#It is not the maximum volume heavy metal music

[smerchingaround]

My ears are always ringing because God's angels sit on my shoulder and sing to me 🙏🏼

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 10, Number 8

Orcas (not Oasis)

Welcome to our all-Oasis edition of Dust!

Just kidding. We slog through August bemused by the excitement over big ticket tours, though we will, if pressed, admit to a fondness for “Wonderwall,” a song often sung jubiliantly by someone we love on the way to track meets and XC ski practice and theater rehearsal years ago (though not as many years ago as it first emerged).

Anyway, we once again trawl the slush pile for the good stuff, opine briefly on its merits and share it with you. We’re sure you’ll find out what the Gallagher brothers are up to from other sources.

This month’s contributors included Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Jonathan Shaw, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Mason Jones and Christian Carey.

Ark Zead — Niptaktuk (Glacial Movements)

The Italian label Glacial Movements specializes in music that’s chilled, immense and slow, just like its namesake. Niptaktuk continues this icy throughline, offering a series of highly resonant, frost-tinged drone passages. The creator, of which no information is known, sourced these textures from gongs and singing bowls, stretching the frequencies into lengthy, subtly shifting tone clouds. They cleverly balance lighter shades against darker hues, layering pre-dawn shimmer over sub-sonic bass pulses. The delicate patter of scraped and stroked metal adds a sense of the real to these otherwise uncanny soundscapes. Ark Zead drew influence from the cold northern Canadian winter when they created these sounds, yet the experience of listening doesn’t evoke frostbite or blinding blizzards. Instead Niptaktuk, which is an Inuit word that implies oncoming clear skies, is a remedy against frostiness, a kernel of warmth that seeks to melt the winter ice. 

Bryon Hayes

The Body & Dis Fig — Orchards of a Futile Heaven (Thrill Jockey)

At this point, at least going by actual releases, surely there are no greater collaborators in heavy music (in all its forms) than The Body. In addition to their stellar work as “just” a duo, Chip King and Lee Buford have at this point collaborated with a real murderers’ row of bands and artists, and those albums absolutely refuse to stick to any particular formula. That they’d work with Dis Fig (aka Felicia Chen), who’s made an excellent, emotionally/sonically challenging record called Purge and sang on a full length by The Bug, makes perfect sense. The result, as with many “The Body &” LPs, is so seamlessly satisfying you’d think this was everyone involved’s main gig. The thunderous drums, harsh noise, and King’s peerless shrieks are all present, and Chen gives a hell of a lead vocal performance to centre it all. The closing one-two punch of “Coils of Kaa”/“Back to the Water” is one of the best endings 2024 is going to get, Chen wailing in rage and despair as the music collapses buildings around her.

Ian Mathers

Demiser — Slave to the Scythe (Blacklight Media/Metal Blade)

Retrograde throwback thrash isn’t exactly a growth area in metal, or a particularly enlightened undertaking, culturally speaking. But dudes in denim and bullet-lined bandoliers don’t make records like Slave to the Scythe because they foresee mass-market opportunity or stadiums full of fans in the immediate future. Mostly they don’t see much future at all. Demiser seems to share those perspectives — live fast, die faster, have as much fun as possible in the brief and weird interregnum. Is Slave to the Scythe fun? Depends on your sense of humor, and your tolerance for metal’s more reductive shenanigans. The fellows in the band have given themselves stage names like Gravepisser (he plays guitar) and Infestor (he drums), and they have supplied us with the sublime song title “Hell Is Full of Fire”; no points for innovation, but maximum points for unconquerably up-for-it idiocy. Motörhead seems as significant to Demiser as early Exodus and Kreator (especially the genius of Pleasure to Kill). Sort of nice to hear a thrash record that’s more interested in the riffs than the solos. Sort of fun to play this record really, really loud. Sort of certain that doing so results in becoming materially stupider. That’s okay — it makes that aforementioned lack of a viable future a little less awful to contemplate.

Jonathan Shaw

Dummy — Free Energy (Trouble In Mind)

Dummy’s debut, Mandatory Enjoyment, lived up to its title; it was a record difficult not to appreciate. In her Dusted review, Jennifer Kelly praised it as “a listening experience that simultaneously braces and soothes, agitates and lulls.” Dummy’s second album, Free Energy,has a similar appeal, but knocks this listener off balance with its bizarre fixation on dated drum machines and backwards sounds that bring to mind the baggy indie-dance of the 1990s. You know the stuff: Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine, Jesus Jones, Pop Will Eat Itself. There are some great songs here, such as “Nine Clean Nails,” but you have dig around amongst the misfires to find them. Dummy still have an ear for a good tune, so you can forgive their more questionable aesthetic decision-making.

Tim Clarke

“Father” John Misty — Greatish Hits: I Followed My Dreams and My Dreams Said to Crawl (Sub Pop)

With streaming supplying abundant amounts of playlists, one might reasonably ask why a greatest hits compilation would be useful. Curation instead of algorithms. “Father” John Misty’s Greatish Hits presents the high points in his catalog, beginning with early songs“Real Love Baby” (2016) and “Nancy from Now On” (2012). It is by no means a chronological survey, nor is it front-loaded like so many collections and playlists. The popular “I Love You Honeybear” (2015) is saved for the penultimate track. The finale, “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All,”  is new. At eight and a half minutes long, it stretches out with saxophone, bongo, and electric piano solos interspersing bluesy pop vocals. Worth the wait - don’t skip ahead!

Christian Carey

Ben Felton — A Lot (Island House)

Ben Felton lets the drones linger, layering sounds on top of sounds, like primary-toned transparencies on an overhead projector. You can spend this album watching the colors these tones make when the light shines through them, hitting one, two, three or more guitar/synth textures before getting to the other side. Complex yes, but peaceful, drowsy almost. One track called “A Foghorn or a Loudspeaker,” sounds like just that, an uneasy truce between natural serenity and amplified buzz and hiss. The space it lives in is large and echoey, a cathedral or, more likely, a vast underground cavern with water lapping at the walls. Occasionally, the electronic mode predominates as in the airy percolation of “What You Need.” Yet though the blippy motif is bright and uncorroded, it sits atop a woozy soup of tone; guitar notes crash in sporadically intimating a rustier, more industrial territory nearby. Felton comes from New York but now resides in more bucolic Carrboro, North Carolina. His soundscapes find a meeting place between folk-adjacent ambience and rougher, noisier music. The album gets more propulsive as it goes. Shaken-not-stirred “The Fifth Day,” turns a three-note upward lilting motif into something approaching rock anthemry. You can’t blame the sustained notes for hanging around. It’s nice here, and you want to stay.

Jennifer Kelly

Margarida Garcia And Manuel Mota—Domestic Scene (Feeding Tube) 

Upright electric bassist Margarida Garcia and electric guitarist Manuel Mota are part of Lisbon, Portugal’s experimental/improvisational music scene and have worked together with and without the participation of others on seven records besides Domestic Scene over the past decade. It is their first LP to be released in the USA, and there’s something poetic about that fact, because it feels like an echo of the work of one American musician — Loren Connors, and more specifically, 21st century Connors in solo mode. It shares his sparseness, boiled-down lyricism and willingness to disappear into a haze of noise. Since Garcia has associated with him at times, there’s definitely a shared aesthetic. However, these are not young copycats. Mota’s spare progressions proceed according to a different logic, purged of blues and baroque elements, guided by a north star of sequential consonance that adds up to quiet dissonance. And Garcia’s subdued, bow-born cries have an ability to compound, making the music thick with atmosphere, but still stingy with note counts. Play it late. 

Bill Meyer

Geneva Jacuzzi — Triple Fire (Dais)

Geneva has been making bedroom synth pop for years. On Triple Fire (named after her astrological sign), the production values tick upward, and several of the songs are club ready. “Laps of Luxury” is a case in point, with Geneva’s dulcet singing abetted by backing vocals, early digital synth sonics, and mechanized beats. “Scena Ballerina” recalls her early bedroom pop, with a taut riff and harmonic swerves. Trebly synths and out of the box percussion underscore an emotive vocal on “Take it or Leave it.” Geneva’s speechsong in “Art is Dangerous” and “Speed of Light” recalls Laurie Anderson’s 1980s work, while “Heart of Poison” has an art rock ambience that incorporates tenor saxophone and is rife with shimmering synths. “Rock and a Hard Place” is an aggressive example of dark wave electronica. The closer, “Yo-yo Boy” is an anthemic piece of minimal synth-pop that reminds listeners of Geneva’s roots while presenting memorable tunefulness. 

Christian Carey

Katatonic Silentio — Axis Of Light (Midnight Shift)

Axis Of Light by Katatonic Silentio

Italy-based Mariachiara Troianiello is a long-time DJ, and independent audio and ethnomusicology researcher at the University of San Marino. She also creates electronic music under the name Katatonic Silentio, and on Axis of Light explores a spatial dub, filled with palpating beats and flickering synthesizer sounds. The five tracks on this EP are all based on rhythmic frameworks that skitter and thud with a dark, night-time vibe for the most part. As the title indicates, opener “Drip in the Cave” is indeed subterranean in nature, with rubbery pads and liquid drums reverberating in tactile space. “Bridging the Gap” is lighter and bouncier, bubbling at a fast tempo and filled with electronic hoots and blips. The other pieces mix slow with fast, and machine-like rhythms with heartbeat-like pulses, all swirling in a warehouse ambience populated by ghostly static, quiet bells, or spooky, whistling tones. It’s all a neat combination of machine world and organic atmosphere, like a science-fiction world populated by real, messy people.

Mason Jones

Nicole Marxen — Thorns (Self-Release)

Nicole Marxen puts an eerie shimmer over rough crescendos of metallic noise, keening in the ghostliest, most disembodied way amidst vibrating slabs of guitar sound. “Thorns,” the album’s spiritual center, floats a chilly line of vocal melody—think Beth Gibbons or Chelsea Wolfe—over a machine-like industrial beat. Fragility blooms in an apocalyptic afterworld. “The Executioner” is heavier, more ominous, slithering to life out of the flickering buzz of downed powerlines. A stolid march emerges soon, swaggering with drums, swelling with amp-frying volume. Marxen presides like a high priestess, unperturbed amid flares, fills and violence. Like Jarboe astride a Justin Broadrick wall of noise, she stakes her claim, with operatic trills and whispered confidences. Dramatic, large-scale stuff.

Jennifer Kelly

Magda Mayas’ Filamental — Ritual Mechanics (Relative Pitch)

Keyboardist Magda Mayas’ music has often evidenced expansive thinking, but it took the resources of a festival to first bring her large group Filamental together. Once convened, she took full advantage of her octet’s assembled potentialities for imagination and sound. Having had one such experience, Mayas wasn’t going to wait for a festival to marshal such a breadth of mindpower and material again, nor was she going to let the impediments to travel and gathering imposed by a world pandemic get in the way. So, she sent out an invitation to an invitation to Filamental’s members and turned their gathered input into two pieces that run a bout 20 minutes in length. Each sets small, contrasting gestures dancing atop a consonant surface of elongated, layered sonorities. Ritual Mechanics is not so much a drone piece as an expression of continuous, focused action, richly detailed and consistently focused.

