#Put 'Em Up Tour Review

[upontherisers]

❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜ for Dora and Rosie . for legal reasons

a/n: this took so long babe my apologizes. cari write established relationship or draw 25 challenge. i'm drawing 25.

It’s hot in the sun, gloriously hot, the kind of hot that seeps right through her bones, the kind that makes her feel like she has dissolved and diffused into the air. The kind that sings her to sleep without any sound, that makes burning feel like a hug, the kind her mother would chase her out of on the grounds of too dark and wrinkles. Sorry, Mama. I’ve always loved the light. The kind of hot that needs no wind, no umbrella, no shade at all – just the clear sky overhead and the laughter of children splashing in the fire hydrant on the street below, shrieking and shouting and ignoring their parents as is their right on such a perfect day. 

The kind of hot that makes her sleepy without ever being tired first and she’s already napped today – Pastor had asked after her absence and Grammy, a quick thinker, had pardoned her granddaughter’s absence. A summer cold, you know how those get. And she has things to do – bring her laundry off the line after forgetting for two days and darn a stocking and do her readings for class tomorrow and review a radio contract offer for the picket – but it’s the kind of hot that absolves her of guilt and the day is about indulgences, isn’t it? She’s sunbathing on her roof, for Pete’s sake.

Besides, Robert’ll wake her up before it gets too late.

She cracks an eye open to look at him seated on the blanket beside her, engrossed in a newspaper. It’s tough to make out the date on the front page as it bends into shadow, but the breeze does her a favor. July 7th, 1943. It’s two weeks old but he’s reading like it’s December 8th, 1941, like he’s going to do something about what he’s seeing. You’re in it now, aren’t you?

“They don’t give you newspapers in Texas?”

His eyes, brilliant blue, as blue as the sky above, meet hers over the headline – 6 JAPANESE WARSHIPS BELIEVED SUNK IN FIGHT, and those crinkles in the corners remind her of the day they met, her confusion over Mildred’s forlorn pining when she learned where Dora had been assigned. Oh, I wanted that desk. And then he walked in and offered a hand and smiled and if she were a different woman – ambitious, romantic, concerned with station, she would’ve gloated. But Dora was new and Robert had only just started and they both needed to see who they’d turn out to be, legal secretary and lawyer.

“They give us Texas papers in Texas.”

“And they don’t have the news?”

He blinks and sets that pesky left brow. “Not the backpages stuff. Nothing about New York.”

“I can send them to you,” she says, “if you want to keep up. They’ll be a week behind but—”

“Do you read ‘em?”

“Yes,” she does, and her panic about welcoming him back into the apartment by daylight is that he’d be able to see the pile stacked on top of the piano, in reach when she’s tucked into the nook of the front window. The ones she managed to fish out of the bottom and shove into the broom closet before he finished giving himself the tour were from March and she doesn’t know when that started, but it surely wasn’t good. Just another thing to add to the list of things he made her look twice at – shoes, streetlights, and newspapers. She could at least get the Great Paper Purge done today. 

The corner of his mouth lifts, the one Mildred swoons over, he snaps the pages upright again. “I’d rather have your summaries. They’re a little more uplifting.”

She’d fret over yet another assignment getting put down in writing if it weren’t for the sun, for the warm stone under the blanket as she rolls onto her stomach, if it weren’t for the reminder that she’s as alive as anything, and she really needed this, didn’t she? She doesn’t know how he knew, but the sun tells her not to get herself into a tizzy over that either, and she slumps into the pillow beneath her chin, checking her watch – 1 o’clock. An hour won’t hurt. She’d pop up at two, take her laundry down, fix her stocking, then bring her books to the roof. Dinner will have to be sorted eventually, but her eyelids are so very heavy and as Robert hums along to Mr. Delaney cranking his car radio all the way up at the end of the block, she feels like she’s floating in water, indistinguishable from the air around her. 

Hell, they can walk to Dean St. and Robert can pay for dinner at Cal’s with his big fancy Air Force salary. She sleeps.

Dora doesn’t snore so much as huff, little bursts of air puffing through her lips with every exhale. It’s sweet, leisurely, and relieving that she doesn’t have to sleep like she’s desperate for it. Shades of the bone-tired woman he had coffee with a week ago still remain – her bleary, addled amazement as her younger sister gleefully announced his arrival at their grandparents’ brownstone, her gentle slump in his passenger’s seat as she quietly watched the city pass by – but she has her light back, the glow that pushes from her as she finds him a file, chats with Mildred and Bob over lunch, sheepishly hops up on stage to play with the Putman house band, and rests here on her building’s roof. 

He abandons his article about illness threats to women factory workers – interesting how the men on the line next to them don’t face the same risk – to watch her for a while. It’s strange that she’s here now, in front of him, after so many months of wanting to see her, of writing down stories that would be easier to tell in person, of picking white and yellow wildflowers on the side of the runway in Tennessee and wishing he could tuck them behind her ear and watch her smile, bright, blinding. He thinks of her more than he knows what to do with. 

Her face is turned toward him, brushed gold by the sun beating down over her round cheek and slight chin, the oval of her pink mouth, the heart of her Cupid’s bow. He’d kissed that beautiful, wide, flat nose, and brushed his thumb indulgently over her soft skin under the cover of night, but the light reveals the best of her. The small of her back, a heart-freckle on her shoulder, the curve of her spine – he wants to touch.

Hesitantly, he traces a knuckle over her shoulder blade and she stirs, but doesn’t wake. One finger, then another, then the rest, then his palm and he listens to her breathing as he rubs her back. It manages to be musical, like everything about her, as it matches the pace of the horns popping in and out of the Crosby tune floating up from the street. With our full crew aboard and our trust in the Lord, comin’ in on a wing and a prayer. He’s never been a fan of Crosby – crooners are killing the art of big band – but he doesn’t sound half bad when Robert can watch Dora’s lashes flutter as she stretches out on the plush, striped wool under them.

What’re you gonna do about that girl, his mother had asked him as he left this morning. 

Jeannie laughed from their dining table. Something stupid.

Something helpful, he insisted. 

Something helpful.

He stops rubbing her back before he really does something stupid – brush away the hair falling into her eyes, feel the freckle on her shoulder with his teeth – and pulls out the note he’d written as she was making them lemonade. Be right back. Standing, he discards his unbuttoned shirt, leaves the note on top, and grabs his edition of the Times before descending the fire escape ladder at the back of the building and slipping into Dora’s apartment. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but as soon as he regains his bearings, he gets to work.

Kitchen first. There’s not much to do; he sweeps, collects the sugar that had spilled on the counter, discards the empty lemon rinds, and washes the dishes in the sink. He picks up around the living room, scooping fallen petals from the purple flowers in her windowsill, placing stray records back in their sleeves – not without putting Benny Goodman on first, and he’s in the middle of organizing the newspapers on top of the piano when he flips through a May edition on a whim and his eyes catch black ink in the margins, two words hastily scrawled next to a small article. For Robert. The headline circled, $3,629,000 FOR REFUGEES; Jewish Relief Unit Appropriates Funds. 

He remembers this. She’d written him about it along with assurances that the new Jewish families in the neighborhood were adjusting well. Her Yiddish is rudimentary, her German sparse, and her Polish non-existent, but she made sure to greet them all with a smile when passing by on the street or the bus, and she’d joined an antifascist coalition with her grandparents that had seen her speak in front of jeering crowds at borough council meetings and counter protesters at aid rallies. But they don’t bother me, she wrote.

That’s Dora, kind and fierce. She’s going to make a damn fine lawyer. 

There are a few more of her notes as he skims through the papers and leaves them on top of the piano. He tidies the worn cushions in her window sill and it brings him no small amount of peace to picture her reading there with her legs curled under her, basking in the sun during the day and aglow with warm lamplight at night. 

He goes to look for a duster for the piano and gets lost reshuffling her broom closet for half an hour.

This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to pick her up in Harlem, change into their bathing suits here, and spend the afternoon on Coney Island before coming back to Brooklyn and getting ready for an early dinner at Rosetti’s followed by a show on Broadway. The tickets, nervously purchased over the phone yesterday evening while Jeannie cried with silent laughter and picked up as he drove through Manhattan this morning, sit above him next to Dora in the front pocket of his shirt. They can wait there until Germany surrenders for all he cares, as long as she sleeps in peace. There’s no use in running around the city if she can’t wake up with a lighter heart tomorrow. 

He’s not blaming anyone – there’s a war on – but he likes to think that if he were home, he wouldn’t have let her work herself into the ground. Surely someone had noticed the shadows growing under her eyes, her smile fading as the days went. How could they live without it?

And selfishly, he wanted one last look. Dora had circled the numbers in the papers; twelve bombers lost, fifteen, seventeen, twenty. Whatever that meant for him, a homecoming or a gold star in his mother’s window, he wants to remember what he’s fighting for. His older sister’s incessant teasing; the joy in Mrs. Schuman’s voice when he enters her bagel shop – her son Robert, also a lieutenant, didn’t make it off Guadalcanal; and the way Dora’s little brother protests that he doesn’t need her to adjust his hair and his tie before he goes to lunch at his sweetheart’s place but still lets her kiss his cheek on her way out the door. He’s fighting so that Darren doesn’t have to, so that Jews and Poles and the French get to kiss their little brothers’ cheeks, too, out from under the boot of authoritarianism.

A pair of gloves fall from a high shelf and hit him in the forehead. The Benny Goodman record has ended, and he places the gloves in a box marked WINTER before heading back out into the apartment. One of Dora’s shirts snaps in the breeze through the kitchen window. Laundry, right.

Dora rouses gradually, laying with her eyes closed for a few moments before she notices the quiet, no more children laughing or the radio playing. Rolling over, she opens her eyes. The sun is further across the sky than she’d thought it’d be, and she sits up with a start as she checks her watch – 4:30. Shit, shit, shit. She hops to her feet and sees that Robert isn’t beside her, a note left atop his shirt in his neat, even hand. Be right back. She’ll meet him downstairs; she needs to get out of the heat and get to work.

A cool wind blows, making her shiver and she throws Robert’s shirt on, which matches the light blue of her bathing suit, and her stomach does a funny wiggle. They used to show up to the office in the same colors weekly – it’s nice to know that some things don’t change.

The fabric is soft, well-loved, and as she runs her hands down it, her fingers catch on something in the breast pocket. Looking down, she sees two thin strips tucked in the fabric, and fishing them out, she rubs the sleep out of her eyes to read the print.

Broadhurst Theatre. 44th St. Evening - Sunday. E 19.

Robert Rosenthal, you didn’t.

She yanks the blanket from the ground, grabs the lemonade pitcher, and throws on her shoes – interior soles burning after hours baking in the heat – before leaping down the ladder and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s wide-eyed at her sudden entrance, holding one of her work blouses as she pushes through the window, slightly woozy at the green tinge everything takes coming out of the sun. They’re both frozen for a moment.

“Did you buy these?”

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“I asked first,” she says, holding out the tickets.

There goes that damn dimple as he smiles softly, not helping slow her heart hammering in her chest. “I, uh, I got us a dinner reservation at Rosetti’s, too.” He folds her blouse over a bare forearm and she’s hit with so many thoughts at once – she doesn’t have anything to wear to the theater; he’s not wearing a shirt and she can see the firm muscle of his stomach and the arch of his hip bones; he’s doing her laundry, brassieres included; she still has to do her readings; he’s not wearing a shirt – that she starts to laugh, heaving, side-splitting guffaws. Of course he did.

This is what he does – waltzes into her life, shows her just how good it can be, just how kind the world can get, then leaves and she’s a better, lonelier person for it. Here he is, in her dead parents’ home, doing her laundry because she couldn’t manage, telling her he planned a night for them, that he chose her over a Yankees’ game or a show at Minton’s or simply an evening in with his darling mother, and he’ll be gone in three days, off to be a shield against evil, off to save the world after watching her nearly fall asleep on her feet in a dirty kitchen and still deciding to come back for her.

