#I still want that six-disc soundtrack

[cielhunternorwood]

It's time for the video I was waiting to make since the Astral one, it's Watanabe Epitaph to the tune of the final boss music from Resonance of Fate (or End of Eternity if you're from JP). He's actually really fun to juggle with, but optimally you'd want to be in his other mode as much as possible.

Anyways, enjoy!

[irrealisms]

my dsmp fic recs masterpost

this one's long so i'm putting it under a cut! includes a lot of fandom favorites/ones you probably already know, but i tried to include some more niche ones as well. check the reblogs for more, i couldn't fit them all in one post without tumblr getting mad at me

Author recommendations (not my friends; go read everything they wrote):

Goldenrayofsunshine

shrugofgod

odaigahara

penink

hoorayy

Zannolin

the_g_m

chrysalizzm

Author recommendations (me and people I know):

sesquidpedalian @erstwhilesparrow

WheelCoveredInEyes @blocksgame

short_tandem_repeats

consumptive_sphinx @regicidal-optimism

monsterloot @aliveburs

cryptofhoney (korethekiller) @honeyblockm

nocturne_csharpm @qwilbur

75hearts (ME! YOU ARE HERE!)

Fangame recommendations:

Good Luck, Minutes Man! by @andhyssops : visual novel about NLM-era c!ranboo. has multiple endings, great art, soundtrack, characterization, etc.

Good Morning, Gogy by @andhyssops : visual novel about c!george. again, gorgeous art, great characterization. i almost don't want to say too much about this one because so much of it is a spoiler!

Doomsday Sim by @bwobgames : doomsday platformer, tommy is the player character, buggy but pretty.

Virtual Ghostbur by @bwobgames : ghostbur tamagotchi!

Character Pattern by @bwobgames : bullet hell with various mcyts (c and cc), tommy is the player character, stupid hard but very pretty

Tommygotchi by @bwobgames : tommy tamagotchi!

Silver Dollar by @honeyblockm : president schlatt is dead. murder mystery twine game

Fic recs (people I don't know well):

devil town by hoorayy : haven’t read this one but i’ve had it recommended too many times to not include. small town horror au. 100k

aftermath by sparxwrites : dream is recovering from the prison. tommy visits him. they have a conversation. neither torture apologist nor abuse apologist! 2k

what i love and what i've lost by Treis : dream & sapnap, dream recovery/redemption/post-prison. 20k

in memoriam by hoorayy : wilbur and sapnap have a conversation. 2k

little women by chrysalizzm : women on the dsmp character study. 1k

dissonance by shrugofgod : tubbo character study!!!!! one of the best tubbo fics imo. snowchester-era. 16k

six foot deep bottom line by shrugofgod : tubbo & q conversation, cookie outpost era. 2k

How to Sex Vol. 4-58 by Goldenrayofsunshine : epistolary fic, tommy pov, canon divergent from the disc finale (punz doesn’t arrive). probably my favorite fic in the fandom. 1k

Chicken Strategy by Goldenrayofsunshine : sam-centric, lots of q also, au where q set off the prison TNT. 20k

The Roman Archives by Goldenrayofsunshine : “Tubbo dies during the disc war finale and uses his time in purgatory to unlock all the secrets of the universe.” 4.5k

Make It Right by Goldenrayofsunshine : Captain Sparklez is tubbo’s dad, crashes the disc finale. my #1 clingyduo fluffy h/c Comfort Food. 2k

Raccooniverse (zombie crossover) series by Goldenrayofsunshine : crossover with the walking dead; doesn’t require any knowledge of the walking dead. tommy-centric, follows canon very approximately for the first two seasons and a bit beyond. 162k and still going, although you can just read the completed parts.

Neon Sunrise by Goldenrayofsunshine : wilbur & quackity, LN-era. 14k

draw up your sword (leave your days ashore) by Odaigahara : puffy joins the server by coming ashore at logstedshire, defends tommy. another comfort food fluffy h/c. 11k

snapshots by sparxwrites : schlatt/q relationship study. very good but mind the content warnings. 6k

the dead don’t dream by penink : what if dream killed tommy and then revived him again and then killed him and then revived him again— (crimeboys whump w a happy ending) 226k

Mafia AU by penink : mafia AU; based on Vibes rather than a specific time period but has Lots Content and Good Characterization. 219k and still going, although you can just read the completed parts.

Fairweather and Foxhole Friends by penink : manburg q & tubbo. 2k

Jubilee Line Satisfaction Survey by penink : wilbur centric, some crimeboys. wilbur in the afterlife! very very good. does fun things with the format--it's a uquiz, not an ao3 fic. another competitor for my favorite fanwork from this fandom.

call this world home by Sixteenthdays, stygiomedusa (grainjew) : another dream post-prison recovery/redemption; in this one, he’s metaphysically trapped in the arctic commune. 43k

l’esprit de l’escalier by eldritchIdeologist : revivebur oneshot. 3k

cause most of us are bitter over someone by honeyblock : niki & wilbur confrontation and reconciliation. (tommy’s there too.) 19k

orphan’s path (series) by aenor_llelo, Alderous, Anarchy-Schmanarchy (Murder_Schmurder), BattleBlaze, ConcoctionsFromHell, Falrisesi, fluxphage, izziel_galaxy, Otakuforlife19, Rocket999 : starts out as a phil&techno backstory. becomes a retelling of the entire server. massively multi-pov, very good characterization, very long. has many Takes i disagree with but also a lot of good stuff. get a text replacer “Lagos” -> “Dream”. 700K and still going, although you can just read the completed parts.

tune by small_lizard : karlnapity relationships study. 4k

applaud, my friends, the comedy is over! by small_lizard : oneshot focused on niki’s birthday party. <1k

it only gets much worse by hoorayy : another q & wilbur, LN-era. 2k

good reasons to freeze to death by hoorayy : tubbo-centric, post-s3 finale (mourning ranboo). 3k

pay it forward by comradeboyhalo : the l’sandburg fic. foolish centric; badlands post-egg healing arc in which they all move onto his house. very canon-typical tone; silly and crack-y but with genuine feeling. 5k

treatise on sin and vice by the_g_m : quackity and tommy and their relationship w religion (scriptfic). 7k

plate of primes by chrysalizzm : poem about tommy. <1k

hunger by Anonymous : probably the only E-rated fic i’m including. wilbur/quackity, LN-era, wilbur provokes quackity into hurting him by pretending to be dream, it’s . fic of all time. 11k

i'm not calling you a liar by Anonymous : jk i lied. also E-rated, wilbur/quackity, LN-era. by the same author as the previous rec, similarly dead dove. lives in my brain forever. 13k

the ckarl mpreg fic by the_g_m : karl doesn’t actually get pregnant in this one. they just want him to. karlnapity, script format, crack treated seriously. 2k

sink secluded by angeloncewas : niki and wilbur, pogtopia. <1k

best laid plans by zannolin : some gentle h/c for revivebur with ranboo and tommy. a bit of a comfort food but in a good way, at least for me. 5k

said the rabbit to the badger by zannolin : crimeboys talk about exile. inconsolable differences fixit. 3k

i can’t stand your taste in my mouth by orphan_account : a really intense but also very good pogtopia-era wilbur character/relationship study. 5k

where to find a silver lining (as the mercury keeps rising) by angelsdemonsducks : cwilbur eggpocalypse fic! 10k

the sea is rising by chrysalizzm : desolation avatar purpled. <1k but the series is longer

Blood Games by ghostdrinkssoda : q centric hurt-no-comfort that has some karlnapity but also engages with q as a bad person. 7k

where lies the strangling fruit by katsidhe : prison arc angst/whump. pretty heavy; mind the tags. sam & q & dream. 34k, unfinished

agatha by headlikeahole : wilbur's suicide note. collage/digital art. <1k

Tier X̅ by Pegasister60 : purpled's limbo is an empty bedwars map. 2k

one last lie for old times' sake by curseworm, VenetaPsi : wilbur tries to apologize to quackity before killing himself. quackity isn't having it. 18k

[turtlemagnum]

i seem to have misremembered both that hoax and this reddit post of his as confirmation of that hoax. good to know i've been wrong! sorry to have spread misinformation!

what the text says for screenreader people because there's not enough room in the alt text:

To reply to a deleted comment: I’m not hiding, this has just taken some time to write.

I took down that tumblr post because I honestly don’t remember it (I’ll get to my mental problems of late 13 to early 15) and it’s ugly enough to be misconstrued and even if it could be construed there’s little positive value in it. What it looks like I’m trying to say is, “There’s a whole lotta weird dick admiration for this heinous shit but where’s all the love for the heinous shit Vivec did with their other bits?”

That’s my read of it, anyway. But you want a bigger explanation, though, some kind of wide and comprehensive one. I mean that’s the point of this whole thing, so sure, let’s talk. This is going to be long.

For over ten years, I abused liquor and benzos, a combination that tends to kill you. It started as a way to deal with anxiety and depression until it just became my life. I finally got to the rock bottom point where I didn’t want to die, so I went into detox (very soon I’ll hit my seventh year sober, but that’s not really part of this). What happened after detox was a shitload of terrifying stuff that no one told me about that happens early on (or maybe just happened to me) that I'm only just now getting my head around. This is where the nightmare starts.

It was terrifying stuff like getting out of detox and not quite being... well, it’s a lot like having missing time but that isn't the right term... getting out of detox and not being fully present in my own skin for a whole year and some change. I'm not talking about the pink cloud or readjusting to a life without drinking and drugs (all of which one can read about and find comfort in), but stuff like…

Thinking I was dead and a ghost, like for real-real thinking I was dead and in hell and still communicating with my wife. As in, only she could see me but only through some kind of magic glass. At one point, I thought I had to stand in the shower and talk through the glass door so she could hear me properly.

Being convinced that people were out to get me, sometimes a weird shadow consortium of psychiatrists and law enforcement, other times the friends I was having lunch with, or online circles of people that I “knew” were laughing at my confusions, and sometimes it was simply supernatural entities like demons, magicians, or, yes, ghosts.

Having a looping always-happening sense of deja vu, where I was stuck in a state of I was just there doing these things just then, a Groundhog Day but in seconds. It turned out to be my brain rewriting itself while finding a new medication cocktail with my doctor. And finding that was hard because I was convinced we had already done it six seconds ago and why was this doctor trying to trick me? Again? Everyone, including myself, felt like it was tricking me into thinking— into believing— that what I was doing just now was something I did just a moment before.

Putting myself in strange situations because I thought after detox I was invincible, or the funniest person alive, or a fashion statement from the future, or a secret lockpick to the underground (whatever that meant but it definitely meant something enough for me to keep talking about it for awhile) or a cruel demigod who could say anything to anyone without guilt or admonishment. In this stage of thrilling horribleness, I said awful things while kicking shoes off and jumping on tables that I believed would spiral up like Enochian discs up through the air to golden thrones.

Practicing automatic writing, asking people for music soundtracks for capital-I important projects I was doing, and honest to God trying to make clocks tick backwards with my mind.

Trembling, rambling, full on panicking that I had been replaced by someone else and yet still stuck inside them. Constant passenger, my wife unable to know it, her being tricked instead by my epidermal doppelgänger.

“Reliving" portions of my childhood where I discovered horrible secrets about my father and my babysitters and by discovered I really mean making shit up to explain what was happening to me in this haze of being sober and in a batshit crazy living nightmare because I got sober.

This is the stuff that they don’t tell you. Or at least didn’t tell me. I went into a facility to get better, to conquer insobriety, and when my insurance ran out, they said I was good to go. That’s another thing that they don’t tell you: your journey to healing is only on their premises for as long as your deductible allows. Maybe they do tell you and I didn’t listen because the reason I got into detox was I was simply going to die if I didn’t. My drinking had become so bad that blacking out was more the norm than just being awake. Either way, my post-detox was a nightmare because— in the well-deal-with-it state— you are in no way ready to be outside, unsupervised, your brain and body unable to deal with an unregulated withdrawal that turns you into a goddamn alien. And it lasts for what seems like forever (especially the phase of infinite deja vu).

What I did have is my wife, who patiently carried my post-detox psychoses with me, helping me to ride it out. Ride it out for a year to eighteen months, no matter how scary it must have gotten for her, what with my brain transforming its interactions with reality, each variation of that unannounced, each variation bringing new ways to make me feel unable to be really ever human again. And when you feel like that, you often get angry at everything (becoming sober was supposed to heal you not twist you up and dump you on an unrecognizable earth), or you get elated because you are a pillar of newfound power, messianic and reborn, without need for conscience or restraint (“I say what I want!”), or you get frightened because you’re now a shower ghost with no way back to someone you love so much.

My wife brought me back. She found me doctors that could help. Cleaned up after me. Put up with my mean-spirited tirades and unearthly new manias. Reminded me our dog always knew who I was because he could smell through all my unwanted disguises.

I hurt a lot of friendships, a lot of people I didn’t know, and a lot of co-workers during this time. I wrote things I don’t understand, don’t condone, and half the time don’t remember. I was awful when I was supposed the be getting better. If you got to know me from anywhere between 2013-2015, I’m really sorry, I thought I had no way back to sanity. And in the ten years before, I wasn’t much better.

-MK

*I meant to post some of this during National Recovery Month but you wanted some kind of answer.

just described a bit of khajiit lore to my grandma and she said facetiously, "and how many drugs were we on writing this?", not knowing a damn thing about michael kirkbride. i hear he's gotten clean in more recent years and is self reportedly far better off for it, but you've gotta admit that from the standpoint of the writing itself there's something to be said about the combination of unsustainable quantities of acid and a theology degree to creating a very distinct identity and feel

[sweetbunnykook]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Beast with Two Backs II

Yandere husband!JK x Rescued wife!Noona - Oneshot/Drabble 

Warning: dub-con (groping, kissing), abuse of power (emotional manipulation, financial abuse, starvation), handcuffs

Word: 1,557

Synopsis: When Jungkook’s love hurt more than his punishments. 

“Please, please, Jungkook, I won’t do it again. Please,” you whimper, pulling on the handcuffs as your husband places the disc inside a DVD player and waits for it to load. He struggles to keep his expression cold when you’re already crying as soon as you wake up to find the cuffs are still wrapped around your wrists. He adjust his cufflinks to distract himself from the fact that maybe he went too far this time.

He didn’t mean to make you cry but this is the only way you’ll learn that you’re meant to be with him. If you see how adorable you look next to him during the wedding, you’ll learn that you don’t need anyone else. You don’t need to keep fighting him, to turn your cheeks away when he wants to kiss you goodbye before work, to cover yourself when he watches you bathe in a tub full of flowers.

When the familiar orchestral music sounds from the speakers you let out a hoarse cry, thrashing in the white bridal nightie you’ve been wearing for the last two days. You’re sick of the romantic soundtrack and even more sick of seeing yourself docile and naïve in Jungkook’s arms, your eyes glazed from the opiates running through your veins on that day.

Jungkook’s head turns quickly towards when he hears the harsh cacophony of steel scraping against wood and immediately comes to your bedside to keep your hands still.

“Stop moving so much, you’re going to hurt yourself.” He commands, brows drawn together as he witnesses the deep red marks around your wrists. You must have been pulling on them all night despite knowing the wooden bedpost is indestructible and there’s no chance of escape.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you cry, curling your legs up to your torso and burying your face in the feather pillows. “Please,” you look up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks, your soft hiccups and sobs melting his heart in the right places. “I won’t be bad anymore. I’m so hungry…please, Jungkook…”

His lips press together as he feels tears blur his own vision and he momentarily turns away to wipe his face with the flat of his palm. You feel a twinge of hope when he opens the nightstand drawer and pull out a black box with a neat white ribbon wrapped around the edges. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your curled figure and unwraps the package to reveal four rows of chocolates, six on each row.

Your stomach growls and cramps upon the sight of such glossy chocolate truffles, each with a berry vanilla cream tucked in the center. Jungkook finds your wide eyes endearing as you glare at the chocolates as if it’ll fall into your mouth the harder you looked. It’s not exactly nutritious food, but sweets are just as tantalizing as a three-course meal. In your situation, you can’t find it in you to complain.

Jungkook pulls the box away for a second, relishing in your sweet whines, as he stumbles upon an idea. He runs his fingers over the chocolates and then back at you with your head buried in the pillows but red eyes trained on his, arms twisted to leave a small gap between the cuffs and the bruised skin around your wrists. Making a final decision, he takes the remote controller on the nightstand and turns off the television. The silence of the bedroom elicits a sigh of relief that you hope he won’t notice, but he does anyway and momentarily feels saddened by it. He then kneels closer to your body, wrapping an arm around your waist and hoisting you up on the pillow so your back can rest. The angle provides orgasmic relief to your strained arms and shoulders that you can’t help but moan softly, the sound of your saccharine voice making Jungkook’s hands falter as he tucks your hair behind your ears and cups your face with one hand.

