#Marshal Fuzz

[metalchris]

Upcoming Benefit Shows In Our Area

Upcoming Benefit Shows In Our Area

The world is often a cruel place but we can make it a little better for those in need when we attend benefit shows that donate the proceeds to good causes. There’s a few coming up in the DMV that I thought I’d mention here real quick (you can always get the full list of upcoming metal concerts in the greater DC, Baltimore and Northern Virginia area on our handy calendar here). Ben Blanton plays…

[athenepromachos]

One biiiiiiig bear 💋

[satanicandsatanist]

Play.

[fuzzkaizer]

Olivetti - Quanta 20R adding machine

"apparently @garystewarthurst brought one of these back to London from Italy - it became the inspiration for the Marshall Supa Fuzz enclosure."

cred: instagram.com/goodfuzzysounds

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/8/2024 PART 3: ABBY

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: October 8 was another rabbit hole day of my Blogtober program, and I have managed to refrain from slapping a snarky nickname on this little marathon of American race-centric horror movies that raise some uncomfortable questions. Can white guys make compelling movies about Black anxieties? Can Black directors get away with making white actors say things white people shouldn't get away with saying? The answer is…it depends on who you ask!

And if you want to know why I'm capitalizing one word and not the other, it's because I generally agree with the AP statement about the lack of meaningful cultural commonalities between white-skinned people--other than generalized privilege, of course. In my mind, it is useful to talk about whiteness in political contexts, but it is not so useful to talk about a "White" ethnic identity unless you are into white pride, which I would prefer not to validate. I understand that this is not a perfect solution, and many people feel that the lowercase "w" supports the delusion of whiteness as the universal default for humanity. I do not want to invite a big heavy debate on my silly little movie blog, but you should feel free to comment with links to worthwhile discussions on this subject, as long as you are doing it in good faith and you are not a white supremacist asshole. END STANDARD DISCLAIMER

Due to Warner Bros' litigiousness, this poor movie is only available as a version pulled from a badly damaged print--but if you can make it through the fuzz and the scratches, it's pretty entertaining! The great William Marshall plays an archeologist-cum-exorcist who witlessly frees a Nigerian deity to possess his daughter-in-law Abby (Carol Speed), a pious suburban housewife. Abby soon transforms from a devout, hardworking preacher's wife into a sadistic sex maniac, and it will take more than the usual power of Christ to exorcise her.

ABBY is one of those films that reminds me to question what exactly is meant by "blaxploitation". There is a tendency to put that label on any all-Black genre film made between the 1960s and 1980s, though this is misguided. Blaxploitation is actually sort of hard to define. I tend to think of it as primarily describing movies that exploit Black stereotypes to entice audiences--Black or otherwise--who find them appealing; examples are BLACULA (great!) and BLACKENSTEIN (pretty dire). Such movies may be made by Black or white filmmakers. Blaxploitation can also describe exploitation movies made by and for Black audiences; Melvin van Peebles combined exploitation-style entertainment with sharp political messages, and Rudy Ray Moore made delightful vanity projects for himself and his friends from the Chitlin Circuit. You couldn't fairly say that either of those guys mainly exploited stereotypes and the audiences that enjoyed them, even though they did capitalize on them. On the other hand, I always bristle when people call GANJA & HESS a blaxploitation movie; I guess if the only older Black films you watch are in the blaxploitation category then that's what it looks like, but it is way too posh, intellectual, and experimental to participate in any exploitation category.

ABBY was made by William Girdler, who is white, and an interesting character in exploitation history. He turned out nine films in six years, including the incredible terrestrial JAWS knockoff GRIZZLY. Even when he was making a cash grab, he didn't skimp on entertainment value, and ABBY succeeds with its strong characters played by an absolutely stellar cast. This is certainly a blaxploitation film, as an African-flavored coattail-rider of a mainstream hit, replacing THE EXORCIST'S Pazuzu with a horny Yoruban Orisha. However, the main characters are all hardworking, upstanding suburbanites; even the nightclub scenes are full of regular folks having a good time, not insulting caricatures. Those scenes are actually the weakest of the film since they break up the movie's core cast with a bunch of extras.