She laughs until she wheezes, until she’s folded over and her abdomen cramps, until there are tears in her eyes and she doesn’t know if she’s happy or heartbroken. 

“Dora.” He’s in front of her now, smelling of heat and leather and chlorine like he got the Bab-O out from under her sink.

“What have you done?” she asks as she stands and wipes her eyes. And here she was thinking they might get dinner at Cal’s.

His face falls, eyes turning big and sad like a kicked puppy, his dark brows furrow, and it nearly sends her into another fit but she manages to stay upright. “We don’t have to go if—I thought that—”

She shakes her head vigorously and reaches up to hold his cheeks, his stupid, perfect cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

His smile is so bright that it beats the sun outside and she gets lucky with where her fingertips have landed because those glorious laugh lines find themselves where she can touch them. He turns his head just so and squints as if he’s listening to a good song and steps into her, setting his hands on her hips. 

This is where they kiss in the pictures, and the thought is so laughable that she chuckles aloud before throwing her arms around his shoulders as his slip around her waist. It’s warm, not sunbathing warm, but good all the same.

“Thank you,” she murmurs in his ear. Tears bite at her eyes.

“You deserve it,” he says.

They stay in an embrace until she realizes that she still doesn’t have anything to wear and they have to get all the way to Midtown in traffic. She stands back with a sniff. “I need to borrow a dress from Jeannie.”

[quietbluejay]

Horus Rising 4

Horus: okay so where to next? well I have someone who wants to talk and Mal (best Mal) limps in

time for our intro to him

<3

no one really likes him except Horus lol until they thought he was dead and he came back and now he's permanently injured

he gets hugged by Horus and Abaddon lol

anyways it looks like they'll be heading out to succour the Blood Angels who have encountered some resistance Horus says he's going to consider all the options but i mean

okay time for the inner circle to meet in private

oh, and Dorn too Dorn, I will note, as I noted the first time I read this, does not get a fancy description he just gets described as being as big as Horus lol

time to run through some more primarch names and their reactions to Horus' appointment as Warmaster and again there's the mention of Perturabo not being happy about it (and Angron) so like what was up with that re Perturabo also I note the names that are left off the list completely: Curze, Corvus, Vulkan, Alpharius, Ferrus

dorn does not understand the need to give em the ol razzle dazzle

also dorn is wearing red armour interesting and a red velvet cape

oh Sigismund is also there i forgot about this he approves of Loken lol he also thinks the Crusade will never end

i do wonder how much of a characterization sigismund got before this like i know there were those other horus heresy books that covered some stuff

torgaddon trying to dispel the tension and stop this fight before it gets physical right in front of dad torgaddon: cmon sigismund do you really think you have a chance in a straight fight vs the luna wolves? we're the best of the best sigismund: whatever helps you sleep at night tension successfully dispelled

they all banter a bit more with Sigismund before Dorn jumpscares them

Dorn has a 1 on 1 with Loken that's hm interesting choices of words

Dorn: just be yourself

heh that's a good way to end a chapter with the first crack in the perfect horus façade

school trip lmao iterator is bringing a bunch of remembrancers to the embarkation deck euphrati is there but not mersadie it's extremely noisy also the iterator is doing tour guide stuff lol

keeler takes a shot of the stormbirds in a row iterator: i told you no records!!! keeler: i thought you were joking - i'm a photographer, what did you think i was going to do? iterator: i…uh… then he quickly has to go herd some more cats as a couple of the remembrancers start wandering off iterator returns back after she takes a flurry of pictures iterator: please can one of you stay in line, things are tricky enough as they are after the Incident keeler: ??? iterator: i don't know the details but it was bad keeler: you have a very nice voice~ you could ask me to do anything~ the iterator blushes lol

time to explain oaths of moment which are also a thing in 40k, i've gathered

their totally secular and non-religious rituals oh the rest of the mournival showed up to say bye to loken he does his oath of moment

loken does in fact have a sense of humour lol

so it's done with, keeler reviews her photos and has a spy (sindermann) watching over her shoulder he likes her photos lol so sindermann managed to wrangle keeler and the others in this group of six as going down to the surface to document things

:) ah i remember what's coming up

heh

heh heh they try cleaning it up and all the static is there but now there are actual words

"like a rustle of silk" yeah im once again putting a word choice under the microscope but also samus for once actually being kind of cool loken figures it's their enemy trying to scare them heh

so the stormbirds are causing panic among the rural inhabitants of the area bad omen they're also more religious out here

so they're up in the mountains

classic loken takes an ominous step towards the officer

rip officer dude officer: ok so what's up with the voices officer: samus has been talking loken: they're just trying to scare us officer: well, it's working

samus is continuing to mutter into the vox lol

loken: it's pretty effective as a tactic, huh loken: but we're here now so it's not gonna work

couldn't happen to nicer people oh there's some symbolism

samus is still going and loken is really irritated

back with the remembrancers, they're also asking who is Samus sindermann: uhhh it's nothing he gets a message over the vox sindermann: oh that's interesting sindermann: yeah nothing to see here! keeler goes over to talk with him privately they're also all pretty high up and a lot of them are having to use oxygen

the insurgents who held off the regular army for six weeks fold like paper under the assault of the luna wolves loken isn't bothering to do a kill count "there was little glory in this, just duty"

:(

next room is a natural cave and it's full of…stuff

loken: these are offerings. destroy them.

geez they killed nearly a thousand people, zero casualties on their side, in slightly more than an hour

they found a bunch more offering caves loken feels bad that these men all died for nothing, as he sees it "they're scared of the truth we bring" uwu

vipus: at least samus has shut up now you just haaad to jinx it lol

heh

Jubal is standing near a waterfall at the edge of a mountain

there are words in the water captaiinnnnn

loken gets his men to restrain jubal, then asks where the rest of hellebore squad went jubal: they couldn't see it! time for jubal to start attacking everyone

for all we complain about samus being annoying later i do think he worked pretty well in his initial intro

[wavernot4love]

hello wanted 2 talk about a bunch of fun things from Thursday first show of War All The Time tour 2nite at the Town Ballroom in Buffalo (this will include setlist spoilers)

(starting with a random little video of title track, the rest of it is in the keep reading thingy)

- TURNPIKE DIVIDES FOR THE LAST SONG??? they let her see the light of day!!! i am probably the only person who has heard her at 2/3 of the thursday sets they have seen /lh

- geoff took the piss out of victory records for not paying bands while talking about how i'll be you & jbny are mirrors of each other then played them back to back (also described jbny as their heaviest song.... correct!!!)

- crowd was GREAT. great pits, surfing vibes, actually hell, vibes were just great all around.

- make sure you get there early so you can catch both many eyes & rival schools (steve (thursday) actually played for rival schools today which was cool). i thoroughly enjoyed both sets, and tonight honestly made me a fan of many eyes as a project. i wasn't sure what to expect receptionwise from a buffalo crowd [insert every time i die lore] but everyone showed up for keith (buckley, former singer of etid)/them. i also thought he/they did great, and he seemed genuinely humbled. also saw him around after the show, bro was loading out merch so i didn't wanna bother him, but yeah, dude seemed chill. really enjoyed the songs as well, i'll be spinning them and staying tuned for future releases for sure.

- between that set, everyone just feeling like a true community all night, & a cameo from a local scene legend (if you know hardcore, the singer of terror/buried alive was watching sidestage all show, keith shouted him out hahaha), let's just say i felt like how i'd imagine patriotic americans feel when they hear the national anthem, but the western new yorker edition.

- between rupture and rapture & division st. were probably my favorite non big singles. so great to hear watt in full dude and the crowd was very engaged the whole time

- one thing that really sucks is geoff explained as they came out that pretty much all their instruments randomly got stolen right before they left for tour, so they were a little panicky and stuff but basically, nothing was gonna stop them from having a good time in buffalo (paraphrased). apparently when they were sorting out the tour routing a while back someone told them they should start in toronto but they were like, nah dude, we want to start in buffalo. back to my western ny patriotism analogy, i see. anyways, now that's what i call resilience. they put on a great performamce with such great energy, you can tell this is a band that truly loves doing this whole thing. support the guys extra hard this run.

- as the opening bit of understanding started i looked back at the carnage going on in the giant pit that was open at the moment and had to just. smile at That being a moment people were crowdkilling each other to /lh

- i brought my (digital) point & shoot and shot from the crowd! very stoked on those as i was quite close all show, will update with those once i edit em! will probably also be posting a review kinda thing on my site/ziney thing once i get that back up and published

- one final thing that haunts me is the wonder of what geoff was talking about here in this instagram story post from earlier. i even stuck around after the show (which ended around 10:30) in case... i don't know, thursday were to fly out of some sort of confetti cannon at 11 pm sharp, i have no idea, dude. someday i will ask geoff about Minds Blown - 11.00pm

anyway, every time i've seen thursday this past year of having the joy of really knowing their music (i'd heard of them of course just through being in the scene for years, but had just never listened then) thursdayband has come 2 mean more and more to me and i truly hope they never stop playing together as long as it makes them happy <3

[buddyhead]

Return Of The Axl Rose Rating System

The Fantastical Return Of The W. Axl Rose Rating System For Record Reviews!

Due to an overwhelming popular demand Buddyhead is back reviewing records! And due to the fact that we’re a one-trick pony over here plus the number of new amazing Axl photos available on the internet, the infamous Axl Rose rating system is back as well! Buddyhead certainly couldn’t be any happier to have ol’ Billy Bruce Rose back on staff nuking all the posers out there as well as handing out congratulations when needed! This new rating system will be how Buddyhead will “grade” all of the future record reviews from now on so study the images and their descriptions below so that you know what the score is when you see an Axl icons on the reviews. So, without further ado, here are the new and improved “Axl Ratings” and how they break down…

Let’s fucking gooo!

-Buddyhead

If you’d like your record reviewed send a vinyl copy to Buddyhead 106 1/2 judge john aiso st. #413 • los angeles, ca 90012

(Legendary)

This album is legendary! It’s pretty much perfect and prefect records remind Axl of that time when he was just vibing with a dolphin at the end of the “Estranged” music video, which was right after the dolphins swam down Sunset Blvd past The Rainbow and then he just jumped off an oil tanker to swim with em’. Good times! This record transports him back to when his music video budgets were like $4 million bucks and Converse was making him custom AXL shoes. In fact Axl likes this album so much he’s actually gonna put this one right up there next to his own masterpiece, “Appetite For Destruction”. Do you know where the fuck you are?!?!?!? You’re in jungle the chilling with dolphins baby! You’re gonna diiiiiiiieeeeeeee!!!! Haha oh hell yeah!

2. (Killer)

In Axl’s opinion this album is pretty fucking killer! Kinda like how it’s pretty fucking killer that his boys Duff and Slash are finally back in the band again. Sure this could of and should of happened decades ago and now everyone’s gotta pretend to care about playing “Chinese Democracy” songs but it better than never at all. Listening to this record makes Axl forget all that tho and feel as if he’s back in his glory days between "Appetite" and "Lies", when all of his hair was actually his, Metallica fucking opened up for him and he could still pull off those killer loose mesh shirts, tight as fuck spandex bike shorts and catchers gear. Back when the worst thing people would ask was “Where’s Izzy?” Better times indeed my dudes.

3. (Pretty dope)

Axl is totally amped on this album cuz it’s giving off a vibe that reminds him of time he wore a purple sports coat to some dinner party didn’t really wanna attend and he ended up having a great time bombed out of his mind in the basement, holding a massive lobster and telling tour stories to bunch of eager normies. Sure Slash wasn’t there and neither was Duff, Izzy or Popcorn but he did have those squares on the edges of their seats. They were nestled firmly in the palm of his hand and just hanging on his every word. It was a really good party brother… Haha oh hell yeah!