He reaches next to him and brings the chocolate up to your lips, watching your eyes widen as you crane your neck to bring it into your mouth. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction as he slips the truffle in his own mouth and brings his lips over yours. Your greedy tongue licks the cream on his lips before you roam your tongue into his mouth and swallow melted chocolate, ignoring the pang of pleasure that breeds warmth deep in your core when Jungkook brushes his tongue against yours. His long hair tickles your cheeks as he moves cautiously against your lips. If your hands were free, you would have pulled him closer by his black coat lapels to feel more of him. He gasps when you lick a stripe up his chin to catch the remaining cream before digging your tongue back into his mouth until all the sugary sweetness dissipates.

The chocolates are so milky and fragrant you can feel tears prickle the edge of your eyes which Jungkook softly wipes away with the pads of his thumb. His darling, so easy to punish, so easy to please. He reaches over to the remote and places it next to the box of chocolate, giving you the ultimatum he’d written in his mind: either you watch the wedding again and starve for the day or you can satiate a part of your cravings by giving him the kisses you’d denied him.  

“Do you want more?” He asks, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip and trailing his warm palms over your heart, beneath the sheer nightie to feel the soft swells of your breasts.

“Answer me.” He digs his fingers in your skin and gropes your mounds whole.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You swallow the chocolate remaining in the back of your throat like you swallow your pride. “Yes, sweetheart.”

His smile is wide and bright as he trails his hands down further down to your waist to rub your aching belly. Your knees come together when he brings his fingers down towards your womb and draw circles around your hipbones.

“That’s my good girl.”

He pops another chocolate in his mouth and brings his soft lips to yours once more, tongues moving against each other while the truffle disappears into a syrupy sweetness that leaves you whimpering like a lost kitten.

Jungkook knows he must leave for work or else he’ll be late to the meeting but he’s drowning in pleasure and your tongue is driving him crazy. He longed to feel your kisses, to feel your softness on his skin, to watch the flush on cheeks deepen and your thighs rubbing together to satiate a different kind of craving he longed to hear you beg him for. For now, he’s satisfied with just your lips. It doesn’t hit you until much later that the chocolate has long melted and your lips are moving against Jungkook’s out of its own will. His hands cups underneath your jaw to angle your head as he wishes and you ignore that feeling of worthlessness that will crawl its way up your cuffed legs after he’s gone. For now, the pleasure is too great to refuse and your husband smelled too good, tasted too good, and felt too good pressed against your body.

If you didn’t misbehave, your days could be more like this, filled with more of his loving touches and kisses. Had you met him under different circumstances, had he genuinely wanted you as a wife and not as a pet he feeds in exchange for your attention and love, you would have fallen for him. You wish you could go back to the time when you thought Jungkook was your savior and not your captor. You wish you can go back to the time when the scent of his cologne brought you peace and the warmth of his coat around your shoulders gave you a feeling of home you haven’t had in a long time.

With a gasp, you turn your head to the side, peeling your lips away from his. Your breaths are harsh and labored and your eyes are wide as you’re hit with a pang of realization that the pleasure you’re feeling now is part of his punishment. These doses of affection between anger makes you believe everything is okay but you know as soon as he leaves for work and you’re forced to think about yourself, everything comes crashing down.

“Can you undo the cuffs? B-before you go to work?” You ask while he’s catching his breath.

Jungkook nods eagerly, still buzzed with delight as he snakes the key out of his pockets and undo your handcuffs. He rubs your sore wrists and kisses them softly. You sit and watch him worship every knuckle and every crevice of your hands with his lips, exhaling when you don’t pull away for once. Perhaps the punishments are working, he thinks.  

Fresh drops of tears roll down your cheeks once more and Jungkook murmurs your name before kissing them away. He thinks you’re relieved about your freed arms and the first taste of joy that you willingly took from his mouth.

What he doesn’t know is that you’re crying for him, and for what could have been, had he given you a chance to learn what love is.  

[freddiemercurydaily]

Queen released their twelfth studio album, ‘A Kind Of Magic’

3 June 1986 - Queen released their twelfth studio album, ‘A Kind Of Magic’ in the USA  It’s the unofficial soundtrack to the fantasy-action blockbuster Highlander, and went on to enjoy terrific success and acclaim debuting at number one in the UK and the Top 5 in Germany, Holland, Switzerland and Austria, and the Top 20 in several other countries.The album reached #46 on the US Billboard 200 and achieved Gold status. ‘A Kind of Magic’ was produced by the band, Reinhold Mack and newcomer Dave Richards.  Mack and Richards decided to utilize digital technology which would be a first for Queen and also their first album to be released on compact disc.  Favourably received on release in 1986, this album also did wonders for the sales of CD players because the compact disc includes three extra tracks: ‘A Kind Of “A Kind Of Magic”’, ‘Friends Will Be Friends Will Be Friends’, and ‘Forever’, the piano version of ‘Who Wants To Live Forever’, 

with further orchestral accompaniment. Adding over twelve minutes to the LP these three tracks were jealously viewed by those without the relevant machinery. “We had scripts for the movie ‘Highlander’ and saw quite a bit of footage and we all went away and tried to write songs for various bits… I ended up writing a slow ballad called ‘One Year Of Love.’  We did all the music for the film first, then we did the album.  We actually rearranged a lot of the tracks, made them longer, wrote more lyrics and tried to make them into fully-fledged songs.  So they stand up in their own right, without necessarily needing the film.  You can actually hear them on the radio and they sound more like songs than incidental music.” - John Deacon Roger Taylor adds: “We found plenty of things in the plot to jump off on, to write songs around.  It’s not a soundtrack.  I think the idea of a complete soundtrack album puts quite a lot of people off.  I think they’re imagining all those orchestral links, which don’t really do anything, and it’s really sort of background music.” “It’s just Fate. A sort of an ingredient that we have, and it’s a combination that seems to have worked…that doesn’t mean we don’t have egos, I mean we all have terrible egos, so there’s always been talk of breaking up and you know there’s been lots of very bad moods and things, and there’s always been somebody or other, one of us saying “I want to call it a day”, and things, but I don’t know I think things seem to be working out right all the time. There’s no sort of pill that we’re taking to keep together, there’s no sort of …you can’t put a finger on it. Here we are, 15 years later, still together….It’s a survival test.  Of course we could all just go away and say, ‘Okay, we’ve had enough,’ and live happily ever after, but that’s not what we’re in for … we’re in it to make music and besides, what else could I do ?  This is the thing that interests me most.  You don’t know what it means when you write a song when people actually appreciate it and say, ‘It’s a good song.’  It’s a wonderful feeling.  I’ve never let the press worry me.  In the early days you think about it, you go out and buy the papers and make sure you’re in it and all that, but now it’s a completely different set up.  It’s because it’s your music and basically what you worry about is the people that buy your product.  That’s what keeps us going after all these years.”  (Freddie Mercury, 1986)This is Queens first album to be released since their show stealing performance at Live Aid the previous year.  Just five days after their albums release, Queen embarked on a victorious European tour selling out stadiums and open air venues for their twenty six dates.  The Magic tour was the last time Freddie appeared on stage with his band.  He certainly went out with a bang.   The tour ended at Knebworth Park and those who  attended that evening had no idea it would be his last, but it was certainly a privilege to have been there on the night of 9 August 1986. This is a date indelibly marked in every Queen fan’s soul !!3,5 d.Jij, Eileen Roether, Gunjidmaa Tserennadmid en 3,5 d. anderen21 opmerkingen100 keer gedeeldGeweldigOpmerking plaatsenDelen

[tomthefanboy]

Back in 2000 there was a little hole in the wall shop called Anime Otaku Inc where i would get stuff when i could scrape together the cash. In the front counter beside the super expensive half dressed statues, was this Evangelion soundtrack.

The S2 Works.

I love soundtrack albums and i had been searching for something that would give me not just the OP but also every variation of Fly Me To The Moon. This was a SIX PART soundtrack with a seventh BONUS disc and a guide book to if the tracks!

After 6 months I saved up the scratch to buy it at a DISCOUNTED $80.

Little did I know that almost all of it was slight variations of the main songs.

Like 5 different lengths of battle music or a man saying Neon Genesis Evangelion twenty different ways.

And the booklet was no help because I had never learned Japanese.But it is still a treasure and I wouldnt have mp3s of Both Of You Fight Like You Want To Win and the Aya Bossa Nova mix of FMTTM if i hadnt picked this up.

[aion-rsa]

A Clockwork Orange at 50: Malcolm McDowell Revisits Kubrick’s Film

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

“I think I’ve always been my own kind of person, and you know sometimes to my detriment,” says Malcolm McDowell, chatting to Den of Geek via Zoom, 50 years after the release of A Clockwork Orange.

“I’ve never really played the Hollywood card, I’m not really an insider, that’s just not my thing. And I like to be able to say no. And that’s it.That’s not probably a politically correct thing to do. However, too bad. I’m still here 50 years later.”

McDowell is talking to us from LA, his accent a soft mix of Yorkshire, where he grew up, and California where he has resided for much of his professional life. He is funny and charismatic, with a hint of the mischievous, he says people still find him “a little intimidating” – traits which he brought out in spades for his breakout roles, first as rebellious school boy Mick Travis in Lindsay Anderson’s If… and then as violent delinquent Alex Delarge in Stanley Kubrick’s bold, blistering and controversial satire A Clockwork Orange.

Watching it today it seems hard to believe the movie is 50 years old – it’s lost none of its power. Set in a futuristic dystopian Britain, McDowell plays gang leader Alex, who with his band of ‘droogs’, gets high on ‘milk plus’ and commits a horrible home invasion and rape, and later a murder. Apprehended by the police, Alex agrees to participate in a new kind of aversion therapy which makes him physically unable to commit crimes, causing pain and nausea at the very thought, in exchange for a reduced sentence.

Alex is robbed of freewill, becoming the Clockwork Orange – an organic thing with a machine inside – of the title. It’s a movie of big themes, of totalitarian governments controlling citizens and left wing dissidents exploiting individuals, it’s a discussion of goodness and evil, of youth and authority, which is visually striking and often shockingly so. And to many it’s a masterpiece.

Kubrick’s film is an adaptation of the novel by Anthony Burgess, which like the movie uses a language Burgess called Nadsat (from the Russian suffix meaning ‘teen’) – a mix of Russian, English and Cockney rhyming slang. 

McDowell recalls his first meeting with Kubrick which took place at Kubrick’s house in Boreham Wood, during McDowell’s lunch hour filming Bryan Forbes’ Long Ago, Tomorrow. Kubrick said he’d seen If.. four or five times and it had made a big impression on him.

“We had a very nice chat but he didn’t mention anything and at the end I said ‘Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Was there anything you wanted to talk to me about in particular?’ And I could see his discomfort, at having to actually tell me that, yeah, he was thinking of making this book into a movie. And anyway, he begrudgingly gave me the title, gave me a copy of the book and told me to read it and call him,” McDowell smiles.

He describes the book as “a damn difficult read on the first go” but by the third go he was convinced. “I read it and I went, Holy crap, what a part! Oh geez!”

No kidding. Alex is front and centre of the entire film, he’s the narrator and charged with delivering difficult lines about ‘ultraviolence’, ‘weepy young devotchkas’ and how the treatment is affecting his ‘gulliver’.

Burgess was a linguist and his decision to make a new hybrid youth slang was a practical one. He wanted the youths in this world to feel ‘other’ and separate from the grown ups but felt if he’d chosen to use contemporary slang that the book would date quickly. It was a shrewd move that Kubrick stuck to, helping the film have a sense of timelessness.

Then there were the iconic costumes worn by Alex and his droogs – removed from any particular era of fashion they were simple but immediately intimidating. The look came about via a moment of serendipity between McDowell and Kubrick when Kubrick asked his star what he had in mind for the costume himself. 

“I said ‘Futuristic, I don’t know!’” McDowell laughs. “He goes, ‘What have you got?’  I went ‘What have I got? I mean I’ve got jeans and a T-shirt and I’ve got my cricket gear in the car’. He goes, ‘We’ll put it on. And then ‘What’s this?’ I went, ‘Well, that’s the protector’. He said ‘Wear it on the outside’. And that’s the iconic costume, right there, boom.”

McDowell says he had around six months of prep time where he got to know Kubrick really well, where Kubrick grew to trust him which he describes as being really fun. That trust between the two was important – McDowell had heavy lifting to do physically, including the indelible scenes of the ‘Ludovico technique’ which saw his eyelids pinned back (he scratched a cornea) and the humiliation scene, after his conversion, (he cracked several ribs). McDowell plays this down, “Most of the time it was fun to do. I had a couple of injuries but they weren’t life threatening. They were fairly painful, but it was really a small price to pay.”

On a rewatch these moments still standout, though there are others too – an extended sequence where Alex is being drowned in a trough by his former friends knocks the breath out of you. 

“To be honest with you, it’s a complete cheat,” says McDowell of the scene. “There’s one cut right at the beginning. That water was cold and they coloured it with Bovril. I mean can you imagine beef extract? It stank to high heaven, it was absolutely like shit! And it was cold because we shot it I think in November. So they couldn’t heat the water because it steamed. I could only literally last three to five seconds before I had to come up for air. And so he put a tank of oxygen in there with a mouthpiece, and I spent my time trying to find the mouthpiece, which was bobbing around. It was harrowing.”

Not to mention he was being beaten with a billy club at the same time. 

“Admittedly, it’s rubber, but it still hurts,” McDowell recalls. “You can still feel it, and you feel like you’re in a nether world, you’re underwater, you’re sort of like drowning, but not quite. It’s a pretty good shot though.”

As well as the language, the soundtrack, the costumes and McDowell’s performance, the movie is also remembered for the controversy surrounding it. Allegations of copycat crimes as well as death threats sent to the director prompted Kubrick to pull the film from UK distribution in 1973, making it difficult to see in Britain until after Kubrick’s death in 1999. McDowell says the withdrawal didn’t especially affect him at the time, since he was in another country filming, and the movie had already been shown for a year. “It wasn’t like he pulled it at the height of its success so people couldn’t see it.”

Though it remains tough to watch in part, McDowell says younger audiences seem more comfortable with the comedy and satire elements of the film, a strand that was always intended.

“It is a black comedy and that’s how it was made. And I would have to say that that element of it has caught up, and kids when they see the movie now just roar with laughter and that makes my heart sing because that’s what I thought when I made it,” he says. “When it first came out, my god! It was total silence in the cinema, nobody moved out of their seats.”

When we ask McDowell what he hopes new viewers coming to the film today might take from it he’s typically candid: “I really have nothing to say about that. You know they can take whatever they want.” Though he says he thinks it’s amazing that the film is still relevant which he attributes to Burgess’s book even more than Kubrick’s adaptation.

Then after a beat he follows up with an anecdote.

“Well, actually I did go to a screening for the 40th anniversary at the Egyptian, I also gave a bit of a talk. At the end I was walking towards the bathroom and a young kid passed me, and goes ‘Oh my god! Clockwork right?’ I went, ‘Yeah!’ he goes, ‘Which part?’ I went, ‘The old guy’. He goes, ‘The old guy! Oh!’ I went, ‘No! the young guy! It’s 40 years old!’ he went, ‘Oh!’ he didn’t even connect,” McDowell chuckles. “I don’t know what he was smoking.”

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To mark its 50th anniversary, A Clockwork Orange Ultimate Collector’s Edition is now available to own here and includes the feature film on a Ultra HD Blu-ray™ disc in 4K with HDR and a Blu-ray™ disc with the feature film and special features. Fans can also own A Clockwork Orange in 4K Ultra HD via purchase from select digital retailers.

The post A Clockwork Orange at 50: Malcolm McDowell Revisits Kubrick’s Film appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3B9M0du

[texastheband]

Texas V Wu-Tang Clan

Interview by Steven Daly Photography by Peter Robathan Taken from The Face - December 1997

It’s the pop story of ’97, the most unlikely end to a weird year: TEXAS collaborating with the WU-TANG CLAN. First, a Scottish rock band on the verge of slip-sliding away into a tasteful obscurity was reborn via a slew of hit singles and a glut of stylish imagery. Now, in New York, their Brit-cool meets hip hop in a mutually beneficial deal. For everyone concerned, it’s all they need to get on…

Sharleen Spiteri took the call in her front hall. "Yo, Peach," growled a strange voice over transatlantic wires. The gentleman caller was none other than Ol’ Dirty Bastard, court jester of New York hip hop dynasty the Wu-Tang Clan. Apparently Mr Bastard fancied working with Spiteri and her band, Texas. It all started in August, with one of Texas’ managers discussing Land Rovers with someone called Power in New York, who turned out to be the manager of the Clan. A video of Texas’ "Say What You Want" was dispatched, and prodigiously gifted Wu-Tang chieftain RZA signed on to do a re-recording of the single for a prospective single project. Original rapper OI’ Dirty Bastard was replaced by Method Man, the next Clan member with a solo album scheduled.

