would urge anyone that has any interest in music to check out the show. In fact you can catch highlights from the day, in a 1 hour special broadcast on CBC on Canada Day. For more information visit CBC Music Festival online
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CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Long War. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: William Prince. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Long War. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Sarah Slean. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Bobby Bazini. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Bobby Bazini. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Long War. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Long War. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Long War. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: William Prince. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Bobby Bazini. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Bobby Bazini. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Long War. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Iskwe. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Iskwe. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Iskwe. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Sarah Slean. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Sarah Slean. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: The Beaches. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Sarah Slean. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Iskwe. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Ruth B. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Sarah Slean. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Iskwe. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Bobby Bazini. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Walk Off The Earth. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: BROS. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Scott Helman. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: Serena Ryder. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
CBC Music Fest: William Prince. May 2017. Photo by Dale Sinclair
Reviewed and Written by: Leann Kennedy Photos by: Dale Sinclair | @dalesinclairphoto
CBC Music Fest: A Tale of Four Stages For many of us the May long weekend signifies the unofficial beginning of summer. Summer – with its warm days and long nights, gathering with family and friends to enjoy good eats, fine weather and the great outdoors.
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lusilly · 8 years ago
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the ship we sail
Happy Nabil Day! I was hoping I’d finish this in time.
When Damian is 19, he graduates Princeton with a double major in Architecture and Finance, his father permits him to return to his regular nighttime activities, and he takes a trip to Europe, to meet up with his ex-girlfriend and his former teammate (the one who shot him in the back).
Obviously tucked neatly in between Restoration and Fiat iusticia. I took inspiration from the unfinished story of Damian traveling around Europe with Dick and Jay, since SO much has changed by then I couldn’t possibly hope to recover that fic lmao.
title taken from a metasciences song on this mix           
           Damian was working in his room, his wide artist’s desk covered with massive sketching paper on which he meticulously measured corners and bisected lines, working on his revised draft of the proposed Martha Wayne Building. In his ears were tucked small earbuds, bouncing a relaxing indie playlist directly against his eardrums.
           The curtains were drawn, blocking out the fading evening sun. From his door came a gentle knock. So absorbed in his music and his work, Damian did not notice immediately; the knock paused, then came once again, louder now. If Damian noticed, he did not answer. Another, longer pause: and then the doorknob twisted and the door swung open. At the threshold, Damian’s father knocked once more against the open door, then called, “Damian.”
           At the sound of his name, Damian immediately stopped and twisted around in his seat. Looking at his father, he pulled the earbuds out and asked, “What?”
           “Do you have a minute?”
           A hint of suspicion entered Damian’s face. “Why?” he asked.
           Bruce gave a shrug, entering the room. “I need a reason to have a conversation with my son?”
           It looked like Damian had a response to this, but he held his tongue. Setting aside the mechanical pencil in his hand, he gestured towards his bed, offering his father a seat. Bruce obliged, leaving the door open.
           There was a small silence between them, as Damian turned in his seat to face his father. It wasn’t exactly awkward; the past year had been a long and difficult one, and there had been growing pains of the variety they both had once thought they’d overcome. And yet grown they had, and come out the other side intact and, Bruce was certain, although Damian might agree – both better for it.
           Hands clasped before him, Bruce leaned forward, locking eyes with his son. For not the first time Damian wondered at how clear and harsh his father’s irises were, the steely blue of the sky during a clear winter day in Gotham. Damian had not inherited his father’s eyes: his were an earthy dark brown, darker even than his mother’s. He did not know where his dark eyes came from; his grandfather too had Talia's honey-hazel eyes. He could only assume the black of his eyes came from his mother’s mother. He would never know.
           To Damian’s absolute surprise, Bruce led with this: “You’ve done very well this past year, Damian. I’m very proud of you. I hope you know that.”
           Damian’s eyebrows shot upwards. He halfway glanced around him, as if checking to make sure that the rest of the family wasn’t lurking in the corners of his room, waiting to jump out and shout, Surprise!
           Graciously, Bruce gave a little nod and admitted, “You had a rough start. But we made it through. I’m very impressed at how hard you’ve been working at school this past semester – your symposium was extraordinary. I had no idea how much time and effort you’d been putting into your project.”
           “It’s a thesis,” corrected Damian. “Not a project.”
           “Your thesis,” agreed Bruce, bowing his head in apology. “Listen, Damian. My point is, I believe it’s time to put your regular patrol back on the table.”
           Bruce had expected Damian to light up at the opportunity; on the contrary, his son just eyed him warily. “On the table,” echoed Damian. “What does that mean?”
           “It means I don’t expect you to resume your old schedule and duties all at once,” Bruce answered. “You’re out of practice.”
           “Whose fault is that?”
           “Yours,” answered Bruce calmly, with no malice in his voice. “But you’ve served your penance, and you’ve proved to me how responsible you can be. You deserve it.”
           Damian still only watched his father, a slight frown on his brow. He tapped his left index finger against his desk, in bursts of threes. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.
           “You really trust me with this?” asked Damian. “You’re prepared to allow me to return to Robin?”
           “Knowing you,” sighed Bruce, “I expect you never really left.” He gave his son a furtive little smile. “But yes. It’s time. Of course I trust you.”
           “Even after everything I did?”
           “Even after all of that. You aren’t the first of us to make a mistake, Damian.”
           “It was a lot of mistakes.”
           Bruce watched his son, though kept the smile on his face. “Why does it feel like you’re trying to make a fight out of this?”
           Damian’s jaw clenched as he stared at his father blankly, as if looking straight past him. Then he let out a long breath and turned back to the designs before him, fiddling with the side of the paper. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time without it.”
           “Almost a year.”
           “I applied to grad school,” said Damian, suddenly. He glanced at his father. “And I got in.”
           Taken aback, Bruce blinked at his son. He had not known this. “Oh,” he said. “Congratulations. Where?”
           “UCLA.”
           Los Angeles. Far away from dark, dingy Gotham. For some reason, there was a sharp, piercing pain deep in Bruce’s chest.
           All the same, Bruce managed to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Damian shrugged. “Does Alfred know?” Damian shook his head. “For an MBA?”
           “MFA.”
