#MAKE THE ALBUM AVAILABLE ON CASSETTE

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[slackcoalition]

Announcing The Rat Cellar Tape by Ethanol Owl!

I’ve made a deliberately lo-fi electronic EP, performed live and recorded straight to a cassette tape! It's available for free streaming on BandCamp or pay-what-you-like downloads. You’ll also be able to stream it on your service of choice on May 3, 2024, and can pre-save using this link.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be posting some photos and thoughts from the recording process. Follow me here to see what went into making this EP.

Looking forward to sharing the fun I had making this!

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

After waiting the entire day for this and then melting in the kitchen making dinner, I can sit down and talk a bit about Muse.

1. The crossword puzzle was a really fun idea, although seeing some people actually writing Smeraldo Garden Marching Band seemed far-fetched to me, I guess that's the pre-release track! I love that this and other clues are indicative of an ongoing project with the same team, but also a nod to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Reading the song description makes me wonder how much did Jimin take inspiration from that song/album.

2. A wide spread failure in trying to come up with Jimin's latest favorite food and choosing to jokingly say that it's tteokbokki by JK only to be revealed that that is indeed the correct option is perhaps the funniest thing today. And a reminder from Jimin to not forget who is his cook 🤭

3. I'm happy to see Jimin's level of involvement in the album, from writing to producing credits. I admit I was among those that thought a second album that doesn't have that much of a personal story component like Face, could take a different route. But it seems that Jimin really thrived in that music camp he set up at PDogg's place. It's rewarding to be able to have an interest in someone who is putting that much attention and work into his music.

4. I'm down for the aesthetic he's going for. Yes, it's '90s nostalgia, a tried method time and time again, but I think it will turn out alright. If Like Crazy as a synth pop track with heavy 80s sound influence turned out the way it did, I'm confident Muse and Who will be interesting. I also love the cassette tapes. Perhaps one with the title track will be available after the release?

5. As I've said this many times before, I'm not a fan of collabs. JK's solo path cemented that for me. I'm of course open to give a try to all the tracks on Muse, it goes without saying, but my interest in having any focus on the collab aspect is zero.

6. Jimin's mbti is CUTE 😭

[rogueddie]

The small selection of metal music at the local music store is pathetic. It’s a lot of old stuff, the more popular albums. The type of popular albums that, Steve is pretty sure, every metalhead already owns. He knows for certain that Eddie already has at least 85% of the albums available, and those are just the ones that Steve can remember.

“There has to be one,” Robin insists, glaring at the selection.

"There is nothing," Steve repeats. He waves his arms at the displays, wild enough that Robin flinches back. "There is nothing! They don't even have that Metallica one, the- the puppets one."

"Master of the puppets?" She says, stepping closer, moving cassettes aside. "No way, that came out in March."

"It's not here."

"What the fuck. There is nothing!"

"That's what I've been saying!"

"There's got to be something, right? Anything!"

Steve watches her move to one side and begin looking through every album... again. He knows she won't find anything, especially on her own- she doesn't pay attention to Eddies music enough to know what he already has.

But, whilst looking around in boredom, he spots it.

The single is in the sale bin, barely visible. Steve only noticed it because of the bands logo and, pulling it out, confirms his suspicion. It's only the one song on the cassette but it's perfect.

"Rob, I found it."

"What? Really?!" She practically jumps on his back in her excitement, nearly bowling him over. "That's great, that- oh. Steeeeve, that's just the single! And you said he has that album already!"

"I know it's... it's the song."

"What, did you make-out to it?" Her laughter quickly stops when she glances over at him, noticing his blush. "Did- oh, Steve, gross!"

"I didn't say anything!"

"You said it with your face!"

"Then stop looking at me!"

Robin pretends to gag, shoving him lightly, before turning serious. "You're sure this is the right one? We could still go to Indy."

"No, this is perfect, he'll love it. I'm sure."

"Good for you. What could I get him that can compete with that?"

"Nothing. There's no competition, mine will always be better."

"Ok, I know you're jealous that I'm wooing your boy toy so easy, but you don't have to be a bitch about it."

Steve repeats her in a mocking high voice, sticking his tongue out and blowing a raspberry when she punches his arm.

[mosessumney]

On 10 Years of Mid-City Island

I was painstakingly self-conscious in the beginning of my career. I’d grown up accustomed to writing in a vacuum, in my childhood bedroom, in my dorm room, hiding my songbook inside my mattress or at the bottom of a drawer. I always thought I’d get to make my first recordings in total obscurity, clumsily clanging around.

But months before I began recording my first EP, things blew up.

After a few shows and 2 bedroom recordings, seemingly everyone from the Los Angeles music scene was suddenly peering into my window, waiting to see what my first offering would be, hoping for commodifiable gloss. I was wined and dined and unrefined.

But I didn’t want to record the “R&B record” that would make me famous. I wanted to make something experimental akin to the early recordings I loved – Linda Perhacs’ Parallelograms; Sufjan Stevens’s A Sun Came; the scratchy musings of Cody ChestnuTT and Milton Nascimento; the kitchen candor of Jessica Pratt. Instead I was often shipped to fancy producers’ and execs’ home studios and offices, forced to listen to them preach about how I was a star-in-waiting. I didn’t want to be a star. I wanted to be honest.

But secretly, I did feel like a star. Gaseous and infinite, distant and intangible, shining bright in the middle of a constellation, unable to touch the celestial bodies around me. I scribed “Man on the Moon” on a red guitar I bought on sale from a shuttering music store.

In one of these producer meetings, I journeyed to the top of a mountain to meet TV on the Radio’s Dave Sitek. He gave me a four-track recorder and told me to say “f*ck off” to everyone trying to sign or produce me. He told me to find my own voice or others would find it for me. He taught me how to record myself to tape, sparking an affinity for analogue processes. I “borrowed” the tape recorder, promising I would come back when I had found my sound. It sits now on the topmost shelf in my home studio. I guess I’m still searching.

Mid-City, Los Angeles was more of a concept than a place. Seemingly nobody had ever heard of it, and yet it was the geographic center of the city. Living there felt analogous to my disposition as a “rising” Angeleno – highly visible and invisible at the same time. It was an urban island and the sun beat its concrete ceaselessly. I sat on my bedroom floor and wrote “Plastic,” listening to Amy Winehouse demos and thinking about how we let our stars fall as long as they entertain us on the way down.

I recorded these misgivings straight to cassette on that Yamaha MT4X, feeling like a historian tracing my own origins. I loved that it sounded older than it was. I felt older than I was. I decided then that I would press it to vinyl in 10 years. I couldn’t afford to make vinyl records anyway. Instead, I backpacked little cassette tapes I would sign and sell at shows.

I realized early on that being visible (but not necessarily seen) was just gonna be a part of my story. How blessed I was to push through it with clear vision – and now I’m forced to stop and reflect. 10 years later, I’m still thinking 10 years ahead. Ask me about now in 10 years. Shoot, ask me in 20.

- M

______________________________________________________________

"Mid-City Island," our limited-edition 10 year anniversary black vinyl, is available to pre-order now: mosessumney.bandcamp.com/album/mid-city-island

[randomvarious]

Now listening:

Pacific by 808 State (1989)

Alright, if you've ever wondered where the whole concept of stacking up 12-inch singles and maxi-CDs with lots and lots of remixes of the same song originally came from, you can thank a UK label called ZTT for that, which was co-founded by Trevor Horn from the Art of Noise, the guy who is often referred to as 'the man who invented the 80s,' because his approach to creating music is inextricably linked to what you generally think of when you hear the term '80s music.'

