#Ophelia Shaw

[liminal-storage]

0-The Fool

Prompt: Steer  Characters: Ophelia Shaw, Roland Shaw, Shayl Content Warnings: Mentions of taxidermy, insects, and odors related to decay.

Envy makes a foul and fickle monster, a creature hewn of lies with sickle-sharp teeth. And envy holds the door for its hungry cousin greed, whereby together they spin the world around them into a wasteland. Ophelia knows this better than most. For someone like her, life holds only one path. Hers is a modest existence, the life of a lady's maid neither shameful nor overly glamorous. Perhaps if she works hard enough she can rise somewhat within the household, but even so she shall never be anything more than a maid.

A maid who envies the very lady she serves, who pockets little trinkets and perfume bottles to sell off for a few extra coins. A betrayer and a thief. She tells herself it's out of necessity. Her brother Roland's gambling habits have their savings in shambles, and she's only doing what she has to in order to keep their larder from going empty. And should an extra bit of jewelry or a prettily embroidered handkerchief make its way into her pockets for her own personal use? Well, that's simply her due for being such a diligent worker. It isn't as though her Lady will miss such things. Ophelia doubts she even thinks about them once she puts them down.

Life is no fairy tale.

Of this, she's so, so keenly aware. Should her Lady or one of the other servants catch her in her sticky-fingered practice, no amount of excuses will suffice. There will be no divine intervention or a handsome stranger to save her. That ruin which she so fears will chase her, hungrier than any slavering hound, and tear her life into pieces.

She needs a way out, a different solution. Something substantial. Something big. Ophelia spends her days dreaming of a miracle she knows will never come.

She spends her nights listening to her brother and his companions kicking up an obnoxious raucous in the room next to hers, the shared wall being thin and offering little in the way of noise dampening.

Sheets twisted about her legs in her tiny, plain, room, she sips upon a bottle pilfered from Roland's space when he was away during the day. Liquor goes in, and hateful thoughts come out. Slurred curses and complaints slip free from her mouth, drowned out by the noise from next door. They'll never hear her over the sound of clinking bottles and raunchy jokes. Such is her one and only catharsis, she thinks, eyes shut tight against a blinding headache.

Further sipping does nothing to alleviate the pain, and when her ears catch something interesting she sputters, showering the bedding with cheap alcohol.

"If your sister's still giving you so much trouble, you could go see old Owlface. I'm sure he could help you out."

"Nah, no, don't be dealin' with that one. M'brother in law says his help's not worth the price. Said he smells like rotten meat, too."

"Aye? But he can help with anything. Helped me get rid of my own debts and now I'm living free as a bird."

"And yet you're still coming around to this rathole to be with us. I don't know about the rest of you, but that has me feeling all warm and tingly inside. I think this calls for another round!"

Ophelia does what she can to drown out the rest, her mind buzzing. 

She has not heard much about this…Owlface. Then again, she rarely hears much about anything at all. She knows the strange man came to town about a year ago, that he rarely leaves his place of business, and that no one has ever seen his face, hidden as it is behind a wooden mask carved into the heart-shaped face of an owl. Ophelia scoffs a little. Is it a name he gave himself, or something the uncreative masses came up with instead?

Regardless, she also knows that he has a certain reputation, and no specific occupation. A jack of all trades, they say, a helper and a fixer. Her brother’s friends might be loud and obnoxious, but unlike him (and unlike her), they are honest and hard workers. If they say this strange man with no name helped them clear their debts, she believes it. Through the haze of alcohol, Ophelia begins to plan.

She goes to him on her next day off. Hands shaking, and pockets free of stolen trinkets, she sets off across town to find the stranger who smells of rotting meat. The building he resides in looks oddly crooked from the street, but once she comes to a stop in front of it, everything seems perfectly straight and perfect. A swinging wooden sign board hangs above the door, faded lettering greeting her. A brown and white bird of prey startles her nearly out of her skin when it turns its head to regard her. A barn owl, and a large one at that, looms perched upon the sign. So still and ghostly silent, she mistook it for a part of the sign. It makes no sound as she places a hand upon the door. Ophelia already feels half the courage chased right out of her, but all she can do is carry forth. 

She’s not sure what to expect. A bar or an antique store or a taxidermist’s shop? A book store or a tailor’s workshop or a woodworker’s stall? 

The cluttered mess of furnishings and knick-knacks suggests none of those things, and yet somehow all of them at once. She supposes she’d call it a “collection,” because no other word will suffice. Expensive liquor bottles sit on worn, crooked shelves where their dusty bodies barely catch the few rays of light filtering in through the building’s frosted glass windows. They’re all fine vintages, the sort of bottle that would take years of saving to purchase, things meant to be savored over the course of a lifetime. Some seem to be missing corks. Others have the necks of their bottles shattered off completely, cracks splitting from top to bottom and held in place only by the other bottles around them. There’s no care here, no reverence, no proper storage. They’re merely taking up space, like so many of the other items around them. 

Items like books with torn pages and frayed binding, or wooden figurines with chips and warping which have been tossed haphazardly into boxes in the corner. Or things like a half-done bear taxidermy, the treated hide pulled taut in some spots while puckered and folded in others, blocking pins stuck into the mannequin beneath. Everything looks like it has been ruined by neglect, thrown into whatever space the floor has available to accommodate it. A storage room left forgotten and almost hated.

So engrossed is she in looking at each object with an odd, forlorn expression on her face, that Ophelia fails to notice the building’s unusual tenant at first. She is, once again, startled near to death by movement in the corner with the taxidermied bear and the voice which speaks from beneath a disc of burnished wood. 

“It’s not often that we get visitors this time of day.” 

Once her heart stops trying to escape from her ribcage and her breathing levels out, Ophelia realizes there’s been someone there the entire time, black-clad hands running over the broken taxidermy base. His entire body’s shrouded in black, actually, the only exception being that damned mask. Ophelia stutters something out, words completely lost in the attempt, and the figure rises, and oh, she realizes that Roland’s friend had not been lying. 

The smell hits her hard. It is a cloying odious cloud, like rotting fruit and meat left in the sun to the mercy of carrion insects. It is the stench of a raw, festering wound, of sour sweat and sour dairy. She isn’t sure that she’s ever experienced such a foul cocktail of decay. It’s overwhelming, sickening, and for a moment she wants nothing more than to run to the door and forget she ever considered meeting Owlface to begin with. She tries to run for the door. 

Her legs refuse to obey, and the figure slithers closer. 

“Ah.”