           Art. This was a lot to take in at once. Bruce took a deep breath, and sat up straight, blinking at the ground. Then he looked up at his son. ��Are you going to go?”
           Damian watched his father. That look of almost-boredom had returned to his expression. He gave a noncommittal half-shrug, then shook his head. “No,” he said, looking back at the designs on his desk. “Probably not.”
           Quickly, genuinely, Bruce said, “If you want it, you should go. Of course you should go.”
           “I don’t really want to,” said Damian, taking up his pencil again, tracing down a line. “I just thought I’d apply, in case my career as Robin was over and I had to find something else to live for.” He glanced up at his father and saw how this troubled him, so he added, “I'm joking. I wouldn’t be your son if I didn’t have contingencies upon contingencies. This was just one of them.”
           Bruce was unsure about the direction of this conversation. “So…you do want to return to Robin.”
           “I do, yes,” answered Damian smartly, as if this were a business negotiation. “Although I think you’re right. It would be unwise to jump back into it completely. I’d like to ease my way back in.”
           “Of course. I can ask Dick to visit, if you’d like to having him patrol with you when I can’t.”
           “No, it’s fine. Ellen and her team are good enough, and Tim’s in town if we need him.”
           Damian resumed sketching at his desk. Somehow Bruce didn’t feel like this conversation was over.
           In gray early morning, when the Batman returned from patrol and retired to bed, Bruce had sometimes lain awake and allowed his mind to wander. This was when he allowed time for his most acute fears to enter his mind, those he could not admit in the daytime nor on the job. When Damian was fourteen, and his OCD was beginning to manifest in compulsions and imagined and real violence, Bruce had spent many dawns wondering what treatment might do to his son. He had steeled himself for the possibility that with medication and counselling, Damian might not want to return to Robin. It wasn’t the first time it had occurred to Bruce that being Robin might be bad for a child, but Damian had always slipped into the role so easily, as if he had been waiting his whole life for the mantle.
           In the end, treatment had only made Damian more ready and capable to take on his work as Robin – it had allowed him to connect in meaningful ways with the Titans, particularly with one young Iris West. Even though it had been over a year since the end of their relationship and the dissolution of the Titans, it was still clear to Bruce that Damian missed them terribly. He missed friendship, connection; intimacy. All these things from which the Batman had for so many years had forbidden himself.
           “Damian,” said Bruce. “Listen to me.”
           Damian paused in his sketching to glance at his father.
           Very seriously, very clearly, Bruce told his son: “You should know that you don’t have to go back to Robin. You never have to, if you don’t want to.”
           “Of course I want to,” said Damian, annoyance flickering across his face.
           “All I’m saying,” Bruce continued, “is that this doesn’t have to be forever. You don’t owe anything to me, and you certainly don’t owe anything to this city.”
           Damian stared at Bruce for one moment. His jaw jumped slightly, then he turned back to the desk before him, then once more turned around to address Bruce. “How can you say that to me?” he asked, though it was with half-hearted venom, as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “My whole life I’ve been trained for one thing, and now you’re telling me all that was purposeless?”
           Taken aback, Bruce began, “That’s not what I said.”
           Shaking his head, Damian turned back to his work, though he did not once more place pencil against paper. Bruce reached out and put a hand on his son’s shoulder.  “It’s all right, son. I hope you know that I value your happiness and health over anything else you could be for me. Batman and Robin, the Cave, all of that? It doesn’t matter. Not compared to you.”
           “Yes it does,” Damian murmured. Bruce didn’t argue with him.
            After another moment of silence, Damian spoke once more.
           “I’d like to go abroad,” he said.
           Bruce raised an eyebrow.
           “Not permanently,” he added, glancing at his father. “Not – as Robin. Which I do want. I do. But if you really do trust me, then I think I should be able to spend some time…alone. Away from Gotham.”
           Bruce considered this. “Where abroad?”
           Damian answered immediately. “London.”
           London, where he could explore the English moors of part of his childhood. London, where Damian had been handed off to Bruce by Talia in the first place. Bruce felt a dull ache in his stomach.
           “Fine,” said Bruce. “You can take the jet. Or fly commercial if you like. I don’t mind either way.” He paused, then added, “I have just one request.”
           Damian nodded anxiously at his father.
           With a wry little smile, Bruce said, “You must stay for your graduation first.” Damian started to make a face, and Bruce continued, “No, no. You’ve spent three years at Princeton, you’ve put so much work into this degree – degrees, I mean – and I won’t let you walk away from it without being properly honored.”
           With a roll of his eyes, Damian argued, “It’s just a ceremony. It’ll be boring – if you’re coming there’ll be paparazzi, it’ll be awful-”
           “It will be very nice,” said Bruce firmly. “I look forward to it.”
           Patting his son on the shoulder, Bruce got to his feet.
           “I’m very proud of you, Damian,” he said. “And I love you very much.”
           Damian just kind of shrugged him off. Bruce waited expectantly.
           When Damian noticed, he let out a loud breath. “I love you too,” he muttered, like chewing glass. “Will you leave me alone to do my work now?”
           Damian graduated on a warm, clear day in June; he wore his gown over a three-piece suit, stole and cords draped around his neck. Bruce Wayne and his family had special VIP seats, and they cheered for Damian when he crossed the stage to receive his diploma.
           Because Damian did not like paparazzi, and because he had made no friends at Princeton with whom he’d like to share any final moments together at university, they left the event quickly. By nightfall Damian had one single small bag packed. Alfred drove him to the airport, and gave him a hug before he passed through security. Damian reluctantly returned the embrace, feeling slightly awkward when Alfred squeezed his arm and told him, “You cannot know how proud you have made this old man, Master Damian.”
           He flew business class into London Heathrow, then drove into the heart of London to take up residence in a Penthouse flat Bruce kept on reserve as a safehouse there. It was empty and cold. There was a master bedroom, and then a smaller bedroom off the kitchen. Damian left his small suitcase in the smaller bedroom, but did not unpack.
           The last time he’d been in London had been spent mostly ushering him around in tunnels beneath the city, only to release him onto the docks to meet his father for the first time. After the dissolution of the Titans, his father had brought him back to England on his request, but they had spent two days and a night there only, just enough time for Damian to visit the compound where he was raised, then leave and promise himself never to return.