The hook-up with the Wu-Tang Clan is the perfect climax to a year that’s seen Texas rise from a tumbleweed-strewn grave to grab the pole position in British Pop. A year in which Glasgow’s Sharleen Spiteri has stared out, defiantly remade and remodelled, from every magazine cover and TV show. From a media point-of-view, Texas’ – Spiteri’s – reconfiguring of music and fashion has been the year’s dream ticket. Ever since Bryan Ferry took the innovative step of getting Anthony Proce in to design Roxy Music’s wardrobe in the early seventies, successive phases of pop’s history have thrown up performers who use the fashion photographers, stylists and designers du jour to present The Package. It is these performers who most often capture the youthful mood of their time: that’s why you can see the vulgar glamour of the Seventies in the cut of Ferry’s sleazy lounge-lizard jib; the naive aspiration of the early Eighties in the box-suited and pixie-booted "style" of Spandau Ballet; and the onset of the late-Eighties mixing and matching of different cultures in Neneh Cherry’s Buffalo Stance. When we look back at 1997 we will see in Texas’ sound and vision a new mix, all to do with living the high life but keeping it real. Catwalk and street, the designer and the understated, Prada and Nike; the slick and the cred. Ten years’ gone Scottish guitar outfit and this season’s bright young labels (in both senses). The setting too, has helped. Fashion, again, is big cultural business. Clever pop stars (Goldie! Liam!) want to be seen by the runway and hanging out at fashion parties; young designers yearn to be visible on the stage or the podium (viz. Antonio Berardi’s autumn London show at Brixton Academy). Factor in a paucity of self-motivating, button-pressing, songwriting, photogenic women in British music, and you have a ready-made media phenomenon.

Sharleen Spiteri is holding court at a New York restaurant with a gang of Calvin Klein employees who’ve just accompanied her to the VH-1 Fashion Awards. The annual ceremony is a mutually convenient arrangement, a TV cluster-fuck where the music and fashion industries exchange credibility and cachet. Texas are contemplating just such an exchange themselves, having recently been given the OK by CK. (Tommy Hilfiger has also made overtures.) Spiteri is to have an audience with Klein himself; she’s already been bribed with a trunkful of CK merch, including the streaked black dress – "inspired by [the artist] Brice Marden" – she’s wearing tonight.

Someone suggests that Texas would be perfect for Fashionably Loud, an MTV special where models strut on stage as the hot bands of the moment rock out. "Forget it," quips Spiteri. "there’s only room for one star up where we play." If Spiteri were to join Kate Moss and Christy Turlington on the Calvin Klein payroll it would not, as she sees it, detract from Texas’ music. "Fashion and music have always been connected, and now more than ever," says the singer. "You couldn’t have one without the other. If there’s shit music at a runway show it just doesn’t work."

Meanwhile, there’s the songs. With "White On Blonde", Texas’ fourth album, the music takes care of itself. Radio-friendly unit-shifters abound, helped on their way by producers Mike hedges (manic Street Preachers) and Manchester’s Grand Central. The singles have been, in sequence, nu-soul fresh ("Say What You Want"), springy pop ("Halo"), Motown-sunny ("Black Eyed Boy") and winter warming ("Put Your Arms Around Me"). The B-side remixers have covered all bases in these dance-savvy late Nineties, ranging from of-the-moment talents like the Ballistic Brothers and Trailerman to old stand-bys like Andy Weatherall and 808 State. Texas, patently, lost their dancefloor cherry by cherry-picking the brightest and the best.

Of course, while the singles have all enjoyed heavy airplay and gone top ten, and while "White on Blonde" has sold two million copies (more than its two predecessors put together), the remixes haven’t necessarily helped those sales. As the go-faster stripes of credibility on the solid saloon car, though, they’ve still been essential to The Package; all part of the thoroughly modern mix.

So now, the Wu-Tang Clan. To many, though, this latest development could smack of opportunism. One group are renegade roughnecks who mythologise themselves in epic hip hop anthems; the others are fastidiously tasteful Scots with an eye for perfectly modern consensus-pop. The Wu-Tang Clan are certainly among the aesthetically correct names that Texas always drop in interviews, but can there possibly be a legitimate connection between the two? "A lot of the Wu-Tang backing tracks have the feel of soundtracks, and we’ve always gone for a cinematic sound," says Johnny McElhone, Spiteri’s genial songwriting partner and bass player. "And I’ve always liked Al Green, and they use a lot of Willie Mitchell, Al Green, that whole Hi Records sound, and make it modern. And Marvin Gaye: Method Man, in that duet with Mary J. Blige, used ‘You’re All I Need To Get By."

Having dominated the charts in Europe this year, Texas are now, logically, turning their attention to America: the country that has always inspired them, whether it’s the dusty, pseudo-roots sound of their first three albums, or the iconic-soul and post-soul sounds of Memphis and Staten Island that they give props to now; the place where success has always eluded them. Yet given the commercial momentum of "White on Blonde", their approach to the Wu-Tang Clan is surely not driven by desperation. They are, then, viewing the collaboration with a combination of fan-like wonder and disbelief.

"Method Man is just a wicked, wicked rapper," enthuses Spiteri. "I can’t wait to hear the combination of my vocals and his – I‘m really excited about it. I have a kind of sweet, virginal thing going on, and he’s got this dirty sex vibe. It could be the perfect marriage."

It’s a Saturday night in Manhattan, and ten storeys above Times Square, Sharleen Spiteri sits on the floor of a recording studio, tinkering with her latest high-tech gadget, a Philips computer about the size of a TV remote. Across the street, three ten-foot high electronic ticker-tapes provide testimony to Monday’s stockmarket crash. No matter how much Spiteri plays with her new toy, there’s still that nagging worry: what if the Wu-Tang Clan won’t show? They’re supposed to be on a tour bus returning from a gig in Washington, DC today, but these, after all, are the original masters of disaster. The crew whose normal modus operandi seems to be chaos. The band that recently quit a national tour because only five of the nine members could be relied upon to turn up.

The studio has been booked since six, so Spiteri and McElhone breathe signs of relief when RZA and his posse finally roll in around ten. Among the dozen-strong throng, they’re surprised to see Wu-Tang member Reakwon, a stout fellow with a Mercedes cap and a Fort Knox of gold dental work. Several cigars are hollowed out, their contents replaced with weed; bottles of Cristal champagne and Hennessy are passed around as the air grows thick with smoke.

Half an hour later, method Man makes his entrance. Stooped over, he looks deceptively short – maybe only six-four in his Hilfiger fleece hoodie. "I’m John-John," he tells Sharleen, referring to his alias, Johnny Blaze. Pulling out the big blunt from behind his ear, Method Man considers the job at hand. "She got a nice voice," drawls the laconic giant. "This band not exactly my type of listening material, but they going in the right direction, if you ask me, by fucking with us. I’m waiting for RZA to put down a beat, hear how the vocals sound melded with the track before I come with ideas. I’m one of those guys."

As his friends get on with the serious business of partying, RZA goes to work, feeding a succession of sample-laden discs into a sampler. He has a diffident, genius-at-work charisma about him as he sits with his back to the room, keyboard at side. With a flick of his prodigiously ringed hand he reaches out and conjures up a brutal bassline. The speakers pulse violently. RZA takes a sip of Hennessy. "Record this, right here!" he tells the bewildered-looking engineer.

RZA has decided to dispense with the original master tapes, shipped over from Britain. He wants a completely new version, recorded rough-and-ready without the standard safety net of a time-code. This convention-trashing, wildstyle approach to recording elicits some consternation from the studio’s engineer, a central-casting white guy who warns RZA: "You won’t be able to synch to this, you know." RZA waves him away and turns to Johnny McElhone. "This riff is in E," McElhone tells RZA. "Maybe we should try it in the original key, D." "What are you saying? I understand no keys," says RZA. "You want me to sing the whole song straight through?" asks Spiteri, trying to divine RZA’s intentions. He orders the lights turned down, and offers Sharleen some herbal inspiration. She politely declines and walks to the vocal booth. "What’s her name? Sheree?" asks RZA as Spiteri warms up. The engineer wants to know if he should maybe start recording. "Always record everything!" exclaims RZA. "Ready, get set, go! Play and record, play and record!" Spiteri rattles of a perfect new version of ‘Say What You Want’, grooving along by herself and passionately acting out every word, even the ones borrowed from Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing". Now it’s time for Method Man, who at this point is so herbally inspired that he can hardly open his eyes. He jumps up and lopes around the main room, running off his newly written rhymes and clutching a bottle of Crystal. Method walks up to the mic and opens his mouth, and that treacly baritone sets a typically morbid scene: "Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest…" The Texas duo just look at each other, shaking their heads in awe.

The hours and the rhymes pass. Around 6am, things are starting to get a little weird. As Method Man snoozes on the sofa, RZA bounces off the walls, dancing like a dervish. "These are the new rhythms," he yells. "These are the new dances from Africa. I learned them when I was there last week!" McElhone and Spiteri crack up. The engineer probably wishes he were in Africa right now; he further draws RZA’s ire by making a mistake as he runs off some rough cassettes. As everyone says goodbye, RZA decides that he’s taking the studio’s sampler – he already has two of the $3,500 items, but at this point it’s all about the wind-up. The engineer, though, having last seen the end of his tether a good few hours ago, has had enough. By the commencement of office hours that morning, the rest of the session will have been cancelled and the band and Clan banned from this studio.

After a few frantic phone calls later that morning, a studio is found that is prepared to let the Wu-Tang Clan through the door. With one precondition: only two of them are allowed in the studio. Now it’s midnight, and four-fifths of Texas watch a trio of RZA-hired session men go through their paces. They shift effortlessly through a handful of soul and funk styles, and the Scots mutter approval. These are the kind of players that are so good they can get away with wearing questionable knitwear.

Soon, another couple of Wus pop in. Then another couple. In the control room RZA orders up a bottle of Hennessy and talks about hearing "Say What You Want" for the first time. "I didn’t fully understand the sound of it," admits the soft-spoken maestro. "It was obviously a popular song, a radio song, and my sound is the total opposite. But I thought that the artist had something, so I thought: "Let’s take her and rock her to my beat."

"Sweet soul, that’s what her stuff sounded like to me. Smooth. It reminded me of the Seventies: in those days, they did songs that would fit anywhere. If you went to a club getting high it would fit; if you was cleaning up your house it would fit. That’s when you’ve got a real great song right there." Whether or not "Say What You Want" is a great song, it’s not quite coming together tonight. Despite the best offers of the studio management, a full complement of Wu posse members ended up in the house. As the night drags on the trio of musicians don’t get with the track, and by eight the following morning there is little in the way of usable material. But everyone stays upbeat. Texas will work on the track in Glasgow, and send it back to RZA to finish, along with a new song based around one of his samples. After vowing to stay in touch, everyone stumbles out into the Manhattan morning light together, the Scots with an American name, and the Clan without a tartan.

From a distance the collaboration will continue. But it’s only a different kind of distance. Culturally, creatively, the gap between the Wu-Tang Clan and the old twang clan is considerable. Yet so it goes, this cross-cultural exchange programme. Whether it’s The Stones copping blues movies, Bowie digging the Philadelphia Sound, Lisa Stansfield getting soulful with Barry White, Sting getting doleful with Puff Daddy… Whether it’s Todd Terry reviving Everything But The Girl or Armand Van Helden making Sneaker Pimps the unwitting jumpstarters of speed garage, naked opportunism and risk-taking innovation have always been confused. Now, with genres blurred and tricknology proceeding apace, anything is possible and everything is permitted. Perhaps it is this, the sheer unlikeliness, that makes the Texas-Wu experiment the most illuminating collaboration of the year. Whether it works or not.

"If you play her stuff in a club, everybody be dancing, but it’s a clear room and you can see everybody’s face," RZA reflects on the departing Sharleen Spiteri. "But if you play mine, the room is smoky." And perhaps it is here, among the clouds and the clarity, between the smoke and the mirrors, where a new sound and vision lies.

Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

[pear-pies]

Guitar Part - March 1997

okayish translation under the cut

A FURTHER OCEAN

 From now on, we won't have to talk anymore of their age, but of their maturity.

the occasion of the release of "Freak Show", Daniel Johns, guitarist and singer of .i. Silverchair, explains how fran- chir the course of the "second album". For this new opus, you collaborated with Nick Launay, Pixies and PIL producer. Why did you turn to him? Daniel Johns: We chose him because he has already worked with us in the past. We recorded with him pieces that date from a very long time ago for the Soundtrack of a movie; so we absolutely wanted to have it with us for this album. And it went very well since he was very open to all our suggestions managements. So we were very involved in this album. "Freak Show" is much more melodic than the previous album. Is it due to the paw of Nick? Daniel Johns: No, Nick has absolutely not all- ché to compos. We just introduced him our work and it seems he enjoyed it. Of our side, we were also very open ... For the orchestration, for example, which has nothing to see with the previous opus? ... Daniel Johns: Yes, you think about Oil & Chlorine, I suppose. Indeed, there, it is Nick who had the idea of ​​these arrangements. With violin and sitar sounds ... Daniel Johns: Yeah, actually the arrangements for strings on this piece correspond to a part of guitar that I had composed myself. And Nick has refined it all.

Then in Cemetery, a girl took care of the string arrangements in New York; she is very famous for his very dark string arrangements. Would you talk about pop song for Cemetery?

Daniel Johns: No, it's more than that. There is indeed a fairly harmonious darkness which emerges from this song. But I won't go so far call it a pop song. There is also a very fast punk song. It is Nick Launay? Daniel Johns: No, all the tracks on the album are ideas to us. When we played it to Nick, he did his job, saying, "Yeah, that was cool, but we could do that ”, etc. In fact, we wanted to absolutely do a punk song, because not badly of our friends are interested in this               kind. Besides, a lot of our               fans are very punks.               Regarding the choice of               single, Freak Show, it's your               idea?               Daniel Johns Yes, we made up our minds               on this track because he really               ment a powerful intro. I believe in

more than this title gives a good               idea about the rest of the album, namely               that it is rich enough, varied enough. Do you see yourself as a group eg independent? Daniel Johns: No, frankly, I don't think any group cannot claim to be an independent group before. Even if we do everything on our own, the record sound does a lot of things for us. Besides, we do not pretend to become a independent band, we're just a rock band. What was your first guitar? Daniel Johns: My first guitar was a guitar tare at 90 dollars (540 francs) ... A RockAxe. Really pourave! What were you playing at the time? Daniel Johns: We mainly used the titles of the al- bum "Paranoid", from Black Sabbath and those from Led Zeppelin. The Rolling Stones and Deep Purple too. How did you learn the guitar? Do you followed the conventional route, namely the Classes  ? Daniel Johns: I started like everyone world, listening to the records of the groups I spoke to you; then I took classical lessons during for about a year. After that, I returned to discs.

Why  ? It was the discipline side that got you shit? Daniel Johns: Yeah, that really pissed me off. It brought me a lot, however. But it was missing really rock'n'roll. So I quit. What kind of material did you use for recording recording of the last album? Daniel Johns: Oh, a mountain of material. I have played on over twenty different guitars, from one title to another. A lot of old stuff like paired with more recent stuff. Your main guitars? ... Daniel Johns: The Paul Reed Smith and the Gibson SG. And the amps? ... Daniel Johns: I have an old Fender Tremolux amp that I used a lot on this album. And also Mesa / Boogie and Soldano. The effects ?... Daniel Johns: Again, there was a lot different effects and sounds on the album. I will have hard to quote them all to you ... You rather use multi-effects or com- pairings of pedals? Daniel Johns: No, I use multiple pedals. Actually, I'm not a huge fan of multi-effects racks, simply because I find it a bit confusing. I prefer to connect several pedals installed in front of me.

You continue your studies. Has your relationship with your friends changed? Daniel Johns: No, absolutely not. We have exactly the same friends as six years ago. However, when you see the landscape, you inevitably have a different vision of life ... Daniel Johns: That's right. The tour that followed the first album gave us a glimpse of new perspectives on a number of topics: but that didn't change anything in terms of personality. We still have the same passions and the same friends. We are just a little more skeptical on certain questions.