He makes a tutting noise, condescending little clucks of his tongue which might be meant as soothing. 

“None of that, now. You came all this way, after all. I would be an incredibly rude host if I let you leave so soon. There’s no need to fear. I know the smell is a bit…overwhelming, but I ask that you bear with me for a moment. It will become easier to endure as you get used to it. Something about going nose-blind once you’re exposed to certain smells and all. Ah, but I am rambling. Please, tell old Owlface what it is you need. Although, I think I can hazard a guess.” 

He reaches out to touch her face and Ophelia tries to scream. Her voice won’t work, either. 

“You desire freedom. Freedom from debt. Freedom from worry. Freedom from your wastrel of a brother. Am I correct? Nod, if you will.” 

Her head bobs once, and the rotting stranger seems pleased. 

“I thought so. Fear not, dear lady. I can grant you your freedom. If you agree, in three days hence you will find yourself with a twist of good fortune upon your doorstep. Ah, you must be wondering what the catch is. You need not worry. I assure you that I want nothing but your happiness. No harm will come to you, and you shall live out the rest of your days in peace and security. That is what you desire, is it not?”  

She’ll never be able to tell just what made her nod again, what force compelled her to agree with this horrifying stranger so intimately close. Nor will there ever be a soul who Ophelia trusts to speak of that day, but she knows that like before, her body refuses to obey. Her head nods, her heart sinks, and still her legs refuse to run. 

“Very good, then. You have nothing to fuss over. I will see to every arrangement, and in three days you will forget about ever having worried in the first place.” 

He lowers his hand, and Ophelia runs

Yet, true to his word, in three days, her fate does change when a man she’s never met comes to call. His name is Raphael Marlowe, the young owner of a textile business who recently came into a moderate fortune thanks to a few investments he’d made. She’s apprehensive at first. As any young woman might be. But she has no other prospects, and Roland’s gambling debt has grown worse. Besides, Raphael is a handsome young man with dark hair and strong hands and eyes as green as an emerald. This is the solution she's been dreaming of.

She thinks nothing of the strange, cloying odor she can smell in his hair at times. Nor does she think much of his family crest, which soon becomes her family crest to be displayed proudly in their new home. She never again thinks of the stranger or his cluttered shop of things long abandoned. 

She never asks about the burnished wooden mask that Raphael keeps in a trunk of old keepsakes, its smooth surface carved with the heart-shaped features of an owl.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Early Autumn beeech time pt 5

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 10, Number 5

Arab Strap

It’s lovely out. The lilacs are in bloom. The weather is warm enough to make a sweater/sweatshirt/coat redundant, and the bugs are swarming happily all over the garden. And yet, here we are, inside, ear buds in place, music on high, because however nice the weather, what if we missed something? What if, you, our readers missed something? Well, fear not, because we’re back with another set of short, impassioned reviews. Scottish lifers obsessed with their phones, South African jazzmen nearly forgotten, mumbling rappers, untethered improvisers—it’s all here for you. What, you were going out? Too nice to stay inside? Well, okay, it’ll be here when you get back.

Contributors include Ian Mathers, Justin Cober-Lake, Ray Garraty, Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell, Christian Carey, Alex Johnson and Jennifer Kelly.

Arab Strap — I'm totally fine with it 👍 don't give a fuck anymore 👍 (Rock Action)

Even more surprising than this Scottish duo’s perversely triumphant return a few years ago is that in 2024 Aidan Moffat is writing more about the internet than about cheating and booze. (He’s still writing about those things too though, don’t worry.) Less shocking is that his laceratingly keen eye is no less effective when turned on his own relationship with his phone, or the way women are treated by the “fathers, husbands, sons and brothers” around them as soon as the deniability of a screen is in place, or the psychology of someone who turns to QAnon. And not just technology; with songs addressing those who’ve never recovered from the early-pandemic hit to their ability to go outside and those capitalism leaves to die in solitude, this might be the least relationship-y Arab Strap LP to date. Malcolm Middleton roughs up their sound again to match the bruised, heartfelt brutality of Moffat’s subject matter and the result is one of the most simultaneously empathetic and unsettling records from a band who’ve never been short on either quality.

Ian Mathers

Bad Nerves — Still Nervous (Suburban)

For their second album Still Nervous, punk rockers Bad Nerves take their ready-made formula and just amp everything up. Everything's loud and fast; the band clearly descends from the Ramones, but they've gone more manic. They secretly mix in flourishes of power pop. Underneath all the ruckus, they have a knack for catchy melodies, guitar solos and even vocal harmonies. Then Bad Nerves rough up the pop elements to make sure their disaffection comes through with enough spite to keep everything properly punk. The record does little to vary mood or tempo, but it doesn't need to. The band does one thing, but they excel at it. The Strokes comparisons the band's received mostly work, but the lo-fi production keeps everything sounding as if it's in an actual garage. “Plastic Rebel” offers a youthful rampage, bubble gummy enough to touch on Cheap Trick, but continually plowing forward. The Essex quintet closes the album with “The Kids Will Never Have Their Say,” an evergreen sentiment for the young and irritable. The point doesn't break new ground, but it's beside the point. Bad Nerves tap into something long running and rush the tradition on with plenty of verve and a hint of bile.

Justin Cober-Lake

Conway the Machine — Slant Face Killah (Drumwork \ EMPIRE)

If it wasn’t for Conway’s name on the copy to the album you’d think this was a long solo producer tapes with 40 guests on it, each mumbling about something nobody’s interested in except for the mumbler himself. It is not an exaggeration: it really lasts more than an hour, has close to 20 guests (depends on how you count) and even though Slant Face Killah is produced by a dozen of people the beats all sound the same. If it already sounds awful even for the diehard Conway fans, grip for the worst part of it. It ain’t even worth the trouble to skip all the tiring guest verses for the Conway verses because they are not good anyway. A total failure.

Ray Garraty

Alex Cunningham — Rivaled (Storm Cellar)

Remember October 2020? The time of still-subdued traffic, no shows and a looming election? Rivaled is an artifact of that moment. Nowadays, Alex Cunningham is an intensely active improviser, based in St. Louis but active all around the middle of the USA. Back then he was stuck at home and moved to make some noise. “Faith” and “Void” offer two paths to obliteration. The former is pretty plugged in, with electronic effects and appropriated radio noise turning Cunningham’s violin into a full-on electrical storm. The latter is unreliant upon electricity, but maybe even more dogged and savage. Originally released as an edition of 20 cassette, Rivaled is now a CD with a bonus remix that mashes both tracks together, both vertically and temporally, like a piggybacked highlights reel. Of noise relaxes you, you’ll want this close at hand when the next election rolls around.