And so it only makes sense then that the first release on ZTT from the then-recently expanded Mancunian dance quartet of 808 State would be a single that came with a bunch of remixes of the most iconic track that they would ever themselves release, "Pacific State," on it, which, prior to its appearance here, made its official debut on their mini-album, Quadrastate, in July of '89.

But this big Balearic ambient house club classic of theirs has a little bit of controversy surrounding it, namely, who was actually responsible for making it in the first place. Prior to this Pacific single, 808 State's lineup was significantly different. The original members were Graham Massey, Martin Price, and Gerald Simpson aka A Guy Called Gerald, and sometime after the release of the group's spellbindingly gnarly and acid-drenched 1988 debut LP, Newbuild, Gerald split, with one of the last things he ever worked on for the group being "Pacific State." And after his departure, a young DJ/keyboardist duo of Andy Barker and Darren Partington was added to the ranks.

But while Graham Massey has publicly claimed that the original version of "Pacific State" was the result of a collaborative effort between he, Price, and Simpson, Simpson has alleged that he actually wrote the entire thing himself. And what's more is that Simpson received writing and co-production credit for the song on Quadrastate, but in subsequent releases like this one, he wasn't credited at all. And I do think that it is kinda crazy that this group's signature hit—the one that would help to cement them as electronic and dance music legends, and one that they've always had to perform because of it—is a song that was originally made before that seismic lineup change actually took place. Thankfully, though, however big this rift between Simpson and his former group actually was, it appears to more or less be water under the bridge at this point, because Massey and Simpson have gone on to collaborate since 🙏.

OK, but how did this song get, like, really big in the first place? Well, "Pacific State" had been a constant closer at the famed Haçienda nightclub in Manchester for six months before breaking containment and then landing in the ears of BBC Radio DJ Gary Davies while he was in Ibiza. And once he'd heard it, he then brought it to his own daytime radio program, and then the group landed on ZTT, with this single lasting on the UK singles chart for 11 weeks and peaking at #10.

But as mentioned before, this single came with a whole bunch of variations on the original, and the version of the single that's available on Spotify—which appears to compile a bunch of the songs that were included on all the different 1989 issues of the single itself, between its 7-inch, 12-inch, CD, and cassette versions—has 7 of them on it. And apparently, over the years, this song has actually amassed a whopping total of at least 42 different versions of itself! 😲

Here's 808 State performing the "707" version of it live on Top of the Pops in 1989, by the way. Absolutely electric stuff 🤩:

Now, one other thing that I think deserves mentioning here is what inspired 808 State to make this song in the first place, and the specific tune that they apparently chalk it all up to is Chicago house legend Marshall Jefferson's own "Open Your Eyes," a song that itself comes with a liberal amount of new age-indigenous 'fourth world' kind of flute on it.

It seems that plenty of synthesizers that were en vogue at that time had some sort of flute preset on them that vaguely evoked a mythical, mystical vibe from an idyllic Southeast Asian / Polynesian / Oceanian part of the world, and as such, a bunch of dance music decided to then incorporate it too. But in addition to that, the Spanish isle of Ibiza was naturally big into the whole sound as well, which had been exemplified by a very popular spot like Club Ku, which among other things, once threw a birthday bash for Freddie Mercury that was so legendary that Ibiza celebrates the anniversary of that very party itself—apparently one of its features was bowls of cocaine 😲. And with a name like "Pacific State" and a single called Pacific, whose only other non-"Pacific State"-related track on here is called "Cobra Bora," which is a reference to the tropical snake and most likely the French Polynesian island of Bora Bora too, you can see how all of this exotic stuff meshes together, especially with Ibiza leaving its mark on Manchester and the Haçienda itself.

So, anyway, time for me to figure out which of these slightly different versions of "Pacific State" here is my favorite. I'm pretty deeply familiar with this song in general already, with its lush sax that serves as a dancefloor equivalent of a call to prayer (and a great phone alarm too, now that I think about it), as well as its famed use of soothing loon birdsong too, but I definitely don't know how all the different versions go and how they actually differ from one another in the first place.

And I was forced to put together my own Spotify playlist for it too, because I think I saw that one of the Pacific releases had a full version of "Cobra Bora" on it, and the single supplied by Spotify doesn't, so here you go:

Plus, here's a very neat tutorial from musician Ski Oakenfull in which he deconstructs "Pacific 707" and builds it back from scratch with Ableton:

After this, we're on to the group's next release, 808:90, which, despite its title, was actually released in December of '89.

More in-depth 808 State posts for those just joining this lengthy excursion too:

Newbuild Let Yourself Go / Deepville Quadrastate

[raccoonfink]

I suppose with the new T. Kingfisher paladin book out, it’s time to remind everyone that I released a dungeon synth album a few months ago inspired by the World of the White Rat books including the paladin series, the clocktaur wars, and swordheart.

Not only that, but now it is available on kick ass limited gold cassettes.

There’s only a few left, you can find them at my Bandcamp here: https://raccoonfink.bandcamp.com/album/beyond-an-age-of-wonder

This is one of my favorite things I’ve ever done and I’m super happy with how it turned out. I hope you’ll check it out and enjoy listening as much as I did making it.

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part nineteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you make some new friends.

a/n: this might be my favourite chapter yet. I had sooooooo much fun writing it, and finally touching on/adapting scenes from the show is bringing me so much joy I can’t wait to get to the meat of it, but the parts between now and then excite me too!!

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, if you’ve been reading up until now you know the drill, I’m getting lazy with my warnings LOL, no smut here, a bit of angst, F R I E N D S H I P

✨@friskito-library for new works and updates✨

Your days in the radio room have become more and more frequent, since your run-in with Gwen and her crew. It’s like you told Tess; with Hartford gone, you’d lost one of your more consistent meet-ups, and you needed to know what else was out there. You needed new connections, new friends, allies. You needed something. In case Boston went belly-up and needed to get the hell out of dodge and never look back, you needed a soft place to land.

Abe’s garnered quite the collection, over the years, and it’s like everywhere you look, there’s another wire connecting from one wall to the next, batteries that probably shouldn’t still work plugged into far too many devices. His map collection is something to write home about, and you spend some time trying to figure out the path Joel and Tommy took from Austin, but when your finger finds Cincinnati, your chest goes tight, and you return to the room Abe’s set up for just for you, branched off the main room he uses to send requested messages.

You’re still paying him with cigarettes, although some of them are the hand-rolled FEDRA shit that McCoy has a penchant for. The soldier’s other habits always seem to win, though, and you always have at least half a dozen for Abe, who’s quietly grateful, waving you off into the side room, closing the door behind you.

“I don’t wanna know,” he told you when you first asked. It’s been a while now, though you stopped for a while when Nick shot Joel, when you both needed time to recover. “Just do what you need to do, and leave me out of it, okay?”

“So you don’t want any more cigarettes?”

He pointed a finger at you. “I never said that.”

And here you are, one side of the big headphones pressed to your ear. The foam has definitely seen better days, but the sound is relatively clear. You’ve kept a notebook of your contacts, the frequencies they’re usually on, the days of the week and times they’re usually available. Today, you’ve gone through every single one, and no one is out there. So you’re just twisting the dials, the strange sound of the static and frequencies almost giving you a headache, but then—

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’, cuz I’ve built my life around you.

You haven’t heard that song in a long, long time. In fact, you’re pretty sure the last time you heard it was in Joel’s truck, in that field just outside of Austin, staring up at the stars. Fleetwood Mac has always been one of your favourites, and you slide the other side of the headphones over, encasing yourself in the song, shutting your eyes as the music crackles over the radio.

But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older, too.

You can feel the song in your soul. It digs straight into your chest, the crooned lyrics wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight.

Oh, I’m getting older, too.

