#add drums add other wind instruments more strings and such

[chippycore]

see now what if i put hatsune miku in xb3

[persepor]

Let's talk about Yinu's boss fight...

Yinu is the third NSR artist we face in No Straight Roads, alongside her mother who I'll refer to as Mama. Yinu is my 3rd favorite NSR artist not only for her character but the fact she plays neoclassical music! There's a really interesting connection I want to make later but without further ado let's talk about Yinu.

"I'll show you why they call me the Golden Maestro of Vinyl City!"

Yinu's battle goes like most of the others......except you don't fight her...you fight her mother. Mama will appear after you break the gate and will hold Yinu out of harms way, shielding her when you get rid of all the strings. Mama functions as the main obstacle you have to get through to get to Yinu. She will keep Yinu away from you for the entire battle, focused on mainly keeping Yinu performing.

She starts out as simply being behind the curtain, then in the second phase she grows and lifts up the stage into the air, and finally she uses herself as a sort of cage. You defeat her but it isn't over you're interrupted by Yinu who is angry at EVERYONE and furiously plays her piano.

You finally reach her and we hear something audibly break. The cutscene plays and we see everyone falling. No one is hurt in the fall but.......

Mayday and Zuke broke Yinu's piano.

Yinu plays neoclassical music which consists of piano, strings, and wind instruments. I absolutely love Yinu's theme not only because I love classical music myself but because it's so melodic and really evokes emotion. The rock version, while not my favorite, is also really good at using guitars and drums to replace the strings and winds.

One element I love is that the furious piano playing towards the end of the song stays in the rock version as well. It's such a nice touch to add to keep in the same in every version of Yinu's music. When I hear hear theme music I can imagine her enjoying herself, playing her piano for her fans but also for herself and her mother. I hear passion when listening to Yinu's theme which says a lot than having to express it with more words.

The next time you listen to her theme I want you to really listen and see what your mind comes up with when listening to it.

B2J's overthrowing Yinu's concert reminded me of the rise of popularity for rock in the 1950's and it subsequently becoming mainstream in the 20th century.

With popular music such as rock, jazz, and the blues becoming so popular classical music was forgotten about and had to find its own niche radio stations. Even today any type of classical music is basically forgotten or isn't looked as fondly upon as pop or rock music.

When B2J destroyed Yinu's piano this thought solidified itself as them getting rid of classical music, quite literally drowning Yinu out until you're trying to reach her. May and Zuke got rid of Yinu's neoclassical music in her district.

They put down a music genre just so rock can become popular again.

Conclusion is Yinu is an S-tier boss fight and she has so much untapped story that I didn't go over.

Thank you for reading, Dj Subatomic Supernova is up next.

[thekingofgear]

‘Read The Room’ Instrumental Notes

Jonny dramatically muting the strings of his late-70s natural finish Les Paul Standard during a performance of Read The Room in Cleveland on July 11, 2023 (Ryan J).

Verse

Read The Room starts with just a guitar through a single-repeat delay. Well, technically two guitars: the same guitar part is recorded twice, with one recording panned hard left and the other panned hard right. Each one has its own delay. Jonny almost certainly used his Boss DD200, given the clarity of the delay sound (a Space Echo would be too warm in the highs). If we count quarters at ~61.5bpm, we can hear that the delay time is set for a single quarter note.

There’s also medium overdrive and a flanging effect added to Jonny's guitar. The overdrive is probably Jonny's Boss SD1, which he's found a new affection for with The Smile (since 2007, he's used a Boss OD3 with Radiohead instead of his older SD1). The flanger is almost certainly from the EarthQuaker Devices Pyramids visible on Jonny’s board in studio photos.

At 0:09, Thom’s bass guitar enters. Based on live usage, he's probably playing his vintage, modified Gibson EB0. You can also see that bass in a photo from the the Wall of Eyes zine, which we included in our last post.

At 0:13, the drums enter, with Tom playing a stuttering pattern on the kick and snare, with occasional cymbals and open hihats for emphasis.

At 1:07, Jonny’s Sequential Prophet 5 REV4 adds a nice descending counter-melody (at least, it's probably the Prophet based on studio photos and similarity to the live tone). When the synth enters, Jonny switches to plucking muted strings on his guitar for a totally percussive sound, which leaves space for the synth to stand out. At live shows, he mutes the strings rather dramatically, sliding his hand up and down the fingerboard to vary the sound of the percussive plucks.

At 1:37-1:41 some slightly open hihats lead us to the next section...

A photo from Jonny's home studio in Oxford, showing his Sequential Prophet 5 REV4 nestled between a 1980s Sequential Prophet 600 and an Elektron Digitone Keys. This photo by Sam Petts-Davies was originally posted on the Smile's twitter on October 31, 2023, but was definitely taken much earlier since the band were on tour at that time.

Chorus

At 1:41, the song switches to a softer “chorus” section, and a center-panned acoustic guitar becomes the main rhythm instrument. However, Jonny’s left and right panned electric guitars keep playing, adding subtle swelled notes. He’s probably using the “freeze swell” trick he first used for the Skirting On The Surface outro solo — more info in this post. However, it’s hard to say for sure, given the amount of woodwinds in this section. Robert Stillman's clarinets and Pete Wareham's flutes enter more clearly at 1:53. They add a rich, undulating texture through to the end of the chorus at 2:08.

For most of the chorus, we only hear a gentle hihat pattern from Tom. But at 2:00, we first hear cymbals, then the kick and stuttering snare from the verse enter to lead us back out of the chorus.

A photo of Pete Wareham playing flute in Abbey Road Studio 2, from the Smile's Wall of Eyes zine. Wareham previously collaborated with Tom Skinner’s past band Sons Of Kemet.

Verse 2 and Chorus 2

At 2:08-2:11, the start of the next verse, we briefly hear the main riff on the single acoustic guitar from the chorus. Then Jonny's two hard-panned electric guitars return at ~2:11. This verse (2:11-2:40) mainly repeats the instrumentation from first verse, but with more cymbals and more intense vocal delay. However, we do get a left-panned clarinet playing the counter-melody at 2:25-2:36, replacing the synth from the first verse. We also hear some fun sliding noises — seemingly from a “delay time” knob being turned — at 2:26-2:30.

The second “chorus” (2:41-3:11) brings back the acoustic guitar, swelling electric guitars, woodwinds, and gentle hihats from the first chorus. The main difference is that the winds play a richer texture, and Jonny’s two electric guitars start to add spacier delayed notes at ~3:00 (possibly with his Boss RE-202 Space Echo pedal).

A photo of Jonny in the live room at Abbey Road Studio 2 from March or April of 2023 (Sam Petts-Davies). We can see his EHX Freeze, Boss SD1, Boss DD-200, and Boss RE-202 in the bottom row. His EQD Pyramids is at the end of the top row. For more info on his pedalboards, check out Jonny's page.

Coda

The coda begins at 3:12 with a right-panned single electric guitar from Jonny and a cymbal crash from Tom. Jonny plays a riff that initially feels pretty simple, until you notice that he keeps skipping eighth notes. There's a few ways to divide it up, but the full pattern is 22 eighth-notes long (two measures of 11/8, though it's easier to count as two measure of 6/4 with the last eighth note or each measure skipped, which also feels closer to the way the band play it).

Unlike the previous sections, this guitar has no delay or other effects. Instead of delay, Jonny’s riff makes use of open strings to give a fuller, multi-voice sound. On the studio recording, his B-string is detuned to an A for this section, allowing him to add an open “A” ringing over his riff. This is pretty notable, because the song’s main riff used an open B-string in standard tuning! At live shows, Jonny doesn’t bother with the high “A”, presumably because he has no time to detune the B-string or to switch guitars. So that's a little extra studio magic!

Jonny most likely played his late-70s natural finish Les Paul Standard for most or all of the studio recording. He's seen with other guitars in a few studio photos, but his tone on this track has a richness that's characteristic of his Les Paul through his Super Reverb — particularly his clean tone in the code.

The cymbal crash from the start of the coda slowly fades from 3:12-3:19. Then at 3:20, a couple of snare hits call in a new pattern of kick, snare, and closed hihat. The pattern is reminiscent of the "motorik" beat found in a lot of Krautrock, with a snare on 3. But the skipped eighths in the riff make the beat much more varied than in a traditional Krautrock track.

