#Steve Nieve

[the-hottest-band-tournament]

Round Two

Elvis Costello and the Attractions

Defeated opponents: Spın̈al Tap

Formed in: 1977

Genres: Punk, new wave

Lineup: Elvis Costello – vocals, guitar, organ

Steve Nieve – piano, organ

Bruce Thomas – bass, harmonica

Pete Thomas – drums

Albums from the 80s:

Get Happy!! (1980)

Taking Liberties (1980)

Ten Bloody Marys & Ten How's Your Fathers (1980)

Trust (1981)

Almost Blue (1981)

Imperial Bedroom (1982)

Punch the Clock (1983)

Goodbye Cruel World (1984)

The Best of Elvis Costello and the Attractions (1985)

Blood & Chocolate (1986)

Out of Our Idiot (1987)

Girls +£÷ Girls =$& Girls (1989)

Propaganda: 

Whitesnake

Defeated opponents: GWAR

Formed in: 1978

Genres: hard rock, blues rock, glam metal 

Lineup: David Coverdale- vocals

John Sykes- guitar

Neil Murray- bass

Aynsley Dunbar- drums, percussion

Don Airey- keyboards

Albums from the 80s: 

Ready an’ Willing (1980)

Come an’ Get It (1981) 

Saints & Sinners (1982)

Slide It In (1984)

Whitesname (1987)

Slip of the Tongue (1989)

Propaganda: 

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley Meltdown Festival 1995 (full show)

Meltdown Festival Program 23 June - 1 July 1995 (England) Saturday 1 July Queen Elizabeth Hall 8pm

THE SONG Part 3 Glad to be Unhappy

-June Tabor -Elvis Costello -Jeff Buckley -Steve Nieve -Marc Ribot

... "The tone of Part 3 is defined by the Rodgers and Hart song Glad to be Unhappy, epitomising the beautiful melancholy of this final set".

1. The Boy With The Thorn In His Side 2. Grace 3. Corpus Christi Carol 4. Dido's Lament

Ian Bolton, violin Philip Shepard, cello Catherine Edwards, piano

Jeff played the last day of the festival.

Note: I believe they forgot to include the song The Other Woman, a Nina Simone cover.

[jt1674]

[mychameleondays]

Elvis Costello: Brutal Youth

Music On Vinyl/Warner Bros. MOVLP817, 2013

Originally released: 8 March 1994

[nervoussystemmusicreverence]

Elvis Costello and the Attractions - Shipbuilding

Music Video

Artist

Elvis Costello and the Attractions

Composer

Clive Langer

Lyricist

Elvis Costello

Produced

Clive Langer Alan Winstanley

Credit

Elvis Costello – vocals, Epiphone, Gretsch and Fender guitars, Synclavier and Casiotone Steve Nieve – Bösendorfer piano, Emulator, Fairlight CMI, Vox organ, Hammond organ, Synclavier Bruce Thomas – electric Wal bass guitar Pete Thomas – Gretsch drums, Sabian cymbals Chet Baker – trumpet solo

Released

August 5 1983

Streaming

[stillunusual]

Elvis Costello & Steve Nieve @ Palau De La Música Catalana, Barcelona 5/9/2023

[spilladabalia]

St Vincent covers Brian Eno's Some Of Them Are Old @ The Steve Nieve Salon.

[mywifeleftme]

356: Elvis Costello & the Attractions // Get Happy!!

Get Happy!! Elvis Costello & the Attractions 1980, F-Beat

Get Happy!! was the first of Costello’s explicit genre exercises—the genius of the new wave does R&B. The emphasis is on his virtuosity as a pop songwriting machine, meaning neither his venom nor his wounded bitterness bite like they had on his three previous masterpieces. His lyrics are a multiply-compacted sediment of entendre, rhyme frequently leading sense, basically the point where power pop and backpacker rap improbably meet. It is, in every respect, the Evil Buddy Holly showing off for twenty songs. It might be the best record any Elvis ever cut.