Bill Meyer

Dun-Dun Band — Pita Parka Pt. 1: Xam Egdub (Ansible Editions)

Dun-Dun Band is an all-star cast of characters comprising some of Toronto’s most creative musicians and led by musical polymath Craig Dunsmuir. Dunsmuir is a shape shifter, trading guises and styles for decades: a guitar loop conjuror known as Guitarkestra, a purveyor of mutant disco vibes alongside Sandro Perri in Glissandro 70, a welder of minimalism, dub, and avant-garde weirdness as Kanada 70. His Dun-Dun Band collects members of Eucalyptus and Badge Époque Ensemble along with stalwarts Colin Fisher, Karen Ng, Josh Cole and Ted Crosby. Pita Parka is the group’s debut on vinyl and features three extended cosmic jazz jams that fuse multi-horn interplay to African-inspired polyrhythm. The music slyly winks at 1970s fusion but is more akin to that of modern ensembles such as Natural Information Society. The extended nature of the pieces allows the reedists to stretch their lungs and roam around, and for the rest of the ensemble to engage in creative interplay. Pita Parka is a stellar offering from some of Toronto’s finest players and one of the city’s most inquisitive and inventive minds.

Bryon Hayes

Roby Glod / Christian Ramond / Klaus Kugel—No ToXic (Nemu)

The three participants in this session are all veterans of middle European jazz that’s free in spirit, if not always in form. Bassist Christian Ramond and Klaus Kugel are from Germany, and soprano/alto saxophonist Roby Glod is from Luxembourg; their collective cv includes work with Kenny Wheeler, Ken Vandermark and Michael Formanek. Online evidence suggests that they’ve played together as a trio since 2015, which explains their easy rapport and nuanced interaction, but this is their first CD. Freedom for these folks means having the latitude to linger over a tune or to settle into nuanced timbral exchanges, but if you carded them, they’d all have jazz driver’s licenses. This music swings, often at speed, which is a very important aspect of their shared aesthetic; the excitement often comes from hearing Glod invent intricate, evolving lines that are lifted off by fast walking bass lines and kept in the air with light but insistent cymbal play. While the album is named No ToXic, the sheer pleasure of hearing these guys lock in could truthfully be labeled counter-toxic.

Bill Meyer

Göden — Veil of the Fallen (Svart)

Longtime listeners of death doom will recognize the name Stephen Flam, guitarist and co-founder of storied band Winter whose Into Darkness (1990) concretized the subgenre in the US; the record was great, and still is. For his recent work with Göden, Flam has dubbed himself “Spacewinds,” and his bandmates follow suit, with stage names that are equal parts risible and ridiculously gravid: vocalist Vas Kallas performs as “Nyxta (Goddess of Night)” (those parens seem to be her idea…) and keyboardist Tony Pinnisi appears as “The Prophet of Göden.” Okay. This reviewer’s inexhaustible appetite for Winter’s slim output disposes him to think kindly of Flam, and there’s nothing especially terrible about Veil of the Fallen — but that’s only because there’s nothing all that special about the record. The sound of the title track is appealingly austere, and the NyQuil-chugging riffs of “Death Magus” are sort of fun. But any listeners hoping for flashes of the inimitable, awesome awfulness of Winter would be well advised to recall the meaning of inimitable. Not even Flam, it seems, can provide a convincing replica of those energies and textures.

Jonathan Shaw

Mick Harvey — Five Ways to Say Goodbye (Mute)

Former Birthday Party and Bad Seeds member Mick Harvey looks back at his life on his autumnal new album “Five Ways to Say Goodbye.” Although he contributes only four original songs, his skill as an arranger and interpreter reaches its zenith. Harvey imbues his own and others’ songs with intense emotion that never tips into melodrama or histrionics. Augmenting his acoustic guitar with evocative string arrangements which provide counterpoint and color to his lyrics “When We Were Young and Beautiful” may be the finest song he has written; poetic in structure, elegiac in feeling, Harvey faces his past with dispassionate empathy for lost friends and acceptance of where he is now. His version of David McComb’s “Setting You Free” locates a Faustian menace in the song, using the strings to carry the dynamic thrust and emphasize the turbulent ambivalence of the original. “Like A Hurricane” becomes an intimate, piano ballad. By changing the tense from present to past and stripping the song of its rock roots, Harvey creates an emotional impact missing from Neil Young’s original. On “Demolition” Harvey replaces Ed Kuepper’s funereal drums with an off-kilter drum machine that clatters like an old projector to evokes the disconnections inherent in the lyrics. Harvey’s treatment of songs from The Saints, Lee Hazelwood, Lo Carmen and Marlene Dietrich are beautifully rendered. A wonderful summation of Harvey’s often underrated talent and an album that deserves a wider audience.

Andrew Forell

I Like To Sleep — Bedmonster’s Groove (All Good Clean Records)

This combo from Trondheim, Norway started out bridging the sound worlds of Gary Burton and Sleep. That’s a canny move if you’re looking for relatively untrodden ground, and as it turns out, a successful one. On Bedmonster’s Groove, which is album number four, the trio has dialed back the heaviness; you won’t hear a power chord until the beginning of side two. Instead, they have taken a turn towards experimentation. The microscopic applications of filters and effects give confer a variable glitter to Amund Storløkken Åse’s vibraphone, squeezable padding to Nicolas Leirtrø’s six-string bass, and some texturable variety to Øyvind Leite’s drums, which are all shown to good effect by some lean grooves and uncluttered melodies. Åse has also added some instrumentation; synths flicker and swirl in the empty spaces, and a mellotron heads a deliberate charge towards prog territory.

Bill Meyer

Kriegshög—Love & Revenge (La Vida Es un Mus)

Throughout the long existence of Kriegshög, it’s been customary to identify the band as a d-beat act. Love & Revenge is Kriegshög’s first release since 2019 and only its second LP in their (at least) 16 years of playing in and around Tokyo. Prolific, they ain’t, but the music is always worth waiting for. On this new record, the band rolls back the pace a bit and amps up the crusty, metal textures. Less squall and rampant chaos, more muscle and riffs that roll up in well-worn biker leathers — but all those qualifiers are relative. There’s still a raw edge to the production (if that’s the term we want…); the bass is laced with so much fat crackle that you’ll want to fry it and eat it. Sort of fun that one of the most volatile tunes on Love & Revenge is titled “Serenity.” Make of that what you will, but don’t spend too much time thinking about it. You’ll miss the next couple songs.