Can you give me an inventory of the Australian scene? Daniel Johns: The Australian scene is doing very well. There are lots of demonstrations, lots of good different groups. It is constantly moving! There is everything ... Hardcore techno, rap, pop, funk, punk, heavy; there is also a lot of industrial rock, indie rock ... How easy is it for an Australian band to find places to rehearse?

Daniel Johns: In Australia most bands rehearse in garages. It's quite difficult to be heard, to get rooms, etc. It often depends on the age of the groups. Under eighteen, you should not hope too much to spend in clubs and places of this kind. What was your last concert as a spectator? Daniel Johns: Korn, they're really good. We saw them in New Jersey. Is there a kind of music that disturbs you?

Daniel Johns: Not really. There are indeed genres that I appreciate more than others; but there is good in everything. All genres must also be represented, because that is the only way to make music evolve. Let's say I like almost everything, as long as it sounds fresh. What do you do, when you're not in the music?

Daniel Johns: I zone in my room, I watch TV with my dog, simple things like that. Do you think that Silverchair is promised a sustainable future or are there other prospects more or less emerging? Daniel Johns: I don't know. If so, we have it for a year or for twenty. Who can know? What is certain is that I will quit as soon as I get tired of show business and all the bullshit that entails.                                                                                 III Interview by Démian

[ollieofthebeholder]

If I Knew From the Start

Also on AO3.

It's been a couple weeks since Armageddoff, and things are almost back to normal. Almost.

Certainly Crowley is spending more time at the bookstore than he used to, and Aziraphale's been over to the flat more often than he had before, i.e. ever. They're a bit more comfortable, a bit freer to communicate, now that they don't have the specter of their respective departments hanging over their heads. Some nights Crowley doesn't go back to his place at all. It's a new normal, but a normal that's barely to the side of the normal they had before.

Crowley is still pining, by the way. He thought for a brief moment, during what they thought was the end of the world...but it turns out that was probably just him projecting and it's back to what it was before. Except now it's a bit worse, because now he's got to face up to the fact that this really is one-sided, that it's not just fear of what Heaven will do that's keeping Aziraphale from saying that he feels the same way. Aziraphale really doesn't feel that way and it's not fair, but honestly, the way the last six thousand years or so have gone Crowley can't be surprised. The universe is stacked against him and it doesn't matter what cards he's holding, the universe has all trumps.

Still, he's a glutton for punishment. Or maybe he's just willing to take whatever he can get. He'd rather have Aziraphale in his life as nothing more than a friend than not have him at all, so here he is in the bookstore, sprawled across a chair and watching the rain lash at the windows.

Crowley hates storms. At least rainstorms. He's never said anything to Aziraphale, but they always remind him of the storm, the one that led to the Great Flood, and that's something that still haunts him. He shifts restlessly in his seat, fidgets with the stem of his wine glass, debates nudging Aziraphale with his toes to get some kind of reaction out of the angel, and finally gets up to go poke through something he shouldn't touch.

Aziraphale looks at him briefly over the tops of his glasses as he ambles over to a table in the back, well away from the windows, although that's absolutely not why he's heading that way. “What are you up to, dear?”

Crowley gestures vaguely at the old-fashioned Victrola and the box next to it, both pristine and virtually untouched. “I'd like to listen to something other than Queen for a change.”

“I thought you liked Queen.”

“I do, but—you wouldn't want to only read one book all the time, would you?” Crowley points to the book in Aziraphale's hand. “Imagine if any book you left in your office for more than two weeks turned into—into—into something by that Christie woman.”

Aziraphale purses his lips thoughtfully. “I do like her works,” he says slowly. “But a constant diet of them—” He shakes his head and gestures vaguely at the box. “Please yourself.”

Crowley smirks. Usually, getting permission to do something he's planning to do out of mischief takes some of the fun out of it, but somehow, he likes knowing that Aziraphale isn't possessive about his things, or at least doesn't mind him touching them. He begins flicking through the neatly-stacked cardboard sleeves.

It's more or less what Crowley would have expected. Bach, Handel, Mozart, a little Debussy, something with a red cover that shows a silhouette of what looks like two people dancing on the beach that Crowley skips over hurriedly because he can only take so much torture in a single day, three or four Christmas albums, and—wait, this is odd.

He stops at an album that looks very different than the others. It's black, mostly, with what looks like a checkerboard falling to pieces—no, he realizes, glancing at the album title, not a checkerboard. A chessboard. Same thing, technically, but it's got a different feel to it.

“What's this, then?” he asks, pulling it out.

There's a pause just long enough to be noticeable. Crowley looks over his shoulder to see Aziraphale staring at the album. He can't read the look on his face, and that's a bit disconcerting, because usually his angel wears his heart on his sleeve.

“A rock opera,” he says at last.

Crowley remembers now. He saw the posters hanging up in the West End, actually considered asking Aziraphale if he wanted to go see it (It's opera, which you like, and it's rock, which I like, which means there's a fifty-fifty chance of us both liking it. Or both hating it. Want to take bets? Loser buys dinner), but the week it opened Aziraphale was awfully quiet and distant and he let the idea go. He never ended up seeing it. Going to the movies by himself is fine, especially since Aziraphale's never quite got the hang of them, but the theater? He can't do that alone.

“Just bought it because it says opera, eh?” Crowley turns the album over to squint at the track list.

Aziraphale clears his throat. “No...well, I went to see it. On opening night, actually. I thought...well, I do like opera, and you're a fan of—of rock music, so I thought I would see if it might be something we could both enjoy.”

Crowley stills. The fact that they'd both had the same thought almost makes him hope...but no, he tells himself firmly, he won't go down that road again. Not today. His heart can't take it. “Reckon it wasn't, then, since you never mentioned it to me.”

“No,” Aziraphale says, almost as if to himself. Crowley's about to say something else when Aziraphale continues, “I'm sure you'd have loved it, dear, but I—I didn't think I could watch it with you and not...I wasn't ready for a second viewing, and then it wasn't playing anymore and...” He waves his hands vaguely, conveying everything and nothing in that maddening way of his.

Crowley hesitates for a moment, then decides, to hell with it. (Possibly, although hopefully not, literally.) Aziraphale obviously enjoyed seeing it enough to buy the soundtrack. And if he thinks Crowley will like it, he's probably not wrong; he hasn't been wrong often in their acquaintance. He slips the first disc from its sleeve and pops it into the Victrola.

“What's it about, anyway?” he asks idly as the overture begins and he settles onto a chair—one closer to the music (and further from the window) than the one he was in before.

Again, there's that short pause, and Crowley looks up to see that indescribable look on Aziraphale's face.

“Chess,” he says shortly.

Which...it is. It's in English (obviously) and since it's an opera, the whole story is in the singing, they don't have to piece together bits left out in dialogue like they would with the soundtrack to a musical, so Crowley can follow the plot well enough. A chess prodigy from America, facing off against a champion from the USSR during the Cold War. It's upbeat and catchy, at least at first.

He finds himself identifying more than he'd like with the Russian character. He seems to be trapped in a situation he'd rather not be part of, like he enjoys playing chess but wishes he didn't have to do it for his government. Crowley can empathize with that.

“How long was this running, anyway?” he asks idly as they hit the end of the first side and he gets up to flip it over.

“Three years, I believe,” Aziraphale replies. He doesn't look up from his book. Must be pretty good, for him to be that intent on it. “It had a run on Broadway as well, but I hear they changed it substantially for that.”

“This is the original, though.”

“Well, it's the concept album. The actual musical had the songs in a different order. But yes, it's the original cast.”

Crowley settles back down for the rest of the first half—he's pretty sure Act One is on this disc and Act Two is on the other, that's how these things usually go—but then the woman who's been trying to ride herd on the American begins her solo and the lyrics grab Crowley's attention.

Maybe I'm on nobody's side...

He sits up straighter and listens intently. She might be singing about herself, her situation, but Crowley hears himself arguing with Aziraphale, trying to convince him to run away, to avoid the entire Apocalypse situation. To acknowledge that they don't have to decide between Heaven and Hell, that both sides are horrifying and it's the two of them that matter. Or maybe not. Maybe it's more that the woman is trying to convince herself to choose.

Like Aziraphale might have done after their argument.

He forces himself to sound casual as the music shifts to another song, mostly instrumental. “Whose idea was that anyway?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looks up from his book. He schools his emotions as he does so, but not quickly enough, and Crowley catches the glimpse of pain. He wants to ask about it, but backs down, a coward as usual. At least when it comes to this.

“The USSR,” he says instead. “Communism. All that nonsense. Was it m—you think it was Hell who came up with the idea, or did humanity do that on its own?”

Aziraphale doesn't answer for a moment, but that look of pain comes back and stays this time, and Crowley wonders if he actually changed the subject all that well. “It—actually, I think Michael got a commendation for that. At first. I mean, it sounds wonderful, doesn't it? Everyone equal, everyone cared for, no one better than anyone else? It's exactly the sort of thing She wanted. Until, of course, they denounced all religion and...well.” He sighs heavily. “Humans have always got to take everything just that bit too far, haven't they.” It's not really a question.

“Yeah,” Crowley says softly. He wants to smooth out the frown wrinkling Aziraphale's forehead, to kiss away the pain in his eyes, to hold and comfort him. But he also knows Aziraphale will fuss at him about it, so he doesn't.

The next song is a duet between the Russian and the woman—Florence, if the album is to be believed—and Crowley finds himself falling into it. He doesn't say anything else, too wrapped up in the music as Florence fights with the American and quits. There's a funny interlude as people who apparently work at an embassy of some kind fuss over the Russian's paperwork, and then a surprisingly heartfelt song where the Russian insists he's not leaving his country behind because my land's only borders lie around my heart, and then the needle clicks as the disc ends.

Partly out of morbid curiosity and partly because he can't just leave it there, Crowley gets up and lifts the record off the Victrola, then pulls out the second disc. To his surprise, it shows more signs of wear than the other. It's still in nearly pristine condition, of course—Aziraphale's always been careful with his things, even more so than Crowley who mostly keeps things together by force of will—but still, there are a few scratches, the normal sort of thing you find on vinyl records that have been listened to more often than not.

“You're supposed to listen to the whole musical, angel, not just one act,” Crowley chides as he checks the sides and puts the correct one face up.

Aziraphale mumbles something, but he doesn't look up from his book. Crowley decides not to ask and instead simply starts the record.

The first song is...nothing like the sort of thing Aziraphale usually listens to. It's almost more hip-hop than rock, and Crowley's not sure he likes it, although he does note that the last line of the chorus alternates between I can feel an angel sliding up to me and I can feel the devil walking next to me. Interesting.

The next song is slower, with more piano, sounding almost like something Bette Midler might've sung. Crowley stills as the lyrics begin, and he almost stops breathing altogether when he hears something soft and barely audible underneath the music.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale is singing along to Florence's solo.

Heaven help my heart...

Desperately, Crowley tries to focus on the song. It sounds like Florence and the Russian are having an affair, and Florence is already fearing that he won't love her once she no longer has any mysteries for him to solve. It's almost like pre-heartbreak. And Aziraphale seems to identify with it.

He swallows hard when it ends, but doesn't dare look over at Aziraphale. He guesses the angel has listened to this album more than a few times, and has most of the songs memorized. Still, Crowley can't help but notice that he's not singing along to the argument Florence has with the Russian afterwards. Maybe it's just too hard for him to follow.

Then the next song starts up, and oh, hell, Crowley knows this one. He knows it. It made the Top Ten lists on the radio in the mid-eighties. The first time he heard it, he almost wrecked the Bentley, and he cried for almost twelve minutes straight after it finished and never admitted it to anyone. For about the next two weeks, it was the only song that ever played on any radio station he tried to listen to, thus reaffirming Crowley's long-held theory that the universe is out to get him specifically.

He sits up, holding his breath so he won't say anything stupid, as the words start. Then his brain catches up to the fact that it's not just the record playing and he turns his head sharply. Aziraphale isn't reading his book anymore. He's on his feet, head bowed as he fixes himself another cup of cocoa, and he's singing along softly to the music.

Crowley has to look away.

The music is horribly unfair. It's a duet, between two women, and now that he's been listening to the whole soundtrack he can identify the singer of the first verse as Florence, and he can also guess that she's talking about the Russian. Crowley finds himself whispering along with the second part when the song hits the first chorus and the actual duet starts.

And then the second verse starts, and Crowley can't help himself. He's always identified with that part, and he memorized it even though he didn't mean to, so he sings along, huddled in his chair with his knees pressed to his chest, eyes closed as he thinks back, or more like overthinks, on the last six thousand years. On Eden and Mesopotamia and Golgotha, on Rome and Turkey and Paris. On all those years of knowing, or at least suspecting, that he was the only one feeling this way. The line towards the end of the verse, where the woman says she'd have learned about the man before I fell, has always been darkly ironic to him.

Looking back, sure, he could have played it differently. But would he have?

He loses track of the rest of the world, wrapped up as he is in the song and the way it makes him feel. It is madness, utter madness, that he can't be mine...

He suddenly becomes aware of the music getting closer, and he looks up and makes eye contact with Aziraphale, who's right there all of a sudden, and both of them forget to sing the last line.

I know him so well...

Aziraphale's eyes are wide and soft with all kinds of emotion Crowley can't quite figure out, and they're extremely wet. He's staring at Crowley like he's seeing him for the first time, his hand hovering inches from Crowley's arm. Crowley desperately wants to close that gap, but he can't bring himself to do it, especially as he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice small and filled with pain, and Crowley responds to that pain because nothing in him says to do anything else. He untangles his arms from around his knees and reaches up to take Aziraphale's hand like he wanted to do before, and they clutch each other's hands in a way they haven't since the moment they realized they were about to face one of the few beings in the universe with the ability to destroy them both and everything they hold dear. The moment Crowley knew, with utter certainty, that Aziraphale is at the top of that list and let himself hope he was at the top of Aziraphale's.

“Angel,” he whispers, and he's not sure what he's trying to say with it, but he knows it doesn't come out right and he's not sure how to fix it.

Aziraphale licks his lips and shakes his head slowly, not really in denial of what Crowley's saying or trying to say, he thinks, just clearing it a little. “I...that's why I didn't ask you to go,” he says softly. “I couldn't...I didn't think I could sit next to you during that song and not...” He bites his lip and doesn't finish.

“You remember—” Crowley begins, and then he stops, because he's pretty sure Aziraphale doesn't remember. Why would he, after all? But Aziraphale is looking at him again, and Crowley decides to just go with it. He plunges ahead. “Do you remember—there was a while where I refused to listen to the radio, where I'd turn it off as soon as we got in the Bentley?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies, surprising Crowley. “You got very...grumpy when I asked about it. I thought I'd done something wrong, but...well, that wasn't long after I saw the play, and I'm afraid I wasn't entirely myself.”

Crowley tightens his grip on Aziraphale's hand before he can stop himself, then eases back so he doesn't hurt him. “No, you didn't. It's just—that song was on the radio constantly, every bloody time I turned the thing on, and I couldn't—I had a hard enough time dealing with it on my own and I definitely couldn't have handled it if you'd been sitting there.” He pauses. “Didn't realize it was from a musical, though.”

Aziraphale nods slowly. There's a vacant look in his eyes. “It's...I know in the context of the show, they're both singing about Anatoly. The Russian. Florence is his mistress and Svetlana is his wife. But I—the first time I heard it, all I could think about was—” He breaks off and looks away, and his hand slides out of Crowley's.

Crowley lets him go, although he doesn't want to. Something about this moment feels important, like he's just missing something. But he's following Aziraphale's lead, like he always has, letting him set the pace of things. Any time he tries to rush things, he ends up inevitably disappointed.

He ends up disappointed when he doesn't rush things, too, but at least then it's not his fault.

The music is still playing, and it sounds like there's an argument going on. Crowley forces himself to tune back into it, partly to distract himself from saying something stupid to Aziraphale and partly because now he needs to know how this thing ends, and it sounds like someone's trying to make a deal of some kind. In a voice that suddenly feels rusty, he asks, “What are they trying to do now?”

“They want Anatoly to throw the chess match,” Aziraphale says quietly. “He's defected—he's playing for the United States now—and they're trying to convince him to lose on purpose.”

“Why would he agree to that?” Crowley demands.

Aziraphale pauses. Crowley looks back at him and suddenly realizes that he hasn't gone anywhere—he's still crouching in front of Crowley's chair, one hand resting lightly on the arm, looking down at the floor.