Bill Meyer

Rob Mazurek — Milan (Clean Feed)

Rob Mazurek has been recording for nearly three decades and performing much longer. His methods encompass composition and improvisation using brass, electronics, voice, and other instruments. In any body of work so broad, there are themes, some more dominant than others. Milan is a successor to Rome, which together comprise a smaller trend that involves recording solo performances in Italian radio studios with nice pianos. Recorded nine years apart, they offer a measure of how Mazurek’s work has changed in that time. Instead of cornet, he plays concert and piccolo trumpets; sternly ceremonial vocalizing and fistfuls of percussion dropped purposefully into the piano assert a more explicitly ritual intent. And, perhaps reflecting the amount of work that Mazurek has done with Damon Locks of late, the electronics now include playback options, so that vocal and instrumental samples (Is that Sun Ra I hear in there? And maybe some Ocora ethnic recordings?) as well as beat patterns muscle their way through the sizzle and smash of the prepared piano. Explicitly conceived as a journey, it’s quite a trip. Mazurek’s ensemble work can be pretty widescreen, but Milan reminds us that he can be epic on his own.

Bill Meyer

Nadja — Jumper (momentarily records)

Out of the many, many records put out by ambient and/or doom metal duo Nadja, it’s truly rare to find one that doesn’t feature Aidan Baker’s guitar in one form or another. But on Jumper, originally released as a bit of an art object on cassette (the online cover art is a look at the contraption that the tape comes in), he restricts himself not just to their drum machine but to layering and processing one particular pattern from it. Leah Buckereff provides bass, a more typical entry in the credits of their release, but here the way the slowly accreting digital noise plays over and around its pulses and feedback gives the whole album a very distinct feeling. Despite the use of drum machine there’s almost no rhythm to the whole hour here (until a surprise right at the end that catches me off guard every time), instead the effect is one of meditative harshness. The result is absolutely industrial, like a factory that’s weirdly compelling to listen to.

Ian Mathers

Orcas — How to Color a Thousand Mistakes (Morr Music)

Orcas — Rafael Anton Irisarri and Benoît Pioulard — haven’t recorded together in a decade, but they have been abundantly busy with their own projects. How to Color a Thousand Mistakes is consistent with past Orcas recordings and also reflects the music they have made in the interim. “Wrong Way to Fall” stands out in both regards, with Pioulard’s husky vocals over shimmering electric guitar solos, synth riffs and minimally complicated, but driving, drums. “Riptide” is populated by a number of different synth parts against a terse countermelody in the guitar. “Swells” has a strong vocal performance, while vibrato and pitch bends in the synths and economical guitar parts make for a memorable arrangement. “Fare” covers all the bases, with Pioulard’s voice double-tracked in a soaring chorus alongside mellifluous electronics, emphatic guitars, and plenty of drum fills. The recording’s closer, “Umbra,” has an extended introduction with a bass melody and warm synths. Then tangy dissonance and glissandos abound in both voice and instruments. It epitomizes the atmospheric textures that Orcas seem able to summon at will.

Christian Carey

Oxygen Destroyer — Guardian of the Universe (Redefining Darkness)

Guardian of the Universe by Oxygen Destroyer

Guardian of the Universe is another slab of monster-movie-themed, death-metal-inflected thrash from Oxygen Destroyer. The Seattle-based band’s previous LP, Sinister Monstrosities Spawned by the Unfathomable Ignorance of Mankind (2021), expanded their long-standing kaiju theme to include colossal beasts from outside the canon of the Tojo Studios Godzilla movies. The new record shifts tactics, focusing exclusively on Gamera and the giant turtle’s films for one of Tojo’s competitors, Daiei Films. It’s hard to know how much the record will appeal to listeners for whom those inside-baseball kaiju references mean little to nothing. But if you’re down for songs that attempt to replicate the absurd pleasures of Gamera in flight — head and limbs retracted into its massive shell, which then spins and shoots sheets of sparks from the holes, natch — this may be the record for you. Guardian of the Universe is non-stop fireworks: crazy, thrashy riffs; maniacal flat-out sprints; dive-bombing guitar solos. Should we take any of it seriously? This reviewer won’t hold forth (again) on the cultural stakes of post-war kaiju films. If you know, you know. And mostly what matters here is the band’s complete conviction and the joys of the music’s excesses. In these dog days of summer, it’s exactly what some of us need.

Jonathan Shaw

Peel Dream Magazine — Rose Main Reading Room (Topshelf)

Rose Main Reading Room by Peel Dream Magazine

It’s been four years since I’ve checked in on Peel Dream Magazine, whose second album Agitpop Alterna I described in my Dust review as “just like early Stereolab, with occasional blasts of shoe-gazey guitar thrown in for good measure.” I missed PDM’s third album Pad, so this brings us to album number four, Rose Main Reading Room. There’s still plenty of Stereolab in the mix, especially in the Mary Hansen-style backing vocals, the Farfisa, and the squelchy synth sounds (see “Oblast”). But here there’s more of a lean towards the baroque pop of Sufjan Stevens circa Illinois, mainly thanks to the chunky glimmer of vibraphone and the spiraling flute lines, which really brighten up proceedings. This balance between droning indie-rock and tuneful pop is very pretty, with sufficient musical complexity to invite rewarding repeat listens.

Tim Clarke

Plastic Bubble — Circular Breathing EP (Garden Gate/Moon Control)

The Circular Breathing EP by Plastic Bubble

Here’s a slab of happy, giddy, psychedelic garage rock which, except for the 2024 release date, wouldn’t be out of place in the Elephant Six universe. Lexington, KY’s Matt Taylor and Elisa McCabe are the chief blowers of bubbles, spinning out rough but iridescent songs like “Recontextualize,” where a guitar vamp grinds but vocals drift in pop ideality, “ah, ah, ah,” indeed. A classic indie boy-girl vibe permeates these five songs, with McCabe especially fetching in “Bright Morning.” “Forever” pulls back on the guitar roar to uncover a jaunty, girl-group bounce, with sweet counterparts and harmonies weaving in and around McCabe’s part. The set closes with a banger, part Who, part Fountains of Wayne, and all the way infectious, “Anything and Everything.”

Jennifer Kelly

SUUNS — The Breaks (Joyful Noise)

The Breaks by SUUNS

Elusiveness characterized SUUNS’ last album, 2021’s The Witness. As I noted in my Dusted review, “There’s no denying that its elusive character is part of its charm, but there are stretches where it feels more evasive than elusive, stubbornly refusing to engage more directly.” On their new album, The Breaks, the Montreal band are more direct in terms of the sounds they’re employing, but more evasive when it comes to songwriting. The majority of contemporary pop music is based around heavily effected vocal melodies and beats, which The Breaks seems to take as a cue towards similar immediacy. However, aside from the title track, the nagging piano of “Road Signs and Meanings,” and the loping stomp of opener “Vanishing Point,” this record is a tough nut to crack.

Tim Clarke

Tatsongs — Bushcraft (Self-Release)

Bushcraft by tat songs

Tatsongs are neither tat, nor really songs. The former implies fussy decoration, and these long, glacially evolving pieces seem as raw and elemental as rock formations. You can almost hear an icy wind blowing through their sheered off contours. The latter argues for a Pavlov’s buzzer of pleasing tone arrangements, and Tatsongs’ Tom Sadler is really not concerned whether you can guess then next 10 seconds of his compositions from the preceding 20. But even so, there’s something to be said for looming, sheeny layers of guitar and synth sounds that carve space and time into epic, barren landscapes. Tones vibrate in and out of true, zooming close and fading back, twitching in rhythm and coalescing in static fuzzed drones. Not a song in the bunch, nor much embroidery, but powerful stuff nonetheless.

Jennifer Kelly

TELESTIALVISIONS — Taurus in a Field (Island House)

Taurus in a Field by TELESTIALVISION

As Dittocrush, Pittsburgh resident Trevor D. Crush assembles tape loops into ambient symphonies. He often adds layers of live instrumentation from other musicians, such as Island House associate Chaz Prymek (Lake Mary, Fuubutsushi) and guitarist Ryan Fedor. TELESTIALVISIONS is his latest project, a tag team with New York guitarist Brinton Jones. The pair offer up a frothy brew that tastes rich and complex. Their debut Taurus in a Field is a pair of woozy collages that, while undeniably loose, are sharp in focus when compared to Dittocrush’s ghostly soundscapes. Crush’s tapes construct tangible shapes that intersect in a variety of patterns, while Jones unveils angelic melodies with his guitar. These two are telling a story that’s more Borges than Burroughs, a fantastical tale that defies conventional logic but manages to meander toward a graspable conclusion.

Bryon Hayes

Tycho — Infinite Health (Ninja Tune)

Infinite Health by Tycho

Tycho is Scott Hansen, and Scott Hansen is a designer. You can hear Hansen’s day job in Tycho’s music: the clean lines, the smart use of space, the sheer digestibility of it all. But should music go down quite this easy? Listening to Infinite Health feels a little bit like you’re at a trendy gym, playing a bit-part in an advert, or hitting up a bar packed with influencers. The common denominator is wanting to feel seen; everything plays a part in attracting attention. The synths sound like Boards of Canada, some of the funkier electro-pop moments sound like Daft Punk, and there’s an expensive sheen over everything. It’s hard to deny it’s appealing, but it also feels like experiencing capitalist obsolescence in real time.

Tim Clarke

White Collar—S/T (Static Shock)

White Collar by White Collar

Listeners with a long memory for North American hardcore might flash on those mid-1980s records by White Flag when listening to this new release from White Collar. Like that earlier Inland Empire band, White Collar frequently turns its critical gaze and its caustic smart-assery on the contemporary cultural climate of punk and politics as lifestyle (and your reviewer uses that odious term advisedly here). Songs like “Compassion Fatigue” and “Petition Signer” snarl at and spit on liberalism’s excesses of self-righteous smugness, to often hilarious effect. There’s a puritanical element to Gen Z’s dispositions and discourse that White Collar finds deeply irritating — not that the band is against strong ethico-political speech; check out “Meat Market” and “Equal Wrongs.” This is not the space for sustained analysis of Gen Z punk, and the extent to which we may want some sort of political purity from punk in the first place. But certainly, it’s an intrinsic good for punk to have snotty, disputatious and nasty voices in the mix. White Collar’s songs are short and sharp, and vocalist Loosey C’s performance is memorably unpleasant. Snarl on, punks.