           Damian spent his day in London, lingering in the pews of St. Paul’s. The gigantic structure was familiar to him somehow, old and dignified. As he sat on the bare wooden pew, staring up at the stained glass before him, he thought his mother must’ve taken him here before. He was sure of it.
           Before the sun had fully risen come the next morning, Damian took a taxi all the way out to London Gatwick airport, where he boarded a plane with a fake British passport (although technically he was born on British soil, and he had considered before filing for dual citizenship). He flew economy, sitting in the window seat of a row filled by an elderly couple speaking rapidly in Hungarian. Damian had been taught the language years ago, but was not overly familiar with it: he spent the flight listening to the old couple intently, puzzling together the syntax and the vocabulary from context. When the plane landed, before he disembarked, Damian turned to the older couple and said, “Remélem szép napod van.”
           The first thing Damian did in Budapest was buy a burner phone and send a text to a number he had already memorized. After that, he went to his hotel and checked in under an assumed name. It was a good hotel, though not of the grandiose sort his father always picked, and it was more secure than a safehouse, anyhow – depending on from whom you wanted security.
           June is burning hot in Budapest, and Damian shed his jacket before venturing out once more into the city. He rolled up the sleeves of his nice button-up shirt as he walked, eyes obscured by gold-rimmed sunglasses. Regretfully, he wished he’d thought to bring his water bottle with him – he so hated buying plastic disposable water bottles, no matter how thirsty the searing sun shining relentlessly down from the bright blue sky made him.
           He crossed a bridge to the eastern side of the city, Pest, then turned immediately to descend a flight of worn stone steps leading down to the bank of the River Danube. The river was low today, and a muddy green. He sat alongside the bank, hanging his legs off the edge. His toes very nearly breached the surface of the water.
           Taking the burner phone out of his pocket, he sent another text to that same mysterious number. Then he placed the phone down on the stone bank beside him, and leaned back at his hands, watching the sun glitter across the Danube.
           She appeared beside him like a cool breeze on the hot summer day; one moment she was not there, and then suddenly appeared a body by his side, her red hair fluttering slightly in the gust that heralded her arrival.
           Iris West sat close enough on the edge of the bank that her leg brushed against his, and Damian could not help the pang of something in his chest, as if his heart skipped a beat. She smiled at him. They had not seen one another in over a year, since Damian walked away from the Titans, and from her. Even now, Damian could not say exactly why he had left: he had been scared, and hurt, and these vulnerabilities had been too painful to touch, much less admit to the girl he loved.
           The word turned over and over again in Damian’s mind in the few seconds that she smiled at him, before any words passed either of their lips. Loved. I loved you.
           It felt like an eternity ago.
           “Hey,” she said.
           He realized he hadn’t returned her smile, but knew that it would look even more forced if he tried now. “Hello,” he answered. “Where’s Lian?”
           “She’s on her way,” said Iris, nodding up towards the bridge. “She said I should probably run ahead, so you and I could get over the whole awkward-exes thing before she gets here.”
           “Ah,” said Damian. “That’s wise.”
           “Yeah,” said Iris.
           There was a pause. It was, in fact, awkward.
           “So,” began Iris, “is that not going to happen, or…?”
           Despite himself, Damian felt a small flicker of anger; this was easy for her, obviously. She had spent the year or so in the arms of someone else, exploring a new world, with no one to stop her or punish her as he had been punished. He knew precisely how petty it was, but it wasn’t fair.
           It hurt Damian, to still have that anger in him, that bitterness and resentment, after all the time and effort he’d put into purging it from his mind and soul. He was better now, he was sure of it: he had worked so hard, paid his price, completed his penance. And yet.
           Damian turned his body to face her, but did not quite catch her eye. “Lian told me this had to do with business.”
           Iris’s face didn’t fall, which Damian admired. “It does. But one doesn’t do business with one’s ex-girlfriend without feeling a little weird about it, so let’s air out some dirty laundry before my current girlfriend gets here, OK?”
           Abruptly, Damian asked, “You’re still seeing Lian?”
           “Yes,” said Iris.
           Glumly, Damian looked out at the water. “I was half hoping you’d lie to me.”
           “I told myself I wouldn’t,” answered Iris, watching him. “Lian said it was fine, but I respect you too much to do that to you.”
           “You shouldn’t,” said Damian bitterly. “I don’t deserve it.”
           Iris put a hand on Damian’s arm. “Yes, you do. But don’t expect me to try and console you too hard, you’re gonna have to find another significant other to take care of that one.”
           “I’m trying this new thing,” remarked Damian, forced levity in his voice. “It’s called, being alone.”
           “Oh? You sure that’s new, Damian? Because you always gave me the impression that was your default state of being. All dark and broody, you get it from your dad, I bet.” Her dark eyes watched him intently, with a gaze half-human, almost reptilian in focus. For one moment, consumed by her gaze, Damian thought about telling her everything: about the club, about the women and men whose names he didn’t know, about Colin, about Nell. About being banned from his role as Robin for almost a year now, a refusal of the identity he sometimes thought defined him more than being himself did.
           Iris reached up and cupped his face in one hand, brushing her thumb across his cheek.
           “I missed you,” she said.
           Damian couldn’t pull his eyes away from hers. She was mesmerizing: he had forgotten, almost, the electricity of her touch, how she always seemed crackling with energy and power, even when she sat calmly beside him on the bank of a river. The thought occurred to him to lean over and kiss her, but the moment it rose it twisted and squirmed in his stomach, making him feel ill.
           She removed her hand, and before Damian could say anything else, the burner phone on the stone on the other side of him flew in a wide arc across the water, then sunk into the depths. Pulse skyrocketing with adrenaline, Damian whipped around, ready to fight, instinctually dropping into a defensive stance in front of Iris – and then he stopped.
           “Oh,” he said.