Jonathan Shaw

Niels Lyhne Løkkegaard and Quatuor Bozzini — Colliding Bubbles: Surface Tension and Release (Important)

Niels Lyhne Løkkegaard is a composer based in Copenhagen. On his latest EP he joins forces with the premiere Canadian string quartet for new music, Quatuor Bozzini, to create a piece that deals with the perception of bubbles replicating the human experience. In addition to the harmonics played by the strings, the players are required to play harmonicas at the same time. At first blush, this might sound like a gimmick, but the conception of the piece as instability and friction emerging from continuous sound, like bubbles colliding in space and, concurrently, the often tense unpredictability of the human experience, makes these choices instead seem organic and well-considered. As the piece unfolds, the register of the pitch material makes a slow decline from the stratosphere to the ground floor with a simultaneous long decrescendo. The quartet are masterful musicians, unfazed by the challenge of playing long bowings and long-breathed harmonica chords simultaneously. The resulting sound world is shimmering, liquescent, and, surprising in its occasional metaphoric bubbles popping.

Christian Carey

The Ophelias — Ribbon EP (self-released)

Ribbon is stormy, scathing and often quite beautiful. “Soft and Tame,” the EP’s emotional center, is all three. It begins wistfully: easy acoustic guitar strums and Andrea Gutmann Fuentes’ layered violin, nostalgic and close to sweet. Vocalist Spencer Peppet also starts slow, talking us through the aimless sensory motions of missing someone – “the sun on my cheek/as I walk around/I pick up a pear/I put it down/the radio plays a song we loved.” It doesn’t take long, however, for the skies to darken and the scene to become bleaker. By the line “the hollow sound/my jugular makes as it rolls around,” Mic Adams’s foreboding drums and a percussive creep of electric guitar have stalked in. And by the time Peppet has shown us “an overturned bus on the highway,” heard a“tornado warning” and told her subject to “stay the fuck away” for the second time, the band has built to a blown-out, climactic frenzy, the violin finding operatic heights over mammoth cymbal crashes.

In her review of The Ophelias’ last album, Crocus, Jennifer Kelly described Peppet as sounding “like she’s tilting her chin up and squaring her shoulders.” Likewise on Ribbon, where the band seems resigned to but also quite prepared for a fight. If “Soft and Tame” is aimed to knock “love in southern Ohio” down for good, then “Rind,” the final song, may tell us why they’re in the ring at all. At a brief break in the dynamic, flowering arrangement — it could be a particularly bucolic Magnetic Fields instrumental, especially in Gutmann Fuentes’ spry riffs — Peppet bursts out, “There you go!/On tour with my hometown friends/fucking score/they must have all forgotten!/Look back at what I tolerated.” There’s more to the story, but Peppet pulls back from the fray, settling things ominously: “to name it/makes your life/a little complicated.” Whatever “it” is, The Ophelias seem to have landed their punch. I don’t think I’ve heard more cutting, triumphant “Oohs” than those that end the song and Ribbon’s multifaceted fury with it.

Alex Johnson

Paperniks — Oxygen Tank Flipper 7-inch (Market Square)

Jason Henn is a master of catchy psychedelic punk. Honey Radar, his highest profile outfit, has unfurled a constant stream of hook-laden gems for well over a decade. Paperniks is his newest guise, a solo home recording project that amplifies the Guided by Voices meets Syd Barrett vibe of Honey Radar and doses it with nuggets of guitar noise. This tiny slab of wax is the sophomore Paperniks outing, following a single-sided lathe cut that strayed toward the clamorous edge of the octopus’s garden. On display are a pair of tunes that bear a striking resemblance to Honey Radar. “Oxygen Tank Flipper” is a groovy dose of psych replete with a catchy riff and a roller coaster bassline. Handclaps up the catchiness factor, as does Henn’s honey sweet sigh. “Essex Poem Dial” is a punky, garage-inspired tune. Henn’s reverb-soaked vocal hides inside the propulsive guitar chime. A noise interlude leads to a mellow vignette that slowly fades away. Paperniks showcases Henn’s boisterous side, and the music is certainly engaging, so hopefully there are more songs on the way soon.

Bryon Hayes

Ribbon Stage — Hit with the Most (Perennial/K)

Ribbon Stages hits the giddy sweet spot between punk and pop, their raucous guitar-drums-bass racket pounding on sweet, wistful little songs. The mixture varies with some cuts veering into the snaggle-toothed dream pop of, say, the Jeanines, while others rage harder and more dissonantly. “Stone Heart Blue,” the single, pulls the drums way up in the mix and lets distorted guitars and murmured vocals do battle attention behind them. The result is an uncanny balance of urgency, angst and solace, which is exactly what you want from pop-leaning punk. “Hearst” pushes slashing tangling guitar racket up to the foreground, letting a billowing squall spill over crisp drums and shout-sung vocals, while “Sulfate” lets a sighing romantic croon loose over boiling lavas of rock mayhem. Nice.

Jennifer Kelly

Rio Da Yung OG — Rio Circa 2020 (Boyz Ent)

This is exactly what the title says: a compilation of Rio songs stashed on the label’s HDD, no more, no less. No filler but no hits either. The tape has a “Circa 2020” feel to it, reminding us of when Rio did what he wanted with no shades of doom hanging over the songs. It’s unlike the music he wrote after the trial when he knew he had to do some time. There’s a little bit of everything in here: three songs with RMC Mike, two tracks featuring Louie Ray, a song on a Sav beat, a song on an Enrgy beat and a song on a Primo beat. Yet it’s hardly enough to last us until Rio is free.

Ray Garraty

Spirits Rejoice—S-T (Fredriksberg)

Spirits Rejoice! by Spirits Rejoice

A remastered reissue of a 1978 recording, Spirits Rejoice captures boundary-crossing South African jazz scene, which touches on fusion, rock, funk, soul, disco Latin and African sounds. The ensemble includes some of that time and place’s pre-eminent jazz musicians, Sipho Gumede of the fluid, loping bass lines, breezy, insouciant reeds-man Robbie Jansen, South African pioneering percussionist Gilbert Matthews, keyboardist Mervyn Africa and a very young Paul Peterson on electric guitar. The music is ebullient and clearly tilted towards pop accessibility, and the gleaming sheen of 1970s often dilutes its heat and fury. This is especially true on “Happy and in Love” which could double as a lost Earth Wind and Fire cut. Elsewhere, though, as in “Woza Uzo Kudanisa Nathi,” fervid polyrhythms, tight squalls of sax and an exhilarating call and response light up the groove, fusing African chants with a swaggering samba rhythm. And “Papa’s Funk,” is just what it sounds like—a slithery, stuttery, visceral bass-led swagger that bubbles and smolders and twitches in a universal funk.