“They're baiting him,” he says at last. “Florence's father was...he was captured by the Russians when she was a child. They tell him—and her, come to think of it—that if Anatoly loses the match and goes back to Russia, they'll set her father free. They think he might lose for her sake.”

Crowley swallows hard. “He will, of course.”

But Aziraphale shakes his head, firmly. “Never. Florence won't let him, for one thing. The game is more important to either of them than either of their...'sides'. And quite apart from that, he doesn't trust the Russians enough to accept a deal with them.” He looks up at Crowley with a sad smile. “After all, a deal with the devil only benefits the devil.”

Crowley knows that only too well. He wants to reach for Aziraphale's hand again, especially as the American starts singing about his terrible childhood. Instead, he swallows and tries for nonchalant. “So he stands up to the Russians, wins the match, gets the girl...”

“He wins, certainly,” Aziraphale agrees. His eyes slide away from Crowley's.

Suddenly, Crowley remembers a cartoon rabbit dramatically draped in the arms of a metal-clad hunter, raising his head to look briefly at the screen. What did you expect in an opera, a happy ending?

They sit silently through the next bit. It's obviously the final chess game, and there's a lot of arguing going on and some names being mentioned, and then the light, tinkling music that Crowley assumes is the actual game being played. After a few minutes, the Russian starts singing again, and Crowley finds himself empathizing with him once more. He glances at Aziraphale and finds that he really hopes he's wrong about how it ends, because if Aziraphale is Florence and he's the Russian...

And then the Russian and Florence begin singing a duet, and Crowley chokes back a sob, because the heartbreak is unmistakable even before they get to the chorus. But we go on pretending stories like ours have happy endings...

“Is he—he's going back to Russia, isn't he,” he says softly. It's not a question.

“Florence convinces him that it's where he belongs,” Aziraphale says, and his voice isn't any louder. “With his wife and children. But...”

He breaks off as the next line sings out: both the Russian and Florence claiming they're still devoted to this affair. It's the worst kind of heartbreak—both of them still loving each other, but forcing themselves to give one another up for the other's good. Aziraphale closes his eyes.

“S'ppose I can understand that,” Crowley says. He hates it, but he can understand it.

“You can,” Aziraphale says flatly.

Crowley nods slowly, his mind only half on the present and half on the past—the fairly recent past, but still the past. “If we hadn't known both sides were coming for us—if it'd just been Hell coming for me—I'd have gone back to them and let them do what they wanted, so long as they promised to let you alone. So I reckon I'd have given it up, if it meant you'd be happy.”

Aziraphale looks up sharply, and the combination of fear and anguish in his eyes would knock Crowley back a step or two if he was standing. As it is, he flinches back against the chair in surprise. There's a hitch in Aziraphale's voice as he asks, “And what makes you think I'd—my dear boy, they'd have destroyed you utterly. And you think I could have been happy if—?” He breaks off and looks away, but not before Crowley sees the glint of tears in his eyes.

“Angel,” Crowley begins, reaching for his hand, and then he suddenly realizes why it's not working and says, “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale looks back up, his face open and vulnerable, and he meets Crowley's hand halfway and holds it tightly. “Crowley,” he whispers.

In his name, Crowley hears everything he's wanted to hear for years, everything he thought he'd never hear, and he sees it in Aziraphale's eyes and feels it in his touch, and he grips his hand like a lifeline. He really doesn't think he's imagining it this time, but there's still the whisper of doubt in the back of his mind—the part of him that thinks he doesn't deserve it to be true.

“What if they'd given you a concession, too?” he asks. “Like Florence. If they told you they wouldn't hurt me, that I just wouldn't be allowed back—would you have let me go then? If it meant we were both safe?”

“No,” Aziraphale says, promptly and decidedly, startling Crowley. “Absolutely not. After what happened that day? I wouldn't have agreed to let you walk away from me if it was the only way to save the rest of the world.”

Crowley blinks at Aziraphale, because that's absolutely not something he'd ever expect to hear from the angel. “I thought you angels were supposed to be for the good of humanity or whatever.”

Aziraphale's lips tighten briefly. “First of all, most of the angels are no more for the good of humanity than most demons are. They're for the good of Heaven, and if that just so happens to be good for humans, fine, but if not, I doubt Michael or Gabriel would lose much sleep over that, so to speak. And second, while I am for the good of humanity...” His expression softens, and he tightens his grip on Crowley's hand. “I'm also very, unabashedly selfish. And up to that point, I had always convinced myself that I had time, that there was no need to upset the Arrangement, that everything was going along fine. And then, suddenly, it wasn't, and the end was coming, and I almost lost you. I told myself that if we survived that, I wasn't going to waste another minute.” He sighs. “And then I've rather wasted a lot of them, I'm afraid.”

The record clicks off and the shop goes silent, except for the rain, which Crowley's still trying to ignore. He tries to think what Aziraphale might consider wasting time. “Why, what do you think you ought to have been doing with them then?”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He gets up off of his knees and lets go of Crowley's hand, but in the split second between losing the contact and Crowley's panic starting, he leans over and braces himself against the armchair, one hand on each arm, and bends down so that his face is level with Crowley's. Very deliberately, he reaches up and pulls Crowley's dark glasses off of his face and sets them on the table next to him without taking his eyes away, so there's nothing between blue eyes and yellow. Crowley ought to be anxious about losing that filter, about being so open and vulnerable, but it's Aziraphale, the one being he's always wanted to let himself be vulnerable around but never thought he could.

“I ought to have told you the moment the world didn't end that I love you,” he says.

“Ngk,” Crowley replies, which isn't really an answer, but his brain has just short-circuited. He's been dreaming of a moment like this for centuries—millennia, really—but he's always expected it to be more dramatic, more like in the movies. And more to the point, he's always assumed he would be the one to say it. He's never really expected Aziraphale to say it back, except in his wildest fantasies.

“I don't know if you ever knew,” Aziraphale continues. “Certainly I went out of my way not to let you know, but...honestly, Crowley, you're so intelligent, I rather thought you'd figure it out sooner or later. Still, I ought to have told you sooner, and I hope you can forgive me for not.”

“You—wait!” Crowley flails a little, more mentally than physically, but he also doesn't break eye contact with Aziraphale. “I—I honestly had no idea, angel, I thought you—you don't mean that, do you?”

“I do,” Aziraphale says. “With everything I have in me. I love you, Anthony J. Crowley. I've loved you since I saw you on the ark, surrounded by children and trying to pretend you were just thwarting the Plan. I loved you at Golgotha and I loved you in Rome and I loved you in Paris. I loved you when we first came to London and I loved you during the Blitz and I loved you in the Dowlings' garden. I loved you two weeks ago and I love you now, Crowley, and I will love you long after the world stops turning and the final battle does come about.”

Crowley tries to come up with an excuse for all of this, another explanation besides reciprocation of the feelings he's always believed were one-sided. The thing is, he can't. For as smart as Aziraphale seems to think he is, he cannot for the life of him come up with a single reason why Aziraphale might not mean exactly what he's saying, except for the sheer, inescapable fact that nothing good ever happens to Crowley. He stares at Aziraphale, mouth hanging open slightly, at a total loss for words.

Aziraphale stares back. There are a few emotions on his face and Crowley can't quite read any of them, at first. After a moment, though, he recognizes one of them.

Fear.

Oh. Oh. No, that isn't happening. Not on Crowley's watch. Not now, not when he has this chance. He won't blow it like he's blown everything else.

“I love you, too,” he blurts out. “I think I've loved you from the beginning, really, from that moment at the Garden wall when you said you'd given up your sword, but I didn't really realize it until later, I thought—I don't know what I thought, but it's been there, all these centuries, and I—I thought it was just me or I'd've said something sooner and—”

“—And I'd have hurt you dreadfully by pretending I didn't love you, so perhaps it's best that you didn't, sweetheart,” Aziraphale breaks in gently.

Crowley gets hung up on the sweetheart for a minute, so it takes him a bit to catch up with what Aziraphale actually said before that word. “You were pretending that anyway,” he accuses.

“Yes, but so long as I didn't say it...” Aziraphale sighs. “It took me longer than I'd like to admit to realize you felt this way, too. Once I did, I rather hoped you knew how I felt but were sensible enough to keep things quiet.”

“So you wouldn't be seen to be consorting with a demon,” Crowley guesses. Heaven's always been so sanctimonious, and so bloody smug about it. Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, but he still bought into all that nonsense a lot longer than someone as intelligent as he is ought to have.

Aziraphale takes Crowley's hands in his and straightens, pulling him to his feet as he does so, and they stand toe-to-toe, facing one another, holding hands in a way Crowley's always wanted. He so rarely gets to touch Aziraphale and he's wanted it for centuries, and now here they are. He relaxes into it, even though he's dreading what's coming next. Aziraphale's eyes are so serious as they bore into Crowley's.

“Crowley,” he says quietly, “do you know what Heaven would have done if they had known?”

“They'd have kept us apart,” Crowley says. He's thought of very little else. “Called you back Upstairs. Like they tried that one time, back in the 1800s. You remember?”

Aziraphale shakes his head, and Crowley's going to describe the incident in more detail when Aziraphale says, “No, nothing like that. I was never worried about what they would do to me. Much, anyway. But you...Crowley, they'd have accused you of seducing me. Tempting me away from righteousness or some nonsense like that. That's not something they would have ever forgiven. So I kept it to myself, and I thought...well, the Arrangement worked well, neither of us got bothered very much, so they certainly wouldn't think we were friends and I could at least keep you in my life. And then I realized you felt the same, and I...I got frightened. Because I know well enough that if you ever said it out loud...”

“Heaven would know,” Crowley completes.

“And so would Hell.”

Crowley hisses. “I'd never have let them touch you.” The very idea of it makes his blood boil. Crowley would fight a lot worse than the forces of Hell for Aziraphale.

“It wasn't me they'd have come for,” Aziraphale says softly, and Crowley remembers again just how intelligent the angel really is—and how intuitive. “Heaven would have seen you doing what demons do—tempting and leading astray—and punished you for targeting an angel. Hell would have seen you getting distracted, going soft. They'd have gone after you, dearest, not me. And the very thought terrified me beyond reason. Hell would have destroyed you utterly, but Heaven would have made you suffer first.”

Crowley shudders, remembering the look on Michael's face, the punishment he'd had in store for Aziraphale. He was able to stand up to it because he was doing it for Aziraphale—and because he knew that it wouldn't hurt him really—but the look of contempt and sadistic glee still haunts him. That expression didn't belong to someone big on mercy.

“Either way, wouldn't have been good,” he manages. “For me, at any rate.”

“Or for me. I never would have forgiven myself if I'd been the reason something happened to you. And I wouldn't have been able to survive without you.” Aziraphale tightens his grip on Crowley's hands. “After six thousand years...I cannot lose you, Crowley.”

Crowley's chest constricts, and it's hard for him to catch his breath. He never expected to hear such a heartfelt declaration from his angel—can he actually say that now, his angel? Yes, he supposes he can. That's what all this is boiling down to, isn't it? Aziraphale loves him. He loves Aziraphale. That makes Aziraphale his. And—he'd swallow if he had the air to do it—it makes him Aziraphale's in return.

Aziraphale looks at him for a moment, his expression as serious as Crowley's ever seen it. Finally, he says, “I would very much like to kiss you now, dearest, if you'll let me.”

What Crowley wants to say is I would very much like to kiss you back. What he wants to say is I've been wanting that for at least five millennia. What he wants to say is What are you waiting for?

What he actually says is, “Wg.”

His eyes must convey what he wants to say, though, because Aziraphale lets go of his hands and cups his face gently and tilts it towards him, and Crowley closes his eyes and oh...

The touch of Aziraphale's lips against his is everything he's imagined and more. They're soft and warm and pliant, like the rest of him, and so gentle and tender. Crowley finds himself grabbing desperately at the lapels of Aziraphale's jacket, frantic for something to hold onto lest he find himself floating away into space. Aziraphale slides one hand to the back of Crowley's head, threading it through his hair, and shifts the angle.

Crowley whimpers slightly, and Aziraphale evidently takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss, which it absolutely would have been if Crowley had known before this moment that was possible. He gasps and tightens his grip on Aziraphale, then melts under the combination of heat and tenderness the angel is pouring into their kiss.

When at last Aziraphale breaks away—slowly, ever so slowly—Crowley finds himself gasping for air and reluctant to open his eyes. He's also vaguely aware that he's trembling all over.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale sounds worried. “Are you all right, dearest?”

“Fine,” Crowley manages, and it's only partly a lie. He's better than fine, actually, he feels fantastic, but at the same time he feels open and vulnerable and known for the first time since he became a demon, and it's a bit much to handle. He forces his eyes open and tries to smile, but he's still a little shaky. “Is it always like that?”

“Is it—have you never kissed anyone before?” Aziraphale asks, obviously startled.

Crowley wonders, for a brief moment, if he wants to be able to say yes, of course I have, or if he should want that. Instead, he decides to be honest. “No. Never wanted to, really.” He hesitates. “Well, except you.”

He sees Aziraphale's expression, interprets it as shock or disbelief or skepticism or some combination of all three, and he does what he often does in these situations: babble. “I know, I know, it's proper demonic activity and all that rot, seducing and luring with sexual wiles and whatnot, but that's not me, angel, that's never been how I work. And I never met anyone that seemed worth wanting to kiss. Never met anyone who was a patch on you, and that's the big thing, I think, is that I compared every person who ever even flirted with me to you—”

“Been that many, then?” Aziraphale interrupts, and Crowley misses the flash in his eyes.

“Yeah, a few,” he says distractedly. “Mostly before we came to England for good, but one or two since then. Parts of the city get a bit—”

He's cut off abruptly by Aziraphale tugging him sharply forward and kissing him again. It's not like the first time at all. Crowley can feel all the emotions in it: passion and a bit of lust and a hefty dose of what feels like possessiveness, and all he can really do is hold on and ride the tide of heat. In a distant part of his mind, he registers that he's being claimed, that Aziraphale is staking his territory and damn anyone who says otherwise. It occurs to him, with a rush of surprise, that Aziraphale might be jealous, even though he's got no reason to be.

He's panting for air when Aziraphale finally lets him up, and he's definitely shaking again. “Yeah, okay, that answers that question then,” he says, a bit dizzy.

Aziraphale, damn him, smirks, rubbing his thumb against Crowley's cheekbone. “I've admittedly had a bit of practice. I'll be happy to show you.”

Crowley definitely feels jealous himself at the thought of the angel kissing anyone else like that. It must show in his face, because Aziraphale's expression softens, and he plants a brief, gentle kiss on the corner of Crowley's mouth. “Only once or twice, while you were taking that long nap of yours. I...I think I was trying to banish the memory of the way I treated you.”

“'S not your fault,” Crowley protests. Now that he knows how Aziraphale's always felt about him—and that Aziraphale knew how he felt in return—a lot of things make more sense. “You know I've never looked at anyone but you, yeah?”

Aziraphale blushes. It's unfairly adorable. “Crowley,” he murmurs. “Will you stay?”

Crowley's heart flutters, and he clutches Aziraphale a little tighter. He's never wanted anything more. “As long as you like, angel.”

“Forever,” Aziraphale whispers.

At that single word, something inside of Crowley rights itself and snaps into place. For the first time in six thousand years, he's right where he belongs. He's home.

“Yes, Aziraphale,” he whispers back, wrapping his arms around the angel's neck and pressing his face into his shoulder. “And even longer.”

[flojocabron]

11/18/20: Here's the results of Wednesday's hunt! Went to the fleamarket first. I was a bit disappointed. As a guy I bought stuff from the week before said he was going to bring today a lot of gaming stuff. But it was all broken, dusty, incomplete junk. I did get some okay things for $8.00 though; akuji the heartless on ps1, component cables for psp and 360, 360 audio jack cables, a ps2 brick and generic nunchuck. At the next place for $5.00 it was that MJ wii game and two dvds. Then for $3.00 I got a Vintage calculator. Followed up by for $3.00 each, a monster brand hdmi cable and a USB dvd burner.

Next pic was all from one seller. I got there just in time as he pulled out a box of games. I snatched most all the good ones. I know this guy is a tough sell as he doesn't really like to negotiate. But he does get good stuff every week. I know I overpaid on a few games, but others were fair enough. I was a bit sad that one game was incomplete. And to make things worse, the guy forgot to add the extra soundtrack of it to my stack of finds. Damn. So I just ended up getting the ps2 case for Ar Tonelico 2. No disc and the music CD left behind. But the rest of the games were complete except for one. Four psp games, wreck it Ralph on bluray, four Ps3 games including a Chinese copy of Ni no Kuni! And six ps2 games with a memory card inside a case. Another ps2 game that wasn't quite complete was dragon quest VII. As it's missing its manual and Final fantasy 12 demo disc. Which is quite a common occurrence with this title. As the hype then for FFXII was real. The total for that whole haul was $115 bucks. A little past my comfort zone, but at $7.66 average each item, it's bearable.