Like a hummingbird, I need a lot of sugar to stay aloft sometimes, and the opening six songs of Get Happy!! give it to me uncut: “Love for Tender” with its hysterical army of extra Elvises on backing vocals; the sophisticated chirp of “Opportunity” (“The chairman of this boredom is a compliment collector / I'd like to be his funeral director”); breakneck Northern Soul raveup “The Imposter”; strolling sock hop blues "Secondary Modern”; the galloping piano heroism of “King Horse”; and “Possession,” a song that sounds like trying to win your girl back while she’s trying to get across the stage in her robes and tassel to accept her college degree. (I don’t exactly know what I mean about that last one either.) The fourteen tracks that follow hit those heights a little more sporadically, but most are good, some are confounding in an appealing way, and the best of them (“New Amsterdam”; “I Can’t Stand Up…”; “Temptation” etc.) are indispensable gems.

Much of the credit, as always, goes to the Attractions, one of the great rock combos ever assembled. Bruce Thomas is the John Entwistle of new wave, a one-of-one monster whose restless virtuosity frustrated the comparatively technically-limited guitarist who led his band—a virtuosity that nonetheless helped make even the occasional middling tune relentlessly groovy. Pete “No Relation” Thomas was a drummer who could play anything with power and a jazzy grace (check what he does given a little space to work on “Motel Matches”). Meanwhile, Steve Nieve, wielding his array of oddball organ tones, handles the lead melody on nearly every track—it’s the flexibility of his instrument that gives Costello’s lean four-piece its capacity to sound like a giddy R&B dance band, or a spangly, orchestrated chamber pop act, or any other costume Elvis might choose to wear on a given day.

356/365

[longliverockback]

Elvis Costello & the Imposters The Boy Named If (Alive at Memphis Magnetic) 2022 EMI ————————————————— Tracks Disc One: 01. Farewell, OK 02. The Boy Named If 03. Penelope Halfpenny 04. The Difference 05. What If I Can’t Give You Anything but Love? 06. Paint the Red Rose Blue 07. Mistook Me for a Friend 08. My Most Beautiful Mistake 09. Magnificent Hurt 10. The Man You Love to Hate 11. The Death of Magic Thinking 12. Trick out the Truth 13. Mr. Crescent

Tracks Disc Two: Memphis Magnetic Versions 01. Magnificent Hurt 02. Truth Drug 03. Penelope Halfpenny 04. So You Want to Be a Rock n Roll Star 05. What If I Can’t Give You Anything but Love? 06. The Boy Named 07. Let Me Roll It 08. Everyday I Write the Book 09. Out Time 10. Here, There and Everywhere 11. Magnificent Hurt  —————————————————

Elvis Costello

Dave Faragher

Steve Nieve

Pete Thomas

* Long Live Rock Archive

[kenpiercemedia]

Elvis Costello Announces "100 Songs and More" NYC Residency for 2023

Elvis Costello Announces "100 Songs and More" NYC Residency for 2023

The Press Release: Elvis Costello Sets “100 Songs and More” Ten Night Run at Gramercy Theatre in NYC, Feb 9 to 22 Presented By Citi®. “Each night will tell a different tale.” – Elvis Costello has announced “100 Songs and More,” a ten-night run at the Gramercy Theatre in New York City between Feb 9 and Feb 22, 2023 Presented By Citi®. Costello will perform a completely different set each night,…

[scary-ivy]

Punch the Clock really is a great album. I think it's kinda underrated among Elvis Costello albums, probably because it came out in the 80s and it has a more "pop" sound. But all the dark and clever lyrics are still there under all the danceable beats, the horn section and backup singers sound amazing and take Costello's usual sound to new and exciting places, plus the Attractions are also still here and slaying as usual. This is an album that has "Everyday I Write The Book" AND "Shipbuilding" on it, two hugely important and yet very different songs in his discography. And despite having that range, it still feels like a cohesive album with a unified sound, which is extremely rare for Elvis.

[taxi-davis]

Prophet and Loss - Jonathan Bairstow

[jt1674]

[mychameleondays]

Elvis Costello And The Attractions: Punch The Clock

F-Beat ZL25464/XXLP 19/ZL 70026

Released: August 5, 1983

[t00thpasteface]

hang on. hold the fucking phone. i'm the funniest bitch ever. i know exactly which elvis i'm going as and what i'm singing

my mom is planning her 60th birthday party and i'm already so excited. she's gonna team up with a pro sound-engineer friend of hers to book a small live music venue in houston, and then she wants all the guests to come dressed as "their favorite version of elvis" and do elvis karaoke. i already know i'm going as blue hawaii elvis and singing One Night ♪(´▽｀)

[fandomfluffandfuck]

selfcest 👀

I feel like I have been doing a lot of Steve selfcest whenever prompted so, fuck it, we go for Bucky this time.