           “Calm the fuck down, Bruce Lee,” Lian said, rolling her eyes at Damian. “You had to get rid of that burner sometime, didn’t you?” Ignoring Damian, who still stood, Lian lowering herself to sit on the bank, leaving room for Damian between herself and Iris. For a moment, she massaged the toe which had kicked the phone, then she dropped her legs. Significantly shorter than either Iris or Damian, Lian’s feet didn’t even come close to touching the water. She swung them up and down against the stone, like a kid in a high chair. To Iris, she asked, “Are you guys done, or is this going to continue to be uncomfortable for all of us? Because, honestly, if it’s the latter option I might as well just drown myself right now-”
           “Just as tactful as ever I see, Lian,” said Damian, slowly lowering himself to sit between the two girls.
           “And you’re just as annoying as ever,” she replied sharply, pinching at the sleeve of his fancy dress shirt. “Is it possible for you to just like, chill out and wear a t-shirt for once in your goddamn life?”
           “I think you look good,” added Iris.
           “I mean, you look good,” continued Lian pointedly, “but that shirt is way too expensive to sweat right through. Why don’t we go find someplace to eat?”
           Gesturing at the empty riverbank around them, Damian asked, “Didn’t you want somewhere clandestine?”
           “Yeah, but that was before I realized you were going to die of heatstroke. Come on,” she said, getting to her feet, then offering a hand to Damian. When Damian looked unconvinced, she waved her hand impatiently at him. “Come on, it’s not like anyone genuinely followed you all the way out here to Budapest. Who gives that much of a shit about a kid who isn’t even Robin anymore?”
           Something stabbed through Damian’s heart, constricting his lungs with iron wires. In disbelief, he glanced around at Iris, who offered him an apologetic smile. “We might have been…keeping tabs on you.”
           “I happen to have a contact with insider knowledge about your whole family,” said Lian, causing Damian’s head to snap around to look at her once again. She grinned at him. “I know all your secrets, little bird.”
           “She’s kidding,” said Iris, over his shoulder. “Every once in a while Dick tells stuff to her dad, and her dad tells her. Like, I heard you graduated college! Congrats!”
           Numbly, Damian answered, “Thanks.”
           After a moment’s uncertain pause, Iris got to her feet, and with Lian’s help they managed to tug Damian upright. “C’mon,” said Iris, leading the way. “We passed this yummy place earlier, it smelled so good…”
           It was a small café, and they slid into a booth in a corner. Damian sat with his back against the wall, so he could keep his eyes on both entrances to the place. Iris sat next to him, and Lian across from them both. Iris ordered appetizers as soon as they sat down, starting with an order of calamari and prosciutto e melone.
           After the waiter went away, Damian looked at Lian and asked, “So would you like to tell me, finally, why this isn’t a conversation we could’ve had within the borders of the United States?”
           “Mostly ‘cause I figured you could use a break,” answered Lian, with a shrug. “Isn’t good for a young kid like yourself to be stuck inside that shithole of a city for too long.”
           “Young kid,” repeated Damian, with just a hint of venom. “I’m older than you are.”
           Lian didn’t protest, but replied, “Barely. Anyhow, Iris and I have been busy taking down big crime rings all over Europe, and we didn’t exactly have time for a trip back home just to talk with you.”
           “Iris is a,” began Damian, but the waiter appeared again, bringing the calamari and prosciutto-wrapped cantaloupe. He waited until the server was once more gone, then lowered his voice and restarted. “Iris is a speedster, and you’re trying to tell me you didn’t have time to come back?”
           Lian’s half-smile didn’t falter. “Not if we were only coming to see you, no.”
           This did not hurt, because Damian had preemptively steeled himself against Lian’s harshness, and also because it was almost like some kind of a relief to have someone here with him who didn’t put up with any of his whining. And not in a patronizing way, like his father – but just because she didn’t care. It would be nice, Damian thought, it would be a blessing, if he could learn from Lian how to care less.
           “You two haven’t seen your parents in over a year,” Damian said, leaning back slightly in his seat. Beside him, Iris dipped the calamari generously into the tartar sauce she had requested. “You wouldn’t return home to reassure them you’re safe?”
           “My mom and dad actually visited us a couple months ago,” Iris piped up, holding a calamari ring in hand; then she paused, made a face, and corrected, “Well, not at the same time – my mom flew in for a few days in Paris, but my dad visited when we were in Berlin.”
           Damian glanced at Iris, then his gaze flickered back to Lian, who said nothing. He knew for a fact that Lian had not seen her father since they left. She had not seen anyone, really, since the disaster with the Titans the previous year.
           He wondered if she felt guilt, like he did. After all, he may have been the one to trigger the psychic control in Iris’s mind, but Lian had been the one to implant it in Iris’s head in the first place. And last time he and Lian had seen each other, she’d poisoned him, dislocated his jaw, broke three ribs, and shot him in the back.
           So: yeah, a normal person should be feeling a little bit of guilt, even if she had been mind-controlled by her assassin mother at the time. Damian figured Lian was just good at hiding it which, again, was another thing to begrudgingly admire her for.
           “Why me?” asked Damian, his voice low. “What could I possibly do for you that you couldn’t get more easily from someone else?”
           “It’s not a matter of ease,” answered Lian coolly. “You’re here right now not because you’re the only one who can help us, but you are the only one who’ll keep his mouth shut about it.”
           Damian’s pulse quickened slightly. His first thought was that they were about to ask him to join them, to utilize the skills he’d been taught for years now to repress. In that split second, he made his decision: Yes. I would kill for them.
           Then, disgusted at himself, he immediately drove that thought from his brain.
           “Damian,” said Iris, nudging him, holding up a piece of cantaloupe. “You want some?”
           Barely glancing at her, Damian replied, “I can’t, I’m vegetarian.”
           “I know,” replied Iris, with a dopey grin. “I took the prosciutto off. Seriously, Damian? We dated for two years and you think I don’t remember you don’t eat meat?”
           She held the cantaloupe up to his face, as if to pop it into his mouth; he plucked it out of his fingers, then said to Lian, “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
           Taking a calamari ring off the plate, Lian replied bluntly, “I need fifteen thousand dollars and enough weaponry to pass as a small arms trafficker.”
           Damian watched Lian as she popped the calamari into her mouth. He, too, took a thoughtful bite of his cantaloupe. Iris said, “Do either of you want the spaghetti? I kind of do but I also kind of want the schnitzel. You can get the spaghetti with a mushroom sauce, Damian, no meat.” Neither Damian nor Lian replied.