William Marshall, best known as Blacula and also the King of Cartoons, is fabulous in this...although he also has a tendency to slow things down just because of his flamboyant style of speech-making. Carol Speed gives a gleefully perverted performance as Abby, though the Orisha is voiced by Bob Holt, who in 1972 voiced the Lorax and the Onceler. I know I shouldn't say "the Onceler" on this website, but the freaks who react to that could really stand to watch something as good as ABBY instead of continuously beating off to children's media. Uh anyway, the actual biggest star of this movie is Juanita Moore, who may not have much to do here, but she was nominated for a fucking Oscar for fucking Douglas Sirk's remake of fucking IMITATION OF LIFE. She is no fucking joke. And there's also the great Austin Stoker, famous for ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13. This movie may be a typical exploitation picture in many respects, but it is full of talent and made with care.

With all that said, just so I don't run the risk of making ABBY sound like more than it is, I should note that William Marshall expressed dismay at the loosely-handled African elements of the story. It sounds like he recommended some more respectful revisions, and was ignored. However, Carol Speed defended the film, for all that it misrepresents and rips off, as a terrific piece of entertainment. What she said could be applied to any number of exploitation classics: "There are no (new) stories since the Bible."

[cherrylng]

Amplifier & Effects [STYLE Series #004 - Muse (August 2010)]

Amplifier & Effects The pedals that are key to Matthew's sound, and the evolution of the amplifiers he uses.

Pedal Board on 1st Japan Tour Matthew's feet are perfectly captured in this photo taken on his first Japan tour. The huge pedal in the centre is a Roland V-Guitar system ‘VG-8’ (the original modelling effects device). Matthew is stepping on the expression pedal ‘EV-5’ connected to it. To the left is what appears to be a Line 6 ‘DL4’ (delay modeller), but the picture is not clear enough to be certain. A Marshall amp can also be seen in the background.

Rack Equipment-A Rack mainly containing effects-related items. Spatial effects such as TC electronic TC2290 (delay multi), Line 6's Echo Pro (delay modeller) and Korg's SDD-3000 (delay multi). In addition to the rack effectors, there are a number of compacts in the drawers and switchers and mixers to control them.

Drawer-1 Contents of the top drawer. Clockwise from top left: Digitech ‘Whammy’ (MIDI-compatible ‘WH4’), Pete Cornish's ‘TB-83 Extra’ (treble booster), Human Gear's ‘Animato’ (distortion), Keely's ‘Compressor’ (compression). (treble booster), Human Gear's ‘Animato’ (distortion), Keely's ‘Compressor’ (compressor), MXR's ‘Phase100’ MXR's ‘Phase100’ (phaser). The use of the Japanese-made ‘Animato’ pedal is a bit of a surprise.

Drawer-2 Contents of the bottom drawer. Clockwise from top left: BOSS ‘OC-2’ (octaver), ‘AC-2’ (acoustic simulator), ‘PS-5’ (pitch shifter), Digitech ‘Whammy’, Z.Vex's ‘Fuzz Factory’ (fuzz) and Keely's ‘Fuzz Head’ (fuzz).

Rack Equipment-2 Rack contains a wireless receiver (‘UR4D’ from Shure), pre-amps (‘SansAmp PSA11’ from Tech21), ‘VT737SP’ (channel strip equipment) from Avalon, switchers etc. The ‘PSA1 1’ and ‘VT737SP’ may be used for vocals.

Drawer-3 The drawer in this rack holds a Rocktron ‘All Access’ MIDI foot controller. Matthew has the same one under his foot, but this is a slave. This is probably used by the guitar tech to switch tones only when Matthew is unable to operate it.

Translator's Note: Oh god, when I finally reached this part of the article to scan, I suddenly understood the previous article that I translated when the journalist and photographer were talking about Matt's fashion style back in 2000. You really can see his denim jeans being cut off at the hem.

[plusvanity]

bro you talking about knowing songs on guitar is so cool to me cause I play too!! I was wondering how you learned things like the Freezing Moon solo? Also how long have you been playing? What kind of guitar do you have? Music is my special interest if it isn't super obvious by the amount of questions I have

Hello, guitarist fellow! haha

I've learned the solo of Freezing Moon from watching YouTube videos lmao. I still remember there was one single video (now there are plenty) back then with the solo played through. I had to pause every second to write down the notes. Very meticulous work considering that the quality of the video was horrible, and I had to 'guess' most of the notes based on sound. Just image the amount of time wasted on that shit, but what can I say? I was ambitious lol. I don't trust tabs on websites because if they're not written for Metallica or Megadeth, then you know they're wrong.