Thom adds a distorted bass guitar at 3:23, mirroring Jonny’s riff an octave below. He’s probably using his EarthQuaker Devices Plumes pedal for the added punch. In live footage, we can also see Thom and Jonny grab plectrums at the start of the coda. Thom may have been using the Plumes earlier in Read The Room, but the plectrum really emphasizes the punch.

When Thom’s vocal re-enters at 3:45, there’s a ton of vocal layers and reverb. The layers all seem to match the main vocal, so it might a dual delay setting from Thom’s Strymon DIG pedal, albeit with some heavier reverb added to the delays. At live shows played after the Abbey Road recording sessions, Thom had a drone from his Moog Matriach playing during this section, but it’s not present on the album.

At 4:05, Jonny adds a second electric guitar layer, panned hard-left and playing patterns with a new single-repeat delay. At live shows, he relied on Thom to keep the riff going. But on the studio recording, his right-panned riff guitar keeps playing too.

Tom brings back the cymbals in earnest from 4:13-4:48, bringing the song to its climax. Then, after a choirs of Thom say "everybody thinks so" at 4:48, the cymbals and vocals drop out (with a long vocal delay fade-out). The guitar, bass, and drums continue up until the track ends abruptly with another statement of "everybody thinks so".

In this shot, from the The Smile's show in Cleveland on July 11, 2023 (Ryan J), Jonny's tech can be seen tapping in a dotted-eighth delay during the start of the coda section. Jonny only uses the delay during the second half of the coda, but his delay time is different from the rest of the song, so it needs to be adjusted while he plays the initial coda riff. Thom can be seen with his vintage Gibson EB0.

[amyyythestarry]

TOILET BAND HANAKO KUN!

——

CHAPTER 1: Band.

——

“… Have you heard?” She spoke softly into the microphone as soon as it was turned on along with the radio.

“There is a rule regarding that staircase that you must never break.” 

Slow, rhythmic melodies played when he strummed the strings of his ginger orange guitar with a guitar pick, decorated with random cat stickers, put on by another male, that just wouldn’t come off. He left them there until he was able to find a way to get them off of his precious instrument.

“You must never step foot on the fourth step. Why? Because… You will be taken to the other side.”

“Taken, to the otherrrr side~” Sung another person, standing right beside the green haired girl, holding another microphone. Violet and mauve, covered in various stickers and paint splatters on the bottom. His voice was smooth and calm, despite the words being deep.

Then drums started, still soft and faint, the person with the sticks trying to bang as light as possible to match the tone of the start of the song. Guitar still strumming, and now a keyboard is being used.

“Down, down belowww. To the darkest, deepest, path you’ll gooo.” He continued, eyes closed and head swaying with the flow. 

“Limb, from dangling limb. They’ll pull you apart, down to countless pieces.” 

The drumming tempo started picking up, so did the guitar, and now the drummer and guitarist were playing more fast and furious, creating a new rough and exciting rhythm.

“Now you’ve ruined the stairs.” The girl sang.

“It’s painted with crimson blood.” He continued. “Yasuraka ni o yasumi kudasai~”

“In piecesss~”

Now the instruments were louder than before. The drums are still banging with the occasional cymbals. The bass guitar’s volume was turned up, not enough to cover the singer's voice, because it was still so quiet. And the keyboards settled with matching the singer’s vocals, it wasn’t a noisy instrument anyways, especially since the player wasn’t an aggressive typist.

They continued playing like this.

Nobody expected the short, black haired, brown skinned boy, the one who was the most childish and reckless out of them all, to actually be a good singer. Because as they kept playing, kept up with the song, and the lyrics of the boy flowed throughout the room like lovely wind, they all figured this was the best outcome for them.

The boy did add unnecessary additions to the song that weren’t there before, but heck, it was still bada**.

As they got closer to the end of the song, the drummer decided to close their eyes as did the guitarist, the typist, and the lead singer. Wanting to just feel the atmosphere of the room, the melody of their instruments and his vocals clashing together in the best way.

The song was closer to ending. The guitar slowed down again after its solo, going with the rhythm it had when they first started playing. The singer's voice was higher.

“Taken to the other siiiide, to the bottom of the underworld, the top of the stairs will take you.” The green-ette sang, voice being in the background of the main singer.

“Have you heard? Number 2?”

The singer stopped singing, and the instruments had to keep going.

The drums continued to bang, harder and louder than throughout the whole song, now that it had the spotlight. Alongside the guitar, as it became more distorted on purpose.

But as the song was now about to end, and the drummer banged on the bass, planning to end it off with a ding from the hi-hats. The time was right, and the drummer hit two of the hi-hats with each cherry wooden stick, and the sound along with the dings of the cymbals was the sound of crunchy snapping.

The song finally ended. The guitarist and typist stopped playing, because of the ending of their strain, and cause of the sound they hear almost all the time while practicing. As well as a voice grumbling from the back of the room.

“D**nit! I broke them again!”

Everyone in the room turned to the drummer, looked at him, and then at the two broken parts of the drumsticks rolling on the floor on each side of the drum set.

Mitsuba Sousuke sighed, dropping the remains of the sticks onto the floor by his feet, and rubbed his face with both hands from embarrassment and frustration.

“… Jesus, Mitsuba-chan. This is like, the fifth time..” The guitarist sweatdropped.

“Oh shut up, airhead.” Mitsuba pulled his head up from his hands and rolled his pink eyes, the left one being hidden by his curly hair.

Hyuuga Natsuhiko put his hands up when Mitsuba glared at him, and the lead singer of the group spoke up.

“Mitsubaa, you need to stop breaking the sticks!”

“It’s not my fault!” He claimed, dropping his head down and looking into his lap when being faced with amber eyes.

Yugi Tsukasa walked over to the broken pieces of dark cherry wood, picking them up and inspecting the jagged edges of the sticks.

When looking up slightly, Mitsuba expects Tsukasa to be looking at him with downcasted eyebrows, shaking his head and tutting. But instead, he sees the smaller boy smiling down at the sticks in his hand.

“Y’know, maybe we don’t have to throw these away again? We could probably try fixing them!” He suggested, looking up at Mitsuba and giving him his usual wide toothed grin, the one Mitsuba couldn’t help but secretly admire.

The pink haired boy stilled, then slowly nodded while a small shy smile plastered on his face, along with the hotness of his cheeks coming to be.

“Um.. Yeah, maybe we could..?”

“And if that doesn’t work,” Tsukasa started again, pulling out his phone and starting to type. “I’m sure you could use broken wood for something else, right? Like, using them for some type of art pieces?”

Everyone internally questioned what kind of art piece the boy could possibly make with broken drumsticks, but they didn’t further think about that. Tsukasa could make something out of anything.

While Tsukasa was still on his phone, the green haired girl sighed.

“Well… I’m sure the song went well,” Nanamine Sakura said, pushing curly strands of hair out her face. “We’ll check it when we get back to the Broadcasting room.”

Currently, the band of pre-teens and second year teenagers are in a closed, deserted garage in the middle of nowhere where non-human beings are stranded. Nobody was in the area but them, though. So they found it a perfect place to try and finish their first song, named ‘Misaki Stairs’ in their fresh album ‘Rumor’. Since the club room they use to brainstorm and hang out in was too small for a whole band set up.

They decided they would use this garage for playing, and their club room for producing their music.

The band members agreed, and collected their belongings, getting ready to head out of the room.

Tsukasa walked over to a corner of the garage and picked up a long furry black thing, cooing at it saying, “Did you have a good nap?” The thing responded by purring into his arms.

“What is that?” Natsuhiko asked him, looking at him over his shoulder while he zipped his guitar shut in it’s black case.

Tsukasa turned to him, revealing an animal. His pet, that they didn’t even realize was here in the first place. The same pet Tsukasa let around them all the time. 

Miyu, the strange cat Tsukasa always carried in his backpack, and somehow always appeared around them no matter where they were, opened its eyes to look at the confused looking band members she knew were Tsukasa’s friends. She quickly snapped her eyes at Sakura, and jumped out of her owner's arms. Walking over to Sakura and meowing at her, close by her left foot.

The black and white cat watched Sakura’s face contort into a deadpan.