It's only fair 😘

So, imagine with me, these two Buckys:

We have younger Bucky from before the war, before the draft, who's so much more innocent and trusting than any Bucky that he becomes. At the point that he's transported through timeline fuckery to the future, he's a little older than 18. He just turned 19 last week! Which he insistently points out to his older counterpart, as if a difference of one year makes much difference to a hundred year old man. It's cute. He's young and nieve to the bone despite the hardships of growing up in The Depression, not having much but Steve and his beat-up paperback SciFi novels to keep him company.

And we have older Bucky from after many, many wars but... probably not his last war. He's a hundred or thereabouts. He's stopped counting, really, too tired and too confusing. What years count or don't when so many were spent frozen? That's besides the point, though, because he's grown into his skin. He has a place of his own in Wakanda, and he spends more than half his days without his prosthetic on. He's getting back to feeling like a human without having to have artificial parts to 'complete' him.

It just so happens, though, that when Shuri contacts him and gives him exactly 10 minutes of warning before his younger self shows up at the open doorway to his hut, dropped off from the yawning mouth of a ship that is all Wakandian tech, sophisticated and silent, Bucky is wearing his prosthetic. It's the one Shuri made him, thoughtful in design, for more than fighting--matte black and viened with gold, especially over his left, fourth finger.

The look on Shuri's face as she simplifies all that went on to transport mini Bucky here, this forward in the future, and to Wakanda, of all places, is one of amusement. She's enjoying how the younger version of himself hangs on every word she says. Bucky knows his younger self is fucking mind blown. To say the least. He remembers pouring over page after page of SciFi, almost ripping spines of books apart with how often he would go back through, making do with what he had at the time. This is straight from one of his books, maybe even beyond what the wildest book he was reading could've come up with. And as Bucky from now, who belongs here, leads his younger self further into his hut, he finds that, he too, is amused by the constant chattering.

His younger self is running. his. mouth. Incessant.

Some of it is incoherent excitement and stumbling words, but a lot of it is questions. Question after question. He's like a damn two year old who has just developed the ability to form and voice them and challenge the answers to the. Why? What? How?

WHY?

Most of the answers, Bucky doesn't actually know. He lives here, and he feels connected, but he is an outsider. He's also still playing catch up himself. Bucky, now, does know, however, one thing: his arm is different.

Very different.

And there's something about that young face--rounded with baby fat and smooth without any wrinkles, scars, or too many blemish marks from growing up--that makes Bucky, now, reach out when he asks about it. Younger Bucky has not yet mastered the art of being covert or chill.

Younger Bucky does shut up the moment he extends his non-flesh-and-blood arm forward. Or, well, maybe he doesn't shut up exactly because his mouth stays wide open, but he does stop making sound.

The expression on his sweeter, younger face makes Bucky snort. Gently. It's easy to forget that he once wore his emotions so plainly, openly on his face. It's sweet in a real chest aching way.

Bucky allows his metal arm to not only reach into the empty space between them but also to spread his fingers out.

Palm up...

He holds steady.

Although he finds that he's hesitant to break the silence, so, instead, Bucky jerks his head down, indicating that it's okay for his younger self to touch. And touch he does.

Younger Bucky steps half a pace closer, drawn in by his curiosity, unable to resist with both of his hands coming up to hover and then settle on the body temperature metal. It might be even hotter than body temperature, with the metal being black, heat absorbent, and being in Wakanda, outside in the sun. Either way, his fingers feather over Bucky's fingertips, drawing lines down his digits to come into his palm where he makes lazy circles.

One, two, three, four, five--he circles. It's nearly ticklish in a... sensational, not-so-funny way. Bucky doesn't know what the feeling is, exactly. He just knows that's it's quickly rising from the surface of his prosthetic to his brain, firing through his synapses. Registering unfairly intensely for just a barely-there touch.

He draws more shapes on Bucky's palm, too, finding all the creases, ridges, and shapes just the same as Bucky's other flesh-and-blood hand, only mirrored.

He really is fascinated.