In time, I got better at sweep picking and ergonomic movements, and naturally, that solo started to sound like a solo.

Now, I've been playing for 10 years. It's a life commitment.

My first guitar was a cherry-red Ibanez that was basically a copy of Fender Stratocaster (yes, I've played black metal with that one. Even the stickers on it looked 'tougher' lol), then I got myself a Gibson LP, then I sold the LP for a Schecter Avenger. My one and only love.

My equipment consists of an MK2 Boss Katana head, and a Fuzz pedal. I had more pedals and a bigass Marshall combo, but they're all sold now.

I play whenever I get the time. Manic Street Preachers and Gojira are what I enjoy playing the most. Agalloch and Burzum too, but you get the picture.

Cool questions. Thanks, man! 🖤

[glennk56]

Cliff Emmich in the 1970's (1 of 3 sets).

Cliff Emmich was born in Cincinnati, OH in 1936. His first film role was as an extra in the 1969 film by Norman Jewison, Gaily, Gaily. His first credited role didn't come until 1971 in a very small role in a TV movie, The Feminist and the Fuzz, starring Barbara Eden. He gained 50 film role credits throughout the 1970's, getting more and more substantial roles on TV and Movies.

Photo 1 is from Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (because I didn't want the lead photo to be the next one.

Photos 2 and 3 are as an extra in Top of the Heap in 1972.

Photos 4 - 7 are from a small role in Girls on the Road in 1972, starring Michael Ontkean and Kathleen Cody.

Photos 8 and 9 are from The Odd Couple 3;15 in 1973, pictured with Penny Marshall as Myrna.

Photos 10 - 14 are from the film Invasion of the Bee Girls in 1973 with William Smith and Cliff Osmond.

Photos 15 - 19 are also from The Odd Couple, 5;13, pictured with Tony Randall and John Byner, as Felix's cousin in 1974.

Photos 20 - 30 are from the film Thunderbolt and Lightfoot in 1974, starring Clint Eastwood and Jeff Bridges.

[flatoutin-eaurouge]

My beloved tyhmä poika

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x JJ Letho

This fic is for the beloved @kimizilla 🫶🫶. A redemption arc for JJ after my recent fic. I remember how we situated this prompt in 1989, so Michael wasn't really that much in the picture yet. Therefore no heartbroken Makkinen 😇.

It all happened way too fast to comprehend. Driving in fifth position and nearing the Bombhole corner, he saw a backmarker spin in front of him. A flash of blue, white and yellow coming to a halt only meters in front of his Dragon Motorsport car. He neared the solid object with staggering speed, and had to give a harsh tug at his steering wheel to prevent himself from crashing into it.

Turning his steering wheel like that - with this speed - was an unforgivable mistake in usual circumstances, but Mika knew he might have saved his own life and the life of the backmarker with the manoeuvre. Mika saw how quickly the tyre wall grew more prominent into his vision. He closed his eyes and braced for impact.

His ears were ringing, the faint sound of steam coming from the engine only slightly audible. He could feel the bruises forming along his chest and suspected that it was due to the safety belts that had kept him inside of the car during the crash. It took a couple of blinks to get rid of the blurs and make sense of where he was: Snetterton, August 6, 1989. He smelled the scent of petrol, and quickly unclasped the safety belts that still had him trapped in its bruising hold. Mika could feel his body drop a few centimeters down onto the tarmac, which meant the car had landed upside down. As soon as he had crawled from underneath the wreckage, he started to walk away from his car until the unsteadiness in his legs forced him to drop to his knees.

His limbs were trembling and his heart was racing. It didn't take long for marshals to appear around him, telling him he needed to see professor Sid Watkins. Mika shook his head. What did he need a doctor for?

"No, I am fine. I can walk so I am fine." The tremblings and his heavy breathing had everything to do with his state of shock, didn't it? There was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't hurt.

A marshall grabbed his shoulder. "Mika, see a doctor. You don't know if you're fine until the adrenaline has worn off."