“Tsukasa, why.. Is your cat in here?” She asked the boy who was gathering his backpack and putting both his and Sakura’s microphones in their respective cases.

“Oh! Because she wanted to listen to our first official song!” 

They looked back down at the cat, who was bobbing its head like it was agreeing. Sakura shook the topic off, and started walking towards the button that opened the garage door.

When it opened all the way they all walked out of the garage, being faced with a scenery of mixed colors in the empty sky that belonged to the Far Shore, the realm of all supernaturals and non-human beings.

Mitsuba instantly pulled out his camera being hung around his neck, and snapped a picture of the sky above. He didn’t usually take pictures of pretty things like this, they couldn’t come close to the pretty-ness that was himself, but it was more odd than the sky of the realm of humans, and odd things deserved a snapshot.

There were also other weird things in the Far Shore too. And besides, Tsukasa was staring at it like the beautiful, strange thing it was, and he never planned on keeping the picture. As soon as it came out, and he shook it to get rid of the black, the picture showed the perfect shot and he gave it to Tsukasa.

Right inside Tsukasa's open right palm appeared a floating, misty black thing, with a small blue swirly dot in the middle. In an instant, the same black smoke clouded their vision and engulfed them with the intent of taking them somewhere else faster.

Natsuhiko spoke up, not seeing the person he wanted to speak to because of all the mist.

“Tsukasa, you also have to help me get these stickers off my guitar and case y’know! And stop tampering with them!” 

He heard a giggle from the boy he was talking to.

“I’ll try!”

Once their sight became clear again, they all were in another place, and a place they knew well. The Broadcasting club, taking place in the school they all attended.

And once they settled in, they got to work. Checking over their song, edited it, and once it was deemed perfect, contacted their album cover producer and started on releasing it to their oblivious human and random supernatural audiences.

Now this was the start of The Broadcasters.

——

NEW AU ONESHOT!

Next chapter is: Band. ( 2 )

[bigfatmusicblog]

WTF is Jangle Pop?

If you’ve read any of my little write-ups you know I have a longstanding love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with subgenres. I understand the need to more specifically classify music, especially when genres like indie rock are so vague, still it doesn’t make it any less arbitrary than gender. As a kid/teen I was obsessed with subgenres and while they’re a lot more specific nowadays, god could I tell you the difference between Garage Punk and Slacker Punk, much to the chagrin of anyone who happened to be in earshot. Because of this predilection, wired into my brain from years of surfing the tags on Bandcamp, whenever I catch wind of a subgenre new to me I have to dive deeper into it. An attempt to understand what makes that subgenre different from other closely related ones, as I said before, is an arbitrary one - after all literally none of this matters in the grand scheme of things, but also just like… let people enjoy things asshole.

I first heard about Jangle Pop earlier this year looking at the RYM reviews of Ducks Ltd. fantastic sophomore record Harm’s Way. Mistakenly I originally thought of it as an indie rock record, one that I was fairly excited about because of its guitar based nature and lack of unnecessary electronic aspects so many in the indie rock umbrella have turned to recently. But oh how simple I can be…

This moment reminds me of a time I was on a trip with just my brother and my dad - my dad was in the shower listening to a Creed radio station he had made on Pandora. Upon getting out of the shower he asked us “what genre would you consider Creed to be?” “Uhh, Grunge I guess?” we replied. It took a second but finally he said, “Well, if this is what that is, I guess I like grunge then.” If Harm’s Way by Ducks Ltd. is a jangle pop album, well fuck I guess I like jangle pop. 

One of the biggest things I noticed in those RYM reviews were a lot of claims about this album being “no nonsense, old school jangle pop” or “some of the best jangle pop [they’ve] heard in years.” This lead me to the assumption that, despite no subgenre being a monolith, I could use this album as a better way to understand this new (to me) idea of what jangle pop truly is and what its parts are. 

Instrumentation-wise this album utilizes single notes on clean guitars as opposed to playing full chords. That doesn’t mean the lead guitar is just shredding the whole time, they’re simply playing rhythm guitar with single notes, giving them the ability to add little flourishes whenever they can. The tone of the guitar is clean, only going into distortion at the beginning of On Our Way to the Rave. This is coupled with a heavily present bass sound, working just about the same as the guitar, except being a bit more lead-heavy. Usually the two don’t take the lead at the same time, sharing the spotlight by playing simple rhythms behind more impressive parts on the bass/guitar. I think this trade-off is what gives the genre the first part of its name, the jangle part. Less math-rock than the closely related (name-wise) genre of twinkle-emo, it may sound insane but you can tell the difference between twinkle and jangle. I don’t know how to further explain this point but trust me, if you listen to the two side by side, you will be able to tell.

The drums play a big role in this as well, as with most genres it’s the driving force behind everything. A lot of times it takes that job seriously, with no better way to describe the sound than driving. There aren’t any waltzes in here, with no slowing down really until the very end, it sounds exhaustive for the person on the skins. I think without this steady drum beat the jangle of the stringed instruments would be less noticeable, truly taking on a supporting role. Every so often it’s sprinkled with little fills, borrowing sounds and influences from bands like The Cure and R.E.M, who some consider to be earlier examples of jangle. 

So now that I musically know the themes of this genre, being given, from my research, the quintessential jangle album of the year. I start to think tangentially, what has influenced this, where have I heard these sounds before, who started Jangle Pop???? I’m answering that question myself, with no real outside research because who really cares, and in my opinion the current state of Jangle Pop started in 2008 when Vampire Weekend recreated the genre with their self titled album, Vampire Weekend. 

While this album is a bit more heavily produced, and there are potentially a lot more jangle themes in their sophomore follow-up Contra, I think the twee aesthetics and juvenile lyrics of college life, plus the heavily present bass and less so present lead guitar, sets up the future of this genre perfectly. Songs like Oxford Comma and Campus feature the guitar tones and smarter "educated person" lyrics that continue to make up the genre today. Percussion-wise it is different, VW has always been more syncopated or twinkly with their drums, but in future songs like Cousins and Worship You it’s easier to see the relation. On that previous topic I do feel like their perfect syncopation plays a big part musically, inspiring the future of the subgenre. While there is a good trade-off of bass and guitar on Harm’s Way, the moments where the two come together with the drums has real power behind it.  

All of this leads up to the previous Friday, October 18th, with the release of Boyscott’s first record in almost a decade, Spellbound. What’s special about this album is that it’s the first new album I’ve heard that’s made me go “oh… that’s jangle pop, I understand what jangle pop is.” It plays on the driving aspects of the drums found in Harm’s Way while also incorporating ideas that are very clearly influenced by early Vampire Weekend. Songs like Moosehead that uses the ever popular organ sound found in A-Punk and even at the beginning of Ducks Ltd.’s rocker of a track Train Full of Gasoline. 

To be honest this album seems to mainly be Vampire Weekend influenced, which makes sense, afterall Ducks Ltd. is moreso their peers as opposed to one of the most influential indie bands of the late 00’s early 10’s. Ducks is clearly more influenced by real classic jangle pop bands whereas Boyscott, at least on this album, helps support my hypothesis that Vampire Weekend recreated the genre, we love to see it. The real cross-section between Harm’s Way and Spellbound is in their vocal performance. Not to assume influences, like I have been this entire article, but you can definitely hear some Black Francis of the Pixies or, the more modern, Christian Zucconi of Grouplove influence behind both of their understated, raspy yet calming voices. 

Beyond that this album really just feels like a DIY produced Vampire Weekend album. Arthur Kill to Lima is a fantastic run of songs that promote this clear influence on the release. Boyscott is still able to make it their own, mind you, and they do focus more on the less chord influenced side of jangle pop that Vampire Weekend has never really tapped into. They also use their surfer rock influence to make the songs almost more relatable, as opposed to the crisp clean impossible to replicate general aesthetics of Vampire Weekend’s early work. This gives them a little more grime, a little more edge, a little more ripped jeans than a pair of pressed tan slacks. Being able to go from the lovely syncopation to these robust warm choruses puts a true sense of comfort behind this release, perfect for the upcoming cold air. 

Overall: Jangle Pop, and I’m so glad I don’t have to type out that phrase again for such a long time, is a genre best taken in musically. If you aren’t paying attention a lot of it can sound the same, a general warm blanket of noise, but once you start looking at the parts individually is when the magic shines through. Clever guitars, present lead bass, breakneck drum fills that drive the genre, all of these work in sync helping create the feeling of jingle jangle - under the guise of pop music - that evokes the name of the genre.