You let it wash over you, sinking back into the chair, wrapping your arms around yourself, tilting your head back on your shoulders and making the cable connecting the headset to the radio stretch. You’ve found a few cassette tapes over the years — namely the same Led Zeppelin album you’d once given Joel for his truck — but you make a mental note to keep your eye out for Fleetwood Mac or Stevie Nicks.

The song finishes, and you sigh, straightening in the chair, reaching out to turn off the radio, fingers brushing against the knob.

“If there’s anybody out there, my name is Frank. I’m on frequency 1462. We have resources, and we are looking to trade.”

He repeats himself again, and then another song starts. More Fleetwood, Go Your Own Way.

Well, shit.

Your fingers fly across the knobs, turning to the right frequency, wincing at the whine as it clicks on. You reach for the microphone.

“Hello?”

There’s a fraction of a pause before, “Oh my god, hi!”

If your years of smuggling have taught you anything, it’s that you can’t trust anybody right off the bat. You have to be wary, you have to be careful. Hell, there are still people you’ve traded with that you don’t trust as far as you can throw. It’s just the way things are.

But fuck, if he doesn’t have the kindest-sounding voice.

“Is this Frank?”

“It is!” he replies, his excitement somehow palpable through the radio waves. “Oh my god, I was starting to think no one was gonna hear that message.”

“It’s a good song,” you laugh, pulling the mic closer to you on the table. “Haven’t heard it in a long time.”

“It’s a classic,” he agrees, and there’s a slight pause before, “Okay, I’m gonna admit, I have no idea how to do this.”

“How to do…?”

“Make deals,” he says, “meet people over the radio. Have you done this before?”

You’re not quite sure how much truth you should offer a perfect stranger, regardless of how kind he sounds. If this is a FEDRA trap, chances are good you’ll be able to blackmail your way out of it. So you settle on, “Once or twice.”

“Am I allowed to know your name? Or is that not…?”

“It’s Liv,” you offer. “Where are you, Frank?”

He pauses again. “I’m not sure if I should…” You can hear the sudden hesitancy in his tone; you know it well.

“Why don’t I tell you how I normally do this?”

“That would be perfect.”

“You tell me what you have to offer, I tell you what I have to trade. We settle on terms, pick a meeting spot and a date, and that’s that. You don’t kill me or my people, I don’t kill you or yours, and we part ways with what we’ve bargained for. Simple.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“But before we get into that, can we at least make sure we’re in the same state? I try not to cross the borders if I can manage it.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he agrees. “We’re in Massachusetts.”

“Good,” you nod, reaching for your notebook and pen, scrawling Frank’s name on your page, along with the frequency number. “So are we.”

“Coast?”

“Pretty close.”

“Good.”

“So we’re in the same state,” you say, tapping the pen against the paper. “What are you offering to trade, Frank?”

“Tell me something first,” he prompts, and your brow lifts slowly. “How long do your…relationships with traders usually last?”

Your throat bobs, Gwen’s screaming voice echoing through your head, but you shove it away. “Depends. As long as everyone holds up their end of the deal, there’s no real time limit.”

“What’s the longest you’ve traded with someone?”

“There’s a group in Providence I’ve been trading with since 2008. Never had any issues there.”

“Uh-huh, good to know. The thing is, what I’m proposing here, it might not be the same as the other deals you’ve made. We’re well-protected here. My partner, Bill, he’s…he’s a survivalist, and he’s built this place to last. We’re not going anywhere fast, we’re sustainable.”

“Meaning you wouldn’t come to the city,” you say, catching on, and now you’re the one feeling hesitant. “Depending how far out you are, it might not be worth it to us. There’d have to be something worth the risk each time, and I don’t—”

“Freshly cooked meals,” he says, and you stop dead. “Fresh vegetables. Wine, the good kind. New clothes, building materials, and weap—”

“Stop,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “I only trust the radio so far. Give me coordinates, and a date, and we go from there.”

He gives you the coordinates, you scribble the numbers down, and decide on a date, three days from today. You say your goodbyes, and you tell him not to get back on the radio until you’ve met, but to keep playing the music, so you know everything is still a-go. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”

“I love Fleetwood Mac.”

“Then you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

You can’t help the smile in your voice. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Frank.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“See you soon. Oh, and Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

It catches you off guard, makes something crawl up the back of your throat.“Thanks, Frank. You too.”

You dial to a different frequency the moment you’re done, shutting down the radio entirely, and leave without a word. Abe doesn’t so much as glance at you as you head out, past the long string of people waiting patiently for him to send their messages.

+

Joel’s home before you are, which is a shock.

His back is killing him. Tommy’s skipped out on every single one of his jobs lately, and Joel feels like every time he turns a corner, there’s something else that needs repairs, another new face asking him to fix something. His hands hurt, he’s got a kink in his neck, and all he really wants to do is fall into bed and have your body curled against his.

He sighs as he gets through the door, brow pinching when he doesn’t find you perched at the table or sitting on the couch, head bent over your maps or flipping through your notebooks. It’s become habit for you lately, wanting to build up your connections more and more, now that Hartford is gone.

The guilt over the entire situation lingers in the back of Joel’s mind, a nagging voice that sounds suspiciously like his brother.

Joel shakes the thought away. He did what he had to, to protect you. To protect his wife, his family.

He did what he had to.

Locking the door behind him, he tosses his makeshift tool bag — a ratty backpack he found at the donation hall before it shut down — into the corner, and flops onto the couch. He slings his hand over his eyes. He’ll just close them for a minute, just until you’re home, until you’re…

A nightmare latches onto him with a vice-like grip, throws him fully out of sleep with a gasp, his chest heaving.

“Joel?” your voice calls, a soft echo across the apartment, and he turns to see you perched in one of the kitchen chairs, pencil between your teeth, your hair falling in your eyes. “Baby, you okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, swinging his legs off the couch, getting to his feet with a groan. He rubs at his lower back as he pads over to the kitchen, coming to stand behind you. He leans forward and plants both hands on the table either side of you, leaning down until he can fit his chin into the curve of your neck, planting soft kisses at your pulse.

“Fine, now that you’re home,” he mumbles, and you lean back into him slightly, turning your head so you can kiss at his, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. “You were out late.”

“I’ve been home for hours,” you reply, huffing a laugh, setting the pencil on the table. Your maps are all spread out, the big one of Massachusetts on the top. “You’ve been asleep the entire time. Didn’t wanna wake you.”

Joel drags one hand off the table, moves his arm so it’s slung around your chest, curling his fingers around your rib cage. “How nice of you.”

“Best wife ever,” you say, and Joel laughs into your skin. “Oh, and there’s dinner for you. Abe’s wife sent me home with food as thank you for fixing their door the other day.”

“What is it?”

“Something with Spam in it,” you tell him, and Joel wrinkles his nose. “It tastes better than it looks.”

“Noted,” he grumbles, pressing one last kiss to your throat before he straightens, spine creaking as he goes. “Fuck, I’m getting old.”

“I think the grey in your beard suits you,” you answer, turning back to your maps, “just for the record.”

The corner of his mouth quirks as he heads for the fridge, fishing out the plate of food and leaning against the counter. “How was your day, baby?”

Your pencil drops again, and you push your chair back, the legs squeaking against the floor. You turn yourself towards him fully, slowly getting to your feet, taking a step towards him. “I made a friend.”

Joel’s brow quirks. You know a lot of people in the QZ, that much he knows for certain, but he’s really not sure how many of them you would refer to as friends. “Oh?”

“On the radio. His name is Frank.” You turn back to the maps, eyes raking over the paper, your finger finding a spot marked with pencil. “He lives in Lincoln, and we’re gonna go see him in three days.”

He nearly drops the plate. “What?”