Slowly but surely working his way up and daring to touch him more surely with heavier pressure, younger Bucky continues. As he goes, there's more weight behind his touches rather than being so hovering and feathering. He remains gentle but perhaps is less afraid that Bucky will snatch his hand away.

Younger Bucky, more impatient in his lesser years, is the first to break the silence as he strokes the heel of his palm, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, "can you feel this?" He doesn't seem all too concerned about what that means, if he can or not--if it's too intimate if he can feel every detail rather than just feeling some or none of it at all. He simply wants to know.

Bucky swallows once, twice. His mouth is very dry, for whatever reason, "yes." He can't blame the goosebumps he suddenly has all over his flesh on the temperature outside. It's better inside his hut, much cooler than in the sun, but it certainly is not cold. He's sweating. There's no reason for them, this is an indulgence of intellectual appetite, nothing more, yet... they're there.

Bucky can not help but shiver. The shakes go through him so thoroughly that his metal hand twitches slightly in his younger self's grasp.

Younger Bucky doesn't comment on that. But, he does ask, "what about this?" getting bolder this time, tracing up his wrist and getting closer to his forearm than not.

Bucky nods without looking up to see if his younger self is watching him or not. Bucky is too busy watching the way he finds every detail, feeling each part of his prosthetic. It's strange to see himself and see two flesh-and-blood hands. The same. Not mismatched. He's... he's maybe experiencing this from out of his own body or maybe his head is just slowing down, trying not to think. Either way, he feels...

He feels.

Bucky feels it all. Each touch. He's hazy, but also, he's never been more focused on anything. Ever. He hadn't realized just how sensitive this prosthetic was. He knew it had touch sensors, and he's felt them before, but not like this.

This.

Just the way his own, younger hands explore the metal that is a part of him. Those hands press into his prosthetic, judging the give of it--if it's like flesh or not. His hands span his forearm, tracing the line of what would be bone, if it weren't metal, on the underside. His nails get into the grooves between the plates where the sensation bleeds from just like his flesh-and-blood arm to something like pins and needles before fading into numbness. Nothingness. It's like his nerves are falling asleep when he does that. Scratching. He keeps doing that. Using his nails between the panels and finding the gold rivers like veins.

Bucky shivers again, full-body.

"What about that? Can you feel that?" Younger Bucky asks, although the evidence speaks for itself.

He does.

Then, using the pads of his fingers, finding the sensations of the metal prosthetic for himself and changing the sensations for Bucky, too. Both sides. They're both experiencing this. The touch blooming into something that has taken up the space between them, filling the air.

"This?" He murmurs.

Then, using his entire hand, squeezing or just laying his body heat against his prosthetic, he explores more. Sliding up and down his forearm.

"And that?"

Younger Bucky's fingers criss-cross the ditch of his elbow where the skin would be thinner and more delicate if it were skin. It's not. But it feels like it for Bucky.

Fuck.

What the fuck, Shuri, Bucky thinks faintly. When did tech get this good? This is just magic at this point!

Younger Bucky keeps asking if he can feel this or that. And, while he's at it, he studies his responses and nods to himself, believing it especially when Bucky allows the sensation to not just be inside his body, firing through his nerves, but also on the outside--on his face. Bucky relaxes with the heat. He sighs at the squeezing, like a massage. He shivers with the scratch of nails. He does more, taking a page out of his book and putting that all on display on his face. His reactions, verbal and nonverbal, satisfy his younger self but also feed his interest.

Bucky watches in slow motion as his younger self interlaces their fingers and, and--

Oh.

Bucky is stunned as his younger self lifts his hand slowly to his mouth at the same time that he bends his knees, ducking politely as if he's a prince bowing before a princess, asking for her hand. Then, he parts his pink lips to let slip his pink tongue, wetting his own lips before bringing his whole head forward. His tongue lays flat and limp, lolled slightly out of his mouth. His wet tongue looks all the more sweet and cute against the bold, matte black and shimmering gold of Bucky's arm when--

Younger Bucky licks his prosthetic, draaaaagging his tongue across the back of his hand as if he needs to know what it tastes like.

The wildest part about it is that younger Bucky doesn't even ask. He's apparently given up playing coy. Instead, he just bats his lashes, looking up at him, waiting.

Waiting.

Why isn't Bucky talking?

Why can't he respond?