Jonathan Shaw

[goodbysunball]

Illegal life forever

Sleep's hard to come by these days, but important new music is not. Really excited about all of these albums, though I think a lot more people would be into the J.R.C.G. and Weak Signal records if they heard 'em. Feels wild to be alive in a time where this much new music hits a nerve.

J.R.C.G., Grim Iconic (Sadistic Mantra) LP (Sub Pop) Second album post-Dreamdecay from Justin R. Cruz Gallego, and it's a monster step forward from Ajo Sunshine. While sonically the two albums are drowning in layers of tom-forward drumming, buzzing synths, and effects-garbled vocals, Grim Iconic (Sadistic Mantra) puts all the pieces into a coherent whole. For whatever coherence is present, this is still a deeply adventurous, genreless, psych-damaged, electronics-rich album with enough twists and left turns to hogtie any attempts to pigeonhole it. My favorite songs, "Drummy" and "World i," are lush, heavy meditations on a single theme, driven forward by Gallego's nimble drum patterns and padded with enough synths to glide smoother than a limousine, even where blasts of white noise and black metal vocals come in. Then there's "Liv," in which Happy Songs For Happy People-era Mogwai splits open to reveal a warped vision of '00s dance-punk, or "Junk Corrido," where what sounds like a Goblin track falls off a cliff into eerie ambience, complete with thin, shallow woodwind exhalations. The album can feel just as impenetrable as it is approachable, but all the pieces fit, even where they normally wouldn't, a credit to the production of Gallego and Seth Manchester. Whether you're interested in pulling the million audio-instrumental threads stuffed into Grim Iconic (Sadistic Mantra) or you, like me, just want to listen to "Party People (Heaven)" at maximum volume and never leave its luscious confines, it's one of the year's must-hear records, and one that's scarcely left my listening rotation for months.

Jim Marlowe, Mirror Green Rotor in Profile CS (Medium Sound) From way back in January, a second solo cassette release from Louisville's most active musician, he of Sapat, Equipment Pointed Ankh, Tropical Trash, and now a member of Ryan Davis' Roadhouse Band. Where Time Out on the Miracle Index (Haha Tapes, 2022) veered more toward drone and ambient, Mirror Green Rotor in Profile triangulates on the surface somewhere between Vince Guaraldi, ZNR when they let their guard down, and the oft-orchestra'd crescendos of 00's indie. The latter is woven into a decidedly psychedelic tapestry, stripped of its sometimes embarrassing vocals and melodrama, revealing the many moving parts and layers intertwined and churning beneath. Hooks seem to fall right out of Marlowe's brain and hands, augmented by tumbling drums and hammered piano and a litany of other instruments I'm doomed to misidentify. The tracks that jump out on early listens, like "Imaginate Me" and "64 Deluxe: Plank Ring," are inventive and cartoonish like the cover art, both music and art reminiscent of animation for children from the '60s and '70s. The more pensive moments ("Bud Morton's All Gone," "Pink Rotor Mist") feel no less bright and vivid, the rich, warm percussion-heavy sound stringing together the short vignettes. The noted lack of cynicism, dropped in favor of a bright, punchy sound, shows where Marlowe contributes to Equipment Pointed Ankh, and anyone who liked either or both of their albums last year ought to be right at home on MIrror Green Rotor in Profile. The rest'll find something to hang their hat on across the albums 30 minutes, as these quick, unassumingly busy tracks reward both cursory and repeat listens. My favorite cassette of the year so far.

Mordecai, Seeds From the Furthest Vine LP (Petty Bunco) Sixth LP from America's finest purveyors of lo-fi scuzzy jangly rock, and if you thought they'd clean up with age, breathe a sigh of relief. The band has regrouped to deliver their best and most enjoyable LP yet, even with its members now spread out worldwide, far from their Montana roots. Seeds From the Furthest Vine eschews any crisp production techniques, arriving instead chock full of vocals that sound as if they were recorded through an oscillating fan, cardboard box drums, and guitar solos that wriggle violently like eels out of the players' grasp. While sonic similarities to their forebears can be spotted - Rep/Shepard/Jay, early Pavement, and a splash of the Galbraith/Russell corner of the NZ underground - there simply aren't many groups left that sound like Mordecai, let alone deliver on the promise of that suite of influences. Peep how the soft jangle of "Oval Door" collides with the sharp, clattering noise of "Meat on a Stick," or how the piercing woodwind of "Seeds From the Furthest Vine Pt. II" presages the Fall-indebted blare of "Never Get Ahead." Then there's the audacious seven minutes of garbage heap clang and manic vocals on "Down In an Alley," delivered over a warm harmonium and serving as the speaker-crackling comedown on a rather brilliant album. While it can sound like the group records spontaneously, using whatever means at hand when the situation demands it, the fact that the whole record flows effortlessly belies a logic behind the album's construction. The fragments of lyrics I can make out indicate a thoughtful, poignant core, roughed up and resilient, though more often they're buried and indecipherable ("When You Know Them As"). Vocals are an instrument, too, so whether you're comfortable with that fact or not, Seeds From the Furthest Vine's a winner, capable of floating on the fringes of your consciousness as much as it is enveloping it like a rough wool blanket.

Negative Gears, Moraliser LP (Static Shock) Second record from Sydney's Negative Gears, arriving after five long years, and it couldn't be more suited to the moment. The band sits within the dark grooves laid down by Crisis, Siekiera (both mentioned by the label) or Juju, fleshing that framework out with multiple guitars, keyboards and vocals dripping with contempt. They frame the moment through a psychological lens, lending fresh eyes to all the seemingly unsolvable problems everyone acknowledges: crushing workloads, social media-begotten loneliness, and keeping up appearances that everything's fine through it all. While their sound is certainly of a contemporary Australian lineage (equal parts Total Control, Constant Mongrel and Low Life), they keep it fresh and stand out on their own by bringing wild energy to the topics at hand, eyes bulging through the swelling, driving noise on "Room With a Mirror" and "Lifestyle Damages." Moraliser's catchy as hell in spite of its lyrical evisceration of society, late-stage capitalism and themselves, which they cover right off with "Negative Gear." Despite the dour topics tackled, there's an undeniable itchiness and movement about these songs; you could probably dance to "Ants" or "Connect," and I imagine they'll be crowd favorites in no time, tightly wound construction leading to anthemic release. Even though the music might lend itself to movement, there are long, moody tails at the end of each side to drive home the real state of things, conjuring visions of empty city streets, drizzle, wet trash rolling around, the unavoidable mess humans leave when they're gone. The earth will be fine even if we won't, and it's hard not to have some optimism about younger generations' action and impact, but on days when it feels like all's lost, Moraliser is the album to lean on.

Vampire, What Seems Forever Can Be Broken LP (Televised Suicide) It's been a bumper crop year for bands on the Amebix-Rudimentary Peni sound axis, and amongst the bunch that I've heard, Vampire's What Seems Forever Can Be Broken stands tall as my favorite. Any fan of Death Church is gonna find a lot to like here: tom drums pound, the bass threads vicious lines around each hit, and the guitar’s a distorted buzz saw. Where Vampire really distinguish themselves is their vocals, placed right up front and enunciated clearly despite the rage and bile bubbling underneath. Sounds like each of the three members takes turns, but the feral gnashing and their more melodic foil are the two vocalists that make the most appearances. The best vocal performance has to be the opening verse on "Endless Chain," where it sounds like the one vocalist is chewing off and spitting out each syllable, blood dripping from the corners of their mouth. "The Letter" is another standout, a disarming takedown of shamers and abusers set to an absolutely bulldozing riff. The band keeps things trim, with most songs snuffed out after two minutes, and that extends to the lyrics, too: “We’re looking for a future/there’s nothing to hold” hits the nail. There's a respect for their anarcho forebears, but Vampire veers slightly more toward hardcore, except with audio so crisp you can feel the sweat and spit coming out of the speakers. The production allows tracks like "Human Market Capital" to hit that much harder, all tightly wound tension and release squeezed inside 90 seconds. Gotten a ton of mileage out of What Seems Forever Can Be Broken, as much of an adrenaline boost and it is an unfortunate reflection of our current moment. Apropos now, and probably forever.

Weak Signal, Fine LP (12XU) If there is one band you should hear this year, it's Weak Signal, the quietly prolific trio from NYC. Fine already feels like a future classic, the kind of record that I listen to multiple times a day and still find more time to listen to again. The trio is brutally efficient: drums hammer rudimentary patterns, locked down by the bass, and the guitar chugs along with crunchy, muted notes and chords until a solo breaks free. The band's lyrics and Bones' straight, baritone delivery cut to the quick with the bite of Denis Johnson, unpretentious sentiments that are washed and tumbled from half-a-lifetime of experience, as cynical and biting as they are heartbreaking in their economy. They can cut both ways at once, like "I only love my friends/that's why I leave them be" from "Baby," or the chorus to "Wannabe," where Bones manages to sound both at peace and deflated. They even reach for a bit of unapologetic hedonism on "Rich Junkie" and all without a whiff of condescension, a fleeting thought given space and squashed in the span of two minutes. The lyrical efforts would all be for naught if the music wasn't up to snuff, but the band has doubled down on their streamlined grunge sound, excess grime wiped clean and even given a bit of polish with acoustic guitar and mellotron accents. There are blasts of noise that open up each side of the record, rock star moves from a group that deserves to make 'em, but they're tamped down in favor of choruses and guitar lines that both stick in your craw. The combination of the music and lyrics connects in such a primal, satisfactory way that it's almost beyond words, but when the solo on "Disappearing" hits, or "A Little Hum" leaves you with a lump in your throat, you just know this is it. Feels like a big moment for a band that deserves a bit of recognition - a fact wryly acknowledged by Bones a few times on the album - and here's hoping Fine is the album that does it.

[willowthefoxxo]

honestly mine would be less of an escape room and more of a don't get killed by the five thousand dragons, teenage goddesses, and overpowered furries room. And then you have mashcore/speedcore/gabber/lolicore, heavy metal folk music, lofi animal crossing songs, the SAO opening song, The Penis (eek!), Mori Calliope, heavy metal dwarf war songs (Grey's boss music), Will Stetson, really fucked up Vocaloid songs, and depressed furry jazz, as well as the extended version of jump in the caac and about five billion other random ass memes playing on maximum volume all at once.

[magnusrosen-blog]

32 tons in one hand ( Heavy Metal with cargo of Rock ) And the Rock flag in the other hand which stands for freedom, independence and good music at maximum volume !!!! Its time to Rock the World 🌍 Again!!! New album with release 21 April via Sound Pollution World Wide!

New Single video: Glitter and Blood https://youtu.be/CAzbzPmZR5I

"Magnus Rosén Band"

Fabio Buitvida's drums / producer Raphael Mattos Guitar Zenny Gram Voice Mikael Erlandsson Voice / Keyboard Magnus Rosén Bass

Mangers: Christian Hobohm / Olé Bang

Photo Gabriel Henningson.