“I mapped out the path. It’s a bit of a hike, almost five hours outside of Boston, but—”

“Ten miles?” Joel repeats, and you just nod. “Liv, we’ve barely been outside the city limits, and you wanna hike ten miles to some random stranger?”

“Frank,” you say, your tone almost petulant, and Joel puts the plate down. “They have food, Joel. Real food, not bullshit QZ rations. Wine, weapons, building materials. New clothes. This could be good for us, Joel. Really good.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “You want me to hike five hours for wine?”

“I want you to hike ten miles for a chance at something good, Joel. Something new.” Your gaze drops and you knot your hands together. “Something to make up for what we did, maybe. Somehow. I don’t know. I just…I feel good about this, baby. And it’s just a meeting, to start. I didn’t promise him anything, just that we’d meet, and we’d talk. Then we go from there.”

Something in your voice tugs at him, and for a moment, Joel’s not quite sure what it is, but then it hits him.

It’s hope. It’s the most hopeful you’ve sounded in a long time, and when you take another step toward him, he opens his arms to you.

“The route will take us right past Cumberland Farms,” you continue, and Joel cups your hip in his palm, letting out a quiet oomph as you lean against him, reaching up to twine your arms around your neck. “We can stop there first, stash some stuff just in case.”

“A safety net,” Joel says, and you nod.

“Exactly.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“You were asleep for a long time,” you reply, and Joel just scoffs, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Wait,” you pull back, moving one hand to the middle of his chest, pushing lightly. “Is that a yes?”

“Well, I’m not about to let you go by yourself now, am I?”

+

It’s a long fucking hike.

Thankfully, it’s relatively easy. The path you’d chosen isn’t overly adventurous, no daunting hills or thick forests. It’s mostly open air, rolling fields, forests either side of the roads. The weather is beautiful, which is a plus, though you can feel the sweat pouring down your back as you walk, on the right side of Joel, as always.

You recount the entire conversation you had with Frank to Joel as you walk. Tess had offered to come with you, too, but you decided the two of you would go for the first meeting, and if things worked out, then you’d all go together the next time. You could tell part of her was relieved, and she admitted to you later she had plans to see Robin the same day you were going.

“You got instinct, baby,” Joel tells you after you’ve finished the story, your fingers twined together as he pulls you out of the path of a fallen telephone wire in the middle of the road. “Don’t forget that. I’ve seen it; you know what you’re doing. And if you feel good about this, then I’m game. We see what happens. And if anyone tries to lay a hand on you—”

“Hit ‘em real fuckin’ hard with my bat.”

He grins. “That’s my girl.”

The praise makes your chest warm, and when he’s close enough, you slide yourself against him, slipping your arm around his waist, tugging his around your shoulders. “Your wife is a badass, Joel Miller,” you say, and he barks a laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “In case you weren’t aware.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, his brows lifting. “Believe me, I’m aware. It’s fuckin’ hot. Only reason I married you.”

Now you’re the one that laughs, sliding your hand into his back pocket and squeezing his ass through his jeans. “Jackass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, and squeezes your shoulder, turning his head to kiss the top of your head. “Liv, baby?”

“Mmm?”

“When we get back to Boston, I’m gonna try and talk to Tommy. Make peace or somethin’.”

You nearly stop dead in your tracks. In fact, if Joel wasn’t still walking with his arm around you, you might have fallen over. But you don’t let your shock be known, schooling your face as neutral as possible while letting one brow raise. “Oh, really?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and I just…He’s my baby brother. He’s a fuckin’ idiot, and he’s gonna get himself killed, but he’s family. And we keep going for family, so I gotta fix it. Somehow.”

Slowly, you nod. “You think he’s gonna tell the Fireflies about me?”

“I’ll break his fuckin’ nose if he does.”

“Joel.” You smack at his chest. “That’s not how you fix it.”

“I know, I know. It’s…” Joel shakes his head. “I want to believe he won’t. I really do.”

“So talk to him,” you say with a nod. “See what happens, go from there, and please, just don’t fucking hit each other.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You continue on, the sun beating down on your every step. There’s not much more conversation, but the silence is easy, a comfort. Joel doesn’t let you wander far, you eventually step out of his grip but your hands are still linked together.

Your stop at Cumberland Farms is brief. In the early days, you brought a stash box to the gas station, tucked it below one of the floor panels. You and Joel mostly empty your packs into the box, some ammunition, a spare knife, food that’ll last a good while. A backup. You pull one of the long-empty freezers over the panel, try to make the trash and debris cover it up, just to be safe. Joel gives you a nod of approval, and then you keep going.

Eventually, the tree-lined road gives way to open space. More hills, dips in the earth. Far in the distance, you see a plane broken in half on the hilltop — an emergency landing gone wrong — and your stomach rolls at the thought of what’s still up there.

But then you turn another corner, and it’s even worse.

Beside you, you hear Joel’s quiet shock. “What in the…?”

You grip his hand tighter, pushing yourself against him, tearing your eyes from the sight before you. “I thought he was lying.”

Joel’s head whips in your direction. “What? Who? You knew about this?”

You swallow hard around the lump that’s formed in your throat. “Early days, after the outbreak. Like, the week after, FEDRA swept through the small towns and evacuated them. Told people they were going to a QZ. And they were, if there was room. If not…” You tilt your head towards the pit.

“How did you know? You’ve been out this way?”

“Never this far,” you answer, shaking your head. “Nick, he…he told me about it.” Joel stiffens, and you squeeze his arm. “He wasn’t part of it, but he knew soldiers that were. It wasn’t just here; it was all over. Across the country. Who fucking knows how many people FEDRA killed.”

“I just don’t get why.”

“Better dead than infected.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, and pulls you closer, turning you away from it. Not that it makes a difference; you know you’ll be seeing the half-buried skeletons, the scraps of clothing and the scattered belongings, in the back of your mind for a long time. “Maybe there’s a path through the forest.”

You shake your head. “Just keep going.”

“Liv—”

“Keep going, Joel.”

So you do. You try to bury the sight, try to push it away, try to focus on where you’re going instead.

It’s like you turn the corner, and all of a sudden, there’s a town right in front of you. A small town, to be sure, a handful of buildings, some that have seen better days, and when your eyes land on the nine-foot metal fence around the perimeter, Frank’s wavy voice on the radio echoes through your head.

We’re well-protected here.

He sure as hell wasn’t lying.

As you approach the fence, Joel situates himself in front of you, his expression wary, an arm held out, protector mode on. You get closer, and suddenly it strikes you that you have no idea what Frank looks like. You have no idea who you’re looking for.

But you’re pretty sure it’s not the large bearded man with the giant fucking gun pointed at your head.

Instantly, you’ve both got your hands in the air, Joel still a half step in front of you. “What do you want?” the man barks, lifting the gun a little higher, switching between aiming the barrel at your head and at Joel’s.

“We’re here to see Frank,” you say instantly, nearly tripping over the words. “I’m Liv, this is Joel. I spoke to Frank on the radio.”

“Oh my fucking…Bill, put the gun down!” another, strangely familiar voice shouts, and over the larger man’s — Bill’s — shoulder, you see a slightly smaller man, a touch taller than Bill, but thinner, his hair shorter, his beard a little more well-kept. He’s got a dishrag over his shoulder, and as he jogs up to Bill, pushing his partner aside and reaching for the gate before you, he grins at you.

The gun is lowered, but as Frank pulls the gate open, Bill pulls out the same bio-scanner machine you’ve seen FEDRA soldiers toting around back in the QZ, and your heart sinks into your toes.

“Would you put that thing away?” Frank chides, waving at Bill, beaming at you now as you take a hesitant step towards the now-open gate. “You must be Liv.”

His smile is infectious, and as Bill stows the scanner, your excitement returns. “Hi, Frank.”