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists — GmBH: An Anthology of Music for Fashion Shows 2016 – 2023, Volume 1 (Studio LABOUR)

GmbH: An Anthology of Music for Fashion Shows 2016-2023 Vol. 1 by Various Artists

LABOUR is a multimedia project of Iranian musician Farahnaz Hatam and American percussionist/composer Colin Hacklander. Based in Berlin, the duo has collaborated widely and eclectically to produce soundtracks for sustainable, underground fashion house GmBH. This compilation collates 12 examples and showcases a variety of work from an international roster of artists including Iraqi-British oud player Khyam Allami, Turkish born DJ Nene H, Kuwaiti musician Fatimi Al Qadiri, American performance artist MJ Harper and Indonesian noise duo Gabber Modus Operandi. The thread that runs through all this is cross pollinations between genre, geography, and chronology. Allami’s oud plays against LABOUR’s electronic washes and synthetic percussion with each element emphasizing and interrogating differences in modality and structure. On “White Noise” LABOUR contrast a 16th century harpsichord piece with static and effects dissolving into a robotic club beat which ends up evoking a cyborg Hooked on Classics. Their collaboration with Harper on the spoken word “ablution” is a reflection on love, religion, and abnegation with elements of gospel, eastern and creeping doom ambience. The Anthology has much of interest but is essential for Belgian composer Billy Bultheel’s “YLEM” featuring German countertenor Steve Katona who soars incandescent from a backdrop of industrial grind. The contrast between earthly weight of the music and radiant purity of the voice is breathtaking.

Andrew Forell

Vertonen — taif’ shel (Oxidation)

taif' shel by Vertonen

Give the Oxidation label credit for radical truthfulness. One of the bummers of our time is the frequency with which folks on BandCamp and elsewhere will call a short-run, blue or green-faced disc a CD when they are selling you a CD-R. Oxidation, on the other hand, is named after the process that will eventually render its products unplayable. On to the sounds. Vertonen is Blake Edwards, who has been working around the edges of sound for over 30 years. On taif’ shel, he displays absolute mastery over the combination of collected, electronically generated and carefully edited sounds. His skill rests on three qualities; knowing where to place sounds, knowing how long to let them carry on and having some pretty good ideas about which ones to use in the first place. He can make a drone of infinite (but never unnecessary) complexity, or punctuate flipping film-ends with a precisely situated, never repeated sequence of chops and splices, to name just two examples found on this impermanent but thoroughly rewarding disc.

Bill Meyer

Villagers — That Golden Time (Domino)

That Golden Time is Villagers’ sixth album. The Conor O’Brien led project presents its most eclectic outing to date. A number of the songs are afforded pop treatment, consisting of memorable tunes and gentle, polished arrangements. The double-tracked vocals on “First Responder” is a case in point, about a relationship fragmenting while the singing coalesces, an interesting tension. “No Drama,” initially pared down to piano and O’Brien’s laconic vocals, eventually adds a coterie of Irish traditional instruments. “Keepsake” veers closer to mid-tempo electronica, with overlaid synth repetitions and treated vocals. The title track employs sustained violin lines, played by Peter Broderick, and an intricate form with supple harmonic shifts. “Brother Hen,” on the other hand, recalls the folk influences present from Villagers’ beginning. The diversity is diverting, even though That Golden Time feels like a collection of singles instead of an album statement.

Christian Carey

[wolfasketch]

introducing Tiger Claw's and Ophelia's triplets, Sho, Shaw and Sha

Ages are;

Tiger Claw: 45

Ophelia: 42

Triplets: 16

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

In no particular order, and minus the McKinney clan cause lawd knows they have all gotten away with something!:

tag the oc that has gotten away with a crime

[oldpaintings]

Ophelia, ca. 1900 by Byam Shaw (English, 1872--1919)

[kyoukamybeloved]

Yet again, Chuuya wouldnt get out of my sight today. I wish he would get out of my sight. Needless to say, I don't want to have to look away first.

more soukoku webweaves: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8 , 9

this is the tenth soukoku web weave of mine and I made it on my birthday when I was in a real taylor swift mood so enjoy this skk and swiftie brainrot

creds :

love lines - Olga Broumas// art by @taxolotl // exhibits from the water american museum - Natalie Diaz// peace - Taylor Swift// cowboy like me - Taylor Swift// art by @twilicidity // wishbone - Richard Siken// art by @liyv // spellbound - Ophelia Silk// love opened a mortal wound - Sor Juana Inès de la Cruz// david foster wallace// high infidelity - Taylor Swift// the archer - Taylor Swift// we were that joke - Gregory Orr// art by @taxolotl // litany in which certain things are crossed out - Richard Siken// is it over now? - Taylor Swift// the story of us - Taylor Swift// the becoming of Noah Shaw - Michelle Hodkin// art by @thornedarrow // south and west - Joan Didion// art by @lotus-pear // wishbone - Richard Siken// long live - Taylor Swift// ivy - Taylor Swift// portrait of a boy with grief - Wale Ayinla// the chronology of water: a memoir - Lidia Yuknavitch// art by @thornedarrow// Andrea Dworkin// bigger than the whole sky - Taylor Swift// ‘tis the damn season - Taylor Swift// a love letter to a dead thing - Layana Clouet// art by @twilicidity// art from @/mizumoe_ on twitter// august - Taylor Swift// is it over now? - Taylor Swift// souvenir - Warsan Shire// don’t blame me - Taylor Swift// cruel summer - Taylor Swift// the waves - Virginia Woolf// art by @carrotkicks //

tags:

@philzokman @dinosaur-mayonnaise @amagami-hime @the-gayest-sky-kid @galaxitic @ghostsinacoat @gorotic @lotus-reblogs @vivid-vices @zamxii @autistic-ranpo @pendragonstar @sskk-brainrot @oatmilkbasic @underthetree845 @thesunshinebard @whiteapplesandblackblood @sigskk @pastel-paramour @vinylbiohazard @jacuzziwaters @sommmee @evermorehypewoman

[la-femme-au-collier-vert]

IWTV Season 2 Sources & References

(The 1st 4 were cited by the Writer’s Room)