           Iris’s gaze flickered from her girlfriend to her ex, and then she added, “It’s for a good thing, y’know. We wouldn’t be asking for it if it wasn’t.”
           Sharply, Damian said, “I know.”
           “Then what’s the problem?” asked Lian, leaning in across the table. Clearly she and Iris had been staying in sunny regions, for Lian’s skin was deeply tanned such that she was within a shade or two of Damian’s own coloring, which had darkened over the past few months as he spent more time outside tending to his garden, and less time in uniform in the dark. “If you trust us, a loan and some tech shouldn’t be a problem.”
           Staring at her, Damian asked, “Is it really a loan, Lian?”
           Almost before Damian had finished answering his question, Iris nudged him in the ribs and offered, “It could be if you wanted, though I know you’re more generous than that.”
           “With a billionaire daddy like yours,” Lian added wryly, “it’d be pretty selfish not to be.”
           “If you wanted a grant from my father, there actually exists an organization for that,” Damian said curtly. “I’m sure Batman, Incorporated would be happy to help you with your missions.”
           “Sure,” said Lian. “But we didn’t go to Batman Inc., now, did we? We came to you.”
           “Why?” demanded Damian, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “It’s not like you don’t-”
           The waiter returned again, this time asking for entrees. Lian got a hamburger; Iris ordered the schnitzel. Damian got the mushroom linguine, and a Manhattan.
           Voice lowered once more, Damian leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Lian. “You don’t need money,” he whispered. “You’ve got the entire Queen fortune behind you if you wanted, I don’t know why you think you have the right to drag me out here-”
           Rolling her eyes, Lian began, “Oh, my God, Damian, I didn’t drag you out here, I sent you one goddamn text. Besides, obviously this is the sort of money I can’t ask my dad for, but I’d hoped you’d be tactful enough not to point that out. I already feel bad enough about leaving him as is.”
           “You could always go back,” suggested Damian, feeling cold and angry inside for reasons he could not accurately define. “You could, oh, I don’t know, go back to being a regular fucking nineteen-year-old instead of backpacking around Europe under the guise of crime fighting.”
           Coolly, Lian correctly, “I’m eighteen.”
           “Oh, don’t be condescending,” sighed Iris, reaching out to paw at Damian, pull him back across the table so he no longer leaned threateningly towards Lian. “All of us needed a break after what happened with the Titans, you know that. We’re just using our break to do some good.”
           This struck at Damian’s heart, as if deliberate. “As opposed to me,” he shot back at her, “who spent the past year feeling sorry for myself, is that what you’re trying to say?”
           “No,” said Iris, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “No, of course not-”
           Flinching violently away from her touch, Damian continued heatedly, “I didn’t ask for this, you know. I never asked to be Robin and I certainly never asked to quit. So you don’t get to sit there and judge me, Lian, pretend like you’re doing the world some great service while I sit at home and twiddle my thumbs – you don’t fool me. This isn’t about saving the world. It’s about indulging yourself.”
           “Maybe it is,” answered Lian, her eyes glinting, knife-like, but she goaded him no further. If Damian realized that him speaking loudly and openly about his dual life as Robin was the most unsettling thing about this conversation so far, he made no indication of it.
           There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, then Iris leaned back in her seat and sighed, “That’s a little bit unfair. Pretty much all we ever did with the Titans was self-indulgent bullshit.”
           Lian added, “Except for trying to kill each other, that is.”
           “Nobody ended up dead,” Iris pointed out, with a nod towards Lian. “So it’s fine.”
           Damian turned to Iris and, pitilessly, he said: “Your brother is in a coma, Irey. He’s on life support. It’s – fine?”
           All warmth immediately evaporated from Iris’s expression. She looked, suddenly, steely and frightening, so quickly and completely that it made her smile seem so insincere.
           Lian glared at Damian.
           Quietly, she told him, “I’ve been tracking my mother for eight months now. We’re almost there, but I can’t get to the finish line alone. I need your help, and I’m not too proud to ask for it.”
           “Yeah, right,” Damian shot back derisively. “As if you would’ve ever come to me, had Iris not been here with you.”
           “Don’t flatter yourself,” said Iris shortly. “I didn’t want to call you.”
           This hurt Damian, and he suspected that she intended it to do so.
           Food arrived. It smelled delicious, and none of them spoke any more than a mumbled, “Thank you,” to the server until their meals were distributed.
           Lian dragged a French fry through ketchup as Iris cut into her schnitzel. Damian did not touch his food; he could not, he felt ill. Passing through time zones had caused him to sleep at odd hours, and somewhere along the way he had missed a dose of medication.  He could not stand the idea of eating. Any other symptoms, for the moment he buried them deep, refusing to feel their familiar sting.
           Tightly, as the girls ate, Damian said: “So you’ve tipped your hand. You need money and resources to go after Cheshire. Is that it?”
           “Ding-ding-ding,” said Lian, hardly looking up at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”
           “You could’ve led with that.”
           “What, and stir up your own assassin-based mommy issues? No thanks.”
           This felt like a lie, but Damian couldn’t tell. “Fifteen thousand dollars,” he said.
           With an exaggerated shrug, Lian said, “That’s nothing. A drop in the pond for the Waynes.”
           Or the al Ghuls. Perhaps out of spite for Lian’s crack about mommy issues, Damian’s mind went immediately to the offshore account his mother had opened for him last year, when he turned eighteen. He had never touched a cent of that money, ashamed and angry at his mother for it. But…there was no sense in leaving a growing bank account there to rot.
           “And weaponry?”
           “Basic stuff,” added Iris. “Nothing too fancy. We could probably buy our own with a little more money, but that leaves a paper trail, so. You know.”
           “Ironic,” said Damian, his dark eyes focused on Lian, who ate her food methodically, without looking at him. “That a girl named Arsenal would be looking to fill up her stock.”
           “I have enough of what I have,” said Lian. “What we’re looking for isn’t tasers and boxing-glove arrows, Damian, it’s firearms. Real stuff. The kind of things we’re not allowed to use in our line of work.”
           “So, what, you’re racketeering like Red Hood now?”