“Come in, come in!” he says, and reaches for your hand, tugging you through. “You guys are just in time; lunch is almost ready. Right, Bill?”

“…yes.”

Joel’s a half step behind you now, his hand finding the small of your back as you walk through the gate completely. Bill sniffs as you step past, and closes the gate behind you both, hitting a keypad that emits a loud beep, the heavy sound of magnets slamming together.

You’re at a loss for words as you follow Frank down the street. It looks so…normal. So alive, so lived in. You’ve become so accustomed to abandoned buildings and broken windows; to be around buildings that look well taken care of, a house that looks like it belongs to someone, you’re at a loss.

“This place is beautiful,” you manage to say, picking up your pace to keep up with Frank. “It looks so…”

“Normal?” Frank asks, and you just nod, giving a little laugh. “Cookie-cutter? I know. It’s definitely grown on me.”

“You weren’t always here?”

“Oh, no, not always. It’s been about…three years now? Something like that?” He waves a hand. “We can talk more about that stuff over lunch. You two must be starving.”

You turn another corner, and the most beautiful house stands before you. Two stories, perfect white picket fence out front, planters filled with flowers lining the walkways, the hedges and lawn neatly trimmed. A US flag sticks out from the front of the house, the fabric billowing in the warm breeze, and you nearly topple over when you see the patio furniture set out, four chairs around a table, each place already set, wine in the middle, glasses at each spot.

You and Joel are frozen in place, but Frank continues on, stepping through the small gate in the fence and walking towards the table. Bill stalks past you, heading into the house, and Frank waves you on. “Come! Sit!”

Joel’s hand pushes against your back, his voice low in your ear. “You still feelin’ good about this?”

“Very,” you reply, and let him propel you forward slightly, unable to wipe the grin on your face as you walk towards the table.

You take a seat, Joel sliding into the chair next to you, and Frank produces a bottle of wine, filling the glass in front of you. Joel gives a little nod as Frank fills his glass, and you’ll be the first to admit you reach for the glass quickly, taking a long sip that tastes like heaven. You’ve never been a huge wine drinker; you indulged every once in a while before — the occasional glass if you were out for dinner, and your mom had a penchant for rosé — but this is good fucking wine.

“How long did it take you guys?” Frank asks as he fills his own glass, then the empty seat for Bill. “Easy travels I hope?”

“‘Bout five hours,” Joel answers as you take another sip. “No Infected, and the weather’s good.”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Frank says, still beaming at you, and you’re smiling into your wine. “We’ll eat first, and then I’ll show you two around. Bill’s a bit…hesitant about the whole thing, but he’ll come around. He’s a big softie.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly. “Sort of.”

As if on cue, the front door opens, and Bill appears, calling Frank’s name. The taller man rises, jogging towards the door and when he turns back, he has two plates of food in his hands. It’s fine china, piled with steaming veggies and pieces of meat, actual fucking gravy and Bill has a bowl of dinner rolls tucked in the crook of his arm.

Frank sets a plate down in front of you, and for a second, you honestly feel like you could cry. “Oh my god, thank you.” Bill hands the other two plates to Frank, then disappears towards the house. Frank goes to follow, but then waves his hand at his partner’s back.

“He can handle the salad himself.” He settles into the seat across from you, gestures to the plate you’re still staring at. “Go ahead, eat! There’s more too, if you’re still hungry after.”

Joel wastes no time, but you wait for Bill to return, saying your thanks when he hands you a bowl of salad that looks fresh from the garden. Your mouth is watering. He just gives you a curt nod, sinks into the chair opposite of Joel, and pulls a handgun from the holster on his leg, setting it beside his plate. A warning, and you see Joel’s eyes dart to it before he glances at you. You sip your wine again, your hand finding Joel’s thigh beneath the table.

“Well, this is just incredible,” you say, breaking the awkward silence that’s settled. “Honestly, it’s just…it’s amazing, truly.”

“Right?” Frank agrees, giving you an almost conspiratorial grin. He picks up the wine bottle from the table, gestures to your glass. “Refill?”

“Please,” you say, holding your glass out.

Frank side-eyes Bill as he picks up the gun, pulling back the hammer with a quiet click. “Could you not, please? They’re our guests.”

Joel stares at the gun for a long moment before, “I’m the same way.”

“Oh, you’re a paranoid schizophrenic, too?” Frank asks, and you have to stifle your chuckle, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spit wine.

Bill rolls his eyes. “I’m not a schizophrenic.”

Bill and Joel share another glance, and you take another sip of wine before clearing your throat. “Well, I just wanna say, uh, gun aside — which I get, for the record.” You squeeze Joel’s leg beneath the table. “You’re protecting your family. But this is just so nice, and so appreciated, to have a meal like this, in such a beautiful place. It’s been so long since things felt normal, and this…even if we don’t end up working together, I just…thank you. Both of you.”

Frank meets your eyes, holding his glass towards you. “We are working together.”

“We haven’t even—” you start, but before you can finish your sentence, Frank sets down his glass for a moment and gets to his feet, reaching for his glass and the bottle again.

“You know what?” he says, giving you a grin. “Let’s go inside. Liv, I wanna show you something.”

You feel Joel’s eyes slide back to you, his brow furrowed deeply, and you squeeze his leg one more time before you’re getting up. “Actually, I’m dying to see the inside.”

“Let’s go,” Frank continues, ignoring Bill’s protests. “Bring your wine.” As you follow him towards the house, he pauses to let you catch up, turning to you. “Like I said, he’ll come around, he just…takes a while.”

You can’t help your chuckle. “Reminds me of Joel.”

As you step inside the house, you’re at a loss for words. Antique furniture, beautiful paintings, and it feels like a home. A stark contrast to your apartment back in Boston, which has felt more and more like just a place to keep your stuff. Especially since Joel showed up; wherever he was, that was home.

You dance your fingers across the piano keys as Frank turns towards the dining room, a large mahogany table taking up most of the space, matching chairs, an old grandfather clock, a covered desk. You don’t have enough of a musical ear to know if the piano is still in tune or not, but then Frank calls your name, and you wander over, sipping your wine as you go, careful not to let it spill.

“This place is amazing,” you comment, and Frank grins, turning to rifle through one of the desk drawers. “Did you and Bill find this place? I’m shocked it’s in such good condition.”

“No, Bill has always lived here,” Frank answers, still searching for something. “I was heading for Boston, after the Baltimore QZ fell. There were ten of us originally, but by the time I ended up here, I was the only one left.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, almost a reflex, and Frank waves you off. “So, you and Bill…you found each other, in the middle of all this?”

He finds what he’s looking for, something concealed in his hand as he pushes the drawer shut, and the grin on his face as he straightens to look at you makes your chest warm. He’s just so charming, kindness radiating off of him in waves. You’re not used to it.

“We did,” he says with a nod, an almost dreamy look in his eye. “It’s hopelessly romantic, isn’t it? Must be the artist in me. And you should have seen this place when I first got here. At least an inch of dust everywhere you looked.”

“Bill’s not much a cleaner?”

“He’s practical, but he forgets to pay attention to things sometimes. But he’s learning.” He smiles. “We all are.”

You scoff a little laugh. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Frank holds the thing he’d fished out of the desk to you. “For you.”

Your jaw drops. Fleetwood Mac. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he laughs, putting the cassette tape in your hands. “It’s yours. Landslide is on side B.”

“Frank, I can’t—”

“You can,” he presses, chuckling at your protest. “A token of appreciation for travelling this far to meet with us.” Before you can refuse, Frank turns, refilling his glass where he’d set it on the table and sinking into one of the chairs. “Now, tell me how this works.”