4. (Good)

Axl thinks this record is pretty good and he enjoyed it kind of like how he enjoys riding his bicycle with cowboy boots. In Axl’s opinion this record definitely ain’t no Use Your Illusion II, but he would probably consider taking this band on tour and might even let them stay on the whole thing unless these dudes do something stupid… like try to make eye contact with him, try to talk to his psychic or try to prevent Axl from doing multiple wardrobe changes during his set. Axl’s party can not be stopped so don’t even try!

5. (Decent)

Axl said he was pleasantly surprised with this record and got caught off guard by how much he liked some of the tunes. They’re almost as good he looks holding this Mike McGill skateboard. And that's saying a lot! There are def some flaws on the album, so he's not sure how many repeat listens he'll give it, but he's optimistic that this band could put out good records in the future. Maybe one day they'll get to open for Guns N' Fuckin’ Roses and see Axl helicopter in.

6. (Mediocre)

This isn’t the worst album Axl’s ever heard but he knows the artist could do better and that makes him kinda mad. Honestly he’d rather be back bullying Tommy Hilfiger in the VIP area of a nightclub instead of having to listen to this slop. However, you’ll notice that hint of sadness on his face which indicates that deep down he knows this record is still better than “Chinese Democracy” not to mention his wack cover of The Rolling Stones “Sympathy For The Devil”. Reminds him of that time his actions made “yellow-jacketing” become a viral term and that shit bums him the fuck out.

7. (Bad)

Axl thought this record was BAD. He liked this crap about as much as he liked getting arrested by the pigs while they scuffed up his dripped out Versace Guns N’ Roses shirt. Axl’s not really looking to get in the ring with this band…. yet, but he’s definitely going to have his security remove them from the area if he ever sees them hanging around him. Axl liked shit about as much as he likes St. Louis or being called William Bruce Rose Jr.

8 . (Terrible)

This record is terrible, like when Axl was rocking cornrows, no eyebrows and baggy jerseys in the early 2000’s. Just an embarrassing experience for everyone involved. After checking this record out Axl threw a tantrum, smashed the hotel TV, called for his fuckin limo and took off, totally bummed that he wasted time on this bullshit. He's hoping whatever the limo's bar is stocked with will help him forget what he just heard cuz he ain't got nothing better to do, and he's bored. Axl doesn't ever wants to think about this record again! Kinda like he doesn't wanna think about how DJ Ashba was in the band for a minute or how while Buckethead was in the band he was allowed a "nunchuck-solo” or that reality show Gilby Clarke was on with Tommy Lee and Jason Newsted called Supernova.

9. (Unlistenable)

Axl thinks this record is a total piece of shit! This records makes him angry like when people think he looks like Rip Taylor or when they don’t know that Don’t Cry, November Rain and Estranged are a mother-fucking trilogy. This album is so unlistenable and it’s pissed off him so bad that he lowered his shoulder and he’s about to bull charge anyone responsible… this includes band members, producers, engineers, mixers, A&R dudes, PR, etc… GET IN THE RING MOTHERFUCKERS OR RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

[tic-tacbergerac]

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#but like all around it was meant from the start to be a silly little bubblegum comic story about a happy couple who live in a world where

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I was scrolling through Instagram and this photo (from Panda @subliminal.vamps) made me stop and think. Frank's wrist isn't 100% better.

Frank has ice (possibly heat? please correct me) packs strapped to his wrist and shoulder. He's probably in a good amount of pain, and playing guitar for 2 hours a night on top of whatever practicing and sound checking they do probably doesn't make him hurt less.

I'm not Frank, I'm not his family member or friend, so I don't know what he's dealing with beyond what he chooses to share. But as a fan of his band and him as a person, I'm grateful that such a talented and dedicated musician is willing to put himself through discomfort or pain for the love of his craft and his fans. That means a lot.

145 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

#4

reblog if volcano shake em up is your favorite mcr song

220 notes - Posted September 22, 2022

#3

Fans and Friends who are Stuck in Vegas: Here are Some Fun Things to Do!

I'm crushed for all of you who got tickets to WWWY and are now stuck in the Vegas area with no show. That's so awful and heartbreaking, especially if you've traveled a long way or were looking forward to seeing your favorite band for the first time. Big hugs to you all. Here are some things to check out that you may enjoy. All activities listed are clean-and-sober friendly and cost less than $100 per person. I'll list the most recent pricing I can find, but keep in mind that these things change.

National Atomic Testing Museum! Learn about America's history with nuclear weapons testing. $24 per person, book online through their website. Open 9a-5p.

Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area! Be careful here with the wind advisory today, but it may be good tomorrow. You can hike, picnic, take the scenic drive, and more! It's beautiful. Probably a $35 entrance fee per car. Timed tickets required for the scenic drive.

You Can Rent A Backhoe And Fuck Around, No I'm Not Kidding. Individual digs from $25, group digs from $175.

Area 15 Immersive Experience! Passes start at $49 per person. This is SO COOL, highly recommended. You can guide yourself through, but there are also formal tours.

The Mob Museum. General admission $30 per person. Learn about the impact of organized crime on American history and society today. Thousands of artifacts and some pretty cool exhibits!

Please reblog and add more activities! I tried to include unique, interesting experiences that had booking available TODAY, 10/22 and TOMORROW, 10/23.

407 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#2

yeah I support LGBT

L - lesbian icon frank iero

G - gerard way

B - 🅱️ikey

T - Ray Toro's Trans Rights Charm Bracelet

430 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I'm a wildlife biologist and he's the red panda I'm monitoring on my trail cam

1,256 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kennicuzzz24]

"Your Girl" is a song recorded by American singer Mariah Carey for her tenth studio album, The Emancipation of Mimi (2005). She wrote the track with Marc Shemer and the latter produced it with her as Scram Jones. Lyrically, "Your Girl" is about Carey approaching a potential lover in a confident manner. She uses belting as part of her vocal performance. Critics described the music as containing pop, soul, gospel, jazz, and disco influences; some compared it to works by rapper Kanye West. It samples vocals and an acoustic guitar from the 2003 Adeaze song "A Life with You".

In music reviews, critics compared Carey's vocals to their state in the 1990s. The song's short length and her demeanor on it also received commentary. Some viewed "Your Girl" as one of the best tracks on The Emancipation of Mimi. Island Records did not issue it as a single from the album. Carey later released two remixes featuring rappers as part of a digital extended play. She performed the song live during the 2006 Adventures of Mimi concert tour and the 2024 Celebration of Mimi concert residency.

Following the album Glitter (2001), American singer Mariah Carey opted to join Island Records and released Charmbracelet (2002). For its follow-up, The Emancipation of Mimi (2005), she intended to create a more lighthearted record. "Your Girl" is the tenth track on the album, which was released on March 30, 2005. The label did not release it as a single. In April 2020, Carey said this was planned from the beginning despite it being one of her favorite tracks on the album. She wrote that the song "should have been a single" in her memoir later that year. Retrospectively, Entertainment Weekly writer Michael Slezak attributed its lack of radio airplay to the number of other worthy tracks on The Emancipation of Mimi. Chris Gardner of The Hollywood Reporter described the song as a deep cut.

"Your Girl" was later promoted as part of the #MC30 campaign marking three decades of Carey's career. On January 29, 2021, she issued an extended play to digital outlets containing a version featuring Diplomats members Cam'ron and Juelz Santana and a second remix featuring the rapper N.O.R.E.

Two minutes and forty-six seconds in length, "Your Girl" is the shortest song on The Emancipation of Mimi. Critics labeled it a slow jam and a power ballad. Carey wrote the song with Marc Shemer and the latter produced it with her under the stage name Scram Jones. All work occurred at various locations in New York City. Dana Jon Chapelle and Brian Garten engineered the song with assistance from Rufus Morgen at Honeywest Studios. After Pat "Pat 'Em Down" Viala mixed it at Right Track Studios, Herb Powers mastered "Your Girl" at The Hit Factory. It features background vocals from Carey and Mary Ann Tatum.

"Your Girl" contains a sample from the 2003 Adeaze song "A Life with You", written and performed by New Zealanders Feagaigafou and Logovi'i Tupa'i. It incorporates the same acoustic guitar and speeds up a few lines of the duo's voices in the chorus. Scram Jones obtained clearance after performing at a party for the group's record label Dawn Raid Entertainment. The arranger and guitarist of "A Life with You", Dominique Leauga, alleged he was not credited for his contributions.

Carey's singing incorporates belting early on in "Your Girl". The lyrics are about her confidently addressing a prospective lover. She says "I'm gonna make you want to get with me tonight" and assures him she will "put naughty thoughts into your mind". For Pitchfork's Julianne Escobedo Shepherd, the focus is on Carey's assertiveness rather than a relationship. In The New York Times, Jon Pareles said she uses an impersonal delivery. The song is "innocent, yet still a bit grimy" according to Carey.

Critics interpreted the composition differently. According to Clayton Smales of the Townsville Bulletin, "Your Girl" is a pop-leaning song. Guy Blackman of the Sunday Age felt it has a "down-tempo disco feel" and Sal Cinequemani of Slant Magazine said it is a derivative of the Motown sound. Slezak stated the chorus contains gospel influences; The Jakarta Post's Tony Hotland thought jazz and soul elements were present. Joey Guerra likened "Your Girl" to a retro soul record in the Houston Chronicle and Nick Marino called it "a simple old-school jam" in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Escobedo Shepherd said it was "based on the Kanye [West]-style, sped-up soul record trend that was aflame at the time" of recording. Todd Burns of Stylus Magazine also thought the production was influenced by West, while BBC Music writer Adam Webb viewed it as a revision of the "classic soul sound" common in Carey's previous work.

The song's composition was a subject of critical commentary. Blackman and Slezak called the chorus catchy. The Sunday Herald Sun said the song was too brief and Marino thought its length encouraged replays. Billboard's Nolan Feeney wrote: "Anticipation and longing are hallmarks of many a great pop song, but sometimes you just have to cut to the point".

Carey's performance received mixed reviews. Andy Gill of The Independent said her vocals were so histrionic she is "almost as bad as all the Pop Idol wannabes that reflect her disastrous influence". In comparing her voice to its state in the 1990s, Burns thought Carey sounded weaker, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel critic Dave Tianen said she used the same excessive style to bad effect, and Orlando Sentinel writer Jim Abbott argued it was better because she exercised more restraint. According to the Sunday Herald Sun, the song serves as an effective showcase for Carey's vocal range. Her presence received positive feedback from critics who viewed her as exuding confidence.

Some critics called "Your Girl" the best or one of the best tracks on The Emancipation of Mimi. It has appeared on rankings of Carey's music. In 2005, Slezak listed it among her 10 best songs. Billboard ranked it at number 38 on their 2020 list of Carey's 100 greatest songs.

Carey has performed "Your Girl" infrequently since its release. She sang it during her 2006 concert tour, The Adventures of Mimi. In 2020, she uploaded an a capella version to her social media accounts for the fifteenth anniversary of The Emancipation of Mimi. This formed part of a series of at-home performances by Carey during the COVID-19 pandemic. It received a positive review from Billboard's Glenn Rowley, who said she "delivers vocals fit for the gods". In 2024, Carey gave her first live performance of the song since 2006 for her Las Vegas concert residency, The Celebration of Mimi.

[loudenver]

Louis was starting to think authors back in the day had it pretty good. Whenever he thought about his favorite writers, he didn't think about their press tours, or their instagram posts. No, his favorites, the greatest minds of their generation, all wrote and fucked in the fifties. They took a lot of drugs, slept with everyone in their friendship group and had a very loose definition of the term 'heterosexual'. Sure, most of 'em died young and weren't always appreciated in their time, but at least they didn't have to sign what felt like hundreds and hundreds of books for the next few hours.