           “We just need enough to front, it’s not like we need to make a profit on this.”
           Clearly troubled, Damian muttered, “Certainly if it’s not a fucking loan, anyway.”
           There was a silence. It was cool inside the restaurant, despite the windows thrown open to allow fresh air flowing through the small space. The place was entirely lit by natural light which spilled in from the windows, with high ceilings and a wrought iron spiral staircase up into a concealed second floor. Lian and Iris had checked the place out earlier, searched for bugs, set up dampeners. It was safe to speak here. Damian did not know this, and yet he had been the most reckless of the three of them in their conversation, paying no regard to keeping secrets he had been raised to treasure above all else. Vaguely, Lian wondered if this was because he had been out of uniform for so long, or if there was something else going on, something that had changed Damian more than she knew.
           He tapped his fingers against the dark wood of the table. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.
           The girls ate in silence. Damian’s Manhattan rested sadly before his plate, untouched.
           “I’ll do it,” he said.
           Lian stopped. She exchanged a glance with Iris, then looked back at Damian warily.
           He held up one finger. “On one condition.”
           While Lian made a face, Iris nodded. “OK,” she said. “OK, what’s that?”
           For a long moment Damian said nothing. He placed both of his hands on the flat of the table, then curled them both into fists, as if gathering up the courage to hit something.
           Then he said, “Don’t contact me. Don’t talk to me, don’t call me or ask me to fly across an ocean to see you. We don’t make this,” he gestured between the three of them, at their food, “a thing that happens anymore. You don’t tell me what you’re doing, whose contracts you’re taking, what missions you’ve completed. I don’t want to know any of it, and I don’t want to hear from you.” He cast a look, almost apologetic, Iris’s way. “Either of you. It’s time – it’s time I moved forward. No. It’s time I moved on.”
           Damian did not know this, because the only way he had learned to protect his heart was to pretend he could not tell what others felt, how badly he could hurt them, but he had misjudged, terribly, how much he meant to both of the women beside him. And yet there was no safe way to tell him otherwise. They needed him; and if this was the only way he would fulfill their need, then they did not have much of a choice.
           “OK,” said Lian, taken aback. Half-sarcastically, she asked, “Am I allowed to hit you up for more money, or is that like, also a thing we’re not going to be doing?”
           He considered this, then answered, “Message me when you need more. You know my number.”
           Another long, hard silence.
           Iris lifted her hand and reached out for him. “Damian-”
           He pulled away. “No.”
           After a moment’s pause, he slid out of his seat, getting to his feet. Taking a wallet out of his pocket, he took out a few bills and dropped them onto the table. “Just send me your information and I’ll wire you the money when I get home,” he said. “I’ll see you two.”
           “Damian,” said Iris, as he turned away and headed towards the entrance of the restaurant. She too got to her feet. “Damian-!”
           Without looking back, he left the restaurant and turned abruptly down the street, and then he was gone.
           Iris and Lian were left alone in a mostly-empty restaurant, three plates of food still before them. Lian picked at her plate while Iris slowly sat back down.
           For a solitary moment, Lian watched Iris. Then she said: “It’s fine. He’ll get over it.”
           Iris sat at the table with her girlfriend, passive and regretful.
             Standing in Heathrow airport a few days later, Damian looked up at the Departures board. In another few hours there was a flight out to Los Angeles. Something tugged at him deep in his body. He could go to California; accept the offer of grad school at UCLA, study sculpture or painting or whatever exactly it had been he’d applied for. One plane ticket, and he could walk away from it all.
           He boarded his flight to Gotham with no incident. On the plane he watched a sad movie. When the dog died, he cried.
           Damian returned to Wayne Manor in a taxi on Thursday morning. He paid the taxi driver and tipped him 200%, then fished a key out of his bag and placed his thumb against a scanner to unlock the door. Trailing his single suitcase in hand behind him, phone held in his other hand, he passed by the sitting room on his way to his room.
           His father sat in an armchair, reading the paper; when Damian passed by, he blinked in surprise. “Damian,” he called, and Damian stopped, then headed back to stand before the entrance to the sitting room. Bruce regarded him with a degree of disbelief, as if he was unsure this was the same boy who’d left just a few days ago. “You’re home.”
           “I am,” agreed Damian. “I just flew into Goodwin International.”
           Lowering his newspaper, Bruce replied, “I didn’t realize you were coming home so early. You should’ve called; I would have picked you up.”
           “It’s fine,” said Damian, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t want to trouble you.”
           “No trouble at all. Welcome back.” There was a slight pause, and then Bruce asked, “What made you leave London so soon?”
           Damian stood there before his father, his suitcase beside him. In his other hand, his phone buzzed: confirmation, as he had requested from Lian, that his bank transfer of fifteen thousand dollars had gone through.
           “No reason,” answered Damian with a shrug. His grip tightened on his phone. “I was lonely, I suppose.”
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dougwilson83-blog · 8 years ago
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Long and Self Introspective Artist Journal
I am dealing with a lot of overactive thoughts about creativity so I’m going to unburden myself in this blog and apologise up-front if it is hugely self-indulgent. I realised yesterday that I have been making and posting things online for 10 years now, which seems insane to me. I looked a while ago at the progression of my animated shorts and sitting watching them back to back was quite gratifying - the improvement over 10 years was stark! I’ve developed 5 projects I think, K9-Lives was about 100ish comic strips and 3 short films. Bloodwhat was 130ish comic strips. The Von Spleen Experiment was 75 pages of a comic book (never posted online and never will be!) Picayune/BandOfOne Comic 350ish Comic strips (on hiatus and probably will return) and Jack Astro, 3 Short Films and now working on a 130 page comic book.
So that is my history of being a creator of things. I wanted to make stuff and tell stories from a young age but I never felt I was good enough or really had anything to say. I enjoyed drawing but it was very frustrating and I would give up because I couldn’t draw as well as other people so I figured I wasn’t cut out to be an artist. I did carry on drawing off and on but I took up guitar and followed that passion for a long while. I missed out on GCSE Graphic Design when choosing options and when I went to A-Level with my cartoon/comics portfolio in hand I was told that they don’t consider that kind of art and I probably wasn’t cut out for it anyway. That kind of thing coming from people in a position of power/authority always made me furious and it drove me to prove that teacher wrong. Incidentally I was told when buying my first guitar that my hands were too small and I’d never be any good! I can’t imagine ever being the sort of person that doesn’t want to encourage creativity in children - the mindset of saying YOU CAN’T DO THIS is baffling. I genuinely think those comments spurred me on to prove those people wrong so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt (that they were actually being psychological ninjas) but I’m not sure I would employ that tactic to encourage future generations of artists.