+

The majority of the afternoon is spent following Frank around, him showing you the numbered but incredible sights Lincoln has to offer. It feels like stepping into a history book in the best kind of way, and that feeling of normalcy, the white picket fence only adds to it.

“So, how long have you and Joel been you and Joel?” Frank asks. You’re in the clothing boutique, poking through the racks of clothes. Frank told you to pick out an outfit, and you’re taking your choices very seriously, your mind torn between desperately wanting something cute while knowing you need something practical.

“Hah. It’s, uh, complicated?” you reply, your voice hitching on the word. You rub the sleeve of a green sweater between your fingers, savouring the softness. “We knew each other before the outbreak.”

Over the top of the rack, you can see Frank make a face. “That doesn’t sound that complicated.”

Before you know it, you’ve told him everything. It throws you, to trust someone this quickly. But, he invited you into his home, trusted you not to turn on him and his partner, his family. And that warmth he seems to radiate, it just adds to it all, making you feel like you’ve known him much longer than you have.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” he says after you’ve given him the whole story. “So you were together in 2001, then you moved to Boston, then shit hits the fan, you’re still in Boston, and Joel shows up five years later with his brother and another woman?”

You nod, flicking through a rack to find a pair of black jeans in your size. “Yes, Tommy and Tess.”

“And Joel and Tess were a thing when they first got to Boston?”

“Yes.”

“Then Tess broke it off with Joel, and you two got back together? And she’s one of your closest friends?”

You nod again. “Yes.”

“And Tommy is…?”

You sigh. “Tommy is even more complicated. I think I’d need another bottle of wine before I even start talking about Tommy.”

Frank grins. “All the more incentive for you to come back.”

“As if I’m not already convinced.”

Outside the boutique, you can hear Joel calling your name. You glance at your watch. “Shit. We probably need to start heading back.”

“Take those,” Frank says, gesturing to the jeans in your hands. He has the green sweater you’ve decided on in his hands. “I told Bill to pack up some food for you too.”

You head out of the boutique and towards the gate, and as you approach, Joel and Bill walk out of the house, Joel’s bag slung over his shoulder, looking a bit fuller than it had when you arrived. He hands you your own bag, and Frank hands you the sweater as you crouch down to stuff the clothes in your bag. “You’re sure about this?” you ask, pulling the Fleetwood Mac cassette out of your back pocket.

“Of course,” Frank answers. “Don’t think of it as a gift. You’ll come back in a few weeks, and we’ll trade. 

“We will. And I’ll bring Tess, like I said.”

“Oh,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder at Joel and Bill, who have stopped a good ten feet behind you, “and I had this idea, that we should use codes for the radio. Y’know, just in case someone’s listening. I know you were worried, the first time we talked.”

You nod. “That’s a great idea. What kind of code are you thinking?”

“Music,” he grins. “Sixties, seventies, eighties. We’ve got this book on Billboard hits we could give you. Sixties if there’s nothing new, seventies if we’ve got something new, eighties if there’s trouble.”

“Eighties for trouble,” you repeat, nodding again. “I like that.”

“Good,” Frank says, and you get to your feet. “I gotta say, Liv, I felt good about this before, but now? It’s nice, so nice, to have new friends.” He reaches out, puts his hand on your arm. “And yes, before you try and deny it. That’s what we are.”

You can’t help your grin. “Friends.”

He grins back. “Friends.”

Joel and Bill have been talking the entire time you have, and when you glance back, you see Joel heading toward you, squinting in the sunlight. “Ready?” he asks as he comes to stand beside you, his hand finding the small of your back again, and you nod. He turns to Frank. “Thank you, for the lunch, and for…” He trails off, gesturing to you. “We needed this.”

Joel and Frank shake hands, and after, Frank pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders. “See you soon.”

+

You get back to the QZ late. You’re both exhausted, worn out by the hiking and the sun and the abundance of food. You’re both drooling over the leftovers Bill and Frank sent you home with, and as soon as you’re through the door to the apartment, Joel pulls out one of the containers, and you eat it with your fingers standing over the sink, both of you laughing at the absurdity of your day.

The next morning, Joel goes looking for Tommy.

Unsurprisingly, his brother has skipped out on his job for the umpteenth time, so as soon as morning curfew has passed, Joel heads into the city, and starts combing the buildings he knows are Firefly hideouts. The third building he’s poking around, and he’s stopped by a woman. She seemingly materializes out of the alleyway, arms crossed over her chest, dark hair tied back. She calls him by name, and Joel freezes.

“You won’t find him,” she says, her voice deeper than Joel is anticipating. “Tommy’s not here.”

Joel turns slowly, regards the woman as she steps out of the alley. She’s dressed the same as everybody else is, clothes that have seen better days, boots wrapped with duct tape. “You must be Marlene.”

“Guilty,” she answers.

“Where’s my brother?”

She looks down at the pavement, digs her toe into the asphalt. “Tommy left this morning.”

Joel’s stomach twists. “Left? What d’you mean, left?”

“I stationed him at our base in Minneapolis,” she says, and Joel’s heart stutters. “He left with a few other men this morning.”

His hands clench into fists. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I know how you feel about the Fireflies, Joel,” Marlene continues, and the edges of Joel’s vision tinge red. “Tommy told me. And I understand why you would have your…reservations. But your brother just wants to do some good.”

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” Joel spits. “Is that what you told him? That blowing shit up and killing soldiers was good?”

“We’re doing more than that,” Marlene starts, “and Tommy understands that. He knows what he signed up for.”

“Does he?” he replies, and his voice is climbing. There’s a handful of people out on the sidewalks, and some throw glances in his direction. “You turned him against his family. Against his own brother.”

“I didn’t turn him against you, Joel. Tommy made a choice.”

Joel shakes his head. He’s shaking with anger, confusion, fear — every emotion crawled up the back of his throat and making a home there. “That’s a load of shit.”

Marlene digs in her pocket and extends a folded piece of paper toward him. “This is the radio frequency for the base in Minneapolis. Give it a day or two, then try and get through. I know your wife works the radios, she shouldn’t have any problem reaching him.”

He just stares at her, eyes darting between her face and the piece of paper. But finally, the desperation that’s been added to the mix wins out, and he snatches the paper. “If he dies, it’s on you. I’m not responsible for what happens after that.”

“If he dies, I’ll await your wrath, Joel.”

Before he can do anything more, she turns on her heel and disappears, leaving Joel in the alleyway, alone.

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🍓in case tumblr eats the ending🍓

[sheydgarden]

full J-card, cover art & assets for the cassette tape release of Sefer Yetzirah (Book of Creation) by Yotzeret Sheydim, 2022

(layout by Deathbed Tapes)

a really fun collaboration with a Jewish musician who makes experimental music (harsh noise, dungeon synth & more) inspired by mysticism, folklore, queer/trans experience, etc. - this album is based on & titled after the foundational Kabbalistic text. Alyx is also a visual artist who makes interactive musical sculptures and instruments, so some of these are based on her actual creations! we're both dedicated to bringing more sheydim into the world so this was a really special project. the tape will have a limited release and special editions with copper etching, available from Deathbed in January. you can also listen already on Bandcamp!

[image descriptions in alt text]

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

KITTIE Announces 'Fire' Album, Shares 'Vultures' Music Video

KITTIE will release its long- awaited new studio album, "Fire", on Friday, June 21 via Sumerian Records. Heralding the exciting news is the release of brand new single "Vultures" and its accompanying music video featuring live footage of the group's mainstage performance at this year's Sick New World festival in Las Vegas on April 27.

KITTIE vocalist/guitarist Morgan Lander states: "10 years ago, if someone would have told us that we would be releasing new KITTIE music in 2024, we'd have dismissed them right away. It feels like something deeper than fate that's brought us together again, allowing us to create something fearless and magical for you. We've worked incredibly hard over the past year, and surrounded ourselves with the ultimate dream team to make this album a reality. We cannot wait for you to lose yourselves in the passion and strength of 'Fire'.