Finally the last pic was another clearance dump/markdown from one of my local Walmart stores. They're really eager to get rid of old stock before black Friday hits. Most expensive stuff was Layton on switch and Bowser's inside story 3ds at $17.00 each. Sinking city and Greedfall were $12.50 each. World war Z and Dragon ball fighterZ and Ary were $10.00 each. Trover was $7.50. The rest of the ps4 and xbone games were less than $5.00 each! Some absurdly cheap prices! I still wanted more sub five dollar games, but I ran out of spending money! I'm tempted to go back, but it be a few days till I get a chance, that is if there's any games left. I'll make do with what's here. Now to decide what to keep and what to sell.....

[daleisgreat]

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

A movie podcast I listen to, The Big Picture, did a recent episode on the 10th anniversary of 2010’s Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (trailer). Coincidentally enough, that film remains in my backlog box all these years later, so I made sure to re-watch it before giving that podcast a listen. For those unfamiliar with this film, it is based on a series of six graphic novels of the same name by Bryan Lee O’Malley released between 2004 and 2010. The basic gist is that Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) falls for newcomer to town, Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). In order to win her over Pilgrim has to defeat Ramona’s “Seven Evil Ex’s.” Scott spends the rest of the film exploring Ramona’s mysterious past and dueling her ex’s while practicing with his band, Sex Bo-Bomb, as they progress through a battle of the bands tournament. Sex Bo-Bomb is one slick act! Stephen Stills (Mark Webber) is the doom-and-gloom frontman of the band. Kim Pine (Alison Pill) is a 2010 take on Daria and effectively nails her vintage expressionless glares and blunt quips. Young Neil (Johnny Simmons) is the affable, DS-loving, always ready alternate for Sex Bo-Bomb. Their #1 fan and also other girlfriend of Scott Pilgrim is one Knives Chau (Ellen Wong). Knive’s arc is probably my favorite of this ensemble cast as her journey from adoring fan and girlfriend to her final destination is a fascinating quest to see develop and a faithful translation from the books.

I first heard of the books on the videogame podcast, Team Fremont Live where they reviewed the first book and their breakdown of it caught my attention when they dissected all the nonstop videogame references that are peppered regularly throughout it. The film captures that imagery to a T where it feels like Pilgrim is living in a real life videogame. In this world suspending disbelief is required because it is jam-packed with extraordinarily choreographed battle scenes, makes anyone capable of instantly pulling off bombastic martial arts moves in the blink of an eye without any training whatsoever, and quirky little animations of objects like Mario Bros.-esque coins and pixelated items inserted throughout that any videogame fan will pick up on. The fighting game fan in me popped a little each time a thunderous “KO” blared out each time Pilgrim emerged victorious after an evil ex duel. As a lifelong fan of videogames, it was fun picking up on all the references and Easter eggs in the background throughout. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World hit at an interesting time where Michael Cera was the only established star at this point in 2010 and was riding the last wave of critical success coming off of Arrested Development, Superbad and Juno. Brandon Routh is noteworthy appearing here as one of the evil ex’s after flaming out in his single appearance in a Superman film. However, a few other stars are here right before they exploded into bigger success like the aforementioned Mary Elizabeth Winstead. Chris Evan is here as another evil-ex shortly after his two Fantastic Four films, but a year before donning the Captain America costume for the first time. Anna Kendrick is here in a small role as Scott’s sister Stacey while in the midst of her initial Twighlight run. Finally, Brie Larson is here as Scott’s evil-ex, Envy Adams and she is the lead for her band, Clash at Demonhead in my personal favorite musical performance of the film as they belt out “Black Sheep.”

It is worth repeating that I highly recommend suspending all disbelief going into Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and simply roll with it. The battle scenes are a hoot to take in and feature a ton of CG that holds up well ten years later. It is also worth pointing out this film is part absurd videogame battles, part early 20s love triangle drama and to a lesser extent part musical with several performances from Sex Bo-Bomb and other bands throughout the film. Director Edgar Wright tracked down a few bands to play the tracks for some of the featured bands in the film such as Beck performing the handful of Sex Bo-Bomb songs in addition to a slew of other tracks from artists like The Rolling Stones and Blood Red Shoes that perfectly supplement the outlandish tone of the film. It is not too often on here I recommend hunting down the soundtracks for a film, but the soundtrack for Scott Pilgrim vs. the World I wholeheartedly recommend! I think the Scott Pilgrim vs. the World BluRay may have set the record for amount of extra features for a single film in the near seven years of movies I have covered on this blog. A rough tally on my notes gives an approximate sum of nearly five hours of bonuses, and then four feature length commentary tracks on top of that! I will not detail every bonus, but will give some highlights of the ones that stood out for me. There is just under a half hour of deleted scenes with or without commentary from Edgar Wright. Most of them are extended scenes from the first act to trim out excess background info, but an alternate ending is what stood out the most that Wright explained he changed because it did not go over that well in test screenings. I can always appreciate a good blooper reel, and an excellent 10 minute reel is compiled here that I would rate right up with the stellar ones in the Marvel films.

There are three features grouped together in the ‘Docs’ section of the extras tallying up to a little over an hour. If you only had time for one of the five hours of bonuses I would go there because that has the core making of documentary which breaks down collaborating with Bryan Lee ‘O Malley, nailing the casting, detailing the extensive stunt training and interviews several of the bands about being featured in the soundtrack. Speaking of the soundtrack, there are four music videos included. Definitely check out the four minute animated short, Scott Pilgrim vs. Animation that is essentially a prequel to the film that dives into Scott and Kim’s former relationship. There are 12 ‘Video Blogs’ totaling 45 minutes that are raw on set interviews with the cast and crew between takes that sees the crew up to all kinds of mischief to kill downtime. This BluRay easily has the largest photo gallery of any home video I have covered with several hundred photos. One gallery is labeled ‘storyboards’ but each storyboard panel is nearly identical to the excellent quality of the art in Bryan Lee O’Malley books so that is essentially a free comic book adaptation of the movie buried in the extras! I experienced all four of the commentary tracks in one re-watch of Scott Pilgrim vs. the World via jumping around to a different commentary about every five minutes. Edgar Wright is on two of them, one with Bryan Lee ‘O Malley and writer Michael Bocall and the other with photography director Bill Pope. The other two commentaries are split among nine cast members, with Michael Cera and the rest of the leading cast on one and the ancillary cast members on the other cast commentary track. Wright has tons of nonstop insight and production facts on his tracks, and the cast tracks are have a lot of fun anecdotes such as Cera failing at trying to get additional people on the commentary via phone call. On top of the commentary I had on during my re-watch was also a factoid subtitle track to really take in the extra features. Despite going on now for three paragraphs about the bonus features, I think I only touched on about half of what is available, and it is truly astonishing to see how much they crammed into one BluRay disc.

A part of me thought going into this that Scott Pilgrim vs. the World would not hold up after 10 years. I would chalk that up to thinking I may have got easily won over with all the hype from being vastly into the books back then and being too caught up into the build to the film’s initial release. I can put those reservations to rest thankfully as I immensely enjoyed this ode to videogame fandom as much as I first did in 2010. Throw in a plethora of extra features to last all year to make Scott Pilgrim vs. the World one of my highest recommendations yet! If you want even more commentary from me about this film than below I have embedded the podcast I originally recorded 10 years ago shortly after seeing the film on its opening weekend. I bring on a couple other special guest hosts that are also ardent Scott Pilgrim fans and we review the film, soundtrack, the books and the videogame. Enjoy!

I brought on a couple other Scott Pilgrim experts on as guest hosts on my podcast to review the film, books, videogame and soundtrack shortly after they all released 10 years ago. Check it out in the embed above for more Scott Pilgrim goodness or click or press here to queue it up for later. Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed I & II Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Grunt: The Wrestling Movie Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hell Comes to Frogtown Hercules: Reborn Hitman I Like to Hurt People Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Last Action Hero Major League Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat Mortal Kombat Legends: Scorpions Revenge National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Not for Resale Pulp Fiction The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VIII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild The Wizard Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past

[blackkudos]

Bill Withers

William Harrison Withers Jr. (July 4, 1938 – March 30, 2020) was an American singer-songwriter and musician who performed and recorded from 1970 until 1985. He recorded several major hits, including "Grandma's Hands" (1971), "Ain't No Sunshine" (1971), "Use Me" (1972), "Lean on Me" (1972), "Lovely Day" (1977), and "Just the Two of Us" (1980). Withers won three Grammy Awards and was nominated for four more. His life was the subject of the 2009 documentary film Still Bill. He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2015.

Early life

Withers, the youngest of six children, was born in the small coal-mining town of Slab Fork, West Virginia on July 4, 1938. He was born with a stutter and has said he had a hard time fitting in. Raised in nearby Beckley, he was 13 years old when his father died. Withers enlisted in the United States Navy at the age of 17, and served for nine years, during which time he overcame his stutter and became interested in singing and writing songs.

He left the Navy in 1965 and he relocated to Los Angeles in 1967 to start a musical career. Withers worked as an assembler for several different companies, including Douglas Aircraft Corporation, while recording demo tapes with his own money, shopping them around and performing in clubs at night. When he debuted with the song "Ain't No Sunshine", he refused to resign from his job because he believed the music business was a fickle industry.

Career

Sussex records

During early 1970, Withers's demonstration tape was auditioned favorably by Clarence Avant, owner of Sussex Records. Avant signed Withers to a record deal and assigned former Stax Records stalwart Booker T. Jones to produce Withers' first album. Four three-hour recording sessions were planned for the album, but funding caused the album to be recorded in three sessions with a six-month break between the second and final sessions. Just as I Am was released in 1971 with the tracks, "Ain't No Sunshine" and "Grandma's Hands" as singles. The album features Stephen Stills playing lead guitar. On the cover of the album, Withers is pictured at his job at Weber Aircraft in Burbank, California, holding his lunch box.

The album was a success, and Withers began touring with a band assembled from members of the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band. Withers won a Grammy Award for Best R&B Song for "Ain't No Sunshine" at the 14th Annual Grammy Awards in 1972. The track had already sold over one million copies and was awarded a gold disc by the RIAA in September 1971.

During a hiatus from touring, Withers recorded his second album, Still Bill. The single, "Lean on Me" went to number one the week of July 8, 1972. It was Withers’s second gold single with confirmed sales in excess of three million. His follow-up, "Use Me" released in August 1972, became his third million seller, with the R.I.A.A. gold disc award taking place on October 12, 1972. His performance at Carnegie Hall on October 6, 1972, was recorded, and released as the live album Bill Withers, Live at Carnegie Hall on November 30, 1972. In 1974, Withers recorded the album +'Justments. Due to a legal dispute with the Sussex company, Withers was unable to record for some time thereafter.

During this time, he wrote and produced two songs on the Gladys Knight & the Pips record I Feel a Song, and in October 1974 performed in concert together with James Brown, Etta James, and B.B. King in Zaire four weeks prior to the historic Rumble in the Jungle fight between Foreman and Ali. Footage of his performance was included in the 1996 documentary film When We Were Kings, and he is heard on the accompanying soundtrack. Other footage of his performance is included in the 2008 documentary film Soul Power, which is based on archival footage of the 1974 Zaire concert.

Columbia Records

After Sussex Records folded, Withers signed with Columbia Records in 1975. His first album release with the label, Making Music, included the single "She's Lonely", which was featured in the film Looking for Mr. Goodbar along with "She Wants to (Get on Down)". During the next three years he released an album each year with Naked & Warm (1976), Menagerie (1977; containing the successful "Lovely Day"), and 'Bout Love (1978).

Due to problems with Columbia and being unable to get songs approved for his album, he concentrated on joint projects from 1977 to 1985, including "Just the Two of Us", with jazz saxophonist Grover Washington Jr., which was released during June 1980. It won a Grammy on February 24, 1982. Withers next did "Soul Shadows" with the Crusaders, and "In the Name of Love" with Ralph MacDonald, the latter being nominated for a Grammy for vocal performance.

In 1982, Withers was a featured vocalist on the album, "Dreams in Stone" by French singer Michel Berger. This record included one composition co-written and sung by Withers, an upbeat disco song about New York City entitled "Apple Pie." The album was not released in North America, although it contains several songs about America.

In 1985 came Watching You Watching Me, which featured the Top 40-rated R&B single "Oh Yeah", and ended Withers’s business association with Columbia Records. Withers stated in interviews that a lot of the songs approved for the album, in particular, two of the first three singles released, were the same songs which were rejected in 1982, hence contributing significantly to the eight-year hiatus between albums. Withers also stated it was frustrating seeing his record label release an album for Mr. T, an actor, when they were preventing him, an actual singer, from releasing his own. He toured with Jennifer Holliday in 1985 to promote what would be his final studio album.

His disdain for Columbia's A&R executives or "blaxperts", as he termed them, trying to exert control over how he should sound if he wanted to sell more albums, played a part in his decision to not record or re-sign to a record label after 1985, effectively ending his performing career, even though remixes of his previously recorded music were released well after his 'retirement'. Finding musical success later in life than most, at 32, he has said he was socialized as a 'regular guy' who had a life before the music, so he did not feel an inherent need to keep recording once he fell out of love with the industry. He has also stated that he does not miss touring and performing live and does not regret leaving music behind. He seemingly no longer suffers from the speech impediment of stuttering that affected him during his recording career.

Post-Columbia career

In 1988, a new version of "Lovely Day" from the 1977 Menagerie album, entitled "Lovely Day (Sunshine Mix)" and remixed by Ben Liebrand, reached the Top 10 in the United Kingdom, leading to Withers' performance on the long-running Top of the Pops that year. The original release had reached #7 in the UK in early 1978, and the re-release climbed higher to #4.

At the 30th Annual Grammy Awards in 1988, Withers won the Grammy for Best Rhythm and Blues Song as songwriter for the re-recording of "Lean on Me" by Club Nouveau. This was Withers' third Grammy and ninth nomination.

Withers contributed two songs to Jimmy Buffett's 2004 release License to Chill. Following the reissues of Still Bill on January 28, 2003, and Just As I Am on March 8, 2005, there was speculation of previously unreleased material being issued as a new album. In 2006, Sony gave back to Withers his previously unreleased tapes.

In 2007, "Lean on Me" was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.

At the 56th Annual Grammy Awards in 2014, Bill Withers: The Complete Sussex & Columbia Albums Collection, a nine-disc set featuring Withers's eight studio albums, as well as his live album Live at Carnegie Hall, received the Grammy Award for Best Historical Album (sharing the award with The Rolling Stones' "Charlie Is My Darling - Ireland 1965.") The award was presented to Leo Sacks, who produced the collection, and the mastering engineers Mark Wilder, Joseph M. Palmaccio and Tom Ruff.

In 2005, Withers was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. In April 2015, Withers was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame by Stevie Wonder. He described the honor as "an award of attrition" and said: "What few songs I wrote during my brief career, there ain't a genre that somebody didn't record them in. I'm not a virtuoso, but I was able to write songs that people could identify with. I don't think I've done bad for a guy from Slab Fork, West Virginia." Later that year, a tribute concert in his honor was held at Carnegie Hall, featuring Aloe Blacc, Ed Sheeran, Dr. John, Michael McDonald and Anthony Hamilton recreating his 1973 concert album, Live at Carnegie Hall, along with other Withers material. Withers was in attendance and spoke briefly onstage.

In February 2017, he made an appearance on MSNBC on Joy Reid's show to talk about the refugee crisis, as well as the political climate in America.

Personal life

Withers married actress Denise Nicholas in 1973, during her stint on the sitcom Room 222. The couple made headlines following reports of domestic violence. They divorced in 1974.

In 1976, Withers married Marcia Johnson, and they had two children, Todd and Kori. Marcia eventually assumed the direct management of his Beverly Hills–based publishing companies, in which his children also became involved as they became adults.

Withers died in Los Angeles on March 30, 2020, from heart complications.

Discography

Studio albumsLive albumsCompilation albumsSinglesOther appearances

A The original version of "Ain't No Sunshine" did not chart on the UK Singles Chart until 2009, 38 years after its release.

Accolades

Grammy Awards

The Grammy Awards are bestowed by the The Recording Academy. Withers has won three Grammys from nine nominations.