Still, he shouldn't be ungrateful. He was pinching himself every damn day, and it was sweet of Billy to put everything together on such short notice. Louis would've dropped everything to come support Billy's bookshop and see his old friend again, but it just so happened that A Novel Idea was on, more or less, his front doorstep. It was a great space, although Louis had it on good authority it didn't normally look like this. He scrolled through their instagram this morning over a cup of coffee, smiling at the cluttered, put-togetherness of it, winding tables and towering bookshelves. It reminded him of the bookshops back home, although, the staff were ruder and Ginsberg remained firmly in the restricted section.

Shaking out the stiffness in his wrist, Louis smiled up as another happy reader, or would-be reader, approached his table. She was a young teen in a red beret, blonde curls just touching her shoulders, nervously clutching his book to her chest. Pinned to her denim jacket was a pink, orange and white badge. It was only then he noticed the girl behind her, giving an encouraging shove. Her girlfriend, no doubt.

"Hey, sweetheart." Louis chirped, holding out his hand for her book. She hesitated for a moment, as though forgetting the exchange, before passing the book over with flaming cheeks. "What's your name?"

"It's Bridget." she said, her voice so quiet Louis barely heard her. "B-r-i-d-g-e-t."

With a flourish of his pen, Louis scribbled a quick message on the title page of her book, signing his name in the scribble he'd been practicing for the past year and a half. Handing the book back to her, the girl paused, unwilling to move on. Louis paused, wondering if he should say something. He hadn't really got into the habit of this whole author-fan thing yet.

Bridget's girlfriend prodded her, and she took her book.

"I read an early copy of your book. I reviewed it on my blog. James and Topher's relationship is written so beautifully. Sad, though. Do you think they end up together?" she gushed.

Louis paused, at once taken aback and deeply, insanely touched. He beamed up at her. A queer kid, reading a book that he'd written. Who'dve thunk?

"I think... it's up to you whether or not they end up together."

Bridget nodded. James Marlon, an Italian-born New Yorker with bright blue eyes, was a painfully obvious stand in for Wardo. But Bridget didn't have to know that.

"I think they do. Topher says they're soulmates, right?"

Louis ducked his head, suddenly feeling shy, the weight of this young teen's gaze on him.

"Yeah, he sure does. Thanks for reviewing my book, sweetheart."

Bridget skipped off, excitedly showing her girlfriend Louis' scrawl. Watching them depart hand in hand, Louis didn't even notice the next person had stepped up to the table.

"Hey, darlin', what's you-" Louis started his spiel, only to be cut off by a familiar voice. Eyes travelling upward, he was met with the gorgeous, welcome face of none other than Max Hayashi.

He bounded out of his seat abruptly, knocking the chair back in his excitement to get out of his chair. He launched himself over the table to pull Max into a tight embrace, laughing brightly in his ear despite the obstacle between them.

"You're a sight for fuckin' sore eyes." Louis murmured low, his lips accidentally brushing the shell of Max's ear.

Unwillingly disentangling from the hug, Louis held the other man at arm's length, drinking in the sight of his friend. Still bright eyed and beautiful, a warm feeling unfurled in his chest at the sight of Max. He was a reminder of his happiest years, writing in his aunt's cafe, catching sight of Max, handsome and bouncing off every customer in the place, drawn into his orbit.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Louis asked, pressing a kiss to Max's cheek.

The engine of Max’s motorcycle was cut off in a noisy gurgle. That was something he’d have to look into later. Kicking down the stand, he pulled his helmet off and tucked it under his arm, stuffing his gloves into it and hoping that A Novel Idea was as friendly and secure as Ava had promised him it was. She’d told him it would be fine to leave his bike in the tiny parking lot behind it and he only hoped he wouldn’t have to regret trusting her. That being said, given the sorry state of the bike right now, he didn’t think that any potential thieves were going to get very far with it. You know what, he’d be impressed if they did.

He was further impressed to see that there was already a line of people waiting outside the door of A Novel Idea, and although he momentarily flirted with the idea of swanning right up to the front, armed with a cry of “I know the author!” he held back. Manners and all. He had spent years trying to instill them in Tommy; he’d be a hypocrite for doing something he’d forcibly pull his little brother back by the collar of his shirt for attempting.

Instead, he joined the line of people, finding himself sandwiched in between an elderly gay couple who informed him they always loved to come to signings for new, queer authors, and a young woman who was blatantly scrolling through Louis’ Instagram.

Max couldn’t necessarily blame her. When he’d gotten wind of Louis being in New York, he’d all but stalked the man’s social media up until he’d found a list of all his book signings. He hadn’t made the very first one, but after sending a few covert messages to Ava, he’d landed himself a last minute ticket to this one in the cute little book store. All without breathing a word of it to Louis. Sue him, he wanted to surprise his friend.

It had been way too long since the two of them had seen each other, what with Max’s move to New York forcing him to leave San Fran behind a long time ago. He still visited from time to time in order to see his aunt, but now that Tommy was here on the east coast with him, there was little for him left back in California. Louis, however, was part of that.

Excitement fizzed under Max’s skin as the door finally opened. He gave a smile to the handsome-looking owner and took a seat near the back row, nearly getting taken out by a brunette barreling by him, muttering something like the eagle has fucking landed, I guess into her hand. Taken aback by the near-collision, his eyes followed her for a moment before he shook his head and turned back, finding himself sitting next to the two men from before. They both sat up attentively when Louis appeared at the little table at the front. Immediately, Max mirrored them, a wide and proud smile on his face as Louis introduced himself and his book and began reading.

He’d always known that Louis could write. He knew that from the various occasions where he’d pleaded with the man to let him read some of his first drafts. True, he’d had to be a little sneaky about it, sometimes downright pickpocketing the other man and holding his notebook aloft from where he’d plucked it from Louis’ bag. But it was only because he knew his friend was talented, and now he was just glad he had a whole room of people to back him up. The only thing that threatened to pull Max’s attention away was the sight of a man fully army-crawling across the floor on his stomach, a crumpled looking envelope held tightly in his fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the guy eventually jumped up upon reaching the same brunette woman from before, the two of them spilling out the door and quickly scarpering. Weird, Max thought, before quickly returning his focus to Louis.

As soon as he finished reading the Christopher Street excerpt, the whole room burst into rapturous applause, Max clapping wildly along with them. Then, there was a flurry of chaos as people stampeded towards the front of the room, hoping to be amongst the first to get their book signed. Max was happy to hang back at the end of the line though, grinning when, at long last, he could approach Louis’ table.

“Holy shit, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he teased, reaching out to clap his hand on Louis’ shoulder in the hopes of pulling the man into a hug.

[tyforthevnm]

The Father and the Frontman: Frank Iero Gets Tattooed for his Kids

April 9th, 2015 Derek Scancarelli Link to article

Under The Gun Review met with Frank Iero at Greenpoint Tattoo Company in Brooklyn to talk about his life’s new chapter and his undying devotion to being a father, all while watching him get inked.

Frank Iero’s confidence is a put-on. I know that because he told me so.

He loves to play as much as he hates to play. The 45 minutes of ecstasy he experiences on stage is the pendulum swing counteracting the 24 hours of pure hell leading up to it.

“I’ll be fucking holding, clenching my stomach, totally fucking hating my life because I have to get up there and play,” 33-year-old Iero said. But five minutes into his set, he finds himself in a state of glory.

When My Chemical Romance toured the world, Frank Iero played guitar and sang back-up vocals. Now, he’s taken center stage as frontman of his newest project, frnkiero and the cellabration. In August, he released his debut album, Stomachaches. Last week, the band wrapped up its first headlining tour.

Rather than playing at Madison Square Garden, he’s back to playing 300-capacity rooms in cities like Boise, ID. Those are the kind of places in which he feels at home. Well, the closest he gets to home when he’s so far away from it.

Last Wednesday, I caught up with Frank at a tattoo shop in Williamsburg before his show at Saint Vitus. He said the tour was a total success, but he couldn’t stand to spend another night away from his wife and children. The night prior, he’d traveled home from Philly to Jersey just to see them in the morning. He squeezed in a few hours of sleep before he brought his kids to school and swim class. Finally, he made it back to New York in time for the show.

When Frank entered the parlor, he told me that he was opting to go for two small pieces. The first was a set of roman numerals on his neck; dates documenting the births of his 5-year-old twin daughters and his 3-year-old son. The second was a tiny but meaningful piece on his shin.

“I’m getting a noodle because my little girl Cherry told me that she wanted to get tattooed,” Iero said, sporting a Mickey Mouse hoodie. “I said, ‘Well, I think that’s a terrible idea! But, what do you want to get?’ She said, ‘I want to get noodles!’ And I thought, ‘well that’s kind of an awesome tattoo.’”

The process of figuring out the proper way to tattoo a piece of pasta proved to be more difficult than you’d imagine. After contemplating some squiggly strands of spaghetti, Frank decided a single macaroni would do the trick. Plus, his daughters love Mac & Cheese. It was positioned strategically by his Jordan Jumpman logo and his homage to Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All. After all, he says his body is just a flesh-covered suitcase with stickers all over it.

Many of those stickers were slapped on while touring, a part of life that has become more difficult since becoming a father. For Frank, the modern virtual realities that easily connect us make his distance feel more apparent.

I asked him if his kids were noticing the separation, to which he immediately answered “yes.” I then asked if that drove him crazy, to which he replied, “Absolutely.”

For that reason, he cherishes every moment he gets with his kids.

“I tend to interview them a lot,” he said. “I like these moments. The other day we were talking about colors, so I said, ‘Yo, what’s your favorite color?’”

It turns out his son Miles likes green, but when he’s sick he likes red. He also enjoys yellow. His daughter Lily likes pink, but she’s been feeling more purple lately. Cherry, the noodle tattoo enthusiast, said she loves nothing.

Frank laughed and told me he related to ‘nothing’ the most, but even as an adult he can still feel in colors. He’s had some art pieces that have felt really brown. As a kid he loved black, which may explain his unaccountable love for the Oakland Raiders and Pittsburgh Steelers.

“What I love about this parenthood thing is that, before they’re tainted by the outside world, there is this innate weirdness that’s only in them,” he said. “It’s very pure and it’s very fleeting, and if you’re not paying attention you can miss it, and I don’t want to miss it.”

For most people, small moments like discussing colors may seem insignificant or forgettable. For Frank, it’s different. His children bring out the kid in him, the one that he’s unsure he ever really lost. He sees the honesty and curiosity that disappears after a life of having opinions shoved down your throat and being told how to act and feel.

The conversation shifted gears when I mentioned the “Religious Freedom Restoration Act,” a bill signed into law in Indiana that many Americans feel gives out a license for discrimination towards the LGBTQ community.

“With all the heartache and things we go through on a daily basis,” Frank said, shaking his head, “denying other people happiness, is it just like- an innate human characteristic?”

We postulate that hate is trained, but that selfishness is natural. You know, the whole Darwinism thing. But regardless of whatever characteristics we’re born with, guidance has to be the key factor.

“When it comes to seeking compassion- it’s a bit hard to just be born with empathy. I think that’s learned,” he said. “And I don’t think that’s a terrible thing. It’s great that it can be learned, and it needs to be, and it needs to be instilled.”

I’d only spent an hour or two with Frank, but I could tell that he experiences emotions strongly, even in the mildest of interactions. He’s humble and exudes a charm that makes you want to be his friend.

I’m not convinced his confidence is fake, I think it’s just on a never-ending learning curve.

Before Iero dropped Stomachaches, he was convinced he was done with touring. He was ready to write a novel, take pictures, and maybe go to school.

But he got pulled back in. Now, he’s playing shows where he can once again look at fans in the eyes. For him, it’s both heart-warming and earth-shattering. He still hasn’t fully come to grips with the press attention.

“I guess it ties into being a frontman. I never wanted that. It was never something I saw myself wanting to do. I liked being a guitar player, hidden in the wings and getting to play the shows and not being the one that had to talk to anybody,” he said.