Album Grades: 

Harm’s Way by Ducks, Ltd. - A

Vampire Weekend by Vampire Weekend - B+

Spellbound by Boyscott - B+

[sonicmusicmusings]

Can I ask another request? I see your frontiers playlist hasn't been covered much, so can you analyze Ares island movement 2?

Hello! Yes, absolutely! I'm all for more Frontiers requests, so let's get into it!

The island tracks are all atmospheric and mood oriented, to give plenty of space for Sonic to blitz across the huge landscapes. I love all the hand drums here, as well as the sitar--definitely checking off all the boxes for a desert themed level (although Ares Island is more volcanic). Maybe I'm thinking of "desert" because it reminds me of the Dusty Desert tracks from '06.

This has nice mixing to it too! It's fun how the acoustic guitar is all in the left ear, where as the other comping string is over in the right ear. It really adds a lot of body to it. The wind instrument that pops in halfway through--despite being a wind instrumentalist, I can't pin what exactly it is. You hear it in the Dusty Desert track too! I used to think it was a saxophone, but the way it's mixed here makes me believe it's something more in line with the rest of the instruments. There's a steady pulse to this track that isn't intrusive, but nonetheless keeps moving forward. Ooh, and toward the end of the track, we add some more colorful tones in the melody that really stand out compared to the rest of the track. All in all, it's very meditative, and a good contrast to the break-neck electronica of the speed stage tracks. Thanks for the request!

[musicalinstrumentsworld]

How Many Piano Notes Are There?

The piano, a majestic and versatile instrument, has intrigued musicians and enthusiasts alike for centuries. Central to its allure is the vast array of notes it can produce. Understanding the quantity and nature of these notes is fundamental to unlocking the full potential of this remarkable instrument.

The Basic Anatomy of a Piano

A standard piano is composed of 88 keys. These keys are divided into two main groups: the white keys and the black keys. The white keys represent the natural notes, while the black keys account for the sharps and flats. This simple yet elegant layout forms the foundation upon which the complex world of piano notes is built.

The Range of the Piano

The piano has an extensive range that spans from the lowest note, which is an A0, to the highest note, a C8. This wide range allows for a remarkable diversity of musical expression. The lower notes possess a deep, resonant quality that can add a sense of weight and drama to a composition. For example, in a powerful orchestral piece, the low notes of the piano can mimic the rumble of thunder or the growl of a large animal. In contrast, the higher notes are bright and piercing, often used to create a sense of excitement or to add a touch of delicacy, like the twinkling of stars in a night sky.

The Octave System

The concept of octaves is crucial in understanding piano notes. An octave is a series of eight notes that repeat in a pattern of whole and half steps. For instance, starting from C, the notes C, D, E, F, G, A, B, and then back to C form an octave. There are multiple octaves on a piano. The lower octaves have a more subdued and rich tone, while the higher octaves become progressively brighter and more ethereal. This octave repetition enables composers and performers to create melodies and harmonies that are both familiar and yet can be transformed in different registers.

Sharps and Flats: The Black Key Mystique

The black keys on the piano, which represent sharps and flats, add a layer of complexity and richness to the musical landscape. A sharp raises a natural note by a half step, while a flat lowers it. For example, C# is a half step higher than C, and Db is a half step lower. These accidentals allow for the creation of a multitude of different scales and chords. In a minor scale, the presence of flats gives it a distinctively somber or melancholy feel compared to a major scale. They also enable the modulation between different keys, providing a seamless transition and adding variety and interest to a musical piece.

The Role of Dynamics in Piano Notes

Dynamics play a vital role in how piano notes are perceived. The volume at which a note is played can drastically change its character. A soft, pianissimo note can create a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, as if whispering a secret. In contrast, a fortissimo note, played with great force, can command attention and convey a sense of power and passion. The ability to control dynamics across the range of piano notes gives performers the means to shape a piece, highlighting certain phrases, creating contrasts, and guiding the emotional journey of the listener.

The Relationship with Other Instruments

The piano’s note range and tonal qualities allow it to interact with a wide variety of other instruments in an ensemble. It can blend harmoniously with strings, providing a rich backdrop or adding counterpoint. With wind instruments, it can engage in melodic dialogues, trading phrases and building musical conversations. In a jazz ensemble, the piano often acts as a rhythmic and harmonic anchor, interacting with drums, bass, and brass or woodwind instruments to create a complex and exciting musical texture.

Conclusion

The world of piano notes is a vast and complex one. With 88 keys spanning a wide range, multiple octaves, the addition of sharps and flats, and the crucial role of dynamics, the piano offers an almost limitless palette for musical creation. Its ability to interact with other instruments further cements its place as one of the most important and versatile instruments in the world of music. Whether in a solo performance, a chamber music setting, or a large orchestral piece, the piano’s notes continue to captivate and inspire musicians and audiences alike, weaving a rich tapestry of sound that has endured and evolved over the centuries.

[dustedmagazine]

Ches Smith — Laugh Ash (Pyroclastic)

Percussionist and electronic musician Ches Smith enlists a who’s who of postmodern jazz/contemporary classical collaborators on his latest Pyroclastic recording, Laugh Ash. While his imaginative use of instruments and electronics has for years been distinctive, this recording finds Smith truly coming into his own as a composer.

The opening track, “Minimalism,” begins with a rangy tune played by trumpeter Nate Wooley and sung by Shara Lunon. The rest of the ensemble, made up of winds (flutist Anna Webber, clarinetist Oscar Noriega, and tenor saxophonist James Brandon Lewis), strings (violinist Jennifer Choi, violist Doyle Armbrust and cellist Michael Nicholas), bassist/keyboardist Shazmad Ismally, and Smith, takes up a furious ostinato, over which Lunon intones a spoken word monologue. A quick flourish finishes this curtain-raiser.

“Remote Convivial” is composed of an additive group of melodies for winds against another busy strings-and-percussion ostinato. Lewis and Choi engage in a squalling interlude, accompanied by a funk bass line from Ismally and economical drumming from Smith. All of a sudden, the music veers off, the acoustic instruments cease, and synths create sounds that recall early digital bleeps. As if this never happened, the group resumes, with an angular melody, sustained wind chords, and a busy string ostinato. The strings drop out, and Lewis, Webber, and Noriega close out the piece, repeating the tune over simple quarter notes from Smith.

“Disco Inferred” submerges the dance style in several polyrhythms played by the rest of the ensemble. Smith unleashes a synth interlude that reappears several times and keeps the groove moving while the other plays go their own way. “Sweatered Webs (Hey Mom)” and “Shaken, Stirred Silence” are afforded time for the musicians to stretch out. Strident chords for winds and undulating repetitions for strings are juxtaposed with solos by Wooley, Lewis, and Noriega. Lunon contributes more spoken word, her voice incantatory in demeanor.

“Unyielding Daydream Welding” begins with sustained octaves that soon start to undulate. A third of the way through, the drums and electronic beats kick in, over which waywardly crossing lines and vocal ah’s provide abundant syncopation. Lewis solos in a muscular outro. The final piece, “Exit Shivers,” begins with thunderous percussion, thrumming bass, a plethora of glissandos, and an altissimo sustained note. In another musical oasis, strummed cello, dyadic clarinet lines, and microtonal bends on flute create a slice of soft chamber music. After a thunderous crescendo, accompanied by string glissandos, Webber once again provides a discordant, effects laden solo. Noriega and Webber then trade bird calls while Smith adds metallic percussion to the proceedings. Lunon and the winds begin the final section, in which propulsive drumming and modern jazz-inflected playing solidifies the background. Noriega adds a virtuosic coda, followed by slow-moving tutti verticals to conclude.

The combination of intricate, composed pieces, often diverging at formal boundaries, and fulsome improvisation from everyone in the group makes for a compelling totalist offering that is one of my favorites thus far in 2024.

Christian Carey

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[firstpersonnarrator]

Robert Sheehan Is A Secret Supermusician

Seeing this shot again from a post by @philodenmonstera reminded me that Rob is a musician. Like, an actual one. He may not consider himself a particularly good one, but, like Roland, he is a multi-instrumentalist. And each of his instruments requires a completely different set of skills and modes of thought.