"'Vultures' is a bold musical declaration, signaling our new beginnings as a band. 'Vultures' is a warning to those with hidden agendas, who thrive on deception. It's a proclamation of breaking free of the chains of exploitation and a reckoning for those who pick at the bones of those who suffer in silence."

"Fire" is available to pre-order now with a variety of merch bundles including exclusive vinyl colorways, t-shirts, a cassette tape, a sticker pack, guitar pick pack, laminate and two metal lunch box designs.

"Fire" track listing

01. Fire 02. I Still Wear This Crown 03. Falter 04. Vultures 05. We Are Shadows 06. Wound 07. One Foot In The Grave 08. Are You Entertained 09. Grime 10. Eyes Wide Open

[yepthatsacowalright]

"Like everyone else in the modern world, large parts of my life have become increasingly digital, sometimes against my will. The result is a very mixed bag. Some things have improved, and others have definitely degraded. I constantly wrestle with the balance of these changes, and I try to be mindful about them. But this is the hardest to do where it intersects with my work.

I’ll start with streaming. I did not come up on streaming. I’m in my 40s, so by the time I was buying music of my own it was the early 90s and I had cassette tapes. Then came the CD, then mp3 players, then streaming and cell phones. The last change has affected how I interact with music the most. Since streaming became the norm, I listen to music a lot less. I know my age is a factor here, but streaming has killed a lot of my desire to explore. I still love to hear new music, but I’m basically 100% recommendation based at this point. I never browse platforms like Spotify. In theory, having all of recorded music available at once, for a monthly fee that’s less than what a single album cost 30 years ago, would be a feeling of abundance, of infinite possibilities. But the actual result is just being overwhelmed. Sifting through hundreds of thousands of tracks that aren’t quite doing it for me just sounds exhausting. So I don’t use it very much. I can’t remember the last time I actively searched for new music on it. And passive things like algorithmic suggestions and playlists have not filled the gap.

I also work in music, so I’m always suspicious of how much that colors my opinion. But I feel the same way about film these days. I used to really stay on top of movies and shows. Since the streaming model has taken over, I have that same overwhelmed, agitated feeling I get from the music platforms. Scrolling through all those films and shows, with their auto-playing trailers and automated recommendations, just makes me turn the tv off. So I rely entirely on recommendations here, too, and I have no desire to explore.

It’s been strange watching former hobbies and sources of joy turn into chores, or even things I actively avoid. I realize that a lot of people will feel the exact opposite here, though. I don’t think this is unanimous by any means. But this is how it has turned out for me, and it has made what I do for a living feel really strange. Because I no longer enjoy these platforms very much as a user, releasing work has become increasingly dissonant. How do you make things for platforms you don’t personally enjoy? I’ve never had this issue before now. I liked buying albums. I liked going to record stores, where they had curated selections, and hunting for something that I wanted to take home with my very limited funds. So the idea of creating something that would be packaged as an album, that someone else might discover in a shop and decide to take home, was really motivating. It served as a mental model. And while I liked going to shows sometimes, they weren’t what made me want to write songs. I was all about records and the process of finding them. I cherished my tiny little collection, and the idea of being a part of someone else’s was really cool to me.

Watching a number occasionally go up on an app I personally try to avoid isn’t quite the same." - Ben Cooper/Radical Face's blog entry Investment Strategies [x]

[brokehorrorfan]

John Carpenter will release his fourth solo album, Lost Themes IV: Noir, on May 3 via Sacred Bones Records. The filmmaker/composer is, as always, accompanied by son Cody Carpenter on synthesizer and godson Daniel Davies on guitar.

The album is available to pre-order on vinyl in several colorways, each of which features a foil stamped jacket and comes with a 24x36 fold-out poster (pictured below):

Black ($20)

Red ($24)

Indie exclusive tan and black marble with bonus 7"

Sacred Bones exclusive red on clear splatter with bonus 7" ($30, limited to 1,000)

Rough Trade exclusive oxblood red and black splatter with bonus 7" ($33, limited to 300)

Shout Factory exclusive black and clear cloudy with bonus 7" ($32, limited to 500)

The album is also available on CD ($14) and cassette ($12). Watch the music video for a new song titled "My Name Is Death" below, where you can also read the press release.

It’s been a decade since John Carpenter recorded the material that would become Lost Themes, his debut album of non-film music and the opening salvo in one of Hollywood’s great second acts. Those vibrant, synth-driven songs, made in collaboration with his son Cody Carpenter and godson Daniel Davies, kickstarted a musical renaissance for the pioneering composer and director. In the years since, Carpenter, Carpenter, and Davies have released close to a dozen musical projects, including a growing library of studio albums and the scores for David Gordon Green’s trilogy of Halloween reboots. With Lost Themes IV: Noir, they’ve struck gold again, this time mining the rich history of the film noir genre for inspiration. Since the first Lost Themes, John has referred to these compositions as “soundtracks for the movies in your mind.” On the fourth installment in the series, those movies are noirs. Like the film genre they were influenced by, what makes these songs “noirish” is sometimes slippery and hard to define, and not merely reducible to a collection of tropes. The scores for the great American noir pictures were largely orchestral, while the Carpenters and Davies work off a sturdy synth-and-guitar backbone. The noir quality, then, is something you understand instinctively when you hear it. “Some of the music is heavy guitar riffs, which is not in old noir films,” Davies notes. “But somehow, it’s connected in an emotional way.” The trio’s free-flowing chemistry means Lost Themes IV: Noir runs like a well-oiled machine—the 1951 Jaguar XK120 Roadster from Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps, or the 1958 Plymouth Fury from John’s own Christine. It’s a chemistry that’s helped power one of the most productive stretches of John’s creative life, and Noir proves that it’s nowhere near done yielding brilliant results. “This is who we are, I think,” John summarizes. “Daniel’s the adventurer. He pushes for new sounds, new directions. He tries things that I haven’t thought of. He’s a lot more daring than I am, and he enriches the whole thing. Cody’s the musician. He’s a savant at music. He understands music. We depend on him to rescue us.” And what about John’s contribution? With characteristic understatement, he concludes: “I’m the experience. I’ve done music for movies before.”

[mistwalker-official]

Cassette copies of my new album ‘Oceanic Heritage’ will be available at our upcoming show at Piranha Bar on May 26th with Spiter, DESOLUS and Shroud.

I want to give a huge shoutout and thank you to Jerome Arseno over at Coastline Crew in Bathurst, NB for taking the time to make these for us.

[princessconsuelapark]

Interviewer: And what do you think about efforts that have been made through technology, through artificial intelligence, to recreate the early Beatles, making your voice sound younger, bringing those voice back, well, from the grave, really?

Paul: Hmm. Well, it’s a very interesting thing, you know. It’s- It’s something we’re all sort of... tackling at the moment, you know, and trying to deal with, what’s it mean, you know. Um. Yeah, people- I don’t hear that much, cause I’m not on the- on the... internet that much. But people will say to me, oh yeah, there’s a- there’s a track where, you know. John’s singing one of my songs. And it isn’t. It’s just AI, you know. So all of that is- is kinda scary. Um. But exciting? Cause it’s- it’s the future. And we were able to use that kind of thing when we did, when Peter Jackson did the film, Get Back, where it was us making the Let It Be album. And he was able to... extricate John’s voice from a ropey little bit of cassette, where it had John’s voice, and a piano. Um, he could separate them, with AI. They could do- they tell the machine, that’s the voice, this is a guitar, lose the guitar. And he did that. So he has great uses. So when we came to make what will be the last Beatles record, it was a demo that John... had, um, that we worked on, and we just just finished it up, it’ll be released this year. We were able to take John’s voice, and get it pure, through this AI, so then we could mix the record, as you would normally do, you know. So it gives you, it gives you some sort of leeway. So there’s a good side to it, and then a scary side. And we’ll just have to see where that leads.