When it comes to facing the camera, he finds it just as daunting and superficial.

“Nobody wants you to be yourself,” he said, speaking about magazine photoshoots. “It’s like, ‘Oh, I want you to ride this llama and then fucking break a window, and you know, scream at this baby!’ Like, why would I ever do any of that?”

Aside from fatherhood and fronting a band, we discussed some of the weight of being such a heavily adored and emotionally praised musician. For fans of his music, whether it be the tunes of MCR or the cellabration, it serves as much more than background noise. It speaks to them on a personal level.

I brought up a recent article called I Found Hope At A Frank Iero Show. It was penned by Cassie Whitt at AltPress, someone who I’ve had the privilege of working with a few times now. I asked Frank how it feels to read a piece like this, and if there is any pressure or responsibility associated with making music that people use to help them through their struggles. I don’t know how I’d handle it.

“I felt very flattered that I was even included in that. It ties into a lot of kids that have come to shows and given me or my bands a little too much credit for their own strength,” he said. “I feel like that was all on her, you just need a welcoming environment. I think she wrote an amazing article, and she’s a very talented girl, and I think she should give herself a bit more credit.”

For Iero, there are two factions of interactions he has with his listeners. There are the kids who want a simple photo or an autograph, then there are others he’s impacted in a very serious way.

“They’ll say things like, ‘You saved my life,’ and my response is that we may have inspired you, and maybe empowered you, but I’m saying, kinda meet me halfway on it – yeah you did take control of your own life, we were just the soundtrack.”

Generally speaking, he doesn’t want to preach too hard at his shows. But he does want two simple things to be taken away from his listeners: A) they should always give a fuck and B) they should always unapologetically be themselves.

“Whatever it is that you feel inside, be proud of it, and fucking do it to the best of your ability and don’t ever apologize for being you,” he said. “Just be the best you can be. And if you can do that, fuck, man, I think we’ll be all right.”

Written and photographed by Derek Scancarelli Guest contribution by Joseph Altobelli Special thanks to Greenpoint Tattoo Company

[pippenpaddlopsicopolisthethird]

That person might not have said top ten but I would like to see the other five underrated animes 👀

(First post) I’LL KEEP ‘EM COMING, I LIVE FOR RECOMMENDING ANIME. I keep changing my mind on which ones to include because there’s so much good shit out there.

By the way, all of the recommendations in this list AND the last one are 26 episodes or less and tell a complete story. No cliffhangers, no “finish the manga to see the finale”, no “where’s the rest of it???” endings. That’s why, for now, Stars Align and Princess Jellyfish still get stuck with the honorable mentions even though what’s been made for both of them is incredible.

1. The Tatami Galaxy (Drama, Introspective)

The director behind Ping Pong the Animation and the original author behind Eccentric Family join forces to make Tatami Galaxy, which capitalizes on the best strengths of both shows. The protagonist is a lonely college student facing the prospect of graduating after having thoroughly wasted his college years. He bemoans how circumstances outside of his control, from conniving fake-friends to selfish and shallow extras, have conspired to ruin what should have been a “rose-colored campus life”, and wishes he could do it over again so he can get it right.

So he does, with the show using avant-garde animation and abstract storytelling to explore all of his threads of what-ifs. The plotlines seem separate but weave together and subtly build on each other, culminating to a finale that explores the meaning of relationships and who you are in the absence of outside forces that can define you. It’s heartfelt, funny, raunchy, and deep, and perfectly encapsulates the existential dread of being in college. I watched it for the first time when I was about to finish undergrad and it hit like an emotional freight train, then I rewatched it during quarantine and it hit like a truck. This is one of my top favorite anime of all time.

2. Re:Creators (Fantasy, action)

Most of the anime I’ve put on these lists get their spots for being deep, nuanced, and delicately crafted. This is not one of them. But, by god, is it one of the most over-the-top fun shows I’ve ever seen. Re:Creators is a rare reverse-isekai. Fictional characters from popular anime, games, and manga suddenly start turning up in the real world, instructed to “find your Creator and reshape the world you came from”. The soundtrack by Hiroyuki Sawano is bar-none one of the hypest things out there; seriously, just listen to Layers, the song for a character from a grimdark everyone-dies series begging her author to tell her why.

The characters in this show are so fun to watch bounce off each other, even if they’re not as “three dimensional” as others. Magical girls fight Stand users, mechs face down scifi-noir detectives, Lawful Good Paladins go toe-to-toe with Chaotic Evil light novel villains.  But by including the artists who imagined these characters as characters themselves, it also has a lot to say about the creative process, the reasons people create, and the relationship between an artist and their work. Between the high-octane fight scenes, there’s a surprisingly human and genuine throughline.

3. Sora no Woto (Slice of life, music, post-apocalyptic)

This show is another of my favorite examples of worldbuilding done right. A young girl joins the army as a bugler because it’s one of the only ways she can learn to play music. The episode plots focus on how she and her tiny regiment of young women stationed at a small town in the middle of nowhere deal with day-to-day troubles, while the details of the world around them slowly fill and round out the picture of a broken society where people still just... live. They still create myths, they still have festivals, they still blow glass and tell ghost stories and make art. The plots seem inconsequential, until the world built into the background becomes too prominent to ignore. The background art and music is some of the most gorgeous I’ve seen. It’s part of a genre I’ve been calling “soft apocalypse” and it’s been one of my favorites for years.

BONUS MENTION: Girl’s Last Tour (Slice of life, post-apocalyptic)

Yes, I’m cheating, but listen. Girl’s Last Tour fits perfectly into the canon narrative provided by Sora no Woto, just set in the far future, a few apocalypses later. It’s got less of a main plot, because there’s almost nothing of society left, just two girls wandering together through an abandoned world. It’s soft, introspective, and bittersweet, showing how humanity is still humanity no matter how few people are left. Despite having nothing about their productions in common, it’s the perfect spiritual successor to Sora no Woto and they deserve to be recommended in the same spot.

4. Tamako Market (+ the movie) (Romance, slice-of-life)

This show is the platonic ideal of a soft, heartwarming, sweet-as-sugar, slice-of-life romance. It follows the daily life of Tamako, a high school girl who lives above a family-owned mochi shop in a shopping center, who is followed around by a talking bird trying to find a bride for his prince in a far-off land. But really the show isn’t about the bird. The show is about love in all its forms. The love that the other families in the shopping center have for Tamako, the love that she and her friends have for each other, the love they have for the activities they’re passionate about, the love you feel when someone makes you a cup of coffee, fated love, childhood crushes, family love.

Something about this show that also stands out is how gently and naturally it incorporates some of the best queer representation I’ve ever seen in anime. One of the shop owners is a kind and soft-spoken trans woman, who is never the butt of a joke, never questioned, never treated as different, loved all the same. One of Tamako’s friends is gay, and her crush on Tamako is treated with as much respect and care as every other moment in the show. This series never makes you flinch for fear of “representation” that turns sour. It’s the epitome of a feel-good show.

5. ACCA 13-Territory Inspection Department (Political, mystery, drama)

Yes, I keep saving my favorites for last on these lists. I can’t describe this show as anything but the perfectly written plot. As a rule, I don’t like political dramas, and this is one of my favorite anime of all time. It’s set in a fictional country, where 13 regions all exist relatively independently under one collective monarchical ruler, and follows Jean, an agent of the independent Inspection Department, which acts as a check and balance to each power. The series begins with Jean being assigned a full review of each territory while the powers-that-be field whispers of a coup. This show masters foreshadowing, intrigue, escalation, and mystery. The stakes build and overlap on scales from intensely personal to national. The pacing is amazing, keeping tension balanced with plot twists that answer more questions than they ask.

Plus, it’s got one of the most visually appealing and stylized openings out there. I realize that political drama isn’t exactly escapism right now, but believe me, this series is worth it.

[xx-k1tsun3-k1d-xx]

I posted 6,048 times in 2021

171 posts created (3%)

5877 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 34.4 posts.

I added 996 tags in 2021

#flashing tw - 184 posts

#scene - 130 posts

#scenecore - 125 posts

#notscene.txt - 99 posts

#emocore - 95 posts

#emo - 95 posts

#ash.txt - 76 posts

#scene revival - 67 posts

#scene aesthetic - 64 posts

#scene kid - 61 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and i’m trying to clean my house after a big depression (tm) that i’m still fighting and the pandemic and uni starts again soon and aaaaaaa

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Studded knee high converse + bat cuffs <3

317 notes • Posted 2021-06-12 18:40:08 GMT

#4

427 notes • Posted 2021-01-28 08:19:59 GMT

#3

had a dream where I was on a spaceship bc aliens and then when I went to get food from the space canteen, got to the front of the line and the alien at the food dispensary window looked at me and went “ah yes for the human” before pulling out a empty standard metal food tray with all the sections for different food on it and just fucking puts THIS on it and hands it over

good to know that my brain aliens have approximated the entire human diet down to “just give em something that makes their brain go brrrr idk” and this resulted in fucking Monster Energy Cigarettes

459 notes • Posted 2021-10-23 08:45:21 GMT

#2

Reneissance fair but instead of everyone pretending it’s the Middle Ages or whatever we all pretend it’s the 00s. People show up in period accurate scemo outfits and one of the stalls/games is just trying to steal from a hot topic. You can watch live dramatic recreations of MySpace drama wars instead of jousting. Dahvie Vanity is in the stocks and you can pay 1 kandi to throw something at him. There are detailed sculptures to scene queens crafted entirely from monster energy cans. There’s a fourloko drinking challenge at the bar.

Tribute bands are recreating warped tours. There are scene hair/makeup/clothes tutorials. A competition for the best MySpace ends in drama over a stolen gir backpack. The scene queen of the fair is crowned and immediately trades in their tiara for 10 cans of monster tour water from 2009. Someone chugs a fucking glow stick and ends up in the hospital. Welcome to ...

sceneaissance fair 2021

652 notes • Posted 2021-01-21 03:33:04 GMT

#1

been meaning to do this for like a year lawl

883 notes • Posted 2021-07-16 21:02:21 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[cyclogenesis]

i have to tell you that the second i saw cal and ash on that mountain getaway a couple weeks ago, i thought about how desperately i would love a sequel to your turks & caicos fic set during that trip. (this is not a request, i promise, i just wanted to tell you bc that is one of my fav fics of all time)

Aw anon!! 🥺 Gosh I hadn't even thought about that when I was in my feelings about the mountain getaway pictures, which is wild because I am just remembering now that I started a fic after the honeymoon comment initially happened (like, very soon after, because @elliebirdthings was at that show and told me about it and we were freaking out haha), before we knew that they went to Turks & Caicos, and I had them taking that trip to a cabin in Maine.

Just for kicks, because this message made me smile and I love you for that, here's the beginning of that fic. It's unfinished obviously (not even any kissing!), but there's some nice stuff in there I think. This fic was going to be titled A whole fucking lifetime of this after the American Pleasure Club album which was a title I should have kept, goddammit. Also randomly in here I have them driving to the cabin while listening to My Bloody Valentine, who Ashton later called out as one of his main influences for Superbloom.

1600 words of unfinished Cashton under the cut! 😘

The day after the last meeting about the promo schedule the dressing room conversation turns, as it does, to plans for the break. It’s a month out, but they’ve to a man developed a fetish for planning their free time carefully as soon as the schedule’s set. Planning things makes Ashton feel like a grown-up. He likes renting cars. Sometimes he scrolls through AirBnB for hours just to see what’s out there.

“I’m going straight back, we got Dodgers tickets,” Michael says.

“I remember when you used to say ‘we’ and it meant you and me,” Calum says. He wiggles a little from where he’s snuggled against Michael on the couch like he wants to get away, but of course Michael doesn’t let him. Ashton thinks he probably wasn’t really trying.