Love Peace Understanding Remember: Questions give knowledge Free Speech gives a Free world

www.magnusrosen.com www.magnusrosenband.com www.culturemeetsindustry.com #ölaremmabygdegård

 #zennygram #fabiobuitvidas #raphaelmattos  #mikaelerlandsson #soundpollution #ebs #manneguitar #mannebass #manneinstrument #drstrings #magnusrosen #bassplayer #ljuset #magin#basenimitthjärta #avelibooks #mrb #manneinstrument #manneguitars #ebs #understanding #thesea #sun #heavymetal #hardrock #music #earth #freedom#levandelandbygd #kulturrådet #frihet #självständighet #sanningen

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"...AT THE START OF THE 1970s, AS PSYCHEDELIA EVOLVED INTO SOMETHING GNARLIER."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on the 5th volume in the MOJO "Heavy Nuggets" CD series -- "Mojo Presents 15 more treasures from HAWKWIND, GROUNDHOGS, & the hard rock underground. Given away free with MOJO November 2019.

"A mindwarping collection designed to be played at maximum volume," announced MOJO in December 2007, introducing the first volume of our CD series, "Heavy Nuggets." The aim was to present a snapshot of British rock at the start of the 1970's, as psychedelia evolved into something gnarlier; where belligerence triumphed over whimsy. "Heavy music for heavy times," we promised and, over three subsequent editions, we delivered that in spades.

Now, finally, we've come up with the perfect line-up for a fifth volume. The roots and guiding principles are the same: aural "assault and battery on the human anatomy," as HAWKWIND would have it. But this time we've expanded the frontiers of time and space to include cosmic freakouts, uncanny proto-metal, primo stoner rock, and other sonic disturbances from the past five decades. It's a testament to the innovation and resilience of the hard rock underground, and proof that there's always another nugget to uncover down there. Dust off your battle jackets and crack open the patchouli, it's time to go in hard..."

-- MOJO [magazine], c. late 2019

[eagerbby]

can i call you - e.m

paring| Eddie Munson x female reader

synopsis| The year is 1999 and Eddie Munson might, quite possibly, be absolutely head over heels with a girl he met on the internet. What could go wrong?

an| this is set in the late 90s, Eddie is 21 in this as is reader. basically just a little idea i had floating around in my head. could definitely be a series if anyone wants it to be one, let me know!  

warnings- 2k, not much to warn about for part one

Part 2

“That was Korn with Blind, here on 99.3 Metal Shop. If you’re just tuning in; we’re glad to have ya. Going back almost a decade, here's Metallica with Master of Puppets.”

“Fucking Metal.” Eddie grinned, tuning the volume knob on his radio up, the first chords rumbling through the white walls of his room. He pops the tab of his beer as he bangs his head along with the music. It was another lonely night, stuck in the small cage of his room. He’d tried to get Gareth and Jeff to hang, maybe go down to the quarry and get high, but alas both boys had plans that didn’t include hanging out with their older buddy. 

So here he was, spinning in his desk chair, a chat forum open on his black spray painted monitor. The CPU whirled loudly from under the desk but Eddie could barely hear it with the heavy guitar shredding coming through his radio. He was about three beers in and a half a joint down, the edges of his vision becoming hazy in his intoxication. 

Eddie’s ringed pointy finger rolled over the trackball on his stained mouse, flicking the screen up and down and up and down. Again and again until Eddie sighed and threw his head back. He shouldn’t be waiting for you. It was a Friday night, you probably had better things to do instead of sitting at your computer chatting with some strange guy on the internet. Although, Eddie hopes you don’t think about him like that. The two of you have been talking quite regularly for the past three months. It had started randomly, you personally asked him on a horror movie forum for some movie suggestions so he gave you his favorites -The Shining, Maximum Overdrive, My Bloody Valentine- and you had watched them all, giving him such detailed critiques he was kinda surprised you’d taken his suggestions. A week later you sent him your AOL name and told him to add you so you could chat more. He jumped at the opportunity, so intrigued by you in such a short time.   

It was a little awkward at first, with Eddie trying to play it cool because you were so different from the girls he had gone to school with and you were a little reserved, not too sure how much you wanted to share with a stranger online. But the relationship had blossomed, grown into a friendship without either of you really trying. You loved his corny jokes and he could listen to you for hours talking about your cat and your poetry. You’d even let him read a little bit of it, blessing him with the most beautiful prose Eddie had ever read before. He wasn’t much of a poetry guy, but you were turning him into one.

Eddie leans forward after a brief war in his head, debating if he should just bite the bullet and shoot you a message first. Maybe you didn’t see he was online yet? Quickly he pulls up your AOL log and types.

HellfireMaster- What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

He hit the enter key and tapped his foot anxiously. A minute or two passed with no response. Eddie groaned deeply, rubbing his hand over his face. This was stupid. 

Eddie pushed back from his desk, the wood banging off the wall with the force of it, and strolled over to his bed, flopping down on the disheveled sheets. He laid there with his hands folded on his chest, staring at the slow turn of his ceiling fan. He can’t remember when his crush on you started, but it was eating him up on the inside. He doesn’t even know what you look like for Christ-sake and yet you have him wrapped around your finger.

There’s ping from Eddie’s computer and he shoots up to his elbows at the sound, big doe eyes locked on the computer screen with excitement. He wastes no time jumping from his bed, tripping over dirty jeans and piles of crumpled paper from his last lyric writing session, over to his desk chair that groaned under his weight as he plopped down in it. Eddie’s grin rips at the corners of his mouth, wide and excited, little dimples forming by the edges. 

PrettyiNProsed- I don’t know.

HellfireMaster- You have to have a favorite.” 

Eddie bit his lip as he waited, knee jiggling with anticipation. 

PrettyiNProsed- Is this where you tell me you’re watching me?

Eddie chuckles at that, the tapping sound of the keyboard mingling with the bass from some song he wasn’t even listening to. Scream was your new favorite movie. It had taken some convincing on Eddie’s part seeing as you had heard how horrible it was from some friends, but after watching it -while Eddie watched it at the same time and you live reviewed it- you couldn’t believe you had waited so long. 

HellfireMaster- I could be. You just never know…

PrettyiNProsed- I bet that would sound more convincing over the phone, huh?

HellfireMaster- Maybe, but someone doesn’t want to do that yet.

It’s true, Eddie had been slowly slipping talking on the phone more and more into your conversations. He couldn’t help it, curiosity was killing him. The thought of finally hearing your voice was starting to consume him. It lingered in the back of his mind as he worked, as he held his campaigns, at band practice, even hanging out with his small group of friends. It had hurt his feelings when you’d all but blown him off the first time, quickly saying goodbye and logging off, but Eddie didn’t let that deter him. When he wanted something he’d work his ass off to get it.  

PrettyiNProsed- Hey! I never said I didn’t want to.

HellfireMaster- You never said you did though..

PrettyiNProsed- Don’t get all grumpy on me now, Eddie. 

You didn’t even have to see him to know he was pouting about it and Eddie loved that about you. That you could read him so well like you understood just who he was. It was a rare thing for him to feel so seen and he thinks maybe it’s because, with you, he isn’t Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. He was just Eddie, he didn’t feel like he had to play a part.

Focusing back to the computer, he cracked his knuckles and began typing back.

HellfireMaster- How was your day, sweetheart?

PrettyiNProsed- It was okay, getting better now as long as you don’t go all dark and brooding on me.

PrettyiNProsed- Think you can handle that, sunshine? 

Eddie felt like a fucking idiot, smiling at his computer with his cheeks flushed red and his lip sore from his canine repeatedly sinking into it. You always did this -using these cute nicknames that he’d probably scoff at if they weren’t coming from you. He really did have it bad and for a mysterious face behind a screen at that. 

HellfireMaster- Oh, I can handle it. 

PrettyiNProsed- Good. I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you.

God if that didn’t send his stomach swirling with butterflies. 

HellfireMaster- You have?

PrettyiNProsed- Yes! Guess why!

HellfireMaster- No, just tell me.

PrettyiNProsed- Ugh, you’re no fun!

HellfireMaster- Just tell me, princess! I don’t like waiting.

PrettyiNProsed- Sucks for you then!

Suddenly that green dot next to your name was red, signaling that you’d gone offline. Eddie’s eyes bugged, his teeth clenching tight together as his nostrils flared. You’d logged off. He couldn’t believe it. You’d never done that before and this wasn’t the first time the two of you had joked around like that. You always took his jokes and dry humor in stride. Had he upset you? Eddie doesn’t think he could live with himself if he had. You were the only thing making him get up in the mornings, you know other than his job down at the tire shop, if he lost the brilliant light you had brought into his small little world he’s sure his life would metamorphose into a miserable stream of wake work sleep until he inevitably died alone.

He might be a tad bit dramatic, but still, he needed you. 

Another ping has his eyes darting to the screen.

PrettyiNProsed- Are you ready to stop being a brat, big boy?

Eddie blanches at your words, his cock twitching to life to his dismay. Big boy. Fuck. Why did that stir something inside him? His calloused fingers hovered over the keyboard until he slowly started typing. 

HellfireMaster- I’ll do anything for you to just tell me.

PrettyiNProsed- Ohhhh, anything you say?

You were flirting with him. Eddie pressed his palms against the stubbled skin of his cheek, more in awe than shock, because you’ve never openly flirted with him before. You were sweet and funny and wickedly smart, but you always seemed to just skirt right past his flirty words, usually playing them off in a sweet dismissal. But tonight was different, you were starting it. Eddie adjusts his semi hard cock, grimacing at how dirty he feels popping a semi at two simple words. 

HellfireMaster- Whatever the princess deems suitable.

PrettyiNProsed- Hmm, so many options, but I think I want you to beg for it.

Fuck, Eddie thinks with a helpless moan. You must be in a mood tonight and Eddie thinks it might just kill him. Eddie was not a beggar, but he’d fall to his knees and grovel if you as much as asked him to. Which you kinda were right now.

HellfireMaster- Please. Oh please my dear, sweet, princess, please take mercy on my pitiful soul and tell me why oh why you’ve been waiting to talk to a simple peasant like myself.

PrettyiNProsed- You really poured it on thick there, Eddie. 

PrettyiNProsed- But I’ll take pity and tell you because I liked it, also I just have to tell you what I got!

PrettyiNProsed- I went to the mall last night and bought two things.

Eddie chuckled at this, running his free hand through his bangs as he finger typed.

HellfireMaster- Two things!! Wow, I think you have a problem there sweetheart. Impulsive spending. 

PrettyiNProsed- Hardy-har. Would you like to know what I bought, asshole?

HellfireMaster- Of course I would, big spender.

PrettyiNProsed- Well first I went to this really awesome record shop and bought that Dio album you suggested.

HellfireMaster- Shit, you got Holy Diver? What’s your favorite song?

PrettyiNProsed- Well, I’ve only gotten halfway through it, but I really liked caught in the middle!