Why--

Oh, yeah. He's panting. When did he start panting? He's totally out a breath, and his chest is heaving. The best he can give is a wordless nod, still stuck on the sensation of wetness and heat and smoothness, and now the spit drying on the back of his hand. How is he so overwhelmed by so little? He's felt so much. How is this breaking him down to his knees? Younger Bucky should be the one who's blushing and overwhelmed, younger and much less experienced, but he isn't. He's not doing anything but licking another wet, shiny stripe down the back of his hand nearly onto the top of his wrist. Meanwhile, Bucky feels the heat rush to his head. He is blushing.

Blushing badly while younger Bucky busies himself licking his hand again. Again. Tracinf delicate lines as if there's a pattern he's drawing.

Then.

"Oh!" Bucky gasps as his younger self ducks his head, opening wide to take his index finger in his mouth and suck.

His finger is in his mouth. Deep in his mouth, almost his throat, swallowing down to his third knuckle.

He's... he's basically fellating his finger.

After he's sucked and lapped more and he's forced Bucky to let out a strangled, "yea-yeah," in response to a non-verbal, looming question. What about that? Can you feel that?

Younger Bucky pulls away after he answers. He doesn't let go coldly, though. Starting with his thumb, he kisses the tips of his fingers, one by one, until he reaches his ring finger. And suddenly, once he's hovering there--his breath washing in humid waves over Bucky's metal arm--he has a new question. Roving his fingers over the golden ring impressed onto his metal finger, "who's this for?" He asks. His voice is low, husky.

Bucky knows his own voice does the same, dipping low, when he's turned on. He shouldn't be turned on by his younger self getting turned on. He shouldn't be turned on by himself, just younger, sucking on his fingers, lavving at them like his digits are a cock. But he is, Lord help him, he is turned on.

This is really fucking doing it for him.

"Who?" His younger self insists, needing to know just as much as he needs to know every nerdy little detail about his prosthetic.

Bucky shakily breathes, "St-Steve."

Younger Bucky is circling around the ring in his metal hand, he's tracing lines up and down his ring finger, and he's pressing the nail of his thumb into the center of Bucky's palm--it feels like a pressure point despite how he doesn't have nerves there anymore. It feels like a weak point. Ans Bucky's knees were already weak, but now they're shaking. Watery and unsteady. His younger self isn't doing anything--his mouth isn't on his hand anymore, hot and wet and sucking, but it doesn't matter at this point because he's in too deep.

If younger Bucky is shocked by his admission--the wedding band for and from Steve--it doesn't show on his face. Maybe he already knows. Bucky's battered brain gets muttled with the details of when exactly he admitted to himself, when he admitted to Steve, that this was his fate. Their fate. If he married anyone, it wouldn't be anyone but Steve. "Does he touch you like this?" His younger self purrs, voice like silk as he shifts from ducking there, slouched to kneeling.

Christ.

Now he's on his knees.

Fuck, his 18 year old self down there, on his knees, looking up and him and--

Bucky gasps, voice catching in his throat as he turns his hand over to french kiss the center of his palm rather than just press and scratch and toy with it otherwise, "n-not quite like this."

"Oh?" Younger Bucky pulls away for just a second to say so. Then, as if nothing happened, he gets back to it. Kissing down the underside of his prosthetic. Nosing the ditch of his elbow. Brushing his tongue along the impressions of veins that exist in the metal, all aesthetic. Using the tip of his nose to trace the bulge of his metal bicep. And, of course, still scratching along the hypersensitivite grooves of the plates in his arms so Bucky has no choice but to quiver.

"I mean," Bucky mumbles, tripping over his own tongue in a way that does not seem to take over his younger self. Clearly, he has no problems with his tongue. "Oh, I don't--I don't wear this all the time, and this," Bucky stops to breathe, panting, his mouth falling open without any sound coming out for a good few seconds, "uh, uhh, this is the first one I've had that had touch sensors like this, so... oh." He can't talk more. He just can't. Not when--

"Hmm," younger Bucky smirks, continuing his entrancement, continuing to touch.

--not when it feels like that.

"So I guess you're not used to this then?" He blinks up, innocent and yet so mischievous. "And don't you wanna know how it works?"

How did he never notice? How can it feel like that? How is he supposed to do anything else, but let him keep touching him? Bucky's fingers and toes curl. Guh.

"Y-yeah," Bucky admits, gasping.