No seriously, think about it. He plays at least one example of every major category of musical instrument there is, except the keys category. He plays stringed instruments, wind instruments, AND rhythm instruments. And let’s face it, he can prolly pick out a tune on a piano, too. (We are intentionally not mentioning the theremin for reasons.)

Wind instruments: Tin whistle, recorder, possibly the flute cuz he knows the fingering and the lip position, and of course, his own wind instrument for whistling.

Have a look at a tin whistle and how it’s played. Fuuuuuuuuuuck that’s fast.

Stringed instruments: Banjo, guitar, and ukulele. All three of which have completely different tunings, the strings are in different orders, and therefore the fingerings on the fret boards are completely different, and you have to learn all new shapes to make for chords. And in the case of playing banjo, the picking hand uses completely different motions. No pick at all on a ukulele. A thumb’ll do. So he had to relearn both hands for each new toy he got. Playing one is NOT the same as playing another. (Though, since he plays a six string guitar confidently, that means he could also play a bass and a twelve string if he felt like it.)

Rhythm instruments: The bodhrán drum, spoons, and he knows how to handle himself with drumsticks well enough to play rolls. (No bad notes on a drum!) Again, all three rhythm instruments he’s chosen are completely different to each other. Drumsticks are traditional, we know what they look like when banging away, but rolls are among the most difficult things to learn, yada yada marching band. Spoons ain’t a bit like that. They’re spoons. Frequently played on a thigh, no less. And the bodhrán is unlike anything I’ve seen except some Native Americans’ hand-held drums. And bodhrán is equally as tribal — just the indigenous Celtic version. You run your left arm through the back, rest it on your knee if you want, and then flip flop your right hand in intricate patterns with a double ended stick you hold in your fist. (I suck at it.) Check it out... You’re welcome.

You can also hear a more modern usage of the bodhrán in the soundtrack of Lowland Fell during the controversial sexytimes scene. And that movie is all about feeling your tribal roots in your blood. (X)

“I play a few other things.”

And just like Roland and his secret multi instrumentarianism, Rob never talks about any of it ever. If he’s asked, he downplays it. All of his Bios talk about him learning to play a bunch of cute little instruments as a kid for fleadh / ceilidh festivals. People ask him to play the spoons in interviews, because they think it’s adorable and completely irrelevant as an “instrument” someone “plays.” (Tell that to the Bluegrass genre.)

Lest we forget, he sings, too. So add that to the wind instrument category.

Ok, rant complete. Thank you for being the only person who read this far.

[apherod]

TDM Band Camp Headcanon

*note: some of the ideas came from a post or a story I read somewhere, but I can’t remember where. Also, as this is wind band, there’s no string instruments, and no electric instruments. 

First of all, who plays what:

-Ruby: french horn, because it was arguably the most difficult and low-key the most important instrument in the ensemble

-Liam: percussion, for the himbo that he is (no shades here, I’m a percussionist myself), and specializes in playing snare drum, though can play everything in the department

-Chubs: oboe, demanding technical-wise, and a superior instrument in many ways

-Vida: trumpet. I think this one is very self-explanatory.

-Jude: alto saxophone. He wanted to play baritone sax but it was way too big for him that he could barely stand

-Zu: flute. Sweet, light on the feet as her.

-Nico: bassoon, and is constantly tired of everyone’s bullshit. He also does arrangements of popular musics or film musics upon requests (usually from Jude), but firmly rejected when someone requested Gangnam style.

-Roman: trombone, also for the himbo that he is

-Priyanka and Lana: clarinets

-Cate is their camp manager. She plays too but wouldn’t tell them what instrument it was.

-What would Cole play, you asked? Trumpet, of course.

-He’d be the legendary camp alumnus from a few years ago who’s gone on to have a career as a trumpet player, and came back to coach them (more to annoy the hell out of his little brother though)

-They’d have campfire nights where they play songs that they all know. Final Countdown was one of the songs that everyone knew. John Williams was also on the menu when requested. Ruby nails the french horn solo in Jurassic Park. Liam can basically turns everything into a drum set.

-Cole and Vida would drive to the other side of the mountain at dawn, and blast the camp with their solos of famous fanfares from across the valley to wake everyone up at 6. Everyone says they hate it, but secretly enjoys it because they were that good.

-They took Roman with them that one time, and he played Imperial March, which led to multiple kids waking up covered in cold sweat. Cate banned them from doing so since.

-Ruby, Cole, Vida, Roman, and Zack (who plays Tuba) formed a brass quintet, which Liam was absolutely salty about. They do enlist him when they need a drummer, though.

I’ll add more when I thought of them

[monabela]

hello! it seems to be @aphrarepairweek2021 and I'm not one to ignore that! here's some... domestic denfin stuff for day 1, language. I've gone for a pretty liberal approach to the prompts this year, but that's mostly so that all my fics will fit into the same universe :> (it is also the same universe as two of last year's rarepairweek fics! I'll make a tag for it) (that is also the reason I had to call sve berwald and not torbjörn like I usually do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) they will all be standalone little fics but take place in the same au, over the same sort of time period!

--

in major scale

pairings/characters: Denmark (Søren)/Finland (Tuomi), Estonia (Eduard), Sweden (Berwald), Hungary (Erzsébet) + past SuFin mentioned word count: 2219 summary: Tuomi admires how much Søren cares about other people. It inspires him to do the same.

--

A series of thumps and clomps heralds Søren’s arrival home. Tuomi looks up with amusement when the door of his little home studio in the back of their house bursts open.

“Tuomi!” Søren shouts. He brings with him the smell of recent rain and early spring blossoms.

Eduard, who is sitting behind Tuomi at his keyboard and wearing headphones, very nearly tumbles off his stool in shock.

“Søren!” Tuomi just returns, while his brother rights himself and glares. “You seem unusually excited.”

Eduard snorts, which makes Søren grin. ‘Unusually excited’ means something different when applied to him than most other people.

“Guess what!” he says, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His socked feet are both tapping on the ground, with no rhythm to it. Tuomi is sure he couldn’t say what’s got into him; as far as he knows, Søren was just looking after his young nephews for the afternoon.

“Your brother didn’t hide the sugar well enough,” he guesses.

“No, that’s—well, he didn’t, but that’s not my point. Berwald’s gettin’ married!” Now, he waves his arms around wildly. “My brother’s gettin’ married, Tuomi! I’m so proud of him.”

Turning slightly, Tuomi exchanges an amused look with his own brother, who has taken his headphones off and is leaning forward over his keyboard, elbows planted over the keys.

“Now, Søren,” Eduard starts, using his haughtiest voice, which is very haughty. It’s an odd talent.

“Don’t you dare,” he interrupts, though he’s still grinning, “bring up the time he and Tuomi were plannin’ on gettin’ hitched, ‘cause that was ages ago and ain’t relevant anymore.”

“Alright, alright.” Eduard holds up his hands placatingly, and Tuomi just snickers. Søren’s right, he thinks; it’s been over fifteen years since then, and although the whole thing where he took up with the brother of the man who was nearly his husband was awkward at first, for all that it happened several years later, he’s since become good friends with Berwald again. It’s probably better this way.

“That’s great, Søren!” he just says. “And you’re gonna be the best man, I assume?”

“Of course!” His dark blue eyes crinkle at the corners, scrunching up his many freckles in laugh lines and dimples. Tuomi really admires how much Søren cares about other people, even if sometimes it comes at the expense of himself. Tuomi can always remedy that, after all.

“That means you’re gonna have to help with a bunch of organizing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound do skeptical of me, Eduard!” Pushing away from the door, Søren lightly strums the strings of an uncovered acoustic guitar sitting in its stand before taking a large step towards Tuomi and bending down to kiss him over the microphone between them, Tuomi angling his own electric guitar out of the way. He smells like sea wind and hair gel, and does taste distinctly sugary behind the smile his lips are still curved into.

Tuomi mutters, “I think you’ll do great. Berwald’s lucky to have you.”

“I hope so. Y’know, the boys are excited as anythin’.” Now, he practically melts, draping his long limbs over Tuomi and his guitar. He always does this when he as much as thinks about his nephews, Berwald’s young sons. Tuomi and Søren are very much the fun uncles. It is a title they both wear with pride.