“Aw, you’ll always be my first love,” Michael tells him, squeezing Calum to him more tightly. “You wanna make out just for old times sake?”

“I do not,” says Calum, but he lets Michael give him a big kiss on the forehead, his face squinching up happily.

“I just wanna get away for a bit, no work or social media or anything,” says Ashton, ignoring their tomfoolery. “A little cabin by a lake somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “Where are you and Cal going this time?”

“Maine,” Calum says, at the same time as Ashton says, “Why would you assume we’re going somewhere together?”

A small silence falls over the room.

With dignity, Ashton says, “Calum and I are going to Maine.”

“Just get out in front of it this time,” Michael advises. “Let everyone know it’s another honeymoon. Take control of the narrative.”

“How many times can you go on a honeymoon before you have to acknowledge that you’re married?” Luke asks nobody in particular.

“It’s a bro trip,” Ashton says firmly. “For bros.”

“It’s very bromantic,” Luke says. “It’s okay, I’m not hurt I wasn’t invited. I love going back to LA and jerking off alone.”

“It’s nice that we’ve all got plans,” Calum says. He’s settled peacefully back against Michael, Michael absently petting his hair.

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Ashton insists.

*

Whatever, Ashton called it what he called it, okay? Might as well control the narrative.

Over drinks at the bar after their last show Calum asks, “Where would you want to go on your honeymoon, anyway? Somewhere new?”

Ashton pokes at the ice in his cocktail with his straw. Aren’t they supposed to not be using straws anymore because of the ocean or whatever? Ashton loves the ocean, it’s very important to him. Also this cocktail sucks. “Can I try your drink?” he asks. “I don’t love mine.” Calum has something with ginger in it, and bubbles. Calum slides his obligingly over, and Ashton passes his own over to be fair.

“I like yours better,” Calum says after a sip. “You wanna trade?”

Sometimes Ashton does believe in soulmates. “Yes, thank you.” He takes a long drink. “It would be nice to spend more time in Italy. Not one of the tourist-y parts though, somewhere quiet. Up north, maybe, one of the smaller towns.” He tries to picture what it would be like: olive groves, blue skies, stone churches. An old villa with lemon trees and a view of the hills. He’s so used to traveling with the band or just with Calum that it’s hard to picture anyone else there with him. They’re all as prone as anyone to get swept up with girls to the exclusion of most everything else, but Ashton can’t really imagine a future without seeing Calum all the time, without talking to him every day. Maybe he and Calum could just get married around the same time and they could all go on a honeymoon together.

“Yeah, that’d be pretty nice,” Calum says, looking wistful. Ashton wants to take a picture of him, capture the way a curl rests against his temple, how the blue neon lights behind the bar hit the glitter he let Ashton smear on his cheekbones before the show. They made a no social media pledge for this trip but Ashton’s bringing his camera anyway. He has to keep in practice, doesn’t he? Anyway, it’s important to capture these memories.

“Maybe we should just go,” Ashton tells him. “Why not? Who knows how long it could take for me to fool someone into living with this forever?” He sucks down the last of his drink, feeling sorry for himself now. What if he falls in love and she moves in and Calum stops coming over in the morning to walk to their favorite coffee shop together, and stops picking Ashton up so they can go hike Runyon, and stops bringing Duke over like he owns the damn place and doesn’t care about the dog hair that Ashton has to hoover off his couch pillows? That would be terrible. Worst of all, what if it was Ashton that suddenly wanted those things to stop?

“I’ll live with you forever,” Calum says, too busy flagging down the bartender to intuit Ashton’s emotional crisis. He gestures to Ashton’s empty drink. “Another one of those, right?” His own is still half full. Maybe he didn’t really like Ashton’s better after all.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Ashton sighs.

Calum bumps his knee against Ashton’s, the barstool squeaking beneath him. “Ash, you’re gonna find somebody if that’s what you want. Anyone would be the luckiest person alive to be with you. Maybe we could do Italy after the tour wraps, we’ll finish in Spain so it won’t be far.”

The thought cheers Ashton a bit; that’s a decent amount of time to get on AirBnB and see what he can find that’s available. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to, Italian sunshine and limoncello and the quiet.

“Mike and Luke will definitely give us shit though about planning another honeymoon while we’re still on this one,” Calum says.

“Let ‘em,” says Ashton.

*

It’s not a long flight but it’s a bit of a drive from there to get to the cabin. But Calum said he wanted something remote and quiet, so it’s worth the wait, the drive in the dark. There’s moonlight, anyway, and Calum took the wheel, getting them the rest of the way there in their little silver Prius rental. He puts on My Bloody Valentine and sings along, low and comforting to listen to after so many days straight of playing, of promo. Halfway through the trip Ashton thinks he sees a shooting star, maybe thought he dreamed it until he felt Calum’s soft nudge of knuckles against his arm, heard his quiet, “You see that, bro?”

The way gets bumpy, thick with trees, dark and hard to navigate once they turn off the main road. At the end of it all there’s the cabin, looming in the dark, lights left on for them and the key exactly where it’s supposed to be. It’s past one a.m. but they still give the place a wander, stopping at the largest bedroom facing the lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows Ashton sees trees, darkness, the black glitter of water under starlight. Calum asks, “You want this one?”

Ashton looks further and just sees more darkness. “It’s kind of unnerving at night,” he says. “Anyone could be out there.” The other bedroom has smaller windows, but the point stands. “Do you wanna just watch TV or something in here and then decide?”

“If we get axe murdered here I hope our ghosts come back and leave a one star review,” Calum says, but he’s already shrugging his duffel off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes.

The host left them a bottle of pinot grigio so Ashton pours up a few glasses while Calum strips down to his boxers and gets in bed. The boxers have cartoon pugs all over them. “I can’t believe that’s the lingerie you’re wearing for our honeymoon,” Ashton says, handing him a glass. “I also can’t believe those boxers even exist.”

Calum raises it to him in a salute and takes a sip. “These boxers are fantastic, but I guess if you want me to take them off…” he trails off, eyebrow raised, thumb hooked in the waistband pushing them down past his hipbone, then further until Ashton can see the crease of his thigh.

“No, no,” Ashton says hurriedly, “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a nice pair of footie pajamas? Keeps you warm. Keeps you modest.” Nevertheless he shucks his own clothes except for his own (very grown-up, perfectly normal, in a flattering shade of dark green) boxers and joins Calum in bed. Calum’s already stopped paying attention to him, too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote. He finally gets the screen to flash on, and Ashton stays quiet, sipping his wine while Calum flips channels, finally landing on something in black and white. Cary Grant comes on screen but Ashton still isn’t sure what movie it is; Calum seems interested enough, setting the remote down between them, so he doesn’t complain. The wine goes down easy and Ashton does too after not too long.

He rolls onto his side and sees that Calum’s eyes are already closed. It doesn’t look like he’s asleep yet; it always takes him a bit, leaving him in a dozy stage for about ten minutes during which he might respond crankily to any communication or with adorable mumbling affection. Ashton turns the sound down and says, as quietly as he can, “TV off?” Calum’s eyes don’t open, but he nods a little. “Okay. You want me to go sleep in the other room?”

Calum moves then, a sleepy shift of his body, fumbling a hand up and blindly patting the sheet until he makes contact with Ashton’s hand on the remote and squeezes it, links their fingers together like he can’t quite figure out how to make it work. It feels nice. “’S’okay,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”

Ashton didn’t feel like getting up anyway.

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[frankiefellinlove]

THE STEVIE FILES PROUDLY PRESENTS - THE AMAZING ROCK & ROLL ODYSSEY OF STEVEN VAN ZANDT

From The Source to Soulfire via Springsteen and Sam & Dave

Recorded, transcribed, edited, written, produced, mixed and mastered by MIKE SAUNDERS

SIDE TWO (1975-1983)

Track 6: Miami Steve, The Asbury Jukes, Tenth Avenue and Hammersmith

In early 1975, Steven returned to New Jersey from Florida, inappropriately dressed for the winter weather. “I came back with the flowered shirts and the Sam Snead hat and continued wearing them in the snow.” For the next seven years, he was known as Miami Steve. He joined Southside in the Blackberry Booze Band and within weeks they’d altered and expanded its line-up (adding keyboard player Kevin Kavanaugh from Middletown and bass player Alan Berger from The Dovells’ backing band), transformed its musical direction, changed its name to Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes (referencing their mutual hero Little Walter’s band and first single release) and established a successful three-nights-a-week, five-sets-a-night residency at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park.

“Just before that, me, Southside, Bruce and Garry went to see Sam & Dave. A life-changing moment. So me and Southside basically decided we were gonna be the white Sam & Dave, with rock guitar. So the horns came in and although we didn’t know it, we would change the entire concept of what a bar band sounded like and the respect a bar band would get by making it creative, soul meets rock. ‘Bar band’ was an insult. ‘You’re a bar band,’ which means you can’t make it in the real music world. After the Jukes, they started using ‘bar band’ in reviews and they meant it as a compliment, with Graham Parker and Elvis Costello and Mink DeVille. We changed the way people thought about these things.”

The Miami Horns were a vital component of the new band. Steven composed the horn arrangements, but although he’s always possessed a natural ability to imagine horn parts, he doesn’t read or write music (“never have”) and has always required a little help from his friends to transcribe them. “I have people write ‘em down, to this day. I like that actually. You have to do a lotta things yourself so any excuse I find to collaborate I do it. I find other people will bring something to the party usually. That’s why [I’ve] used Eddie Manion for I don’t know how many years. He knows how I like to voice things. Once I think of something and create the parts, I get bored if I have to voice every part, exactly right. If I hear a voicing I don’t like, I will change it, but I get bored by the mechanics of everything.”

While the Jukes were building their reputation and growing their audience, Bruce invited Steven to hang out at the Born To Run sessions in New York, where he was working on “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” David Sanborn and The Brecker Brothers had been hired to play the horn parts, but Steven created a spontaneous new arrangement. He’s told this anecdote countless times, but I ask him to repeat it because it provides perfect examples of his innate musical talents in action (“I can hear the parts, who knows why?”), the nature of his friendship with Bruce (“I still am the only human being not afraid of him”), and his no-bullshit attitude (“I didn’t know anything about diplomacy”).

“So he says, ‘Whaddya think?’ I said, ‘It sucks, that’s what I think!’ I didn’t know how uptight everybody was. I didn’t give a fuck either. The managers and producers were all afraid of him already. He asked me a question, I’m gonna be honest. I’m trying to help my friend here, not make points with some fucking record company guy. Moment of silence. ‘He just said it sucks, which means we all suck.’ Bruce [says] ‘Alright then, go in and fucking fix it.’ So I did. I went in and sang the [new] parts. I didn’t know they were the most famous [session] guys in New York. It wasn’t insulting them, the chart was ridiculous. That was my thing, just from the Jukes being around maybe six months.”

“I wasn’t really feeling the pressure that Bruce was at the time. I didn’t realise his life depended on this album. His first two records hadn’t done very well. They wanted to drop him. I don’t know how aware I was of any of that. He invited me into the session and I’m laying on the floor. All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”

Soon after making his instinctive artistic contribution (and singing backing vocals on “Thunder Road”), Steven was invited to join the E Street Band. It was a chance to complete the circle, play with his old friend again and settle any unfinished business from three summers earlier, when he’d been sent packing at the Greetings sessions. He made his live debut on the opening night of the Born To Run tour, which ran until New Year’s Eve. His input and influence over the next decade, onstage and off, would prove invaluable. (Bruce even began playing The Dovells’ “You Can’t Sit Down” as an occasional encore). In the fall, the tour took everyone to Europe for the first time, where the culture shock was off the charts. “There was no hamburgers, no peanut butter. The only place you could get a hamburger in the whole of Europe was the newly-opened first Hard Rock Café. There was a line around the block even then.”