HellfireMaster- That’s my girl! 

Eddie doesn’t think as he types it, as he hits send, in fact it only hits him what he’s said when you don’t respond back for a minute. Shit. Maybe that was a little forward. You aren’t his girl, you were his friend, maybe even best friend at this point but definitely not his girl. Not yet at least.. He’s starting to type an apology when your next message comes in.

PrettyiNProsed- You wanna know what that other thing was, Eddie?

HellfireMaster- Yes

PrettyiNProsed- I bought a receiver for my room.

HellfireMaster- A receiver? 

PrettyiNProsed- Jeezz, Eddie. I bought a phone for my room!

Eddie froze midway to lighting his cigarette, the unlit stick falling from his lips to his lap as he gaped. 

PrettyiNProsed- I didn’t want to talk to you in the living room, my parents probably wouldn't be too happy if they knew I was spending my time talking to a stranger on the internet instead of focusing on my college courses.

HellfireMaster- Can I call you?

PrettyiNProsed- Not tonight, I’m exhausted, in fact my bed is calling my name. But I’m free tomorrow at 6 if you wanna…

PrettyiNProsed- You still wanna right?

PrettyiNProsed- Eddieeee??? You still there??

Eddie’s elated, fists punching into the air as he spins in his chair. Tomorrow night. He’ll finally be able to hear your voice. His begging had really paid off this time, which was such a sudden change he couldn’t quite believe it. But that didn’t matter. Nothing else did right now. Tomorrow he’d finally hear you say his name, hear your laugh, be able to really talk to you. He couldn’t wait. 

HellfireMaster- 6pm. I’ll be waiting! 

PrettyiNProsed- I’ll send the number tomorrow, gonna make you wait till then.

HellfireMaster-  Tease

PrettyiNProsed- Hm, I guess I am.

PrettyiNProsed- Goodnight Eddie, don’t go getting into trouble before I can hear your voice.

HellfireMaster- Me? Trouble? Not ever, sweetheart.

PrettyiNProsed- Yeah, I’m not convinced. 

HellfireMaster- Sleep tight, princess. 

Eddie logged out, a blinding smile on his face, his stomach fluttering with angry little tornados. He shut his computer down, turned off the radio, and crawled into his bed. A click of the string on his bedside lamp and he’s engulfed in darkness, the only light a white moon beam peeking through his blinds, and Eddie lays on his back with his hands folded over his blanket covered chest still smiling like a love sick fool because tomorrow night he’ll be in this same spot but with the phone pressed to his head, you voice filtering through his ear like a melody. 

Eddie falls into a dreamy sleep with the thought of you and your voice calling his name. Finally.     

[nuclearblastuk]

Aenimus sign to Nuclear Blast! Read about it here.

[hb-writes]

Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should

Summary: After a few rainy days stuck inside during spring break, the whole Cullen clan is feeling restless and resort to pranking to pass the time.

Featuring: Emmett Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Mia Cullen

-- It had rained for fifteen days straight in Forks, a parade of stubborn drizzles followed by steady downpours and carrying over into the week-long spring break. Mia didn't usually mind the rain, quite used to it giving her something to watch out the window when she didn't care for a teacher's lesson or the drops of it falling against her window and lulling her to sleep at night.

She usually enjoyed the impromptu breaks her family took from school, too, more than happy to roam the woods or sit out in the sun with a book while Forks High School held the impression that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had pulled the kids out of school for some outdoor activity. But being stuck inside while the school was closed for an endlessly rainy break had Mia feeling a little restless.

It had taken her only a day to finish her pending assignments, and just one more to completely rearrange her bedroom. She had actually grown tired of staring at things, her eyes fatigued by and bored with her laptop screen, books, and the view out her window. And she had grown tired of her siblings too, bored of their usual indoor pursuits and routines.

By day three, Mia had strayed to playing innocent pranks to pass the time—moving her siblings' things when they left the room and making failed attempts to sneak up on all of them, but most specifically Emmett, who'd first made a game of scaring her, wrapping the whole family up in it so that Mia could hardly go an hour without being snuck up on.

Because of that, her pride and joy in regards to the pranks had been the alterations she made to Emmett's jeep, a prank she entered into knowing it would likely be an act of delayed gratification, not like the hiding of frequently needed items or the botched pop up scares. Emmett had no need to take a vehicle out any time soon. If he was going anywhere, he was more likely to run, and once school was back in session, they would be more likely to take Edward's car. Mia knew she could be waiting weeks for any sort of acknowledgement.

She was willing to wait though, the mere recollection of all she had done sufficient enough to get her through Emmett continuing to scare her over and over. She’d done a few things to his jeep, easy stuff like rearranging the mirrors and seats, and adjusting the radio volume to its maximum, and changing the station to the local one that favored heavy metal. But all of that was mostly a distraction because Mia was far more proud of the collection of nuts and bolts in tin cans duct-taped under his seats and inside the spare tire set on the back to the jeep. The whole vehicle would be rattling if he hit a bump or tapped the break, two things she assumed Emmett would encounter before even making it out of the driveway. 

Mia wasn’t usually one for such targeted and premeditated pranks, but Emmett had made a sport of scaring Mia over their week of near-confinement, and she felt he deserved something beyond the standard prank. So when the opportunity arose, with her siblings out for a hunt, her father at the hospital, and her mother occupied with some project in her studio, Mia took her opportunity. 

She knew Emmett would discover the rattle was no more than a prank after he asked Rose to take a look at it, but she still giggled to herself imagining what would happen when he finally brought himself to ask for Rose’s help and then she laughed once again imagining the look on Rose’s face as she held up one of the offending cans. Emmett was clueless when it came to cars. Completely clueless.

But she had only had to wait a few days because Rose had decided she wanted to go on a date, and Emmett insisted on driving, insisted on getting dressed up, and settling himself down on the couch beside Mia while he waited for Rose to finish getting ready.

Had Mia realized they would be taking Emmett's vehicle, she wouldn't have stayed in such a vulnerable position, lounging there on the couch. She would have put some more distance between herself and her siblings, and a locked door, perhaps. She would have prepared herself a bit better to feign ignorance.

But as she had been caught off guard, she hadn't been prepared to fight when Rose stomped back through the front door with Emmett following in her wake. Rose had barely spared her a glance, the can rattling in her hand as she continued straight up the stairs.

And though it all clicked very suddenly that she was about to be told on, Mia couldn't scramble fast enough because it seemed to happen too quickly that Emmett had plucked her off the couch and was placing her down in Carlisle's office, less than two steps away from a seething Rose.

To Rose's dismay, there hadn't been any true repercussions for the prank aside from Carlisle's request that Mia issue a genuine apology and an acknowledgment that cars were not something to be messed with. Mia had laid low for a few days anyhow, avoiding Emmett and Rose, and even her father, to the best of her ability, which was why Mia had settled in for a day of self-care, feeling she’d earned an afternoon of soothing teas and good music and moisturizing skincare and nail painting after all of the effort put into pranking and the hassle of being found out. 

With the rain and the music and her own voice filling her ears, Mia didn’t hear Emmett push her door open or tread across her bedroom floor. Had he been a human of his proportions, he’d not be able to sneak up on her, but as it was, Emmett was stealthy whenever he wished to be, able to take unassuming and delicate steps despite his size. 

“Boo.”

The word was barely above a whisper and Mia stumbled and let out a scream, startled just as much by the hushed remark as she was by the quick rush of breath near her ear and the hands that grasped her before she fell. 

“EMMETT!” she shouted, pushing at his hold and groaning once he settled her back on her feet. 

He reached over to turn down the music, laughing. “You’re too easy, kid.”

“And you’re a stupid jerk,” Mia ground out, shoving against his solid chest with all her might only for him to stand there unaffected, chest puffed out and smiling down at her. “You scared me!”

“Same here,” he said, gesturing towards the green clay mask on her face. “Got a bit of a Wicked Witch of the West thing going on there.” 

Mia’s rolled her eyes. “Actually, I was channeling my idiot older brother.”

“Ah, so Yoda, then?” Emmett smirked. “What an honor.” 

“Hulk,” she offered. “You know, the incomprehensible behemoth with no self-control?”

Mia stepped away from him, heading towards the bathroom to rinse her face and Emmett appeared before her once again, another scream coming from her lips. 

“Stop doing that!” 

“I’m sure you’ve done something to earn it,” he answered, “just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“I’ve been up here all day, Em.” 

“Yeah, and unfortunately your voice carries. Sounds like you’re drowning cats up here.” Emmett turned to glance in the open bathroom door and Mia smacked him on the arm. 

“I’m going to tell Dad if—” 

“Speaking of Carlisle, he wants to see you.” 

“Why?”

Emmett shrugged. “I’m just the messenger, but you might want to clean that off and drop the Oscar the Grouch act before you go down there.” 

Mia clenched her fist. If it would have done anything, she might’ve hit him, wiping that smug little grin off his face entirely, but she knew it wouldn’t, so she took a deep breath instead, releasing her fist and smiling instead.

“You mind giving me a minute, then?” 

“Wait for wicked sister grouch, the Yoda Hulk brother will,” Emmett answered.

Mia took another deep breath, waiting a moment to see if he was serious, rolling her eyes as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.

“I don’t need you to wait. I can remember how to get myself downstairs,” she said, but Emmett didn’t budge so she moved to the sink. 

She took her time with rinsing and moisturizing and didn’t utter a word to Emmett as she tried to step past him, but his hand caught her chin, though his palm and fingers spanned the whole bottom half of her face really, and the whole maneuver stopped her from moving entirely with little effort on Emmett’s part. 

“So soft now, your skin is.”

“Emmeh, lemme go!” Mia shouted, her words muffled as her cheeks remained squished between his fingers. “Yur nod fummy.” 

Emmett laughed, dropping his hold and holding a guiding hand out in front of them. “Fine, grouch. Go ahead, then.” 

“I will.” Mia massaged her jaw as she took the stairs nearly two at a time. “And I’m going to tell Dad you’re being an assh—” 

Mia’s mouth closed as she took a step off the stairs, rounding the corner, nearly knocking into her father.

Carlisle caught her arm as she stumbled and Mia briefly checked his face for any sign he intended to reprimand her for the word choice, but her eyes were instead pulled to the mess of tin cans on the table.

"What's…"

"All of this?" Carlisle asked as Mia wormed her way out of his hold. "I was hoping you might be able to tell us."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between the cans, her father, and her brother, who had taken a seat at the counter.

"I've been up in my room all day. I don't even know what 'this' is."

Emmett put his feet up on the stool beside him. "You're busted, kid. Might as well give up the act."

"I'm not busted because I didn't do anything.”

"Well, the fourteen tin cans found in the cars would say otherwise," Carlisle answered. "I thought we were in agreement that there would be no more pranks played, especially where the cars are involved?"