The Ethnic Avante-Garde: Minority Cultures and World Revolution by Steven S. Lee

Paris Journal 1944-1955 by Janet Flanner (Genet)

The Vampire: A Casebook by Alan Dundes

Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles: An Alphabettery

The Fly cited by Jacob Anderson

King Lear by Shakespeare cited by Rolin Jones

Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin

Sebastien Melmoth by Oscar Wilde

Ode to a Nightingale by Keats

Amadeus (1984)

The Lost Boys (1987)

Gaslight (1944)

Batman

Casablanca (1942)

Now, Voyager (1942)

The Third Man (1949) cited by Levan Akin

An American in Paris by George Gershwin (1928) cited by Daniel Hart

Moulin Rouge (2001)

The Phantom of the Opera

Les Vampires (1915)

Dracula (1931) credit to @vampchronicles_ on twt

Le Triomphe de L’amour by Pierre de Marivaux

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin cited by Jacob Anderson

Existentialism is a Humanism by Jean Paul Sartre

Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie

Hamlet by William Shakespeare

Vampire’s Kiss (1988) credit to @talesfromthecrypts

Les Morts ont tous le Meme Peau by Boris Vian credit to @greedandenby

The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Barclay Beckett credit to @rorscachisgay on twt

An Enemy of the People by Ibsen

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

Vie de Voltaire by Marquis Condorcet

Simone de Beauvoir: A Critical Introduction by Edward Fullbrook and Kate Fullbrook credit to @iwtvfanevents

Nightwood by Djuna Barnes credit to @iwtvfanevents

Beloved by Toni Morrison

Artists and Salons Referenced:

R-26

Palma Vecchio

Andre Fougeron

Elsa Triollet

Fred Stein

Lisette Model

Gordon Parks

Miguel Barcelo

Taxidermied Javelina by Chris Roberts-Antieau

Ai WeiWei (wallpaper)

David Hockney (Lemons)

Wols 

The Kiss of Judas by Jakob Smits

Salome by Louis Icart

Ophelia by John Everett Millais

Shelter by Peter Macon

The Kiss by Edvard Munch

The Vampire or Love and Pain by Edvard Munch credit @iwtvasart

Ruiter on Horse by Reiger Stolk credit @ iwtvasart

Portrait of Frank Burty Haviland by Modigliani credit @iwtvasart

Self-Seers II (Death and Man) by Egon Schiele credit to @90sgreggaraki

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters by Goya

Movie & Play Posters on set (in chronological order by year):

Tarzan and his Mate (1934)

Avec le Sourire (1936)

Les Deux Gosses (1936)

Le Jour Se Leve (1939) about a man who commits murder as a result of a love triangle and locks himself in his apartment recounting the details as the police attempt to arrest him. Credit to @laisofhyccara

Nuit de Décembre (1940)

Mademoiselle Swing (1942) about a girl who follows a troupe of swing musicians to Paris.

Les Enfents du Paradis (1945) about a woman with many suitors including an actor and an aristocrat.

Fantomas (1946) about a sadistic criminal mastermind. This version includes a hideout in the catacombs where he traps people.

Quai des Orfevres (1947) watch here

Monsieur Vincent (1947)

Le Cafe du Cadran (1947) about a wife’s affair with a violinist.

La Kermesse Rouge (1947) film about a jealous artist who locks up his younger wife and a fire breaks out while she’s trapped.

Morts Sans Sepulture by Jean-Paul Sartre (play) also published in English translations as “The Victors” or “Men Without Shadows” about resistance fighters captured by Vichy soldiers struggling not to give up information.

Mon Faust by Paul Valery (play)

Musical Influences:: @greedandenby collected all music used in Season 2 here.

Henry Cowell

Meredith Monk

Howling’ Wolf

Shirley Temple

Jason Lindner Big Band

The Teeth

Carlos Salzedo

Alice Coltrane

Thelonius Monk

David Lang

Caroline Shaw

Gadfly by Shostakovich (for Raglan James)

musical career of Martha Argerich

Season 1 here (these lists are updated regularly)

Season 3 here

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

In order of most influence/most changed my life:

Tag the OC who has influenced you the most as their creator or changed your life in some way.

.

[hamletthedane]

I’m a big Hamlet fan and I am curious as to what your favorite movie/for screen rendition is? I’ve been working my way through a lot of them, gone through about 7, so far Hamlet at Elsinore with Christopher Plummer is my favorite. I was just curious what yours is !

What a great question!!

Hamlet at Elsinore is definitely my favorite filmed version of the play. I feel that Christopher Plummer does a fantastic - and frankly critically underappreciated - job of portraying the more nuanced and complicated aspects of Hamlet's character while still giving a straightforward performance that's highly accessible to any audience. Notably, he doesn't treat the performance as his ~*~epic, defining role of a lifetime~*~ or ~high artistic theater~ (*cough* Branagh and Jacobi), but instead focuses on telling a deeply compelling, very moving story about the complex nature of grief and revenge. I also like that this version embraces the more "postmodern" elements that exist in the written text of Hamlet: the complicity of the audience, the inevitability of the outcome, Hamlet's genre-awareness and genre-defiance, etc.

[Not to keep hating on Branagh, but in contrast: Branagh's Hamlet in particular seems to go out of its way to avoid including the more interesting proto-postmodern thematic elements of the play - at times not seeming to recognize that they're even there. He instead focuses his time and energy on inserting new cinematography-based visual themes that go nowhere and at times stand in OPPOSITION to the actual tone and themes of the original text. Because apparently Hamlet the play is too boring and instead of lame elements like "themes" and "compelling characterization," we need a swinging chandelier sword fight scenes and Freudian weirdness. Truly the Joel Schumacher Phantom of the Opera adaptation of Shakespeare films. But I DIGRESS-)

Plus it doesn't hurt that everybody aside from Plummer in Hamlet at Elsinore is also fabulous. Obviously, Michael Caine's Horatio is the single best and most definitive version of the character in film, but I also love Robert Shaw's Claudius and Muller's Ophelia.

If we're talking favorite filmed versions of the STORY of Hamlet though, that's Asta Nielsen's silent film from 1921. It's so beautifully filmed and wonderfully told. She's what I picture when I picture Hamlet.