Culinary deficiencies aside, Bruce also had to endure the overblown hype surrounding his first UK gigs at London’s Hammersmith Odeon, where Columbia had displayed the legend “Finally London Is Ready For Bruce Springsteen” on every available surface prior to his arrival. “[It was] completely obnoxious,” says Steven. “[Bruce] spent half the time ripping down posters. It was an embarrassing time for him, between that and Time and Newsweek. He didn’t like that stuff. You wanna be in charge of your life, that’s why we get into rock ‘n’ roll. Suddenly it was slipping out of his control. We made the mistake of playing a place with seats. It just made the show that much harder. But by the end, we got ‘em outta the seats. We went to Amsterdam, Stockholm, and back to London. The second one was a bit easier.” The experience had a prolonged effect on Bruce. “He was uptight in those days and would remain so through Darkness into The River, until he asked me to produce the record and we found a way to have some fun.”

Track 7: Epic Records, Steve Popovich and The Stone Pony

Back on the shore, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes continued the Stone Pony residency throughout 1975, gradually consolidating their line-up. For the next three years, between Springsteen commitments, Steven worked as their producer, arranger, manager, part-time guitarist and principal songwriter. In early 1976, after circulating a demo tape, they signed a recording deal with Epic, with assistance from Steve Popovich, the label’s Vice-President of A&R. “I Don’t Want To Go Home,” the song that Steven had kept in his back pocket since his days on the oldies circuit, became the title track of their debut album and their first single. Ben E King’s loss was Southside’s gain.

“I produced [the song] in a way which was appropriate for the Jukes. They didn’t have a big background vocal thing going on,” explains Steven. “I was very conscious of being able to try and do most of it live, although I put strings on it, on my very first production! There was no synthesiser in those days that could play strings. That’s why I re-cut it [on Soulfire] the original way I pictured it, with the singer and background vocals answering. That idea of writing for someone else is extremely important, critical and essential. It changes the way you write completely, from when you think of writing for yourself, which is extraordinarily complicated and confusing. It’s not easy, but easier, to write for someone else. There’s their identity in your mind at least. I’m writing them a song. That’s a wonderful exercise for songwriters.” I Don’t Want To Go Home was released in the summer of 1976 (“I’ve never received one penny of royalties, but whatever!”). The Jukes later began their first national tour and made their European debut in 1977.

Recommended by Bruce, Steve Popovich was one of a kind. “The last of the real music guys in the business. The only other person I can compare him to would be Lance Freed on the publishing side, who’s unique. He’s actually into music and songwriting and the things you’re supposed to be into when you have a job description like that. And Frank Barsalona, the only agent who really did his job and would set the standard for everybody to follow. Those three guys, really quite historic. [It was] Popovich’s idea to launch the record with a broadcast from the Stone Pony. Never been done before. Popovich loved the local scene idea and he largely made it happen. It never would have been recognised nationally, I don’t think, if it hadn’t been for Popovich, who had the vision to say it’s cool if you’re not from New York. Rather than being embarrassed if you’re not from New York, LA or Nashville, it’s actually cool.”

Track 8: Production Credits and Political Awakening

Steven developed his talents as a producer and songwriter with the Jukes in the late 70s, following I Don’t Want To Go Home with This Time It’s For Real and Hearts Of Stone. Successive releases featured greater quantities of his original material, which included “I Played The Fool,” “This Time Baby’s Gone For Good,” “Take It Inside” and “Some Things Just Don’t Change,” apparently written for another of his heroes, David Ruffin of The Temptations. During this period, he also produced the “Say Goodbye To Hollywood” single for Ronnie Spector and the E Street Band and provided production assistance on Darkness On The Edge Of Town. His relationship with the Jukes ended when they left Epic for Mercury in 1979 and he went on to co-produce The River and two comeback albums for Gary US Bonds, Dedication and On The Line. It was an impressive fast-track apprenticeship. Steven had no production experience when he began. He acquired the skills and learned from his mistakes in the studio. “That’s why all three Jukes albums are different,” he says. “By the time we did The River, I knew what I wanted to do. I got it all down by then. That’s how I tend to do things. I can picture what I want. Jump in, do it, let’s see what happens.”

Steven also kept his promise to himself to bring his musical heroes out of obscurity, initially as guests on the first two Jukes albums. “I did what I could, but I wanted to do so much more,” he admits. “First time I get in a studio, got Lee Dorsey out from under a car, where he’s a mechanic. Got Ronnie Spector out of retirement. Second album, we reunited The Coasters, Drifters and Five Satins. Me and Bruce worked with Gary Bonds. We got Ben E King and Chuck Jackson on that record. Those artists had a talent level noticeably above everybody that followed. I wish I’d been insistent on doing more of them. In those [early] days, you actually had to have talent to make records. You had to be able to sing a song, beginning to end, perfectly in tune, perfectly the right melody, and if you fuck up one word, you gotta do the whole thing again. Couldn’t do enough for those people, they were so much fun to produce.”

In addition to his studio accomplishments, Steven played more than 300 shows with Bruce and the E Street Band between 1976 and 1981, primarily on the Darkness On The Edge Of Town and River tours. The majority took place in North America, but the River tour included a European leg that took the band away from home and out of their comfort zone for nine weeks. Much longer than their previous visit in 1975, it was their first significant experience of foreign countries, languages, cultures and political perspectives. They received rave reviews wherever they played, but Steven gradually became aware that not all Europeans viewed the United States in a favourable light.

One particular encounter was pivotal in dramatically reshaping Steven’s worldview. “A kid asked me, ‘Why are you putting missiles in my country?’ I said, ‘I’m not, I’m a guitar player.’ I realised, for the first time in my life, at the age of 30 I’m embarrassed to say, that I’m an American. What the fuck does that mean? I managed to grow up in the middle of civil rights, the Vietnam War, demonstrations about every fucking thing and had no interest in any of it. Amazing when you think about it. Redefining tunnel vision. Suddenly, the tunnel is gone. We’re now successful. Who would have ever figured that would happen, right? Now it’s like, uh-oh, what did I miss, the last 20 years?”

Track 9: Men Without Women, Motown and Mixing In Mono

This revelation accelerated Steven’s growing political awareness, one of two important developments in 1981 that would change the course of his life forever. The second came when he returned from Europe and was approached by EMI America about making a solo album. Having spent six years producing and writing for others, he welcomed the opportunity to have his own creative outlet, which soon expanded into a separate career. In the fall, he enlisted musicians from the E Street Band and the Asbury Jukes to record most of the material for his debut album, Men Without Women, using his established rock-meets-soul sonic blueprint. Including “Lyin’ In A Bed Of Fire,” “Princess Of Little Italy,” “Angel Eyes” and “Until The Good Is Gone,” it remains an undisputed career highlight for Van Zandt devotees, but Steven feels that an outside producer might have helped him make a more commercial record.

“Conventional wisdom is you never should produce yourself and I have to say that’s correct. The only exception I can think of in the history of the business was Prince, who was an extraordinary genius, but other than him, I don’t know anybody who successfully produces themselves.” Describing himself as “extremely schizophrenic, I’m twelve different people, never mind two,” Steven explains how his inner producer failed to control the whims of his inner artist. “Without knowing it, the artist takes over. I was into this extreme naturalism, no logical reason why. I did the whole album live in one day. Came back the second day, did it again, beginning to end. Couple overdubs, that was it. There’s one guitar. The horns aren’t doubled. Nothing’s doubled. Bruce did all the harmony on that record but we couldn’t use his name. We [did] a similar thing with Born In The USA, where we just recorded live in the studio.”

“I made Bob Clearmountain mix ‘Forever’ in mono, to try and achieve the perfect Motown record. It’s never gonna be exact and it shouldn’t be exact, why should it be, but I wanted to capture a Smokey Robinson Motown record. The only way I could do that in my mind was to make it completely mono. He was so good in those days. I mean Bob’s still the best, but in those days he was beyond the best. He was something else when it came down to that Neve board that wasn’t automated, and he’s feelin’ those faders. I made him do something he’d never done before, which requires a whole different way of thinking. You’re now thinking depth-wise and vertically, not horizontally.”

“That’s where my head was at. Can I achieve the emotional communication that my heroes had provided me? My heroes being Motown in general, 10 acts there. Or my heroes at Chess, another 10 acts. Sam Phillips did ‘Rocket 88’ for Ike Turner (Jackie Brenston) and ‘How Many More Years’ for Howlin’ Wolf, three years before Elvis Presley. Unbelievable genius. [I’m] trying to achieve that level of quality in my own world, in my own little bubble, which has these ridiculously high standards. I’m absorbing the 50s and 60s and then trying to integrate them in my head and reproduce them in my own way, not the least bit interested in what’s going on in the 70s or 80s certainly, because it was shit to me, comparatively. An interesting moment here and there. Punk was certainly interesting. But mostly it’s all coming from what I call the renaissance period, ‘51 to ‘71, where it all was created. And that’s true to this day. That’s all I was interested in and that was enough for 10 lifetimes. I didn’t need another bit of input after 1972.”

Track 10: Little Steven, Little Richard and Bob Dylan

In 1982, after recording with Bruce and Gary US Bonds, Steven completed his album, formed the Disciples of Soul (which included Dino Danelli from The Rascals on drums, Jean Beauvoir on bass and Eddie Manion, Mark Pender, Stan Harrison and La Bamba on horns) and played a debut concert at New York’s Peppermint Lounge. Released in October, a month after Nebraska, Men Without Women preceded his first national tour and was credited to his new professional name of Little Steven, which would be used for all future solo activities. “I just wanted separation [from] being the sideman,” he explains. “Each of my personalities required a different name, in order to keep it straight in people’s heads and my own head.” The name referenced his early heroes Little Walter, Little Anthony and Little Richard. In his role as an ordained minister, the latter officiated at Steven’s wedding to Maureen Santoro in New York on New Year’s Eve. Percy Sledge sang “When A Man Loves A Woman” as they walked down the aisle and the reception included performances from Gary US Bonds, Little Milton, The Chambers Brothers and the wedding band from The Godfather. “Little Anthony was doing a cruise at the time or he would have been there.”

“All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”

Steven toured internationally in 1983, then dropped the horns, adopted a more contemporary rock sound and made his second album, Voice Of America. It was an explicitly political record that featured “Solidarity,” “I Am A Patriot,” “Out Of The Darkness,” “Los Desaparecidos” and “Undefeated.” Triggered by his River tour experiences in Europe, this radical transformation was completed with a long period of self-education. “I read every book about post World War Two [US] foreign policy. [It was] shocking how often we were on the wrong side. All of these bad things were happening behind the scenes and nobody was talking about them. No political consciousness whatsoever in the country. I decided I have an obligation to say something about this stuff that we’re all paying for with our taxes.”

“Being conscious of the fact that everybody needs their own identity, I figured who the hell needs another love song from a fucking sideman? I’ll be the political guy. Nobody else is doing it. There were people demonstrating of course. Jackson Browne, John Hall, Bonnie Raitt, Graham Nash, those guys. The Grateful Dead were doing a benefit every week, but rarely did it end up in the work. In general, people weren’t putting much politics into the lyrics of their songs.” For artists with commercial aspirations, he concedes, that’s a smart move. “Jefferson Airplane being an exception with ‘Volunteers.’ Big exception, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with Neil Young’s ‘Ohio.’”

Steven contends that Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” introduced the idea of political consciousness in rock ‘n’ roll. “His first electric song. It’s not given enough credit. The first sentence from Bob Dylan’s electric period, ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine, I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ What? You’re doing what? You’re thinking about the government? Excuse me? Who does that? Whoever did that before, in a song, no less? There in that one sentence, Bob Dylan communicated what his entire career was gonna be about, which was having fun with language, with inference, symbolism, metaphor and nonsense lyrics that rhymed. ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine,’ what does that mean? It means whatever you want it to mean, right? Then ‘I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ Holy shit! You mean we’re supposed to figure out the government? That, to me, is the most important sentence in all the history of rock ‘n’ roll, right there.”