Honors

1972: NAACP Image Awards: Male Singer of the Year

2002: Honorary doctorate from Mountain State University

2005: Songwriters Hall of Fame inductee

2006: ASCAP Rhythm & Soul Heritage award

2007: Inducted into West Virginia Music Hall of Fame

2015: Inducted into Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

2017: Honorary degree from West Virginia University.

[dustedmagazine]

Derek Taylor 2019: Keep Going

Two words coupled by Harriet Tubman and coined into a credo essential for negotiating the human condition. It's also the title of and invocation to a sublime duo album by Joe McPhee and Hamid Drake released this year as rejoinder to their first recorded ten-years earlier. Taking stock of that decade is something we at Dusted did recently and as the New Year arrives it’s an exercise that feels all the more important, particularly in the extra-musical sense of recognizing the folly of where we’ve been as a world and where we really want to go moving forward. As always, music is both balm and adhesive in remembering that no matter how divisive and discouraging everything seems, we’re still all in it together.

Joe McPhee

Seventy-nine-years young and still a human dynamo of energy, empathy, and optimism, the Powerhouse from Poughkeepsie’s been a constant of these retrospective essays for as long as I’ve been writing them. I haven’t done a hard count, but his horns grace at least a dozen releases this year. Duos with Mats Gustaffson (Brace for Impact), Fred Lonberg-Holm (No Time Left for Sadness), and Paal Nilssen-Love (Song for the Big Chief) join the dyad denoted above in delivering dialogues as personal as they are potent. Tree Dancing assembles the super-group of Lol Coxhill, Evan Parker, Chris Corsano, and McPhee collectively and in component combinations with bassist John Edwards on board for a culminating cut, while Six Situations realizes a dream of bassist Damon Smith in teaming him with McPhee’s tenor and now dearly departed drummer Alvin Fielder. The Fire Each Time bundles six concerts of McPhee in the company of the DKV Trio from a 2017 tour that took James Baldwin and John Coltrane as lodestones. Saving perhaps the best for last, Invitation to a Dream comingles McPhee’s pocket trumpet and soprano with pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn and old confrere Ken Vandermark in a tripart colloquy delivered in crystal clear sound.

 Peter Brötzmann

A year younger and another fixture in my yearly firmament, Herr Brötz has always had ears attuned to the early pioneers of improvised music through the unabashed embrace of Sidney Bechet, Coleman Hawkins, and others. Those unerring affections erode some of the surprise from I Surrender Dear, an album of tenor-rendered jazz standards and originals, but also enhance the overall experience in how literally he makes good on the debt. It’s arguably his best solo album since 14 Love Poems and bolstered further by the focus on a single central member of his reed arsenal. Also of note, Fifty Years After commemorating the golden anniversary of Machine Gun with longtime confreres German pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach and Dutch drummer Han Bennink,

 Rob Franken Electrification — Functional Stereo Music (678 Records)

Four-hours of Fender Rhodes heaven recorded in elite Dutch studios between 1972 and 1981 that puzzlingly never found commercial circulation until last year as a six-LP series. The 2019 edition transfers the archive to three-CDs and only rarely flags as Franken’s fonky keys front guitar, bass, drums and a revolving cast of fellow aces fielding other instruments. Economy is the informal edict as morsel-sized originals alternate with covers of tunes by Herbie Hancock, Stevie Wonder, Atilla Zoller, and even Steely Dan. The utilitarian intimations of the title aren’t just lip service. Franken originally envisioned the music as an homage to the muzak strains common to “shopping malls, hotels, elevators, department stores, and airports.” Much of it sounds far better aligned with the kinetic cop and detective pot-boilers that populated television and cinema of the decade.

 Brian Groder Trio – Luminous Arcs (Latham)

Keeping a working improvising ensemble together is no minor accomplishment, yet Groder’s been able to maintain one in his name with bassist Michael Bisio and drummer Jay Rosen. This disc joins two previous albums in demonstrating both the depth of the musicians’ bonds and their shared zeal in exploring and capitalizing on them. Any novelty surrounding the particulars of a trumpet-led piano-less trio is fortunately long since lapsed. The precedence allows them to marshal their attention to shaping music that is simultaneously the sum and multiplication of the substantial parts.

 V/A — Pakistan: Folk and Pop Instrumentals 1966-1976 (Sublime Frequencies)

Seattle-based Sublime Frequencies weathered a stretch where the “weirdness” quotient of their audio excavations appeared to outweigh accompanying scholarship and attention to edifying annotations. This scintillating compilation suffers no such skew in the balance of carefully sourced sounds and accompanying copy to shore up the context. Sixties rock, specifically surf, is a through-line in the preponderance of reverb-riddled guitars and buzzing Farfisa organ on many of the tracks, but indigenous melodies and rhythms are also frequent fodder for enthusiastic appropriation. Best of all, there’s a pervasive sense of fun to the sequencing that makes it a handy soundtrack for soirees of all sorts.

 Jaimie Branch — Fly or Die II (International Anthem)

If her ascendant flight pattern is any indication, death, artistic or otherwise, isn’t even an option for Jaimie Branch. This follow-up to her meteoric (and long overdue) 2017 debut builds organically on previous cosmetic aspects (core quartet, cover art, etc.) while making progressive-pronged politics even more prominent. “Prayer for Amerikkka” doesn’t mince words in proffering a platform of resistance and the musical propellant to keep it confidently airborne. A robust touring schedule and well-earned media attention are only furthering Branch’s designs at getting the sounds into as many ears as possible.

 Sam Rivers

The Sam Rivers Archive Series is the brainchild of producers Danas Mikailionis and Ed Hazell. A projected eight-volume celebration of the music of the eponymous composer/improviser/educator/doyen curated from a vast trove left in the care of Rivers’ daughter after his passing in 2011, it’s also probably the jazz news that most set my heart aflutter with anticipation this year. The initial pair of entries, Emanation and Zenith, certainly live up to the promise in presenting clean fidelity concerts by a high profile trio with bassist Cecil McBee and drummer Norman Conners (pre-disco) and a workshop quintet involving tubaist Joe Daley, bassist Dave Holland and the eight-limbed drums juggernaut of Barry Altschul and Charlie Persip. Both discs are essential.

 Jimi Hendrix — Songs for Groovy Children (Experience Hendrix)

Not a long-lost Hendrix kids’ album despite what the jejune title might suggest. Instead, it’s four nearly complete concerts from the guitar deity’s iconic New Year’s Band of Gypsies engagement at the Fillmore East in 1969/70. Producer Eddie Kramer largely quashes his invasive impulses in mastering the tapes, leaving the only real minuses to manifest in the occasionally extra-loose interplay and Jimi’s decision to indulge Buddy Miles’ mic access to a regrettably arguable fault. Math done, there’s nothing stopping an instant trigger-pull for true believers, even folks who have it all already in bootleg form.

 Ezz-thetics

Fingers remain collectively-crossed that Werner X. Uehlingher will one day decide to write an autobiography of his countless adventures as a stalwart producer of improvised music. Ezz-thetics is just the latest chapter in the future tome’s story arc that started with the founding of the Hat Hut label back in 1974. The new imprint, named after a classic George Russell composition, balances reissue and archival releases with new ones, packing them with branding that memorializes the old while consecrating the new. Discs by Jimmy Giuffre (Graz Live 1961), John Coltrane (Impressions Graz 1962), and Albert Ayler (Quartets 1964 Spirits to Ghosts Revisted) are the marquee name highlights, but the entirety of the imprint’s releases to-date have had their merits.

 Stephen Riley

The tenorist is no longer my favorite under-forty plier on the instrument simply because he’s aged out of the bracket. Oleo builds on last year’s transparently veiled Sonny Rollins’ tribute Hold ‘Em Joe by adding the sturdy trumpet of Joe Magnarelli to the equation and turning the referential calendar forward to the saxophone colossus’ collaborations with Don Cherry. It’s a beaut from a brisk beginning sortie on “Ornithology” to lengthy slalom on the Ducal “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.” Tangerine Rhapsody is technically under Dutch drummer Snorre Kirk’s leadership, but it wouldn’t be nearly the album it is absent Riley’s supple and sagacious involvement.

 Milt Buckner & Jo Jones — Buck & Jo (Fremeaux & Associates)

Curious about what makes an individual improviser tick? Duo contexts are arguably the best aperture to gain edification and insight. Even better than solo or ensemble configurations, the dyad distills things down to solo and dialogue. This four-disc, four-hour-plus collection is a remarkable case in point and surprise that it even exists at all given its vintage let alone its scope. Thank French impresarios the Panassie Brothers who invited ur swing organist and ur swing drummer to indulge themselves with only the gentlest of producer-dictated strictures. The results are fascinating, whimsical, bombastic, and above all, endlessly entertaining. An epitome of intimately undertaken jazz tête-à-tête before it was anything resembling a regular thing.

 Del Shannon — Two Silhouettes (Bear Family)

Preconceptions can prove obdurate edifices. Prior to my forty-eighth birthday this year I dismissed Del Shannon as one of the disposable princes of bubble gum pop on the rare occasions he entered my consciousness at all. “Runaway” remains an influential song, particularly in its use of musitron organ, but it’s hardly the makings of unassailable genius. Bear Family’s exhaustive single-disc survey levies a much more convincing appeal for the crooner’s embodiment of a nexus of odd congruencies as moonlighting jazzmen conspire with duck-tailed rockers and barbershop harmonists. Dennis Coffey and Hargus “Pig” Robbins show up as sidemen and there’s even an S&M-tinged canticle called “Torture” replete with whip cracks and a Greek chorus of moans, leaving one to wonder what Ward and June Cleaver made of it all?

 Sun Ra

Cosmic Myth and Modern Harmonic continue to advance the mantle apparently abandoned by the Art Yard label in keeping Ra-related albums in circulation. The erstwhile Mr. Mystery employed numerous vocalists throughout his career, even contributing his own less-than-stellar (pun intended) pipes to the cause on occasion. None among that eclectic number could match June Tyson, who brought joie de vivre to the lyrical manifestations of Ra’s cosmic-afro-centrism that was at once wholly believable and infectious. Saturnian Queen of the Sun Ra Arkestra does right by her memory by culling an hour’s worth of highlights from a vast and varied recorded archive. Monorails & Satellites (now in three volumes!) and newly minted editions of Pathways to Unknown Worlds and When Angels Speak of Love were also welcome arrivals.

 Derek Bailey/Han Bennink/Evan Parker — Topographie Parisienne: Dunois, April 3rd, 1981 (Fou)

The Topography of the Lungs trio in concert and at length with decent sound eleven-years after their initial seismic contributions to free improv. Bailey and Parker weren’t yet at irreconcilable loggerheads but there’s still a galvanizing and palpable tension that suffuses their interplay. Bennink can’t help being anything but Bennink, bashing away one moment and pattering at barely a whisper the next while keeping ears cocked with split-second focus to the contributions his compatriots. Duos combine with solos from Parker sweeten and season an already delicious aural pot.

 Fred Anderson Quartet — Live at the Velvet Lounge Volume V (FPE)

Leftfield guest Toshinori Kondo and drummer Hamid Drake were one half of Peter Brötzmann’s Die Like a Dog outfit when this 1994 concert was committed to tape. That take-no-prisoners context allowed his plangent, frenetic, effects-saturated brass free and ferocious rein. Anderson’s outlets didn’t usually involve electronics and its instructive hearing the adaptations to the roiling controlled-chaos within his customary cerulean-hued improvisations. Drake and bassist Tastu Aoki maintain a stout terrestrial tether enlivened by a revolving array of undulating grooves. Extra points earned for incorporating the original Velvet Lounge wallpaper scheme into the production design. Bottom line: I miss Fred.

 V/A — Hillbillies in Hell: Tribulations: Country Music’s Tormented Testament (1952-1974) (The Omni Recording Corporation)

Amusing alliterative appellation aside, this series has managed the no-meager-feat of avoiding diminishing returns while mining the same expanse of time over successive volumes. The fifth entry tilts the lens even more sharply toward the sort of fervent tent show revival circuit favored by fictional religious reprobates like Rev. Harry Powell and Elmer Gantry and comes up with a bonanza off-kilter cuts from names both famous (Hank Williams, Louvin Bros., Tex Ritter) and arcane (The Burton Family, Durwood Daily, The Sunshine Boys Quartet). Ernest Tubb’s “Saturday Satan, Sunday Saint” persuasively sums up the ecumenical ethos, but every song exudes its share of sinful charms.

  V/A — Sacred Sounds: Dave Hamilton’s Raw Detroit Gospel (Ace)

As a both prolific and preternaturally talented producer, Dave Hamilton’s usual purview was left-of-center soul and funk. Urban (but not urbane) gospel offered a less-publicized commercial side outlet and he brought comparable emphasis on authenticity and creativity to the various acts he championed. This compilation comprises all-killer-no-filler assemblage that lives up to the unvarnished signifier in the title. It’s nearly eighty-minutes of jangly guitars, tambourines, and impassioned sanctifying and proselytizing of all sorts, as suited for Sunday morning as Friday or Saturday night depending on the preferred mood of your personal household. I’ve enjoyed equal fun plying it in both.

 Art Pepper — Promise Kept

Laurie Pepper, like Sue Mingus and other jazz widows before her, remains a passionate arbiter and steward of her late husband’s recorded legacy. The title of this box set collecting a singular tributary of Art Pepper’s later career aspirations could just as easily serve as a signifier of that bond. In truth, it’s reflective of a pact the couple made with producer John Snyder and a string of studio sessions largely left unissued during the Pepper’s lifetime. Rivalries real and imagined are revealed across the recordings as the altoist wrestles with his insecurities and the realities of choices made and paid for as a consequence of his addictions and fictions. Straightforward and vital, the music avoids gestalt in remaining consistently strong and emotionally true.

 Paul Bley/Gary Peacock/Paul Motian — When Will the Blues Leave (ECM)

The prevailing mystery behind this twenty-year-old concert rests on the reason(s) why the fine folks at ECM left it in the can for so long. I don’t have an answer but rather a simple expression of gratitude that they finally decided to rectify the error and get the sounds out into the world. Bley, Peacock and Motian were already three-decades deep in the periodic associations that quietly helped open chamber jazz to free improvisation when they took to the Swiss stage. The ensuing masterful performance manages to feel simultaneously like three old friends shooting the shit and a trio of improvisatory experts operating at peak collective capacity.

 Prince — 1999 (Warner)

Residency in the Twin Cities for the better part of two decades has resulted in many boons, personal and vocational for this writer. As with any life lived, the red side of the ledger has entries, too. Folded among them is the frictional, frayed listening relationship I harbor with the region’s most famous musical export. Nearly three years after his premature passing Prince is still everywhere and everything here. That perpetual, and perpetually irksome, ubiquity is what makes this five-disc+DVD beyond-exhaustive box so refreshing to my patience-tested purview. It contains lots of impressive material from arguably his most creative and questing period. It also has plenty of songs that feel competent but quotidian by comparison. That blend of bliss and banality is as effective a corrective as I can think of to the cult of purple sainthood that persists around these parts.  

 And as is my habitual wont, 25 more in no hierarchical order… thank you for reading and Feliz Año Nuevo!  

Josh Abrams Natural Information Society (Eremite)

Michael Formanek’s Very Practical Trio – Even Better (Intakt)

Charles Gayle/John Edwards/Mark Sanders – Seasons Changing (Otokroku)

Dudu Pukwana/Han Bennink/Misha Mengelberg – Yi Yole (ICP/Corbett vs. Dempsey)

Nat King Cole – Hittin’ the Ramp: The Early Years (1936-1945) (Resonance)

Willem Breuker & Han Bennink – New Acoustic Swing Duo (ICP/Corbett vs. Dempsey)

Whit Dickey & Kirk Knuffke – Drone Dream (No Business)

Mark Turner & Gary Foster – Mark Turner Meets Gary Foster (Capri)

J.C. Heard & Bill Perkins Quintet – Live at the Lighthouse 1964 (Fresh Sound)

Stan Getz – Getz at the Gate: November 26, 1961 (Verve)

Rita Moss - Queen Moss 1951-1959 (Fresh Sound)

Bill Frisell & Thomas Morgan – Epistrophy (ECM)

Marion Brown & Dave Burrell – Live at the Black Musicians’ Conference, 1981 (No Business)

Jon Irabagon – Invisible Horizon (Irrabagast)

Tom Rainey Trio – Combobulated (Intakt)

Joe Lovano & Enrico Rava Quintet – Roma (ECM)

Tomeka Reid Quartet – Old New (Cuneiform)

Johnny Griffin & Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis – Ow: Live at the Penthouse (Reel to Reel)

Takahashi Miyasaka – Animals Garden (Kojima/BBE)

Tiger Trio (Joelle Leandre/Myra Melford/Nicole Mitchell) – Map of Liberation (Rogue Art)

V/A – Jambu: E Os Miticos Sons da Amazonia (Analog Africa)

V/A – Put the Whole Armour On: Female Black Gospel 1940s/1950s (Gospel Friend)

V/A –Alefa Madagascar: Salegy, Soukous, & Soul from the Red Island (Strut)

Horace Tapscott with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and the Great Voice of UGMAA - Why Don’t You Listen? Live at LACMA 1998 (Dark Tree)

Duster – Capsule Losing Contact (Numero)

[marcloveskylie]

Kylie Minogue Sunday Times interview in full. (Thanks to Darren Nixon)

Kylie Minogue interview: the pop star talks love, regret and new beginnings ahead of playing the Glastonbury ‘legends’ slot

Kylie Minogue is glowing. Of course she is. As the blue-eyed, blonde princess of pop music and golden girl of pop culture, idolised by millions since the 1980s, Minogue, I imagine, floats around in a perpetual state of looking luminous. She has also been dancing in front of our photographer for an afternoon and, as she puts it, “should be glowing after all that make-up!” It’s not just the make-up. On the brink of releasing a new album, the gig of her career, her 51st birthday and with the thrill of a new man, she is happy. “I could say nothing and you could read everything,” she laughs, pointing to her smiling face. “I’ve met someone who I feel good with. It feels right.”