Mia’s mouth fell open a bit before she gulped. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up the can that certainly had been Mia's doing, a neat 'With love, Mia,' painted out on the side of the can with nail polish.

"You did this?"

Mia couldn't find the words, but she finally nodded. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up another tin can, a nearly identical message written out on the side with the very same shade of pink and Mia stepped forward, pulling the can from his grasp to study it closer.

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered, "Emmett must've…he must be—"

"I must be what?"

Mia jumped at her brother's closeness and she smacked his shoulder as a reflex. "Stop doing that!” she said before turning back to Carlisle. “Dad, tell him to stop scaring me."

Carlisle sighed. "Amelia, I thought we were on the same page after our discussion. You agreed to stop with the pranks, but since our discussion doesn’t seem to have been enough—"

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered. "I—"

"What about this?"

Mia let out a rushed exhale, a nervous laugh coming at the end of it. She had forgotten about the photo she'd replaced days ago, switching out one of her father and her as a baby to that of her father holding a potato wrapped in cream-colored blankets.

"I did that ages ago. It was before we talked."

"Aw, come on, Mia. You don't think we're that stupid, do you?" Emmett asked.

Mia turned from her father to her brother. "I think you are."

She shrieked as Emmett twirled her around, wrapping one arm across her chest as he held her against his front, using his free hand to clamp down over her mouth.

"Alright, I think we've heard enough of her lip, Carlisle. It's time for sentencing. Fearless leader, do your worst."

Mia knew her father would never do his worst. She wasn’t even aware of what Carlisle Cullen’s worst entailed, having never seen him more than slightly aggrieved, but she thrashed against her brother’s hold anyhow, prying at his hands until he caught her arms, and then she kicked at his shins, but Emmett easily sidestepped her attempts.

Mia yelled her brother’s name, the sound muffled into his palm before she bit down. It didn’t hurt him, more of a shock that she’d even done it, than anything. She'd gone through a short-lived biting phase around three or four, but they’d been incident free since then.

Emmett smirked. “Are you sure you want to challenge me to a biting war, kid?”

Carlisle cleared his throat. “I think a more appropriate punishment would be for Amelia to clean and detail the cars.” 

She groaned, her efforts to get out of Emmett’s hold renewed, if only because she wanted to voice her protest. 

“And dust every picture frame in the house,” Carlisle continued as Emmett finally uncovered her mouth.

“But that’s going to take forever and I—”

“I suspect it will keep you busy for the remainder of your break and provide you with plenty of time to think about your behavior,” Carlisle said. “And you’re grounded...three weeks.” 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mia groaned, “Dad, I didn’t even do this! I—”

Mia felt Emmett shaking with silent laughter before she noticed the mischievous glint in her father’s eye, the slightest of smiles coming to his face. 

“You actually are joking, aren’t you?” 

Carlisle shrugged. “Emmett and I thought you could benefit from a little dose of your own medicine, Mia.”

Mia sighed. “So I don’t have to do any of what you said, then?”

Emmett lifted her over his shoulder, moving steadily towards the door.. “You’re still helping me wash the jeep, kid. Need to teach you the importance of not messing with my things.” 

“But it’s pouring out—Dad! Help!”

Carlisle stepped forward, beating them to the door.

“Thank yo—” Mia started.

He pulled his daughter’s rain jacket off the hook, handing it to Emmett. “We wouldn’t want your sister getting sick,” he said. “And let me get that for you.” 

Carlisle opened the door, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face as Emmett carried her through. 

“Have fun, sweetheart.” 

--

Twilight Masterlist

[transmascnepetaleijon]

i was hearing heavy metal from seemingly the nothing but it was not actually coming from nowhere its just my little sister hearing heavy metal music on maximum volume at 6am

[9tzuyu]

the art of delicate hands – pt. i

[ wandanat. ]

College AU.

Multiple part series ;

↳ snippets of their relationship and how I perceive them.

sumary:

wanda doesn't like to talk very much, only to her brother (and sometimes her lovely redheaded girlfriend).

notes:

if anyone international is reading this, ASL is shortened for american sign language (language of the hands).

+

this is a revised and edited version from when i wrote it on ao3 in 2018.

The only person that knew was Pietro. It was her little secret, and she could only hope that no one now would find out. She knew she shouldn't be ashamed, it was nothing to be ashamed over. Unsurprisingly however, it became her biggest insecurity – years of relentless bullying ensued that.

Wanda was always anxious. When she was seven she began experiencing panic attacks. The metallic taste of blood in her mouth became familiar over time as her panic attacks worsened.

All because she was mute and didn't feel comfortable to speak to anyone, including her parents. The only person Wanda felt comfortable enough to talk to was her brother (you could say that's because they're twins).

A doctor in Sokovia mentioned to Wanda's parents that therapy may help, that it may get her to speak more than four words a week. So her parents moved her when she was 16 and hoped for the best.

Within a year and a half Wanda was able to develop a clear understanding of American Sign Language. Eight months into the move and Wanda's parents had given up on Wanda ever talking, something that she took personal. They didn't catch on to English as quick as the twins did, their native language stuck closer than expected. Pietro didn't mind learning English quickly as he wanted to fit in school, and he also didn't mind studying ASL to communicate with Wanda on a deeper level.

American high school wasn't much better than her hometown. People talked, whispered and gossiped about her in class, muttered hurtful things about her appearance and the way she carried herself; a shy, quiet, timid girl. The worst part of it was when they mocked her for using a language that was supposed to feel safe for her. Pietro always came to her rescue, shooing people away, reminding them that she's his sister. The silver haired boy had no problem fitting in, it was only when they were apart did people tease the younger brunette.

When their parents died, Wanda took the brunt of the emotional attack it had on the twins. She'd been sitting in the backseat of the car, earbuds in, with her music volume at maximum capacity. Her father had tried to tell her to turn down the music while her mother rest in the passenger seat, window down with her eyes closed. When Wanda didn't hear her father, he reached over, eyes off the road, and tapped her. The second she registered his touch a semi-truck hit her father's door. In a matter of minutes Wanda and Pietro both were left alone to fend for themselves.

Putting the blame on herself only caused her to shut down further. It took over a year for Wanda to speak to Pietro again.

But as per usual, the twins stuck together and finished high school. The only difference was that they lived in foster care, they belonged to the state, up for grabs if anyone wanted them. That came to an end six months into their stay. The foster family proposed the idea of adoption, they had no problem in taking care of the twins for the rest of the time being – or, if they wanted, every day after as well.

At twenty, Wanda and Pietro eventually both went to college and shared a house with a bundle of other people on campus. The younger sibling even found herself a girlfriend within the group, her name being Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha didn't mind at all how little Wanda talked. She was curious, of course, but even before their relationship Nat never pushed her girlfriend into anything uncomfortable. Natasha could tell Wanda always made effort though, that's what drove the brunette into allowing herself a relationship.

When the redhead would sleep, Wanda would continuously practice signing. She'd sign songs and poems, movie scripts and books, everything she possibly could to improve herself. It was a very personal, in touch form of language for her.

Wanda had been with her girlfriend a little over a year and Natasha still didn't know all the unpleasant factors that came about her life. Wanda only told her just enough to get by, and she felt immensely guilty for that. Truth was she desperately wanted to tell Natasha, she just didn't know how. She'd thought about just signing something to her and hoping she would catch on, but figured that would be too much. Anxiety spiked in her chest and in her bones, and she was tired of feeling like a liar.

With a sigh, Wanda plopped down on her bed and pulled her phone out from her back pocket. Unlocking it, she went to her text messages and scrolled to Pietro's contact. When she was sure no one else was in the house, she tapped the call button and listened to the phone ring until Pietro answered.

"You know I'm in the other room, right? You literally could've called my name." He greeted, accent heavy through the speaker.

Wanda giggled as she ran her fingers through her hair. You're safe. Speak, it's okay. She reminded herself.

"Yeah, but are you free?"

"Always."

"Can you come here? I need to ask you about something." Pietro gave out a loud, playful sigh but walked to her room, disconnecting the call on his way in. "What is it, my dear sister? What could possibly be troubling you here on this day? Is it that scruffy redhead?" He smirked arrogantly but sat down in the desk chair across from Wanda, not failing to notice how she rolled her eyes.

"She doesn't have scruffy hair and you know it. It's soft, gentle – and much less damaged than your shit show of an excuse for bleached hair."

"Whatever you say, little chaos."

Wanda groaned, "Why must you still call me that?"

"It suits you well."

There was a shared moment of silence between the two before Pietro spoke up. "What was it you wanted to ask me about?" A small frown was plastered on Wanda's face and Pietro found himself wanting to know even more now. Wanda waited another minute before finally answering. "Should I tell her? You know, about..."

A huge smile took over her brother's face. He was ecstatic that she wanted this for her girlfriend. "Of course you should! I really think she'd be interested to know more about you – y'know, since you don't ever tell her anything."

"I tell her things!" Pietro shook his head, "Does she even know your birthday?" Wanda nodded and turned herself away from him. "I just don't know how to do it. I mean it'd be kind of heavy just taking her out to dinner only to tell her my deepest, darkest secret afterwards. I'm scared she'll hate me, Pietro! And I've never even spoke. More than like, 12 sentences all at once with her!" He softened knowing how much trouble one past  had caused his little sister. "Write her a note?" He suggested, but she shook her head. "I want to tell her, not write her."

Right before he was about to speak again there was a knock at the door. The pair looked up to find Natasha standing in the doorway smiling down at the two. "Am I interrupting?"

Wanda froze while Pietro arrogantly raised his eyebrow and announced his answer. "No. We were just finished talking."

Confusion was written on Nat's face and she stood there until Wanda shook her head and muttered a small "No," giving her the signal that she could come in.

"I'll be in the other room if you need me." Pietro got up, despite Wanda's silent plea for him to stay. He gave her a thumbs up and left the room.

Natasha closed the door and laid next to Wanda, wrapping her arms around the younger woman. "You okay?" Wanda nodded in reply and Natasha knew not to push. For now she'd just keep an eye on her, reassuring her that she could talk to her if need be.

Over the next few days Wanda seemed to be doing better. She was supposed to go to a party with Nat, but opted out to study for classes instead.

"Be safe," she whispered and planted a small kiss on Natasha's lips.

Everyone else went to the same party, leaving the house to just Wanda. She sent out a group message telling everyone to text her or ring her (at the very most importance) if they needed a ride. Wanda didn't drink much anyways so she didn't mind being the designated driver of the bunch. And besides, she didn't mind having some time alone, it gave her the absence of the boys so she could study.

However, after over an hour or so of studying Wanda was beginning to feel stressed. Her nerves were building and she could feel her jaw clench.

She needed a break.

With a small sigh, she got up and connected her phone to her speaker. After scrolling and clicking on her song of choice, Wanda found herself signing the words to a Modest Mouse song.