All photos below by Mike Saunders

[missoneminute]

Would love to hear your breakdown on how Plan A is a slag off to Carl? Just because I thought that song was meant to be them two against the world and what they were planning to do to get famous? X

Hello, slag off was a harsh way to put it so I probably should have phrased it more softly. I’ve added my comments below: 

The song appears to largely deal with the band achieving their ‘Plan A’ - signing to Rough Trade, but that’s come with some downsides. Peter appears to see himself as the ‘one man’ who built the band, who have now become ‘carved’ into something different to what he’d hoped as a result of their own success: 

There's one man left to thank Built it with his hands One man left to thank He didn't need to carve it into something Carve it into something new Carve it into something 

Peter’s reference to Plan A comes across as bitter, as something once hopeful and now cynical, and he refers to the ‘business side’ (keeping receipts for refund later or perhaps to prove how the money is being spent) and the way the band were molded into something new: 

And there's plan A Take a seat  Watch them play Keep a receipt Sharpen up and carve them into something Carve it into something Carve 'em into something new

The next section appears to deal with Peter feeling robbed, of his band and songs, perhaps during one of the periods he was ostracized from the band. He seems to reference Carl here, as the one with ‘stolen eyes’: 

Tell me what it is that you see With your stolen eyes And you’re singing one two three Open up my eyes

Peter next appears to be directly referring to Carl as his twin (something that was part of their mythology - Peter had at one stage discussed seeing himself as Carl’s reincarnated twin) who has gone off on tour and is having a ball, in Peter’s eyes, while Peter stays home alone and consumes drugs, with the reference to stones believed by many to refer to crack: 

My twin he tends to be me He walks abroad He likes the broads While I smoke and choke alone at home Chewing on my bone Smash big boulders into stones

The next section mirrors what Peter sang on the demo for Can’t Stand Me Now, where he sang: ‘I read every review, they all prefer you’: 

Though I read every review No one's got a fucking clue

This again seems to deal with the idea of selling out for material goods once they’d achieved Plan A: 

In New York sold your soul And bought new shoes

The final section mirrors things Peter has said in interviews, where he repeatedly accused Carl of wanting success because of his working class background and not having money growing up. However he could also be referring to them both, and himself giving into the idea of towing the industry line being better than having nothing: 

And if you come from nowhere You'll end up straight back there You may as well Carve, carve, carve it into something Carve it into something new 

That’s my interpretation, others may see if differently. x

[wild-aloof-rebel]

that anon made me wonder do you know how many fucks are said by each character? (obviously Patrick=0)

this is what i think is all of them, though it’s certainly possible i missed something...

david - 19

who the fuck is this? (the cabin)

ew, fuck! (finding david)

because no, you can’t mention any of this to her. she’d lose her fucking mind. (jazzagals)

alexis, do you mind telling your phone to fuck off? (jazzaguy)

that is the stupidest fucking thing i’ve ever heard (baby sprinkle)

where do i put this fucking thing? (baby sprinkle)

oh, fuck. (singles week)

holy fuck! (the plant)

how are we still on this fucking tour? (the plant)

fuck off, alexis. (rock on!)

what the actual fuck? (roadkill)

what the fuck? (life is a cabaret)

fuck yes! (the job interview)

this is fucked. (the premiere)

you fucking better (start spreading the news)

fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck! (happy ending)

moira - 12

sign the fucking contract! (the drip)

fuck, i know! (don’t worry, it’s his sister)

i’m gonna fucking nail it (wine and roses)

bingo lingfucker (wine and roses)

fuck me! fuck me! fuck me! (little sister)

fuck! (estate sale)

oh that fussy little fucker. (motel review)

well, what the fuck are you doing in your room?! (the affair)

who the fuck is lucy albion? (stop saying lice)

stevie, what the fuck? (life is a cabaret) [i’m still not entirely sure she really gets the whole word out here, but it’s at least an implied fuck lol]

stevie - 4

it’s your dad. he saw me. fuck. (honeymoon)

what the flying fuck is going on here? (opening night)

what the fuck does that mean? (open mic)

oh fuck. (the m.v.p.)

johnny - 3

roland, could you get the fuck out? (our cup runneth over)

it looks like your great grandfather’s fucking your great grandmother right up the ass! (don’t worry, it’s his sister)

oh fuck. (finding david)

alexis - 2

oh my fucking god. (housewarming)

fuck! (roadkill)

jocelyn - 2

oh fuck. (surprise party)

motherfucker, this is the farthest i’ve ever gone! (the rollout)

crew member for the herb ertlinger commercial - 2

he's gonna pull the plug on the whole thing unless, and i quote, ‘that fucking bitch gets her fucking ass out of the trailer.’ (wine and roses)

roland - 1

you know what i’ll do? i’ll, um, i’ll just get ‘the fuck’ out of here (our cup runneth over)

bree - 1

fuck, sean! (carl’s funeral)

sean - 1

the fuck?! (carl’s funeral)

wendy - 1

it’s a big fucking check! (lawn signs)

darlene’s cousin - 1

i’m darlene’s cousin. who the fuck are you? (friends & family)

klair - 1

breaking news, we still fucking hate her. (baby sprinkle)

tippy - 1

moira fucking rose! (sunrise sunset)

ronnie - 1

i say fuck ‘em (start spreading the news)

patrick - 0.5

what the fff... (the hospies)

[casualarsonist]

Postal 2 review

Postal 2 was released right in the middle of what should have been my prime teenage-edgelord years, but while it’s had a resurgence in popularity due to nostalgia, returning to it, the game strikes me now exactly as it did then - a forgettable and borderline broken, amateurish piece of software that was crowded out of all but the most fringe playerbases by other, better, more interesting games.

Postal 2 is Hatred, if Hatred mistakenly thought it was funny - it was a try-hard attempt at outrunning South Park in a race no-one was watching. The irony is that in hindsight South Park turned out to be tedious fence-sitting ‘all sides are equally stupid’ takes from a pair of moron Gen Xers who thought that not having a strong opinion about anything was cool and were also responsible for mass-marketing anti-semitism to an entire generation. It was seen as edgy and provocative in the 2000s, and now it’s laughed at for its rigid, pointed adherence to committing nothing of value to any issue. And in trying to out-do Parker and Stone the developers of Postal 2 shackled themselves to the exact same sinking ship.

The game is…not great. It’s ugly, and poorly put-together. There are constant issues with controls and soundtrack - you can hear the audio clicking repeatedly in the opening minutes of the game because whoever did the sound design stitched together a bunch of stock sound effects and didn’t crossfade the adjoining tracks. The same 3 second soundbite of a bird repeats endlessly - noticeable because it is the only sound playing as you tour through the town. And while there is something to be said for the effort put into programming all the systems that go towards simulating the mundanity of everyday life (and towards your disruption of that mundanity with a can of gasoline and a box of matches), this was an indie game with a certain amount of ambition developed before crowdfunding could turn these games into something worth playing. It’s tedious, but not in the way the developers intended - it’s tedious mechanically, like playing in a small, ugly, sadistic sandbox. The most interesting thing you discover about it is that doing everyday tasks like shopping for milk, and burning everyone in the town alive, are actions that get boring at exactly the same rate as one another.

That said, I think there’s a certain amount of accidental Tom Green-esque avant-garde nihilism in the absurdity of this game. It’s kind of funny to watch the 'Parents For Decency’ whip out pistols and try to murder every member of the Running With Scissors development team because they don’t like their violent games. That’s genuine satire - it actually says something real, and, because the 'think of the children’ groups are usual comprised of wealthy conservatives trying to avoid caring about actual tangible suffering in the world, the commentary kicks upwards at a group that will otherwise avoid any punishment for their hypocrisy. The icing on the cake is that you can then choose to kill them in self-defence, proving that you’re exactly the thing they were protesting. Postal 2 has something to say occasionally. Very occasionally. But then give it a few hours and you’re murdering dozens of shrieking racist stereotypes of Afghanis that all look like Osama Bin Laden.

If you kill 30 people from every type of skin colour you get an achievement called 'Sheriff Arpaio would be proud’. I had to google his name because I thought he he was a mass murderer with some kind of pointedly indiscriminate political agenda. Nope - he was a white Sheriff in Arizona who specifically profile non-white people in one of the most widespread examples of open racism in American law enforcement since segregation was made ‘illegal’. And given recent history, that’s saying something. He alone cost the taxpayers of his one county $140 million dollars via lawsuits brought against him. The fucking U.S. Justice Department sued him. If I hadn’t researched that I wouldn’t have realised he was actually a massive racist asshole who specifically targeted Hispanics and black people, because Running With Scissors made a false equivalence in their throwaway gag that just happens to mislead the player about the racist crimes of the person they’re referencing. 'Sheriff Arpaio would be proud’…because it was a numbers game? Yes, that’s what he liked. Persecuting *everyone* - as many people as possible, and not one very specific demographic of people.

I’m not saying that this stupid joke intentionally whitewashes the racism of its namesake, and I’m not saying that this, coupled with the developers’ portrayal of Middle Eastern people as homogenous terrorists screaming gibberish through the singular face of a mass murderer is in any way an explicit demonstration of their edgelord racist worldview. I’m not saying that, in the same that I’m not saying that a crack-smoking, dog-kicking, wife-abusing, spree-killer living in a trailer in any way reflects their perspective towards the poor, and that this entire game is one big middle-finger to everything the developers personally dislike. I’m saying that there’s a marked difference between forcing players to kill brown people because they’re all terrorists and forcing players to kill white people because they’re vegetarians. Or have red hair. Jesus that was such a 2003 joke wasn’t it?

At the very least, the panel of people who mindmapped the ideas that came together to form the foundational commentary of Postal 2 are dumb as dogshit, and the end result of that is 'whoopsie we’re slaughtering dozens of Muslims ho ho ho the Indian food store has Afghani suicide bombers in it all these people are the same skin colour Sheriff Arpaio did a bad thing to *lots of different people!*’

Isn’t it interesting that a game touted as a free-for-all and remembered for it’s 'all sides are bad’ South Park-esque 'sick of the system’ worldview actually depicts its town exactly from the perspective of one very specific demographic of people - the single most represented demographic in the American population: middle-class straight white male Gen Xers who feel disenfranchised but are also ardently pro-America, hate the poor despite not being wealthy themselves, hate the rich for being richer than them, hate 'rednecks’ for being too uncivilised, hate 'conservatives’ for being too stuck-up, and hate liberals for not fitting into a stuck-up conservative worldview. When you think of yourself as the lone, correct singularity trapped in the centre of a world filled with people who are wrong because they care too much about things you don’t like to think about, literally every other person on the planet becomes a potential threat. Your life is given meaning by the feeling of persecution this constant target on your back brings. And it’s a lot easier to take your anger out on a toothless social group than to comprehend your own lack of identity - to make fun of 'gingers’ and vegetarians like you were born yesterday rather than do anything legitimately rebellious or anti-establishment. Particularly if your specific demographic is the one nearly all media is catered towards. Movies are telling you that you’re the hero, but your miserable job tells you that you’re just a rube. Who’s to blame? Don’t bother thinking about it, because you might end up on a crusade, and you don’t want to be like those losers who keep going on about their problems. Make a game in which you kill all those people instead. That’ll teach em.

Postal 2 is the kind of stand-up comic that gets heckled for telling an offensive joke and then threatens to shoot-up the audience if they won’t stop booing him. It was made - poorly even for the time - by a bunch of clowns playing to the easiest possible audience: white edgelords. It’s a power fantasy for people who don’t have anything meaningful to fight for, so they fight gingers. Y'know, because South Park did it. Nazis are funny, gingers are bad. Everyone is wrong, stick to the middle. The middle of a spectrum. The middle of the road. The middle of a river as it sweeps you out to sea. It’s all the same.

2/10