Mika ignored him. He stood up and wandered off in a numbed, apathic state. Feelings and emotions shut off for the moment. He just wanted to reach his motorhome and lie down on his bed. He didn't need a doctor.

On his way to the paddock Mika tried to fend off worried members of his team. He himself had no idea how terrible the accident had looked from their point of view or how much debris had flown over the track. He didn't notice the tyres of the tyre wall strewn across the tarmac. He didn't even register the very obvious fact that the race was red-flagged, meaning that he kept the points for his fith position.

Somehow his efforts to dodge his worried team members were unsuccessful, because before he knew it, he was pushed into Sid Watkins office by his team principal. "Don't be stubborn, Mika."

Mika sat down on the examination table with his race suit unzipped to his waist as Watkins shone into his eyes with a flashlight, making his dilated pupils shrink the seize of thumbtacks.

"Everything seems to be okay. You haven't been unconscious, have you?"

Mika shook his head. "No." He was well aware that he'd crawled away from the wreckage in a matter of seconds. Pure driver instinct. Smelling fossil fuel and running away from it as far as you can.

"Alright." Watkins inspected the bruises on his chest. "Do you have trouble breathing? Did you hurt your ribs?"

Mika shook his head once more. "No, Sir. I am fine. Really."

"Okay, then. I am going to dismiss you, but if you find out about any ailments later, don't hesitate to contact me."

Mika rolled his eyes when the doctor turned around. Was all the fuzz really necessary? He zipped his racesuit back up and jumped off the examination table, ready to hole himself up inside his motorhome, far away from the British press and the nosy people.

On his way back, Mika noticed that there was indeed a lot of press gathered around parc fermé. Really? For a F3 race? He looked at the standings on the electronic board located at the pit exit and noticed Paul Stewart on P1. Of course the English press would love it when the son of Jackie Stewart gets his maiden F3-victory. Mika smiled despite everthing. Good for him.

Jyrki Järvilehto had been absolutely terrified when he saw the crash happen on the tv-screens in the paddock. Contrary to believe, the impeccable, unfazed Finn was shocked to the core. He had watched the car of his beloved catapult through the air by the sheer speed of his car and the heavy impact against the tyre wall. He needed to make sure Mika was ok, so he waited for him at his motorhome.

As soon as he saw his younger compatriot, he took a heavy breath. There he was! Seemingly alright! He ran towards his favourite blondie and pulled him into a tight hug. "Mika, kulta. Are you okay?"

Mika was startled by the swiftness in which the familiar blonde guy standing by the door of his motorhome turned up in front of him and pressed him so tightly against the other's body that he only barely refrained from whimpering against the pain it caused his bruised chest.

"Jyrki! Hi! Where did you come from?"

The older Finn caressed a hand through Mika's fluffy hair and pecked his lips. "I took a plane to England to see you drive. Can't believe you scared me like that though! Are you okay?"

Mika sighed. Why was everyone so worried all the time. Especially Jyrki, he wasn't the type of guy to worry. He is so tough! I can't show any weakness to him. "Yeah, I am fine even with the adrenaline worn off. Stop fuzzing!"

Jyrki ruffled Mika's hair and smirked at his adorable, grumpy face. "I don't know if I can, kultaseni." He stroked Mika's cheek with the back of his hand. "I saw the crash. You told me you're physically fine, how are you dealing with it mentally?"

"Not," Mika replied curtly.

"What? 'Not' what?"

"I am not dealing with it mentally, because I don't need to. I am not fazed by a crash like that. There is nothing wrong, Jyrki." His heart banged against his ribcage. He tried to calm it with slow and steady breaths. Anything to not show weakness to his tough compatriot.

"Okay. Fine." Jyrki didn't believe him. This would no doubt have an impact on the younger Finn. Mika couldn't be that stoic, could he? The aftermath of this crash would sent him spiralling soon. Jyrki himself had been there once. "And by the way, you need to call me JJ now."

Mika grinned. "Is that your street name?"

Jyrki slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Tyhmä poika, Keke told me it's better for marketing. You know that, tease."

Mika chuckled. "Come on inside, Jykri."

Jyrki rolled his eyes as he followed the younger Finn into his motorhome. Upon arriving in the living space, he grabbed Mika by his hips and pressed him against a wall. He stared into the boy's sparkling blue eyes and kissed him on the lips with great vigor.