Green eyes closed as her hands began to string along with the words of the song. It was rather fast paced, but Wanda was able to keep up fairly well thanks to years of practice. Lyrics flowed through her fingertips and in the palms of her hands, her stress levels immediately decreasing as she went on.

Unbeknownst to her, however, Natasha was standing in the doorway watching her every move. She was absolutely mesmerized by Wanda's hand motions. Her finger spelling was very fast, and Natasha was curious to know how long Wanda had known ASL.

When the song was over, Wanda stopped her music and moved herself so she could study again. She grabbed her pens, pencils and highlighters, along with her textbook while her back faced Natasha.

"I didn't know you could sign." Natasha commented. A mix of shock and uneasiness quickly took over the calm look on Wanda's face.

It wasn't until then when Tasha put two and two together. She quickly rushed over to her girlfriend, and carefully engulfed her into a hug.

"Hey, no, I think it's really cool. You don't have to worry now, your secret's safe with me." Wanda began to shake in her grasp, tears forming in her eyes. She backed out of the embrace and against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest.

"No, you're supposed to hate me, laugh at me. You're supposed to be anything but be cool with it." Natasha tilted her head, "Is that what they did to you?"

Wanda peaked out from underneath her arms, the confirmative nod sent Natasha's heart well beyond sinking. She’d never understand how people could willingly be so cruel.

"I'm here to listen, not judge." Her words softly echoed in Wanda's mind, and she watched Natasha carefully to see if she was lying. When she didn't make any remarks or snide comments, Wanda knew it was safe. Accent heavy, she began letting words slip from her mouth.

"I have really bad anxiety when it comes to talking, so I just don’t. Asl makes it easier to communicate, but growing up I was often teased for it. You’re really good at reading me without it, so I hid it from you. Guess their words still haunt me...” Wanda finished, giving Natasha a little more insight on her life.

Natasha moved closer to her girlfriend, bringing Wanda’s shaking body into her embrace. She then kissed the top of her forehead.

Wanda looked up to see Natasha thinking, her eyebrows scrunched together and she was chewing on her lip. She nudged her.

“I think it’s quite beautiful if you ask me.” Wanda cracked a smile and rest her head on Tasha’s shoulder. “Beauty comes from pain, I guess.”

But Natasha shook her head, “No, No, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Wanda nodded. She understood what Natasha was saying, she just didn’t believe it to be true when it came to herself. Nonetheless, she spoke the words, repeating the mantra so that maybe she could start to feel a belief in them.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

[yoga-onion]

Windermere in Raging Storm

-Heavy metal, overcoming your nightmares (2)-

On my way back from Yorkshire, I happened to visit the Lake District, Windermere. It’s famous for Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit. It was for the first time and last time.

Despite visiting peaceful landscapes as I’d imagined from the books, unfortunately, it was raging rain & wind, such a stormy day.

“Whatever!” I played AC/DC on Maximum volume and started driving.

Here we go, “Wow!”

The heavy rain & wind were one matter, but the flooding and puddles, were another. Passing through a dark picture of hell, was so decadent. It was like being Moses as he split the Sea, in the book of Exodus. The sound of heavy metal music created a sense of dramatic excitement.

I remember the face of a Herdwick sheep, standing amidst a Wuthering Heights landscape, in strong rain & wind. It looked like ‘Kao-nashi’ in Sprited Away by Hayao Miyazaki. I must say that animals, in general, show such courage & trust, at anytime.

I continued driving along a flooded M1 for 5 hours, all the way back to London, listening to loud heavy metal music. It was the ‘Highway to Hell’!

Speaking of Windermere, Heavy metal, Moses parting of the Sea, and Kaonashi in Sprited Away come to my mind,

Nothing to do with Peter Rabbit!

嵐のウィンダーメア

–悪夢の克服はヘビメタに限る（２）-

仕事でヨークシャーを訪れた帰りに、ビアトリクス・ポターのピーターラビットで有名な湖水地方、ウィンダーメアに立ち寄ることにした。湖水地方を訪れたのは後にも先にもこれきりだ。

「ピーターラビットのおはなし」のような、長閑なイギリスの田舎風景を訪ねるつもりが、その日はあいにくの暴風雨だった。

「えーい、なる様になれ」と、半ば投げやりにAC/DCを音量全開でかけた。

いざ・なう“ワオ”だった。

雨風もさることながら、パドルもあそこまで行くと、大洪水だった。ヘビメタのBGMが拍車をかけ、気分は出エジプト記、モーゼの海割りさながら、ドラマティックな昂揚を見せ、流れ行く暗い景色は地獄さながらのデカダンス。

嵐が丘の頂上に君臨したハードウィック羊が、宮崎駿氏の「千と千尋の神かくし」に登場する顔なしに見えたのが、とても印象的だった。いつも感じる事だが、動物はどんな時でもわたしたちに安堵と勇気を示唆してくれる、ありがたい存在である。

その勢いのまま、ヘビメタの爆音と共に、水中と化したM1をロンドンまで一直線に５時間、飛ばし続けた。これぞまさしく「地獄のハイウエイ」だった。

わたしにとって湖水地方・ウィンダーメアで連想するのは、ヘビメタ、モーゼの海割り、そして‘顔なし’だ。

ピーターラビットは一切関係ありません。

[kernblanskis]

headcanon: Ned listening to heavy metal at maximum volume in the room he shares with Jimbo. And Jimbo banging on the door like crazy to get Ned to turn down the music.

[drkreviews]

The Thirteen - Music Against The Luck

Here I am with a new band special in “Focusing on”! Today’s subject is a project made by the experience and aimed to search unexpected melodies. We’re talking about The Thirteen, formed on 2016 and composed by Mao (vo.) and Mizuki (gt.), both former members of the famous visual kei band Sadie, disbanded an year earlier.  The band’s name comes indeed by the number 13, seen as a symbol of unluck, as much in Western culture and in Eastern one. The duo’s concept is surely linked by this image, making it creepier, realistic and against the current society. Their genre is heavy metal, highly extreme and technical, which gives spot even to dramatic tunes, thanks to the previous musical experience of the members. Their debut occurred on May 2016 with the first album Pandemic (reviewed here).

The lead-track, named Chainsaw, exalts at maximum the heavy component of their sound, well rendered in each aspect; the song is about the lack of justice for ourselves. It has been followed by the singles Liar Liar, White Dust and Gamushara (reviewed here) and the two mini-albums Evil Mad Science and Urge.

The lead-track, named Aria, sees a more melodious component in their sound, which makes the song more efficient than expected; the song is about a love doomed to end. It has been followed by the mini-albums Lament and Alone.

The lead-track, entitled Siren, is a song which is strongly exalted by Mao’s vocal interpretation and the awesome instrumental work, which resulted in a deep melody; the song is a reference to the famous tale by Hans Christian Andersen as a metaphor to an unrealized love. It has been followed by the acoustic single Silence Volume I.

When the announcement for this band has been released, the hype was hugh, even because of the spot left by Sadie, a visual kei band like few, whose disbandment has been really surprising at that time, despite the critics the band got in their last releases. Mao and Mizuki thought to take the best of that world and brought it inside this new project, starting off with an extreme and adrenalinic sound, which slowly evolved in something more compelling and powerful, empowered by a distinctive vocal interpretation and a massive instrumental work. The series of mini-albums released between 2017 and 2019 is surely the best representation of the duo’s evolution, leading them to achieve a major success in the scene and to be distinctive inside the great variety of acts of the genre. Their change has followed on their second full release, the album Enigma, which mixes up the best of those mini-albums with something new and unexpected, making it one of the best releases of this new year and putting The Thirteen again at the center of the attention.

Who might enjoy: who is still missing Sadie’s unique sound and/or is looking for to a new and fresh metal band

Recommended songs: Chainsaw, White Dust, Gamushara, Bites the Black, Aria, Lament and Siren.

That’s all folks! See you with a new song analysis in “Lyrical Love”!

Thanks for the reading!

[luckjustkissedyouhello]

ISAIP Fic Teaser - Love So Sterng I: Pound Puppy Eyes

I’m working on a fanfic. i’ve been working on it forever....since January. It’s easily the longest fanfic I’ve every written, and clocks in at ~42,000 works. AND I’ve finished it. Currently, @brownwithafrown is very kindly betaing it. I discovered, on reaching the ending, that the fic will be a series. I’m so proud of finishing that i thought i’d post the the opening scene tonight. 

Warnings (for the fic in general, not just the opening scene): Graphic violence. Foul language. More violence (in this scene).  Blood. Vomit. Mentions of past (physical) child abuse and neglect, as well as mentions/discussions of past childhood sexual abuse (aka: Uncle Jack). Self harm. Prescription drug misuse. Anxiety/Panic Attacks. Non-canon Character Death.  [I think that’s all - am I missing any @brownwithafrown?]

This scene especially is heavy on the violence/whumping of Charlie and Mac. The endgame is CharMac, though this fanfic doesn’t go there. No other pairings in this fic, 

Title: Love So Sterng I: Pound Puppy Eyes

Summary:  One of Frank’s bad choices has dire repercussions for two members of The Gang. Can they (and their friendships) survive the aftermath?

Mac doesn't register what he's hearing, at first. 

He's down in the basement, rearranging  the boxes of extra booze. Charlie complained he piled them too high. There was a step stool right there, for that very reason, but Charlie said he didn't like climbing on things, (not if he wasn't blitzed out of his head on inhalants and climbing a leaning tower of boxes to freedom via an air vent, apparently). And when Dee went down to get rum, she just squawked that the boxes were too heavy and that she was dizzy from basement fumes. Dumb bitch. So now Mac is pulling down the boxes, taking out four bottles per box so that there's only eight rather than twelve in the box, and stacking the boxes so they're chest height, no higher.

It's not his fault that he didn't know his own strength anymore (not that anyone gives a shit how hard he worked to look good and keep them safe with his hot new rockin' bod) and so he made the boxes too heavy. He hated doing inventory anyway because of this. Everyone had an opinion, but no one did the work (not that he didn't try to slide out of it himself). Also, it's not his fault that he couldn't find any more boxes. So now there's a lot of liquor bottles all around him on the floor. Brown liquor, clear liquor, whatever the hell Jägermeister  is… And Mac may be debating snagging a few bottles for his and Dennis's place. It's not really stealing, if he's taking something he'd just drink in the bar without paying, right?