Patting his jeans-clad ass affectionately, Tuomi pushes his nose into Søren’s wild coppery hair.

“Yeah? They’ve given their blessing, then?”

“Already fightin’ over who gets to be ringbearer.”

“Cute.”

The door of the studio opens.

“Whoa! Am I interrupting?” shouts Tuomi’s half-sister, bursting in.

Eduard, now leaning his head in his hands, says, “Please save me.”

“Berwald’s gettin’ married!” Søren shouts, into Tuomi’s ear. He gets along with Erzsébet far too well.

“Tuomi’s ex?” she yells back, and Eduard promptly loses it. He doubles over his keyboard in hiccupping laughter, shaking and pressing almost all the keys in a horrifyingly discordant tone. Søren looks betrayed in a very comical way. He crosses his arms as he turns to Erzsébet, folding his hands into the sleeves of his red knit sweater. Berwald made that one.

“She not wrong,” Tuomi tells him, holding back laughter of his own. Now even more comically betrayed, Søren turns back to him, with his dark eyebrows raised high and ready to deliver a quasi-outraged speech, but Erzsébet forestalls him.

“You need to make a song for the wedding!”

“Yes!” Tuomi perks up, almost poking Søren in the hip with the neck of his guitar.

“A song?” the man echoes, looking between all three of them. Eduard is now only playing a couple of notes at the same time, thankfully, and he straightens up fully to explain their family tradition.

“We always do it for weddings. It has to be something they’d like, and something the couple can dance to.”

“And then we give it funny lyrics,” Tuomi finishes, “about the person getting married. But we always make sure it’s good.”

“Well, I ain’t surprised about that part, ya snobs.” Søren shakes his head affectionately. He has absolutely no feel for music, but that just means that he appreciates things that most other people wouldn’t give their time of day.

It also means that he somehow considers Tuomi’s very musically inclined family to be elitist about music, which Tuomi thinks is dumb, but he’s not one to argue. He’ll leave that to his brother; it’s very amusing. As a matter of fact, Eduard is already narrowing his eyes at Søren, but doesn’t say anything before he continues.

“I don’t know if Berwald would like that, honestly. It’s not really something we do.”

“Come on, everyone likes music!” Erzsébet enthuses, walking further inside and skirting around Søren and Tuomi in the small space to lean an elbow on Eduard’s shoulder.

“Sure, he likes it, but, I mean—we ain’t like you guys, is all.”

No one is quite like his family, Tuomi thinks, but he appreciates that all the more these days. Søren is the most generous, openminded person he knows, and has broadened his worldview amazingly in the time they’ve been together. Not that his family isn’t openminded; they’re just less inclined to explore than Søren is.

Still, “Music is a universal language, isn’t it?” Tuomi asks him, bumping his shoulder into Søren’s upper arm. He inclines his head in agreement. “It doesn’t even have to have lyrics if you think Berwald wouldn’t like it. Or his fiancé, of course,” he adds, because he doesn’t know the man that well but knows he, like Berwald, doesn’t really appreciate being made fun of, even in good humor.

This is, again, unlike Søren, which is probably why it didn’t work out with his brother and does work with him.

Well, it’s part of it.

Erzsébet, the lyricist of the family, gasps dramatically at the mention of not having lyrics to go with the song, and coughs. She should really quit smoking. Eduard pats her back awkwardly, getting a face full of long brown hair for his efforts.

“And then?” Søren’s asking, but his head is still tilted thoughtfully, as if he’s considering it.

“Well, then it can be for a dance! Consider it a wedding gift from me.”

“His ex,” Erzsébet murmurs, recovered, and Eduard starts giggling again.

“His brother-in-law.” Tuomi blindly throws a guitar pick at her over his shoulder, which, going by the plink and following yelp, hits Eduard’s glasses instead.

Huh. That’s pretty impressive.

“Well, someone will have to teach him how to dance first—”

They all look away.

“—but that sounds awesome, actually! Would you guys be willing to play it?” In his excitement, Søren has leaned very close to Tuomi again, vision filling with his grin and his many, many freckles, and Tuomi can’t help but kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I’d love to.”

His siblings make agreeing noises.

“Right! Well, should I—what’re you guys workin’ on, actually?” Søren gazes around the small space as if hoping to glean clues. Which clues, Tuomi is not sure. He can’t really read music, after all.

“Just tinkering a bit,” Tuomi says. Eduard plays the first few chords of the most recent wedding song they’d written, several years ago already. Erzsébet slaps the cymbal of her drum set in apparent agreement, reaching behind her.

“Hey, I wrote some lyrics, actually,” she says. “I think they’re pretty good.”

It’s been years since they actually made original music that they deemed good enough to send out into the world, but their songs are still getting decent amounts of listeners on Spotify, which is nice; it’s mostly a hobby for all three of them, after all. Lately, though, Eduard and Tuomi have started seriously considering making some new material, and Erzsébet seems to be on board. She promises to send the lyrics to both of them. Although she, like both of her half-brothers and much to Søren’s amazement, plays several instruments, she doesn’t have much talent for composing.

Tuomi tried to teach Søren guitar once. It was fun, but very unsuccessful. He does like the drums.

That’s probably why he gets along with Erzsébet so well.

Deciding that today is probably not going to be very productive, all four of them go into the house instead, and Tuomi makes coffee while Søren hands out some cupcakes that he made yesterday, because Søren very much believes that food is a universal language. He isn’t wrong, if you ask Tuomi, but that’s mostly because Søren is very good at making food, unlike Tuomi.

They’ve all got their talents, he supposes, and it’s how they use them in combination that matters. Even if he’s been banned from using the oven for anything more than frozen pizza.

Eduard, of course, asks for the recipe, because Eduard didn’t get that memo about talents and has too many of them.

Tuomi’s siblings don’t actually stay around for very long after that, both promising to think about the wedding song for Berwald. It is mostly an empty promise on Erzsébet’s part, but that’s okay. Eduard walks away while muttering about waltzes, which Tuomi appreciates, because Berwald seems like a man—is a man, he knows this—who appreciates a bit of tradition, and he’s never tried to compose an instrumental, mostly classical song before.

“You’re adorable, you know,” he tells Søren, who’s standing behind him in the hallway of their house after having seen his siblings off. Søren just grins, rocking back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and looking much younger than he is.

“I’m just happy for my brother.”

“I know.” Tuomi reaches up to flick some errant hair out of the way. “It’s really cute.”

He gets excited about the smallest things, Søren. Random dogs on the street and odd world records and warm coats and almost everything that’s even a little bit nice. It’d get annoying, Tuomi’s sure, if he weren’t so sincere about it all the time. He got very excited about their civil union as well, which was honestly mostly practical. Tuomi had almost wanted to get married, just to see his reaction to it, but he’d decided years before that marriage wasn’t for him, and remains glad that he stuck by that belief, in the end.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Søren suddenly asks, blue eyes searching Tuomi’s face.

“What? Oh, no, of course not. Berwald’s a good man, and he deserves to be happy.” He shrugs. “I know he’s always wanted the whole… Domestic thing.”

“Guy’s had a plan for a wedding since he was twelve or something,” Søren confirms, grinning. “Only took him thirty years and a couple kids.”

Tuomi knows; he was shown the plan, sixteen years ago, but he decides not to mention that. It’d been quite intimidating at the time; he’d only been 22 and much more interested in… Well, practically anything besides marriage.

Søren slings an arm across his shoulders, squeezing him tightly to his lanky form, and starts walking them both back to the kitchen.

“You’d know, I guess,” he muses, then pulls a face. Tuomi laughs.

“That one was your fault!”

“I know, I know. Don’t remind me.”

Tuomi stops walking, tilting his head up at Søren.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asks. Turning back, Søren blinks at him.

“Obviously not,” he says, but he bites the inside of his cheek and furrows his dark brows, so there’s evidently something more there.

There’s another thing Tuomi had to be taught by Søren; reading body language. It’s not his fault his family is so unexpressive!

“But?” he prompts.

“I just hope I can do well for him.” Søren shrugs. “He’s my big brother, y’know, and I do kinda feel like I ruined his first chance of marriage sometimes. I know that’s dumb,” he adds hastily.