"My handsome kultaseni! I missed you so much."

His finger caressed the lips he just kissed and it downed on him that Mika could have died this late afternoon.

"I can't lose you! You know that?"

"What?"

Jyrki's arms wrapped around Mika's frame and he could feel the slight tremors running through his body. Was that the adrenaline finally wearing off? He grabbed a hand full of the sturdy material of Mika's racesuit and pressed him closer against his body.

When Jyrki let go off him and looked him up and down, he saw tears being held hostage in the corners of his eyes, he saw  lips pressed in a thin line, and he saw hands balled into fists. Mika was trying to force his emotions away.

"Ssshhh. Don't do that, Mika."

"Do what?"

"Don't try to act unfazed. Don't hide your fears and emotions for me. You can hide them from the people in the paddock, but not from me."

Mika glared daggers at him, his usual kind eyes glimmering with anger. The squint of his grumpy frown caused the tears he had held hostage to roll down his cheeks. Jyrki couldn't know he was secretly shocked by the crash. "What are you talking about?"

Jyrki swallowed. He felt bad for his beloved who tried so hard to uphold his impassive mask, but the stony facade of it had fractured on all its sides, and tears were leaking through its cracks.

"Don't be angry with me, Mika."

Mika's lips twisted into a pout as more tears flowed down his face, betraying how upset he was.

Jyrki's thumb tracked their damp trails. "I only mean well. All young drivers go through this." His fingers wrapped around Mika's trembling hands, blanketing them in warmth. "I have been there too."

Mika untwisted a hand from Jyki's grip and rubbed it over his chest with a pained frown. Why did his body hurt so much all of a sudden?

Jyrki followed the action with worried eyes. He grabbed Mika's hand. "Hey, are you hurt?"

Mika shook his head. "Not really. Only a little bit."

Jyrki didn't believe him at all. He had been lying before... His fingers let go off Mika's hand and went to the zipper of his racesuit. He swiftly unzipped the overalls down to his boyfriend's waist and rolled his fireproof up to his chest. He swallowed upon seeing the red and purple bruises blooming on his chest. His hand ghosted over the hurt skin.

"The safety belts?"

"Yes, but it's nothing." Mika pushed Jyrki's hands away. "Stop fuzzing!"

Jyrki halted Mika and grabbed his hands between his own. "No!" Jyrki said strictly as his voice bellowed through the trailer. "You are hurt and I need to take care of you!"

Mika took a step backwards. He knew the older Finn was very serious. His act of playing unfazed had failed. He had shown way too many emotions for a stoic Finn. Pathetic.

"Lie down on the bed." Jyrki's voice brooked no arguments or excuses.

Mika hesitated only for a second, before he walked to the bed and lay down on top of the blankets quietly.

Jyrki walked towards his beloved and stared at him in admiration. The moisture on his damp cheeks gleamed in the dim lights above his head, his teary-eyes shimmering in the same glow. His sweat-matted blonde hair was sticking in all kinds of directions. He was breathtakingly beautiful.

Jyrkie walked to the fridge and grabbed an icepack. He returned to the bed and pressed the pack against Mika's bare chest.

Mika hissed and shuddered as the cold icepack came in contact with his skin. "This makes it hurt more!" He fumbled with the icepack trying to get rid off it.

"No!" Jyrki lay down on top of him and forcefully pressed the icepack solid in position with his sternum. "Keep it there!"

Mika's cheeks turned a brilliant red, as he stared into Jyrki's beautiful ice-blue eyes. The icepack forgotten due to the heat that spread inside his body.

Jyrki caressed a rosy cheek of his boyfriend's precious face. "You're stubborn, tyhmä poika."

He leaned down and trailed a path of sloppy kisses down the younger Finn's neck, breathing in his scent. "You're my beloved tyhmä poika. Don't ever scare me like that again." His lips trailed further down, sucking a hickey on his collarbone.

When he felt the hickey forming on his skin, Mika's hands tugged at Jyrki's hair. "That will be another bruise, Jyrki!"

Jyrki stood up from the bed and smirked at his boyfriend. "Be glad I didn't suck it somewhere people can see." He stared at Mika and grinned some more. "You must be cold now."

He grabbed the blankets of the bed and started folding them around Mika like a burrito, trapping his arms in the blanket coccoon.