He has to admit, it's a decent workout, lifting boxes and moving things around, which is why he put on his workout mix a little while ago. The music tells his body to go more faster. So his ear buds are in, not even at maximum volume, but it still takes a while for him to realize that there is an awful lot of stomping and crashing going on upstairs for a bar that is closed. Charlie is up there cleaning while Mac moves the stock around. They closed early, it was only eleven on a Tuesday, but Dee was out on a 'date' (yeah, right) and Charlie was bummed because he hadn't seen Frank in days, and Mac was bummed because Dennis was in North Dakota again, visiting D/BJ ('don't call him Dennis-slash-Brian Junior' Dennis had shouted at him, but Mac thought the nickname was great and wanted to keep it  - at least until the rest of the gang heard it - they had rules about this, banning of nicknames was not allowed without the nicknamer and nicknamed present, as well as at least one other member of the gang). So they decided to have a movie night to keep Charlie's spirits up. Which was why he is thinking about what liquor to snag – whiskey was winning out because Charlie tended to get sad as shit when he drank vodka straight and if Mac was honest with himself, Jägermeister made him kind of violent (the last time he had drank nothing but Jäger and Redbull, he put his hand through the mirror in the apartment's bathroom)  when he accidentally sets a box on the earbuds cord and doesn't realize until the little earbud is ripped out of his right ear as he turns to grab the next box.  

Just in time to hear a loud thud and Charlie scream. Mac's guts turn to ice. Because he knows each and every one of Charlie's screams, from frustrated to happy, sad to hungry, stoned to confessing love, (Charlie screams a lot) and that one was a rare one. That was the sound of pain. Charlie says something, Mac can just pick up on the highest sounds through the floor, and then there's another, softer thud than the one before.

Silence. Something is not right. Mac knows it in his bones. He runs for the stairs, he can't leave Charlie of all people alone up there with a threat, Charlie wasn't good in situations like this, didn't know how to ever just shut up and follow instructions, listening to the robber's words rather than getting distracted by like the light reflecting in a puddle or whatever else caught his eye – Mac once watched Charlie stare at the point of a mugger's knife for, like, three whole minutes before getting his wallet out while Mac and the crackhead *both* screamed at him fork over his cash. Which was only two dollars, in nickels, for some odd reason. Charlie was lucky Mac was with him and he didn't get knifed then, 'cause Mac was more smart and took Charlie's arm and ran as the mugger stared at his fistful of silvery metal and got this frustrated I'm gonna stab you anyway look on his face.

And. Yeah. No one is supposed to hurt Charlie. Not when Mac is around. He had made that promise to himself, and out loud to Charlie when they were like eight and Charlie had crawled through his bedroom window (scaring the shit out of Mac, who didn't know Charlie could climb up the side of his house like Spiderman!), sobbing and refusing to say why. Eight year old Mac was Ronnie then, and he held on to his friend and promised that he'd protect him, which just made Charlie cry harder. Mac had never forgotten that promise, and in school he caught more than one beating that was meant for the other man (and okay, sometimes Charlie got his ass kicked on Mac's behalf, but those weren't Mac's fault!), but Mac had made a promise to his oldest friend that day nearly forty years ago. He isn't going to break that now!

Charlie's rat bashing stick is leaning against the wall by the basement door. Without any other weapon, Mac decides it is better than nothing. Part of him is tempted to hide down in the basement and not come out. If it was anyone else up there alone, maybe he'd do that. But there's another thud, and now he can hear through the basement door the other guy's deep voice - fuck he's probably big - and Charlie's higher one shouting something, but he can't figure out what the fuck either of them are saying.

Charlie shouts again in pain, and that gets Mac moving again. It's Charlie. He can't leave him. Even if Mac is so scared his guts are frozen ice, he knows he has to see what's going on. He edges into the keg room, glad the door is open into the bar and he can sneak over to the doorway. What he sees makes him want to turn tail and hide, but also go over and beat the man's brains in with his bare fists.

Charlie is curled up fetal on the floor, on arm around his middle and the other up over his head, and Mac is pretty sure there's blood on Charlie's face, but he can't really see at the angle he's at. The dude, who is about Mac's height but looks much less beefy, but he's got a gun pointed at Charlie, and that's scarier than if Arnold himself was in the room. Mac heart is thudding so hard in his throat as he watches that he's afraid they both will hear it thudding and give him away, but they don't. The man just boots Charlie in the face, twice in rapid succession, boom boom without giving Charlie a chance to recover or even get his hands up to protect himself and says calmly: "I know you know where Frank is," while Charlie groans in pain, blood leaking between his fingers as he cups his hand to his smashed and bleeding nose.

"I don't!" Charlie answers, his voice is muffled by the hand he's got to his face, but it makes something twist in Mac's chest to hear Charlie sounding desperate and clogged with blood.

The man growls, actually growls and Charlie tries to shrink away, but he's got a dazed look on his face like he's not all there anymore and Mac can't blame him. Being kicked in the face is disorientating. The man reaches down and wraps his free hand in Charlie's hair and pulls up - Charlie cries out and has to grip the man's arm to keep from losing hair. The man shakes his fist and jerks Charlie's head around (wow, Mac's never seen an adult do that to another adult, though his father was fond of doing that to him when he was being a little bitch that didn't listen good). The man lets go of his hair and looks at the sleeve of the gray blazer he's wearing, marked by the blood that was on Charlie's hand.  

Charlie's eyes go wide and he starts to raise his hands up, but the stranger is quicker. Mac watches it happen in what feels like slow-motion, helpless to stop it, the man swinging the gun in his hand in a wide, punishing arch that ends with a crack against Charlie's left cheekbone and Charlie starts to fall to the side, but the man grabs Charlie's shirt collar in his fist to keep Charlie upright and hits Charlie in the face with the gun twice more so quick Charlie doesn't get a chance to brace himself between blows. The bastard isn't giving Mac a chance to step in, he's got the gun too close to Charlie for Mac to try and stop him - he can't take the risk that the man will shoot Charlie before he will get to them.

Seeing the man just whale on Charlie makes Mac angry, his hand tightens on the Rat Stick as he watches. He prays as he does because he can't *do fucking anything*, just watch as the man lets go of Charlie's shirt and Charlie fucking crumples to the ground with a moan of pain. Mac fucking prays more in those moments than he has in the last year, begging God or Jesus or like, Saint Jude (the patron saint of lost causes and therefore pretty much the one that probably gives a shit about guys like Mac and Charlie) to step in and not let Charlie get shot. Mac isn't sure what he'll do if Charlie were to die.

Charlie doesn't get shot. Instead, he fucking *writhes* on the floor, banging his right fist into the ground, hard, muttering 'fuck, fuck, fuck!' under his breath. Like that can distract from the pain that his face must be in. Mac hates himself for just watching, but he knows, he *knows* he only has one chance to surprise the bastard with the gun and get Charlie (and him) out of this alive.              

The bastard points the gun at Charlie. "Tell me where Frank is and I won't shoot you in your fucking face."

"I don't know where he is," Charlie says, his voice is still desperate, that sad desperate of someone who knows that they won't be believed, even though he's telling the truth.

The asshole growls again, and steps towards Charlie, the gun pointed at the floor as he raises his foot to kick Charlie again. And Mac decides that's it. Here's his chance. He needs to step in now, while the gun is pointed at the floor rather than Charlie. Mac finds that despite how much he hates seeing Charlie hurt, how much he hates this guy for hurting Charlie, a large part of him wants to be a coward and hang back, rush for the safety of the basement and hide there. But he can't do that. Can't leave Charlie to get beat up more, or worse.

Mac raises the bat and runs at the bastard. The guy turns to him just as Mac swings the bat. The spiked bat makes solid contact with the prick's head, Mac feels the shock of it connecting go down his arms (it's like driving a speeding car into a brick wall) and then Mac is sitting on his ass, having fallen for a reason he can't quite figure out for a long, dazed moment.

The guy hits the ground, the bat sticking to him, a spike shoved into his right eye, another driven in to his cheek. Mac stares at him, because the guy isn't moving, not even to breathe, and Mac still isn't sure why he's sitting down, except that *he* can't breathe and something catches his eye, he looks away from the not moving man and looks down at himself, because the something that caught his eye was blood, bright red and on his chest and it's his blood, and...and....there was a bang of the gun going off, wasn't there?

+++

end of teaser.

Thanks for reading! 

[trolleyspeaker]

How does the speaker unit works in speaker box？

We were all curious about loudspeakers when we were kids and wanted to know how they produced sound. We all wonder to know how exactly the speakers work and make sound?

OK, let's discuss the mystery of the speaker of the speaker and explain How does the speaker unit works in speaker box？

1, The speaker uses the terminal to receive the signal

A speaker needs a pair of terminals to receive audio signals, because the audio and tweeter diaphragms need positive and negative current to vibrate back and forth. This extension circuit is what we call an AC terminal block and is made of conductive metals such as copper or gold.

Terminals for speakers

2, The frequency divider transmits the signal

The crossover is connected by wire, and the crossover is mounted directly on the back of the terminal block. The splitter is like a door opener. It divides the received signal into several frequency bands and provides them to the Bass unit, Midrange speaker and Tweeter.

Tweeter midrange unit bass unit of the speaker

Crossovers use components such as capacitors, inductors, and resistors to cut off certain frequencies and let others pass. Cutoff and pass depend on the type of unit the signal is flowing to. In short, cutoff and release are the main work of the divider.

A high-cut filter removes high-frequency signals from the audio signal. The low-cut filter allows more high-frequency signals to pass. This transition, we call the crossover slope.

High Cut Filter Graph

Low Cut Filter Graph

3, The unit of the speaker

It is very important for the unit of the speaker to divide the input signal into different frequency bands. Because the unit of the speaker is designed for different frequency bands.

The woofer has the largest diameter. Because it has to push more air, it is often made of very heavy materials, so that it can give the air a greater push. The speaker woofer moves back and forth no more than 500 times per second, while the tweeter needs to move back and forth up to 20,000 times per second.

The central part of the speaker unit is the voice coil, which is a coil of high-conductivity metal wire wound around this hollow cylinder, which we call a hard coil skeleton. The hard ring is directly connected to the back of the hard drive, and when the hard ring moves back and forth, the hard drive also moves back and forth, which pushes the air in front of the hard drive to vibrate, thus producing the sound we hear.

4, The magnetic field inside the speaker

When current is passed through the coil, it creates an electromagnetic field. If the energized voice coil is surrounded by a larger and heavier permanent magnetic field, it will be attracted and repelled. Because the polarity of the electromagnetic field changes back and forth between positive and negative, and the magnetic field is exactly the same frequency and intensity of the signal output by the power amplifier.

In other words, the voice coil moves back and forth with the pitch and volume of the music, and because of its connection to the back of the cone, the cone moves with it, pushing the outside of the audio to be overhanging. The voice coil is connected to the centering lug. The two elements are retractable, membrane structures that allow the cone and voice coil to move freely without losing control, ensuring that everything works properly in every position.

Concluding remarks

In the development and production of speaker units by manufacturers, as well as the assembly of speakers in the later stage, countless listening and testing will be carried out. The purpose of this is to ensure that it can restore the signal output by the power amplifier to the maximum extent, and when these signals reach our ears, they will become beautiful music.

We are IBRSPEAKER China, the professional speaker manufacture from Guangzhou China.

If you have questions about bluetooth speakers, portable speaker or PA speakers.

Please email us :info-cn@speakertrolley.com