Tuomi mumbles, “Yeah, that was definitely me.” And then, “Like you say, he’s your big brother. He loves you. Speaking as someone with two older siblings, they might razz you a bit—”

“That’s just your siblings, Tuomi,” Søren interrupts, but the grin is back on his face and just as bright as before. “But I get what you’re saying. Thanks.”

Tuomi boots him with his shoulder, and he laughs, clomping ahead. Tuomi follows, quickly.

Before he eats all the other cupcakes.

[forbidding-souda]

i really love your last musician imagine! Could i get one with Leon, Ibuki, Mondo and Souda with an ult musician s/o who is extremely shy & has terrible stage fright but will talk for hours about anything music related & is extremely talented with instruments. i love your writing btwww!

Leon Kuwata, Ibuki Mioda, Mondo Oowada, and Kazuichi Souda with shy SHSL Musician S/O

I’m loving these specific ones, they are so cute. I love ya’ll who request things so much.

-Mod Souda

Leon Kuwata

“What’s wrong?” He asks you as you anxiously pace in place.

You can’t even think straight. It’s hard to think about what your job entails. Your fans love you, they adore you greatly, and you can’t let them down!

Other people would kill to be in your position, so why is it hard? Your stage fright makes it hard to be a musician. 

“Ugh! It’s terrifying,” you shake your hands to let out your energy, “but ignore me, I’m fine, it’s just these silly emotions.”

This happens almost every time, in the few instances you have been requested to perform on stage.

And each time to you prep yourself, telling yourself that it’s all in your head and you’ll be fine. But god do emotions stop you.

He’s always by your side to watch you argue with yourself as you pace back and forth.

Other than that, you are usually very reserved to yourself. You’re not usually bouncing off the walls.

When he first met you, he almost couldn’t believe that you were a musician. It didn’t match his idea of the poppy musicians he’s met. As in... two poppy musicians... as in... the other SHSL’s. So maybe he isn’t an expert in musician personalities, but it was still a shock!

That just made talking to you all the more interesting.

At night, sometimes, when you comb your fingers through his hair you’ll talk about all the instruments you’ve learned to play and how difficult it was.

Ibuki Mioda

Stage fright???

Literally what is that??

At first she took it personally that you wouldn’t perform on the same stage as her.

I mean, her mind! But once you explained it to her she understand. She gets the shimmies sometimes, too, of course.

So sometimes she’ll perform your songs for you. After putting her own twist on it.

Her loud personality gives you second hand embarrassment in public, especially since it leads all the gaze to you.

At school however, it makes you laugh and play alongside her. 

She’s not the best at comforting you when you do panic, so her idea is to not put you in that situation in the first place.

Her favorite thing about you is how versatile your ability is.

She wants you to teach her piano, the drums, wind instruments, and other traditional strings!

The sounds she makes with said instruments aren’t too pleasing, but neither was yours when you first picked them up. Well, that’s not true. You’ve always been good.

In your house, Ibuki always brings over posters from musicians to hang up so you feel more at home, as she words it.

Even some musicians you don’t know. Her taste is interesting.

Mondo Oowada

You love this man with your whole ass heart.

He understands your struggles the moment you tell him, not extra explaining needed.

Literally it’s always the funniest thing to you when he bikes you to things like meet and greets.

Just pulling up on a bike with someone as intimidating as Mondo.

All of your fans knows how shy you are, of course, and most of them are shy as well. Mondo would have been ready to post up to any person who made you uncomfortable. But there weren’t any.

He’s very protective over you, worried about your shyness that clashes with your popularity.

Getting recognized in public is a shocker to you.

The people usually don’t approach you, just taking pictures without asking, which isn’t too much of a bugger but you’d much rather take a more flattering one.

Mondo is the one that stands up for you. He will take their phone, hold it up to the sky and ask them what they are doing.

You always walk away from the situation. “Oh my god,” while going across the store, or wherever you are.

Kazuichi Souda

He thinks you’re literally the most awesome person ever.

“Tell me about that instrument again! What can you play on it?”

You tell him stories all the time, different performances you forced yourself to do and how it ended up not being too bad.

But your stage fright has gotten progressively worse the older you get, and the more popular you get.

He never wants you to perform because of it.

Will quite literally fight you. Will fight you to keep you away from a concert hall.

I mean, his mind.

You being anxious, or even slightly uneased, makes him feel horrible. He just wants you to be happy!! Seeing you panic and him not being able to do anything about it 

Whenever you go outside he likes to pretend to be your manager. Even sometimes wearing shitty sunglasses to add to the look. It makes him laugh, and it makes you laugh too.

You force him to play guitar way too often. Literally he’ll walk into your house and you’ll be like, “oh, so you’re here to play guitar, right?”

He just seems like a guitar boy.

Maybe it’s just the beanie, who knows, but he’s good with his hands.

He definitely thinks playing guitar is badass anyways.

[writefightandflightclub]

It’s Complicated (Llewyn Davis x reader)

Summary: It’s a chilly autumn morning, and reader is studying in the apartment, waiting for Llewyn to wake. The relationship? Complicated. The topics? Complicated. But Llewyn is a soothing presence all the same, especially when he sings for you.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) Ok, turns out I LOVE writing melancholy, autumnal Llewyn? Who knew? And I like how this turned out!

Song: I imagine him singing Karen’s Dalton’s Something on Your Mind for you, because it’s melancholy and it reminds you of him. 

Warnings: it’s fluff, sweeties, with mentions of smoking / cigs, couch-surfing.

GIF by @realoscarisaac

Your head feels full. You’re not sure you can cram any more in there. You huddle over the books on the desk, wrapping your worn, cosy cardigan more tightly around yourself to guard off the late autumn chill of your apartment.

You look down at the page with a sigh, closing your eyes for a minim as the symbols seem to blur before you. Time for a break, perhaps. You concede, setting your pen down to flex your cramped-up hand, massaging over the callouses on your fingers which have developed from so much note-taking.

The roughness of your typically soft hands reminds you of Llewyn. Of the callouses formed on his deft guitarist’s hands from plucking and strumming. The way his roughened hands have a gentle scent of loose tobacco and metal when they cup your face. It shouldn’t be pleasant, but it is, somehow.

Somehow, it is.

Distracted, you glance over to his figure, still sleeping late on your couch, shadowed and illuminated by the slatted blinds. 

Llewyn.

It’s... complicated.

Despite the fact you’ve shared some... choice embraces, you can never quite coax him into your bed to sleep. Can never coax him into defining what he is to you, or you to him. He comes and goes from your sky like an unreliable moon; sometimes his face is full and shining for you, but mostly it is shrouded.

Llewyn doesn’t know how to move forward -only in circles- and yet you are grateful any time he cycles back to your door, stuck in this endless loop while you strive to study and carve a path for yourself. 

Your eyes wander over his profile, and you smile softly at the sight of such a sleeping beauty. Then, you tread softly towards the open-plan kitchen, your slippers shuffling against the wooden floorboards.

You set the water to boil, shoving your hands in the pockets of your cardigan, which Llewyn sometimes borrows when he is chilled to the bone. You find a telltale packet of filters buried deeply in the pocket which show he’s been at it again. You smile to yourself, holding this tangible sign of him in your grip for a moment. You like finding traces of him, and lately you find them more and more throughout your apartment as each stay extends a little longer.

The bubbling and soft howl from the kettle wakes Llewyn gently, and he throws the crook of his elbow over his eyes as he stirs, squinting as his eyes adjust.

There’s always that recognisable moment of confusion on his face when he first wakes. A slight jump in his body and a quick scan of the room; likely, while he tries to remember where the devil he slept last night.

His eyes settle on your figure as you lean up against the counter edge, your back to the cabinets. You’ve been caught-out watching him, but you don’t try to hide it, and he looks right back out of one opened eye.

Whenever Llewyn sees you upon waking, you imagine the faint flicker of a smile on his face. You wonder whether he’s glad to find himself waking up with you. Musicians dream of a life on the road, don’t they? But not like this. Not cycling through apartments within a 4-block radius. You wish you could be home to him. You’re so determined to study and realise your dreams, and oh, you wish he could have his too. You wish you could build a dream together. Would, if he wanted to.

You never want him to leave.

You turn to pour him a coffee as he continues to shrug off sleep, setting it down gently on a stool beside him once it’s brewed. He stretches his arms above his head, yawning emphatically.