"Jyrki, what are you doing?" Mika giggled as the older Finn lay down on top of him and enveloped him in a solid, octopus-like hold.

Jyrki leaned down and pecked his nose. "Can I offer you some tea or hot chocolate?"

[dustedmagazine]

Hayes Noble — As It Was, As We Were (Two Two One Press)

You want to step back and away from the amp tower when Hayes Noble is playing. The still teenaged (but barely) guitarist raises a detuned roar of fuzz and distortion dense and tactile that, even through the speakers, it blows your hair back a little. For that reason, the Spokane-by-way-of-Galena-Illinois musician often wins comparisons to Dinosaur Jr. and indeed, J. Mascis has likely served as a touchstone for Noble. Both of them wallow in a turgid surf of feedback that nearly, but not quite, obscures disconsolate melodies. There are actual songs under all the furor here, which is why I think that the Superchunk comparison is a better one. The heart’s a muscle but so is a Marshall stack, and Noble’s earthquake sonics frame an earnest, tuneful core.

“Pushin’ On,” for instance, pulsates with volume, its walloping beat disciplining a sprawl of feedback. That’s maybe a family dynamic, since Noble siblings Everett and Brett are the rhythm section, but it keeps things lurching forward as Hayes Nobel bends noise-addled rainbows of guitar sound. The vocals, though, are agile and melodic, taunting and preening and dragging out long line-finishing syllables in show-boating emo flourishes; if the chorus weren’t pummeled to a bloody pulp, it might be almost pop.

Of course that’s what grunge was — heartfelt songs jacked up on blaring feedback—and while Noble isn’t as wrenching a songwriter as Cobain was, they’re definitely in the same family. “Got Over It” splinters slow, gut twisting guitar tone into atoms, so that the overtones buzz around the tune like a halo of flies. But the melody tilts up in a wry smile and the bass/drum underpinnings encourage ecstatic hopping up and down. “You look so pretty,” Noble croons — and that’s the right word, however rock the setting may be — and yes, it’s a pretty one under all that mayhem.

Jennifer Kelly

[thirdeyeblue]

Post seven comfort movies and tag seven people

(Thanks for tagging me, @mulderscully 💖)

1. Forgetting Sarah Marshall

2. Hot Fuzz

3. The Devil Wears Prada

4. Wristcutters: A Love Story

5. American Psycho

6. Get Him To The Greek

7. Kill Bill Vol. 2

Tagging seven people with zero pressure (and sorry if double tagging anyone, I don’t wanna go digging through the other ones I’ve already seen 😅)

@qvercetti @ncisloverunite @aintfraidanoghosts @naaer @dreamcaught @rosetylerisbae @flamesandpages

[reiverreturns]

us 🤝 gratuitously talking about our wips instead of actually working on them

i NEED to know about this ac/pacrim nonsense 👀

it's a hard life in the trenches (doing nothing productive whatsoever)

EHEHEHE okay so my nonsense file is basically all @alethiometry's fault and is more or less a dumping ground for assassin's creed PacRim AU stuff that i write odds and sods for when i don't feel like writing anything serious. it's mostly hytham/jacob frye where hytham is an ex-ranger who designs jaeger weaponry and jacob is an active ranger alongside evie. idk i think they'd have SUCH good chemistry and i know in my heart i'm right on that one. i have zero intention of ever making a real publishable story out of the stuff in there but i have lots and lots of little bits! it's very much ignoring quality, just having fun stuff.

anyway for context i've pulled a bit where jacob gets injured before the big mission to close the breach. furious and upset that he'll be sidelined, he ends up running his mouth to the press about how the world governments and their wall building plans are all stupid as hell and hytham sneaks him out into a hong kong hotel to screw some sense into him before marshal aya can find jacob and beat his ass six ways to sunday. i'm also dropping a cut in because it's a chonky bit!

send me a title from my wip list and i'll post a snippet and some thoughts

---

“Where will you go when this is all over?” Hytham asks.

Jacob turns, attention turns sharp, but Hytham isn't looking at him. He’s leaning against the edge of the window, arm resting across the top of the frame, eyes locked on a lonely hulking mass fuzzed in the heavy, sodden mist of the bay. A Jaeger on reconnaissance and repair. Odin’s Sight, if Jacob remembers the assignments. He can’t think of anything more pointless than checking the walls now.