Anyway where was I? I took Art GCSE at A level so they’d let me take graphic design as an AS in the second year. All the while being taught by this teacher who eventually decided I was a star pupil and had great potential (but still disliked cartoons.)
I re-discovered animation in my college art foundation year and pursued that relentlessly for several years learning 3D animation as I still felt I couldn’t draw. Working in 3D actually helped me to think about drawing volume and taught me to THINK in 3 Dimensions which actually started to improve my drawing. When I think back I was drawing a lot at most points in my life.
At university I started to think in terms of projects. We had to make a film for each year of the course and I LOVED doing that. I even made a cartoon short in my summer holidays after the first year (no idea where that is now.) After I finished Uni I was in get a job mode and my “project” was to make an animation show-reel. I worked for 6 months animating to clips of film dialogue with free 3D Character Rigs and eventually landed a job on an indie animated feature film in Scotland (I will skip over details but it would be fun to write an in-depth account of my time there!)
Somewhere during/just after this job I realised that while working for a company is a good  living - actually I was an intern on about £9,000 a year to start with so it wasn’t great - it wasn’t entirely creatively satisfying (this varies job to job!) and I needed to start making “projects” again.
Basically that has been my life ever since! Whatever I’m doing, wherever I’m working - I have something creative that is entirely my own thing. I am still plagued by doubt and feelings that I’m not good enough, and I noticed that after I finished each project I would go into a bit of a depression because I wasn’t happy with it. So early on the gap between projects would be LONG and I’d go off and make music for a bit (until I felt like I was rubbish at that.)
I’ve got to a point now where I have future projects lined up and ready to develop. There is no down time really because I am in love with the process. I think that is possibly where you can start to describe yourself as an artist - if you are always creating and channeling your life and energy into artistic endeavours it starts to define you as a person. But I guess I want to tell people who are young and struggling that this is hard. The people you look up to who make it LOOK easy have probably been through so much shit to get where they are! That little bump in the road that just made you quit would make them laugh, so if you want to do something creative don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do it (especially yourself).
I heard a quote recently (that I can’t attribute so I’ll paraphrase) saying, if a person can be dissuaded from becoming an artist then they should be.
You have to be a little bull-headed/foolish/arrogant/insane to do this. There will be plenty of opportunities to quit. And I don’t think that ever stops. You have to find something in your work that nourishes you and pulls you through those dark times and won’t let you quit. And if you can’t find that then you are doomed.
But hey - who would want to be an artist anyway? It sounds horrible right? I don’t know why I do it (oh dear now it all comes crumbling down.)
If you don’t make art then go out there and find art, enjoy it, love it. And tell the artist. Trust me they need to hear it!
But I’ll bet most of you who love art (in whatever form) have a desire somewhere (probably it’s been crushed at some point) to make something yourself. And if you love art then you will agree that we could do with more of it in this world.
And just to finish on a down note - if any of you go look at my work and say “he’s not an artist, he’s just drawing cartoons” then can I say a big F*CK YOU from my 16 year old self :)
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poppedmusic · 7 years ago
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SXSW 2018
Words & Photos: Elena Katrina
It’s a strange feeling this post-SXSW sensation. I feel both broken and exhilarated at the same time. There’s no amount of preparation you can take for either the festival nor the post-festival emotions. This festival is a beast. There is no other way to say it and I was thrilled beyond words to be attending for the first time as press so I could report back on some of the British contingent out there showing the world what they’ve got. And they showed it and then some. One thing I heard a lot was “throw the schedule out the window and just go with the flow”. Even that was difficult. I missed things I wanted to see but ended up having experiences and seeing things I never knew existed.. so I feel inclined to agree, to some extent anyway.
I didn’t waste any time in throwing myself into the SXSW experience and not long after having thrown my case into my hotel room I was straight out the door and headed to the British Music Embassy where I found Wyldest were treating the crowd to their special blend of shoegaze pop. I like that my first night I got to watch two bands I’d never seen live before – even if I had travelled 11 hours to do it. Life was the last of the night and I wasn’t prepared for them. Loud, brash and in your face. Dark but with some humour and an attitude I feel they could only get away with because they were from Hull. They did Hull proud that’s for sure.
It’s going to be nigh on impossible for me to tell you a review for each and every band at this festival. I was there to check out a load of the British bands, some I’d seen many a time, some never and some  that were altogether new to me, as well as check out the overall SXSW experience. And an experience indeed it is.
Navigation is not my strong point, even with a map, when it comes to walking … I seem to go in circles, or squares as it was in Austin. It didn’t deter me though. I figured out my way to a few key venues for the official evening shows and then just wondered to my heart’s content during the day. I  tried to go to a few of the talks, they seemed really interesting, but every time I got there, I was too late to get into a room. While they did stream the audio to a TV in the corridor, I don’t so much engage that well, especially not when there are people to see elsewhere. To the boss women of Instagram though I say …. definitely selfie!
The daytime also hosted unofficial parties, events and talks. Many of where you could grab yourself a free breakfast, and or lunch, while you learned all kinds of things and got to mingle with like-minded people. In particular, I enjoyed Brunch with the Brits – an event aimed, I presume, at visiting musicians. But here I got to talking about a lot of different things with a really great variety of people from PRS Foundation to the BBC. I was also fascinated by the sales pitch of Soundcloud at AWAL House. Their model has changed and it’s, in my opinion, still got a way to go to bridge the gap. Ultimately though it’s still a very popular site and the turn out proved so.