Other than that....I like Tennant and Stewarts' RSC filmed version well enough. It has a number of very strange choices and I don't love the re-ordering of the scenes, but Tennant does a great job with the character and I think it's a very approachable performance. A few other filmed stage versions are also excellent, though with a few similarly weird elements - I'd put Maxine Peake's version on the same tier as the RSC version. I do NOT like Branagh's version at all (if you couldn't already tell...). Jacobi's and Gibson's are slightly better, but they're still too focused on the prestige of the performance rather than the actual story being told imo. I think they fall under the same criticism as Holden Caulfield's scathing review of Laurence Olivier: "more like a general than a sad, screwed-up type guy." (Yes I know this line is an in-text authorial critique of Holden himself but also: he's right and he should say it.)

If you haven't already, I do highly recommend listening to the BBC Radio 4 audiodrama version of Hamlet, starring Jamie Parker. Despite being a audio version of a stage play, it somehow blows every filmed version of Hamlet (except maybe HAE) out of the water. I listen to it at least once a year.

Finally, my actual favorite versions of Hamlet have ALWAYS been those I've seen live (or seen bootleg filmed stage performances of lmao). If it's ever playing live near you, definitely go and see it. The play was meant to be seen on a live stage in front of you, and many of the jokes and themes only make sense in that context. In my opinion, the medium of live theater elevates the play so far beyond what a movie could ever achieve.

...sorry this answer is so long 😅 Really, it doesn't matter what my opinions on Hamlet films are. If any version of the play really speaks to you - even if it's the accursed Branagh version - that is so awesome and makes me really happy people are engaging with the play in that way! (But since you're saying that HAE is your favorite so far, I will add that you have excellent, discerning taste ;))

[sketchmenot-art]

Beleth - Goetia Glamour

Drew my friend @maid-morphia / @petronella-dismay’s character Beleth! 🖤

Old vintage glamour shots have such a cool and ethereal feel to them, so I wanted to try drawing Beleth in that kind of portrait style!

Go check out Ophelia’s work! She’s an absolutely amazing artist with a really beautiful style!! ✨(^w^)✨

While working on this piece, I felt inspired by the song Nightmare by Artie Shaw! I love the vibe of this song~💜

Artie Shaw - Nightmare

Done with Clip Studio Paint EX October 2023

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

In case you don’t remember the actors’ characters:

Mark = Giyera

Parminder = Ellen Nadeer

Florence = Sinara

Enver = Daniel Sousa

Jeff = Deke Shaw

Mallory = AIDA/Ophelia

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Early Autumn beeech time pt 1

[helluvasweetheart]

“You only feel it when its lost, getting through still has a cost”

-Who we are, Hozier

TW: allusions to cursing?, drinking, a man being a man?

MDNI

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I kick the fence post with a frustrated grunt. “Son of a—”

A deep voice interrupts. “Need a hand with that, sweetheart?”

I spin around to see Jimmy Shaw leaning against a nearby fence rail, his trademark smirk plastered across his face. “Jimmy Shaw, what are you doing on my property?” I snap, planting my hands on my hips.

“Well, Ophelia, half the town could hear you cursing at that poor fence. Figured I’d drop by and offer a man’s touch.” He winks, and I glare back, my jaw tightening.

Jimmy’s grin widens, but I stay rooted where I am, refusing to give him the satisfaction of backing down. “If I needed help,” I say sharply, “I wouldn’t be looking for it from the likes of you.”

He chuckles, low and amused. “Come now, Ophelia. I ain’t here to make trouble.” His gaze flicks over the crooked fence, then back to me. “But that post ain’t gonna stand straight if you keep kicking it.”

“Thank you for the advice,” I retort, “but I can manage just fine without you.” I turn my back on him and reach for the hammer resting on the ground, my fingers curling around the handle with determination. I hear his boots crunching on the dirt behind me, coming closer.

“Seems to me like you’re making it harder than it needs to be,” he says, his voice suddenly softer. “It ain’t a crime to let someone give you a hand.”

I pause, the hammer halfway to the nail. The truth is, I am struggling. This farm has been a fight from the start, and each day feels like a new battle I’m barely winning. But I won’t let him see that. I won’t let anyone see that.

“I said I don’t need your help, Jimmy.” I straighten up and turn to face him again. “And I certainly don’t need you thinking you can just walk onto my land like you own the place.”

He tilts his head, his smile fading just a bit. “I’m just trying to be neighborly, Ophelia. If you’re too proud to take it, that’s your choice.” He steps back, tipping his hat. “But that pride won’t keep a roof over your head when winter comes.”

His words sting more than I care to admit, but I hold my ground as he retreats down the dirt road. When he finally disappears from sight, I exhale, the weight of the farm settling back on my shoulders. I glance at the crooked post, then at the farmhouse behind me—both stubbornly leaning, just like me.

“I can do this,” I whisper to myself, lifting the hammer again. “I have to.”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, the air has cooled and the sky is awash in dusky blues and purples. I wipe the sweat from my brow and let the hammer fall to the ground, the fence still no straighter than it was that morning. A sigh escapes me. The farm can wait. Right now, I need a stiff drink and a break from the weight pressing down on my shoulders.

I saddle my horse and ride into town, the dim lights of the saloon flickering in the distance like a beacon. It’s already lively inside when I push through the doors, the air thick with smoke and the smell of spilled whiskey. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter drown out the quiet doubts still lingering in my mind.

I make my way to the bar and lean against the counter. “Whiskey, Charlie,” I call to the bartender.

He nods and pours me a generous shot, sliding the glass toward me. “Rough day, Miss Flores?”

I take the drink in one swift motion, letting the burn settle deep in my chest before answering. “Just another day,” I mutter. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“’Course,” he replies with a knowing smile. “But that farm’s gotta be a helluva lot of work for just one woman.”

I bristle slightly, but before I can shoot back a retort, a familiar voice cuts in from a nearby table. “Reckon she’s got more fight in her than most men around here, Charlie.”

I turn to find Jimmy Shaw sitting with a couple of his friends, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of them. He’s leaning back in his chair, his hat tipped at a casual angle. The moment our eyes meet, his mouth quirks up into that same infuriating grin.

Ignoring the sudden heat in my cheeks, I set the empty glass down with a thud. “If you’re finished running your mouth, Jimmy, maybe you ought to head home before you end up on the wrong side of trouble,” I say, raising my voice just enough for his friends to hear. A few of them chuckle, and Jimmy’s grin only widens.

He stands up and crosses the room, his boots echoing on the wooden floor. “Trouble, huh?” he says, stopping just a step away from me. “You sound like you might be spoiling for it.”

I don’t back down, meeting his gaze with a steady glare. “Or maybe I’m just tired of listening to a man who thinks he can solve every problem with a little charm and a lot of whiskey.”