You pilot a Jaeger for long enough, you come to understand that Rangers come in two flavours. The first are the sort who fight for an after. Eivor and Vili, with their dream of a patch of land and animals aplenty in the far flung reaches of Norway. Connor being reunited with his family back home. The second kind of Ranger fights against. ‘After’ isn’t exactly a worry when you're trying to wrestle a Kaiju’s lower mandible from the rest of its jaw. ‘After’ doesn’t mean anything if the chances are you’ll end up going down with your Jaeger. 

Before today Jacob had always considered himself firmly in camp two. Even now, with his Jaeger miles away, he can feel the mechanical click and whirr of the gears in his wrist as he sits up on the bed, pneumatic pressure falling when he adjusts his bad leg. It’s raining and the machinery aches. Evie's running through her tests with Henry. She's worried about him. His mind is hers and hers is his; no start and no end, a complex knot of flesh and metal that cannot be divorced. Jacob's future is a blue-tinged meld of past and present. It does not - can not - exist without Evie or Rook Empire in it.

But that had been then. Hytham turns, sighing, and the realisation hits Jacob like a bullet to the chest.

Jacob might die. He might live to see the whole world fall. He might be crushed beneath a warm body like he was half an hour ago, panting into Hytham's mouth, sweat-slick and needy for more time. But he also might live. There might be an ‘after’ after all.

More silence. Jacob wishes he had Hytham’s comfort in it. Maybe the roar of blood in his ears wouldn’t feel so intrusive.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Jacob eventually says in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own, hands absently gripping the sheets, mind scrambling and overshot to somewhere far, far away. “I could go back to London, I suppose. Would be nice to go somewhere where I could pretend the world didn’t completely go to shit. But it’s…” He looks at the condensation on the windows, mouth dry. “I don’t think there will be a place for me when I go back.” 

Stupid thing to say. London’s a big fucking city. It still is, despite the attacks and riots and civil unrest that has destabilised its boroughs over the years. Hytham tilts his head thoughtfully.

“There will be no Rangers anymore,” he says, and Jacob nods.

[fuzzkaizer]

Nomad - Super Fuzz

"... it's a germanium Fuzzrite! Either from late 1966 or early 1967. It shares the exact same guts as my longtime germanium Mosrite Fuzzrite from the same era, and pretty much the same tone. ...

cool little detail to mention about the Nomad Super Fuzz is that if it legitimately has a 1966/67 production date then it would predate the Univox Super Fuzz by at least a year, and was just a few months behind the Marshall Supa Fuzz. Which means that this is the very first pedal ever called "Super Fuzz", if we don't count the Marshall, that is."

cred: tonemachinesblog.com

[effectsdatabase]

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un día en Cluster (by Cluster Effects)

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JAM Pedals Boomster MK.2 Boost/Buffer Pedal (by Shawn Tubbs)

Boomerang Phrase Sampler Plus demo (by Bennett Custom Audio)

Drop D abrasive riffing - @DigiTechFX Hardwire Sc-2 Valve Distortion (by We As A Company)

Marshall Stack on board my space ship. A little fun tone test with vibe and tone of the gods pedal (by JD Analog)

Stop playing BAD fuzzes! Pick these instead... (by Budget Pedal Chap)

Moog Minifooger MF Drive Teardown! See what's inside! (by Gray Bench Electronics)

Boss Chorus Ensemble Pedals Through The Years (by Jason Ayala Spare)

Archivo del Amplificador Mexicano I Paradox Effects (by Paradox Effects)

Neunaber Audio | Immerse Reverberator MKII: Detune #SHORTS (by Neunaber Technology)

Overviews of the previous weeks: https://www.effectsdatabase.com/video/weekly

from Effects Database https://bit.ly/3XjJuNE

[mywifeleftme]

29: Howlin' Wolf // The Howlin' Wolf Album

The Howlin' Wolf Album Howlin' Wolf 1969, Cadet Concept

The Howlin’ Wolf Album is famously a pretty funny record (or a moderately offensive one, depending on your parish). In the late 1960s, legendary bluesman Howlin’ Wolf’s sales weren’t great, so his label decided to supplement his band with a bunch of young psych musicians to cash in on the heavy blues rock trend. The record was issued with a snarky cover that declares Howlin’ Wolf doesn’t like his own album, but ha ha the big galoot didn’t like his electric guitar at first either and look where it got him; Wolf testily objected that he’d liked his first electric just fucking fine, and also called the album ‘dogshit.’ Sales were peanuts, reviews scathing.