Back to bands? Francobollo blew my tiny little socks off and made for excellent festival companions too. I wholeheartedly hope to catch up with these guys again back on British soil and will follow their journey with a keen interest. Pale Waves, I was, of course, already hot on the tail of, having watched them play over the last 18-24 months, it was great to see them play to a tiny outside stage at an unofficial party thanks to Secret Sounds (who also, secretly, let me in). Get the general crowd’s feel for them over a room of industry all pining to see the next big thing (which, they are). As I suspected much of the crowd here seemed immune to the hype but most people were left smiling and enthused by the end, one or two seemed genuinely bemused, and I liked that too.
This year is the year of the girl… when it comes to band names anyway. We had Goat Girl, Only Girl, Girl Ray AND Our Girl all hitting up stages across SXSW. Admittedly I have a bit of a problem when it comes to seeing bands more than once, and not content with having seen Our Girl the week before I came away, I also managed to see them play 3 times at SXSW – the inability to leave their set not a problem I really want to seek help for. I am mesmerised every time I see them play. Only Girl played a showcase that wasn’t as well attended as I’d have liked, though her competition down the road was Gaz Coombs, and let’s not think about the rest. The crowd were fully onboard though, and like me, knew that they’d made the right decision in witnessing something special from this young lady. Eyes open for her, she’s incredible.
The indie bands were also in town; The RPMs bringing up some of the best jangly guitar sounds Brighton has to offer. A more artsy vibe could be found from Catholic Action, who come with a huge side of a dry sense of humour. I’m not ashamed to say I stood and danced and sung out in the street to them when I couldn’t get in for the whole set. Duo Ider also set the bar high during their free show for Secret Sounds, even at midday the show was full and it took me a while but a few songs in I realised I had seen them before and felt that same wave of excitement flow over me, only this time I had a band name, and they were there, right in front of me.
Back to the girls… Women anyway. This was a strong theme, for obvious reasons and there was plenty of chance to meet up officially and unofficially with the women of music. Vevo house was a great place to go for this and I met some fantastic women making, producing, managing, booking, you name it they were doing it. I also got to see the wonderful Jade Bird play at this venue – her personality shining as clearly as her talent. What a woman! She wasn’t alone in making waves during her time at SXSW, a young Suzi Wu was up and my god does she have something to say. She struts the stage, she owns her lyrics and she’s not intimidated in any way shape or form. An alt-grime-punk Debbie Harry. Perfect and I was so excited to finally get to witness her thrill a room.
Communion Music Presents. Three of my favourite words. I was shocked to find out that I didn’t know they had a showcase until the day before and from that moment on all other gigs were off. I was going to church and worship at the musical alter. How could I not? For me, this evening was the most emotional, nothing to do with the church, but the bands that Communion pull are often exceptional emotive songwriters and performers. New to me was Amy Shark, an Australian singer-songwriter, who hit some notes so nicely I thought she had potential to break the stained glass windows. Lucy Rose almost brought me to full on sobs, especially with her storytelling and her humility at playing the show. I initially thought that Dermot Kennedy was a stagehand, strolling across the stage wearing a tracksuit (even though it was about 30 degrees outside) and then when he started to sing – holy moly. I felt like it took him a while to warm up, not vocally, but to own the stage, to perform rather than just sing – though his” just sing” isn’t your everyday person’s “just sing”. Nope. This guy tore the roof off and it was left to Newcastle’s Sam Fender to keep it right off and he did just that. I enjoyed his impromptu singing at the piano – though, the tech guys didn’t seem to agree. It raised a smile after what had been a fairly intense evening.
In between watching bands there was time to explore some of the city, ok not really, that’s a bit of a lie! There’s no exploring unless it happens to be on the way to the next; venue, exhibition, talk, interview, network meeting. What I did see of Austin was that it totally came alive while SXSW was in full throws. You’d think there would be lots of grumpy residents wishing the weeks away, not able to sleep for the thud of bass going long and deep into the night, not being able to travel to work the usual route as roads were closed left right and centre and having to wait in line to eat in their favourite restaurant. Well, I’m happy to report I didn’t witness any grump. So either everyone moved out for a while or everyone was just happy to be a part of the amazing experience that is SXSW. I imagine though it’ possibly a good mix of the two.
On my last day at SXSW I got to meet the daughter of the man who helped to set up the original Fader Fort. THE place to be, if that is, you get a sacred invite. Turns out that family and friends have, well, more family and friends all over the place. So not only did I get to hear about Fader Fort I also got to spend much of my last time at SXSW doing it in true Austin Resident stylee! I got to visit an awesome dive bar called The Yellow Jacket Social Club, a club that I’m lead to believe won’t still be around next year as gentrification moves ever further past the freeway. I got to learn about new buildings just open and those coming and how the city’s landscape is ever evolving as the city grows in so many ways. I also got to check out some bands I would otherwise have missed. The glorious electronic art folk that is The Octopus Project played to a full crowd at Mowhawk was the first treat. A local Austin based band who delighted me with their use of a theremin. One guy asked me what it was called, he could obviously sense exactly how delighted I was! The main musical feast was that of musical art collective CAPYAC, they describe themselves as a surreal dance band… and I’d go with that too! I feel like I don’t want to expand too much on this because I want the intrigue to send you off to go and find them, book them, see them, keep them in a small box by your bedside table…. Just so much fun.
Later on a Saturday evening I met up with a new friend and got put into a taxi and taken off to the middle of nowhere (ok, not quite) but it was all hush hush. A private party we’d been invited to by a band she’d met. It was an utterly surreal way to end my SXSW experience and at the same time was the perfect ending at that.
It seems like there’s so much more to talk about, like the fact you get to meet musicians who aren’t even playing, make friends that you somehow feel you’ll never quite forget even if you don’t stay in touch – but you should – because, SXSW. The cool Glasgow music event that I missed but need to go to next time around, the opportunities to meet people and talk about the passion you hold, and it’s ok to just burst into laughter, or song, at any given time. Free snickers, free hugs, free drinks, free m&ms, free swag full stop. So many tote bags. But bets of all… the. live.music. Please have us back SXSW, life is forever changed now. You ruined me and I love you for it.
  Check out the Popped Music SXSW photo diary:
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Festival Review: SXSW 2018 SXSW 2018 Words & Photos: Elena Katrina It's a strange feeling this post-SXSW sensation. I feel both broken and exhilarated at the same time.
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