Post-shoot, Minogue sits upright and cross-legged on a sofa in our east London studio, her 5ft frame wrapped in a barely-there slip dress. Much has been written about her dabbles with Botox, something she admitted in 2009, but today she looks beautiful and natural — faint lines on her face, yet still miles younger than 50. She speaks so softly that I strain to hear her and she answers many questions with a giggle. On the surface, dainty and delicate. Underneath, nerves of steel. “None of this was handed to me,” she says, “but this was my destiny. I was meant to do it.”

The first music I remember was a 1989 VHS tape of Kylie’s videos. Aged five, I watched nothing else for months. Fever (2001) and Aphrodite (2010) — the CDs scratched from overuse — made up much of the soundtrack to my clubbing twenties. Interviewing her is an excruciating test, as I attempt to maintain professionalism while trying not to touch her face. (Full disclosure: when we hug at the end, I scream a bit. She doesn’t mind.) But aren’t we all Team Kylie? In 2005, when, at the age of 36, she revealed her breast cancer diagnosis, support from fans and the press came in floods. When her highly public relationships end, it is always her the world sides with. She is, perhaps, the only non-Brit considered a “national treasure” by the tabloids — The Sun ran a campaign in the early Noughties to have her bottom listed as a World Heritage Site on the grounds it was an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Brand Kylie has mastered the near impossible: triumphing for three decades, with gold- and platinum-certified records, scandal-free and to global adoration. She’s still considered both a reigning disco diva and a bubbly, Aussie girl next door. Underestimate her at your peril, though. Being Kylie, she says, “takes a lot of work, graft and insecurity — not always what the wrapped-up end product looks like. There have been times when I’ve thought, ‘I just can’t.’ But you’ve got to take the knocks because they’re always coming. It ain’t all roses.” A pause. “But maybe otherwise it wouldn’t be as sweet in the end.”

She values her private life as “precious”, and admits that she has “sacrificed some anonymity”, no doubt because her romances have been tabloid fodder for years. Her most high-profile relationship was with INXS frontman Michael Hutchence from 1989 to 1991. In 1997, long after they broke up, he committed suicide. For four years, she dated the French actor Olivier Martinez, who supported her through her cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy (“Olli was there all the time,” she said in 2006). They broke up in 2007, but were rumoured to have reignited their romance in 2017, claims that she has never addressed. Then there was an engagement to the British actor Joshua Sasse. The two started dating in 2015 and that December she told Desert Island Discs that Sasse, then 28, was “my love”. They announced their engagement in February 2016, but broke up 12 months later; last September, he married an Australian entrepreneur. It strikes me as sad, but her steeliness quickly reappears.

You’ve had your heart broken, I begin. “I don’t know about heartbroken,” she flashes. “I’ve made mistakes.” Such as? “I regret lying to myself. Like, ‘This is OK,’ and doing the merry dance. When that honest bit inside of you knows, but you’re busy covering it up? I regret doing that. It’s not fair on yourself. And yet I think we’ve all been there, we’ve all done it. But I don’t see myself doing it again. I’ve met someone who I feel good with.” She has been dating Paul Solomons, the 45-year-old creative director of British GQ, for just over a year. When talk turns to him, she lights up. “I can feel my face going,” she says. “People say, ‘Your face changes when you talk about him,’ and it does. Happiness. He’s an inspiring, funny, talented guy. He’s got a real-life actual job! It’s lovely.”

Their weekends are generally spent in her Knightsbridge home, watching documentaries on Netflix — “We liked the Ted Bundy Tapes. I was too scared to watch them on my own” — or listening to podcasts — “Have you heard Dear Joan & Jericha [Julia Davis and Vicki Pepperdine’s mock agony-aunt podcast]? I’ve literally creased myself to that, it’s so inappropriate.” He does most of the cooking. “He’s got me cooking too, actually. He’s the first to do that. It can no longer be the family joke that I can’t cook.” Her family are all still in Australia. Her parents, Ron and Carol, worked as an accountant and dancer respectively, and her younger sister, Dannii, followed in Kylie’s showbiz footsteps as a pop star. She also has a younger brother, Brendon. They are a close family who text daily and speak frequently. I imagine they are overprotective about any new boyfriends. Minogue tells me that the first time Solomons met her clan was spending last Christmas with them. “They [already] could tell I was good within myself. They liked him before they met him, and they liked him more after they met him.”

Her Australian accent is still distinctive, but she has lived in London since the early 1990s, when Soho was her stomping ground. “I was really deep in London nightlife back then,” she says. Now, generally, the only time she’s up until the early hours is when she’s on tour. Her last big night out was her 50th birthday party, a year ago, at Chiltern Firehouse, complete with performances by Rick Astley and Jake Shears. “I went to bed at about 5am, but probably had no more than a glass of champagne all night. I was talking and dancing and high on life. The icing on the cake was that I had my special someone to share it with.”

It’s remarkable that Minogue has the stamina to dance until 5am at an age when many women are experiencing the menopause. Indeed, she’s already been there, done that. As is common with younger breast cancer patients, her menopause was medically induced when she had treatment, to suppress her oestrogen levels. On Desert Island Discs, she stated that she would love to start a family. It’s a difficult subject to broach, but I wonder if she feels the chance to have children has passed. “I can definitely relate to that,” she answers. “I was 36 when I had my diagnosis. Realistically, you’re getting to the late side of things. And, while that wasn’t on my agenda at the time, [cancer] changed everything. I don’t want to dwell on it, obviously, but I wonder what that would have been like. Everyone will say there are options, but I don’t know. I’m 50 now, and I’m more at ease with my life. I can’t say there are no regrets, but it would be very hard for me to move on if I classed that as a regret, so I just have to be as philosophical about it as I can. You’ve got to accept where you are and get on with it.”

Born and raised in Melbourne, she attended acting school in her home town and became a superstar at 18 as Charlene in the Australian soap Neighbours. Charlene’s wedding to Jason Donovan’s Scott in 1987 was witnessed by 20m viewers in the UK. Despite no formal singing or dancing training, she left the show to pursue music, and her debut album, Kylie, released in 1988, was No 1 in the UK for six weeks. She has since released 13 more studio albums, as well as dozens of compilation, live and remix records. Next month she is releasing Step Back in Time, her latest greatest hits album. All the big hitters are on there: Spinning Around, I Should Be So Lucky, Confide in Me. She doesn’t have a favourite, but points to Where the Wild Roses Grow (1995) and All the Lovers (2010) — “just glorious”. She had to brace herself, she says, to listen to some of the older tracks. “I recorded Locomotion when I was 18 or 19. I was so young and I felt so young.” She shakes her head in bewilderment.

Minogue has just finished the Golden Tour, six months of shows in Europe and Australia. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got before my showbiz hips and knees start to protest,” she laughs. “They’ll be like, ‘You’ve been treading those boards for a long time, we think you should slow down a bit.’ ” This summer, along with gigs in London, Manchester and even Scarborough, she will take to the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury in the Sunday afternoon “legends” slot, previously filled by the likes of Dolly Parton, Barry Gibb and Lionel Richie. It is particularly poignant as she was set to perform there in 2005, but her cancer diagnosis meant that she had to pull out. She sang at the festival in 2010, as a guest of the Scissor Sisters, but has never performed solo. “I’m bound to cry,” she says. On stage? “It’s going to happen. When I was meant to be there, I watched it from Australia. I was dealing with much bigger things back then, but when I’m there it will take me back to when I wasn’t there. But I’ll work through that.”

She confirms there will be guests joining her on stage, but won’t tell me who. Dolce & Gabbana designed the Greek goddess-inspired costumes for her Aphrodite: Les Folies tour in 2011, but her on-stage style now is “more human, more real”. “But even Elvis had a few diamantés on him,” she continues. “Come on! I’m thinking of it as a big sing-along. It’s daytime, so you can’t have the lights, effects and lasers that I normally have. I think the simplicity is part of what makes that slot so magical. Dolly Parton just walked on out. Lionel Richie just walked on out. I mean, I’ll sashay on out.”

Minogue’s manager then intervenes. The car is waiting and the star has somewhere to be. “I keep threatening my team that I’m going to retire,” she winks, safe in the knowledge that there are decades left of her career. And, with that, she sashays out. Glowing.

Step Back in Time is released on June 28

[paralleljulieverse]

Silver Silver STAR! or, the 25th Anniversary of the 25th Anniversary!

Twenty five years ago this week, the 1968 Julie Andrews musical Star! made its long overdue return to the screens of the world –– at least, the small screens –– when the film was finally released to home video on 17 November 1993. Billed as “the return of a lost classic,” the heavily-promoted 25th Anniversary release was the first time in decades that the complete version of Star! had been widely available and it marked a watershed in the film’s latter-day recuperation (Edwards, 1993). 

Director Robert Wise long remained haunted by the commercial and critical failure of Star!. "I’ve had films that haven’t paid off,” he lamented, “but Star! was my biggest disappointment because I think it’s a better film and more of an achievement than was acknowledged by the mass audience” (Leeman: 195). The film had cultivated a small but devoted band of fans over the years, many of whom sent appreciative letters to the director, but Wise continued to hope that Star! might yet find broader vindication and shake off its unjust reputation as “the H-bomb of musicals” (Kanfer: 78).

In 1984, amidst a growth in popularity of classic film revivals, Twentieth Century-Fox struck a new print of Star! for release to the repertory house circuit (Edwards 1990). It was the first time the full roadshow version of Star! had been seen in North America since 1968 and, while it mainly screened in niche metropolitan revival houses, it played to hugely enthusiastic audiences. Attending a New York screening in August 1990, Robert Wise recalled that Star! “went over like gangbusters...The audience applauded after every number and gave me and the film such a hand” (Thompson: 96). Meanwhile, general interest in Star! continued to grow. In 1990, an article on the history of the film appeared in Movie Collector’s World (Edwards 1990). And in May 1992, Premiere magazine nominated Star! as its “most wanted” title on home video (”Widescreen”: 85). 

Emboldened by the groundswell of support, Robert Wise approached Fox about remastering a version of Star! for home video and all agreed the time was ripe. The director personally supervised a new transfer from the original 65mm negative and six-track magnetic soundtrack source materials which had happily remained intact in the Fox vaults. The remastered version of Star! screened for the first time on the respected cable network, American Movie Classics in early-1993 (Edwards 1993). Reviewing the AMC broadcast for the Los Angeles Times, Kevin Thomas called Star! “one of the most under appreciated of all Hollywood major productions,” praising the film as "engrossing...and played stunningly by Julie Andrews” (6).

Throughout 1993, Wise and Fox continued to finalise preparations for the film’s video release. The deluxe two-tape set was officially launched on 16 November 1993 (’street date’: 17 November) with a special Silver Anniversary screening of Star! at the DGA Theatre in Hollywood. Attended by many of the original cast and crew –– including Julie Andrews, Richard Crenna, Robert Wise, Saul Chaplin, and Michael Kidd –– the screening was a happy reunion cum symbolic homecoming for the film. Star! is “finally back where it belongs” said Julie in a warm interview at the event (“Silver Star!”).

The film’s soundtrack, which had also been long out of print, was given a companion release to CD and cassette by Fox Records on 23 November. With the inclusion of two previously unreleased tracks –– the extended version of the title song  by Julie and Daniel Massey’s “Forbidden Fruit” –– and featuring a handsome booklet with liner notes by T.J. Edwards –– a veritable one-man cheer squad for Star! during these years –– the CD soundtrack re-release further cemented the aura of rediscovery around the film and the sense that, after decades of neglect, Star! could finally be seen and heard in its original splendour (Sanello: D5; Thomas, B: 14). 

And this time round US critics were much more receptive than most had been back in 1968. Reviewing the video release for the Los Angeles Times, Sue Martin called it “a handsome period production [that] holds up with Andrews in a tour de force portrayal as the earthy, tenacious Lawrence” (44). Martie Zad of The Washington Post dubbed it “one of filmdom’s grandest musicals”, saying “[i]t is a treat to watch and listen to Andrews whose voice at this point in her career was simply pure and magical” (N5). Dave Staten of the Daily News enthused:

“Star! is bouncy and fast-paced and much better that I expected. You see, I was one of this people who was scared away in 1968 by the bad notices. This grand movie deserves a new life on video” (26).

In response to the fulsome reception, Fox green-lighted an even more ambitious ‘special edition’ release of Star! on laserdisc, a kind of top-end precursor to DVD and the home cinephile’s medium of choice in the 90s. An impressively weighty package –– literally, as those big old discs were heavy as rocks –– the laserdisc edition was spread over two discs presented in a lavish gatefold album. It was jam-packed with special features, including a detailed production history, rare behind-the scenes images, a lively audio commentary by Wise and other members of the production team, and a charming featurette about the film’s 25th anniversary screening at the DGA. Indeed, the compilation of supplementals was so dense and involved that it delayed the disc’s release by many months. The Star! laserdisc finally hit the shelves on August 16, 1995 with a USD$80.00 price tag, not exactly cheap today let alone 25 years ago, and it quickly established a new benchmark for special edition film releases to the home video market (“Be Glad”: 2; “Widescreen Special Edition”: 85)

Now, if only we could get Fox to play ball again 25 years later and authorise that long-awaited BluRay release of Star! for the 50th anniversary! 

Sources:

“Be Glad They Still Make Discs Like This.” The Laser Disc Newsletter. 133, September 1995: 2.

Edwards, T.J. “The Saga of ‘Star!’”. Movie Collector’s World. 357, 7 December 1990: 60-75.

Edwards, T.J. “Rare Julie: After 25 Years, A Lost Classic Returns.” American Movie Classics, 6: 7, July 1993: 4-5.

Kanfer, Stefan. “Cinema: Quarter Chance.” Time. 96: 4. 27 July 1970: 78.

Leeman, Sergio. Robert Wise on His Films: From Editing Room to Director’s Chair. Los Angeles: Silman-James Press, 1995.

Martin, Sue. “New on Video.” Los Angeles Times Calendar. 3 November 1993: 44.

Saltzmann, Barbara. “‘Star!’ Gets Back Original Luster on Laser.” Los Angeles Times. 16 January 1994: F25.

Sanello, Frank. “The Hills are Alive Again with the Songs of Julie Andrews.” The Sun. 15 December 1993: D5.

Thompson, Frank T. Robert Wise: A Bio-bibliography. Westport: Greenwood Press, 1995.

Silver Star 25th Anniversary Featurette. Film produced by T.J. Edwards. Los Angeles: FoxVideo, 1994.

Staten, Vince. “Hollywood Rolls Out Its ‘Classics’”. Daily News. 21 November 1993: 26.

Thomas, Bob. “1968 Flop ‘Star!’ Reborn on Video.” News Press. 17 December 1993: 14.

Thomas, Kevin. “Movies to Tape.” Los Angeles Times - TV Times. 7 February 1993: 6.

“Widescreen Special Edition Laserdisc of Julie Andrews Lost Classic Musical.” Movie Collector’s World. 483, 6 October 1995: 85.

Zad, Martie. “Andrews's 'Star!' Revives Hit Songs Of Lost Musical.” Washington Post. 21 November 1993: N5.

Copyright © Brett Farmer 2018