Obviously, it’s more than a little disrespectful that an artist of Wolf’s stature was railroaded into making an album he hated to appeal to a theoretical white audience. But it’s also more than a little amusing to read the stories of Wolf, a gigantic 59-year-old with the voice of an anthropomorphic Jack-O-Lantern, cursing out session players and telling them what to do with their fucking wah-wahs. The collage on the album’s back cover, with Wolf looming like Our Disappointed God in Heaven over an awkward ensemble of young musicians (and oddly, himself), is sublime company for the contents within.

Which! Are actually pretty good if this sort of electric blues is your bag. (For me, it generally is not—white guys playing blooze has real “stepdad farting in his armchair” associations for me.) I certainly like The Howlin’ Wolf Album more than anything the Paul Butterfield Blues Band or John Mayall ever did, largely because Wolf himself is such an upgrade as a vocalist over a replacement-level stringy English guy. Credit him for giving us about 90% of his fastball, growling and insinuating and crooning his signature ad libbed howls over perfectly cromulent acid arrangements of his classics. It works a lot better than its early critical reputation would suggest, though those who hold it up as a left-field masterpiece might be getting a little too excited. There’s not a psychedelic bone in Howlin’ Wolf’s burly frame, and no amount of organ or fuzz can drag him out into those waters—resulting in a record that mostly exists for those whose main bar to enjoying ‘50s Chicago blues is the lack of a Marshall stack.

Admittedly, I’m a bad judge—a friend gave this album to me years ago, and I only just noticed that my copy is a misprint that substitutes the second side of the album for side two of ? & the Mysterians’ 96 Tears (in 45 rpm, no less). What that means is that each of the seven or eight times I have put this album on I’ve been so checked out by the time it comes to flip it that the cough medicine drone of wrong-speed garage rock never scanned as off. Every time I get to the end, I have a faint moment of, “Oh wild, they got Wolf to record ’96 Tears’?” and then immediately forget.

So anyway, to re-establish my credibility here’s a scene from the unflattering documentary that was made about my life some years ago. The End!

29/365

[lboogie1906]

James Marshall "Jimi" Hendrix (born Johnny Allen Hendrix; November 27, 1942 – September 18, 1970) was a rock guitarist, singer, and songwriter. His mainstream career lasted only four years, but he is regarded as one of the most influential guitarists in history and one of the most celebrated musicians of the 20th century. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame describes him as "the greatest instrumentalist in the history of rock music". Born in Seattle, he began playing guitar at age 15. He enlisted in the Army and trained as a paratrooper in the 101st Airborne Division, but he was discharged the following year. He moved to Clarksville, soon after and began playing gigs on the Chitlin' Circuit, earning a place in the Isley Brothers' backing band and with Little Richard. He played with Curtis Knight and the Squires before moving to England after being discovered. He earned three UK top ten hits with the Jimi Hendrix Experience: "Hey Joe", "Purple Haze", and "The Wind Cries, Mary". He achieved fame in the US after his performance at the Monterey Pop Festival, and his third and final studio album Electric Ladyland reached number one in the US. He was the world's highest-paid performer, and he headlined the Woodstock Festival and the Isle of Wight Festival. He was inspired by American rock and roll and electric blues. He favored overdriven amplifiers with high volume and gain, and he was instrumental in popularizing the previously undesirable sounds caused by guitar amplifier feedback. He was one of the first guitarists to make extensive use of tone-altering effects units in mainstream rock, such as fuzz tone, Octavia, wah-wah, and Uni-Vibe. He was the first musician to use stereophonic phasing effects in recordings. Readers of Melody Maker voted him the Pop Musician of the Year, and Rolling Stone declared him the Performer of the Year. Disc and Music Echo magazine honored him with the World Top Musician, and Guitar Player named him the Rock Guitarist of the Year. The Jimi Hendrix Experience was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the UK Music Hall of Fame. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence https://www.instagram.com/p/CldyTqeuz4v/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=