- Paul McCartney interviewed about Eyes of the Storm for BBC Radio 4 with Martha Kearney │released 13 June 2023

Thought I’d transcribe the (supposedly? I mean what else can it be?) Now and Then related question. Tried my best to stay true to Paul’s speech patterns, meaning there is a lot of ‘you know’s in there. Question starts at 29:30, the interview should still be available for another month on the BBC website. The rest of the interview itself has nothing groundbreaking, although Paul has some nice stories, and there’s a lovely bit where he reminisces a little about his and John’s Paris trip.

[randomcollectionitem]

clipping. - Face

https://www.discogs.com/release/11980126-Clipping-Face

Hey, we finally had a record show up! This is the 2018 vinyl reissue of the 2012 debut EP from beloved industrial rap trio Clipping (they stylize it as "clipping." but it fucks up my formatting mojo so I'm sticking to the capital C for this one). The A side is the original 3 track tape, and the B side is remixes and an acapella. This version was released by Deathbomb Arc, the same label that put out the original EP.

I was a little late to the Clipping party and got on board with them shortly after the release of their semi-self-titled debut album, CLPPNG. CLPPNG dropped right after Death Grips broke up and the hype surrounding Clipping on the internet was mostly /mu/ posters heralding them as The Next Death Grips. I always thought that comparison was questionable. Outside of a vague sense of being in the same genre they don't share a lot of DNA, with Clipping pulling heavily from harsh noise and power electronics in contrast to Death Grips' sample-heavy sound fueled by math rock-adjacent live drums. Regardless, the JENNY DEATH WHEN era hype train brought Clipping in front of a relatively big audience of outsider rap nerds looking for another hit of bizarre sounds, and they brought it in spades. After listening to CLPPNG an embarrassing number of times I worked my way back to midcity (their first mixtape) and Face. Face really stuck with me, so I was thrilled to see it reissued in 2018 and picked it up immediately.

The original EP is a short-but-sweet three song affair that wastes no space and takes no prisoners. The opening track, the eponymous Face, is a blistering assault of lighting fast bars, blasts of noise, and a catchy x-rated chorus. It's followed by Studio Freestyle 01, which serves as a sort of mental breather in the middle of the list (as much of one as Clipping will give you at least), with mid-tempo freestyle verses alternating call-and-response style with bursts of harsh noise. The EP rounds out with Block, my personal favorite track from the project. Block showcases Daveed Diggs' uncanny ability to make even the smallest things seem profound and significant. A song about nothing becomes a song about everything as he paints a picture of a city block on top of a slow-burning beat. There are no characters. There is no action and no narrative. And that's the beauty of it.

The B side is a collection of remixes backed with an acapella of the first track. I'm normally not a huge fan of remixes, but the selection here is a fun listen. The first two are remixes of the title track, with the first turning it into a stompy industrial club tune and the second chopping it into a wall of samples (including a shockingly straight-faced interpolation of Gangnam Style, and a slightly less straight-faced interlude of the intro to Never Gonna Give You Up). This is followed by Clipping's remix of This Song Is A Drug Deal, by LA noise rock drum-and-shout group Foot Village. It chops up the spastic drums from the original song and uses them as a bed for some verses from Daveed. The side closes out with the acapella of Face, not exactly critical listening but I'm glad it's out there for DJs and remix artists to take advantage of.

As previously mentioned, the copy in front of me is the 2018 Deathbomb Arc vinyl issue, the only vinyl issue to date. The 2012 original pressing was only on cassette, and this deluxe reissue was also available on cassette with an expanded tracklist containing additional Face remixes. I opted for the vinyl version because, frankly, I lived through tapes the first time around; they sucked then, they suck now, and part of me withers away every time I have to buy a new one. Regardless, the vinyl edition is simple but well-presented. The album art still looks good when blown up to 12"x12", and they did a nice job typesetting the back cover. It includes a download code for the download-inclined, and opts for a polybag rather than a paper inner (I breathe a sigh of relief every time I open a new record and don't need to immediately resleeve the LP, records are too damn expensive now for these labels to cheap out with the crappy paper inners that shed everywhere and scuff your new record up). The pressing is fairly shallow, but my copy plays well with little to no surface noise. The sound is a bit dull, but it's not exactly a hi-fi recording in the first place so I'm not going to complain. No inserts or liner notes on this one, but an EP doesn't really need all that anyways. Overall I think they've done a nice job with the reissue.

I think the beauty of Face is that it paints a fairly complete picture of Clipping in only 3 tracks. You have the high energy sonic assaults, you have the artsy contemplation, and you have the fearless harsh noise and power electronics interludes. While it's not their most essential work, if you want a short elevator pitch for why you should care about Clipping, this is it. A great start to a legendary career. Rest assured, if I keep doing this long enough we'll see plenty of other Clipping releases in the future, so strap in for some more noise rap greatness down the road. In the meantime, may your music stay pleasantly abrasive and may your preferred genitals be in your face.

[karleenscreativeworld]

Today I’m sharing part one of my current ranking of Meat Loaf’s studio albums. Making 2 posts worked well when I did my Billy Joel ranking and since Meat has the same number of albums I decided to do it the same way. This is albums 12-6.

12 Hang Cool Teddy Bear

Released: April 2010

I did not like this album upon its release. I kinda hated it. I don’t hate it now but I still don’t connect with it the way I do with the other albums.

Favorite Track: Like a Rose

Least Favorite Track: Peace on Earth

11 Blind Before I Stop

Released: September 1986

I only like this album slightly more than Hang Cool. This is not a bad album I think it’s just the vibes and music that are why I like it less.

Favorite Track: Getting Away With Murder

Least Favorite Track: Execution Day

10 Hell in a Handbasket

Released: Sept. 2011 (Aus) March 2012 (US)

I don’t think I knew about this album when it was released because I am pretty bad at keeping up with new releases. I enjoy this album quite a bit though. Some lyrics feel like they should be less relatable now but they aren’t unfortunately but this one really is about life to me.

Favorite Track: Fall From Grace

Least Favorite Track: The Giving Tree

9 Braver Than We Are

Released: September 2016

I didn’t know this album existed until this year. Which is so sad cause it’s a really good one. This has the potential to move up in ranking the more I listen to it.

Favorite Track: Going All the Way (A Song in 6 Movements)

Least Favorite Track: Godz

8 Welcome to the Neighborhood

Released: October 1995

There are a couple songs on this album that I’m not sure why I didn’t listen to them when I was obsessed with Meat in 2006 but I love them now. They actually give this album a bit of a ranking boost. My favorite Meat Loaf song is on this album.

Favorite Track: Not a Dry Eye in the House

Least Favorite Track: Where the Rubber Meets the Road

7 Midnight at the Lost and Found

Released: April 1983

This was one of three Meat Loaf cassettes I had to listen to in 2006. I like these songs. They aren’t the same as the songs that came before but I still think they’re good.

Favorite Track: Priscilla

Least Favorite Track: The Promised Land

6 Bad Attitude

Released: Nov. 1984 (UK) April 1985 (US)

I have wanted to listen to this album since the first time I was obsessed with Meat in 2006. But it’s never been available on iTunes or streaming services. I finally found it on YouTube and it makes me mad it’s not more widely available. This album is so good and deserves so much more.

Favorite Track: Siren to a Sailor

Least Favorite Track: Jumpin’ the Gun