Jimmy laughs, a deep sound that rumbles in his chest. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I brought plenty of both,” he replies, reaching for the bottle on the bar and pouring me another drink. “But if you’d rather sulk in the corner all night, that’s up to you.”

I hesitate, my pride warring with my exhaustion. The whiskey glistens in the dim light, and for a moment, it feels like giving in. But then again, maybe a drink is exactly what I need to forget about the crooked fence, the empty fields, and all the things I can’t seem to fix. I snatch the glass from his hand, my fingers brushing his for the briefest second.

“Fine,” I say, lifting the glass to my lips. “But don’t think this means I’m taking your help.”

As the whiskey settles in my chest, warming me from the inside out, the saloon doors creak open. The conversations around us quiet for a moment, and I glance over my shoulder to see who’s arrived.

A woman stands in the doorway, framed by the dim light spilling in from the street. Her dark hair cascades down her back in loose waves, and a fringed shawl drapes over her shoulders. She steps inside with a confident grace, her eyes scanning the room like she’s taking its measure. There’s an effortless beauty about her—something striking and unfamiliar.

She catches me staring and, to my surprise, offers a small smile before making her way to the bar. Charlie, the bartender, immediately pours her a drink, his usually gruff expression softening as he speaks to her in Spanish. She replies in the same tongue, her voice smooth and melodic.

When she lifts her glass, she meets my eyes again. “Salud,” she says, tipping her drink in my direction.

I nod, raising my glass back. “Salud,” I echo, though my Spanish isn’t nearly as elegant.

The stranger’s lips curl into a smile, and she steps closer, her skirts whispering against the floorboards. “I’m Athena,Athena Cabral” she says, her gaze flicking between me and Jimmy with a curious glint. “Just passing through. I couldn’t resist stopping for a drink.”

“Well, Athena, you’ve picked a good night to walk in,” Jimmy says, leaning against the bar, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m Jimmy Shaw, and this lovely lady here is—”

“I can introduce myself,” I cut in, not keen on Jimmy speaking for me. “Ophelia Flores.” I extend my hand, meeting Athena’s gaze directly.

She takes my hand with a gentle firmness. “It’s a pleasure, Ophelia. I’m just looking for a place to stay while I’m in town. Any recommendations?”

I hesitate, glancing over at Jimmy, who’s smirking. “You could try the inn,” I say, but I can’t help the slight edge in my voice. “Though it might not be the safest option. It’s run by Jimmy’s parents.”

Athena raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that so? What’s wrong with the inn?”

I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. “Let’s just say they have a reputation for being… unwelcoming to newcomers.”

“Is that true, Jimmy?” Athena asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He shrugs, still grinning. “My folks are just traditional is all. They don’t take too kindly to strangers.”

Athena crosses her arms, tilting her head. “Sounds a bit unfair. It’s not like we’re all out to cause trouble.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind causing a little trouble,” Jimmy says with a wink. “Especially if it involves a pretty face like yours.”

I roll my eyes, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Don’t mind him, Athena. He thinks he’s charming, but he’s really just a pain.”

Athena laughs, and there’s something so genuine about it that I can’t help but smile. “I’m sure there’s more to you than that, Jimmy.”

“Of course there is,” he replies with a wink, leaning closer to Athena. “I’m also incredibly helpful. You need a place to stay, right? I’m sure I could convince my parents to give you a special rate.”

“More like a special lecture,” I interject, crossing my arms. “You’d be better off sleeping in a barn than in that inn.”

Athena looks thoughtful, then glances between us. “You know, I’d be perfectly fine with a barn. At least it’s quiet.”

I nod, feeling a surge of unexpected camaraderie. “My barn is empty, and it’s a lot safer than the inn. You’d be welcome to stay there until you find something better.”

She smiles, and there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes me feel lighter. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Ophelia. I’d appreciate it.”

“Just don’t think it means I’m taking any help,” I say, attempting to sound firm but feeling my resolve soften.

Athena tilts her head, clearly amused. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I can hold my own, but I also know a good opportunity when I see one.”

Jimmy’s expression shifts, and he looks genuinely impressed. “You two seem to be hitting it off. I guess I should have expected that.”

“Let’s not make it a habit,” I say, my voice teasing but firm. “Besides, I have enough on my plate without adding any more drama.”

“Drama? Who said anything about drama?” Athena replies with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I think we could use a little excitement around here, don’t you think?”

The tension in the air lightens, and I find myself laughing along with her, feeling a flicker of hope in the warmth of her presence. Maybe tonight won’t just be about escaping my troubles after all. As the night unfolds, I can’t shake the feeling that Athena Cabral might just be the spark I need to reignite that hope.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Here is the second part! I hope someone, somewhere in some dark corner of tumblr finds this and enjoys it :)

Ophelia and Athena have a meet cute?

[scotianostra]

The Scottish actress Mary Ure passed away on April 3rd 1975.

Born in Glasgow in 1933, Eileen Mary Ure trained at the Central School of Speech and Drama and then began to appear in the London theatre from age 21 onwards, proving to be immediately successful. In 1956 she was cast in Look Back In Anger, a pivotal play of the 1950s, and transferred with the play to Broadway, where she received a Tony award nomination. In 1959 she appeared in the film version, opposite Richard Burton.

She married the writer of Look Back In Anger, John Osborne, after having begun an affair with him during rehearsals for the play. Things became strained with him not long into the marriage due to his affairs and she ended up in an affair herself with the actor Robert Shaw. In between some acclaimed theatrical performances she appeared in three films with Shaw, marrying him in 1963. It wasn’t until 1968 that she landed a role in a film that was a huge hit, appearing once more with Richard Burton in Where Eagles Dare.

Her last film role was in 1973. By that time she was struggling with alcoholism and marital problems. In 1975, after the opening night of a new London play, she overdosed on alcohol and sleeping pills (It’s not known whether this was deliberate). She died at the age of 42.

She may be a forgotten star but boy was she a looker, her big grey-green eyes were mesmerising, Mary Ure only starred in 9 films but she would have made many more, a star troubled but still one none the less, you can’t but wonder what she could have done had she lived longer.

She is remembered for many of the key female Shakespearean roles she played on stage, including Desdemona and Ophelia, and it’s a great shame that there’s no cinematic record of these performances. She also made a few appearances on TV shows on both sides of the Atlantic, Ironside being the one of most note.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

In no particular order of drawing skills.

tag the oc that can draw well