“Morning,” you greet fondly.

“Morning,” he greets back, and to your surprise he wraps the rough pads of his fingers around your wrist as you saunter past him, sitting-up to bring your hand towards his lips and to plant a small quaver of a kiss to your pulse point.

He looks up at you forlornly, before burying his head into your stomach, his thighs opening so you can stand in between his legs as he wraps his arms around your waist. He holds you tightly.

A rest.

Llewyn? It’s... complicated.

You hold him in turn, tussling then soothing his crotchet black hair as he rests his face against your belly. You squeeze and release, and when he lets go you imagine the faintest hint of a smile at his lips again, curving like a slurred note.

Wordlessly, you settle yourself back into your desk chair and rebury your head in your books as, behind you, Llewyn throws off his blanket and treads to the bathroom in nothing but his white tee and patterned boxes.

You are vaguely aware of distant clattering and running water, until padding footsteps signal his presence in the room again. 

“Somewhere to be today?” you ask without turning, scribbling down some notes as you hear him redressing in his clothes from the pile they form on your floor.

“Yep. Busy day. Walking around,” he says despondently. He has nowhere to be then. You know, therefore, that what he really means is: “Getting out of your way while you study.”

You turn towards him as he perches back down on the couch, beginning to pull on his worn shoes.

“Stay. It’s better when you’re here.”

Stay, Llewyn.

He looks up at you, eyes surprised as they connect with yours. Surprised as if no-one has said anything quite so kind to him in a long time.

“Easier to study,” you backtrack. It’s complicated, after all. “Your presence it’s relaxing.”

You don’t tell him how you have come to loathe his absence.

He looks outside at the cold, considering it. He looks at the warmth in your eyes, considering it. Then, he opts to stay.

“Ok,” he says plainly, his curls falling over his forehead slightly less despondently than usual, you imagine. 

You turn back to your books, the faintest hint of a smile on your own lips now. With a second wind, you read greedily through some more of your textbook, hearing Llewyn intermittently slurping his coffee behind you.

His presence really is relaxing. He’s slow and easy and never frantic. Familiar, like a folk song. He was never new to you and he’ll never get old. He’s home.

“How’s the studying going?” he enquires gently, in his smoky, sleep bedraggled voice.

Your lips quirk up at the parallels. “It’s... complicated.” You guess your love life is a lot like organic chemistry, in that sense.  

“You’ll make it,” he reassures. “I know you’re gonna make it.”

“And so will you, Llewyn,” you add to counter the evident implication.

Llewyn huffs out air -pfft- in well-rehearsed protest at your sentiment, but he doesn’t bite back, like usual. You hope he’s starting to believe you.

You would build a dream together, if he wanted to. You’d make it together, you know it. 

You hear him set the cup down, and absent-mindedly you begin drumming your pen on the desk.

“Would some music help you study, angel?” Llewyn asks, coming alive along with the rhythm. You hear the chaotic thrum of guitar strings as he reclines on the sofa, settling the instrument on top of his stomach, already having guessed at how you’ll respond. 

“Yes. please,” you say, turning you head towards him for a moment and delivering him a bashful smile.

He’s called you angel before, but usually only in the depths of the night. Or, in a smoke-shrouded Gaslight when you offer him a couch for the night once he’s run out of options. Never like this, his face shining.

He picks out the rhythm of the song you were batting your pen to -one of your favourite records- and begins gently strumming the chords.

It’s better when you’re here, Llewyn. Stay.

“Song for my genius,” he says, and your heart swells like a chorus when he calls you his.

More pages and notes of both kinds flow, along with time, as the soothing sounds of Llewyn playing spur you on.

Eventually, he starts to sing-along, filling the chords you hadn’t realised were so empty until his voice furnished them - just like he’d filled your heart even though you hadn’t realised that was empty too, before him.

You can’t help but set your pen down again to listen to him. Absent-mindedly, you massage the callouses of your hand once you’ve done so and it reminds you of him. Makes you think of his rough yet nimble fingers on those strings.

You turn towards him, and this time you look at him forlornly. It is you who shuffles your chair closer to him where he lays, scooping up his wrist to plant a quaver of a kiss on his pulse point.

Your eyes rest on each other’s for a minim. Four beats of your heart, although it picks up in tempo the longer your eyes connect. 

A faint smile passes over Llewyn’s face as he brings his hand to cup your face. His fingers smell like loose tobacco and metal, and it shouldn’t be pleasant but it is, somehow. Somehow, it is.

You and Llewyn?

It’s... complicated, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, because you know that eventually, you will solve it. 

Right now, though, his face is shining at you like the moon, and you believe what he said; that you’re going to make it. You believe him, ‘cause it’s better when he’s here, and you think you can even coax him to stay, to build your dream together. 

[stillness-in-green]

Idk if anyone told you but the MVA OST leaked, with themes for both the League and the MLA. If you haven't listened to it yet, please do! And if you have, what are your thoughts? I think Mine Woman and RE-DESTRO slap for 2 characters that got shafted hard by canon so I appreciate them a lot.

I have listened to them, and I like several of them! I feel like I need to lead with that, because I'm about to add some criticism about my previous responses to BNHA's score for context, so it's important to know that I genuinely do enjoy quite a few of these.

So, I haven't listened to a lot of Yuki Hayashi's scores, but he's definitely done work I've liked! He composed the music for several of the more recent PreCure shows, including their movies; I particularly loved his finale for the 15th anniversary film, which prominently featured a truly delightful medley of every team's opening theme. I'm also very fond of some of his pieces for Kiznaiver and Welcome to the Ballroom.

His BNHA work, though, I feel like suffers from two main problems: the tracks are too short to work up a good head, and yet, despite that short length, they sometimes feel exhaustingly over the top. (Did Shigaraki's theme really need crying children to get across the point that he's bad news?) I've long felt that the BNHA anime wants me to feel like everything is way more Epic and Stirring and Dramatic than I actually find the material to be, so curiously, the music winds up having a distancing effect rather than drawing me in. This is frequently compounded by placement choices that feel so staggeringly poor that I'm often left wondering whether the staff chose the music out of a hat! (Seriously, why does a fairly rote test of character in Nighteye's office warrant doom choirs?)

As to the MVA tracks specifically, I wish there could have been tracks that sounded a bit more fun or heroic, given that the League in MVA really are the heroes for the arc, complete with Shigaraki suddenly having access to Shonen Nakama Tropes and getting all these little comedic reaction takes. It'd be nice if the music could cue in and let the League have some aural triumph without being all doom all the time ("Oh, no! The villains are winning!" Yes, they are; let them have this for one arc, would you?)

But that said, I do rather like most of these! There are some that I do suspect will fall prey to the This Is Too Much Drama, Would You Please Ratchet Back? problem, but there are also some that I can imagine playing better in the context of the show than they do in isolation, and some that feel like they could even be exactly what I was dreaming about, if they go where I hope they will. For some individual thoughts, see below:

The Mission of the Stealth Hawks: A reasonable enough little tense atmospheric piece. Doesn't jump out at me.

Different Ability Liberation Army: I always approach the MLA as styling themselves as an army, but in reality being more of a sect--far more cult than militia-- I appreciate that if they can't have a good dramatic march despite having Army, like, right there in the title, I'm glad I could get church bells instead. On the whole, though, this is a good example of the first problem I mentioned having with Hayashi's work for BNHA--his pieces tend to be pretty short, and it takes them so long to land on a melody that by the time they find one, there's hardly any time to develop it before the song ends. Even a lot of the hero pieces are like that, and the villain songs, even more so. That said, I do like the horror strings that creep in around the 1.25 mark, blossom at 1.45, and float on through 2.10. I just wish they went on longer. Admittedly, "erratic church bells and horror strings" is still not the choice I would have made for the MLA's main theme. I really would have preferred something with a more militant air; as it is, this sort of feels like it scores a creepy prologue that plays before the opening credits kick in and then the episode proper starts. Which isn't a bad description for the way the dinner scene played in the manga, but thanks to the anime's decision to reshuffle everything, I don't think that dinner scene's going to maintain that feeling of "prologue" when we finally get to it.

My Villain Academia: Better on the melodic front; I enjoy the drama at .43, the dancing tension at 1.05, and particularly the minor strings from 1.25 that just keep climbing until everything else drops out around 2.10. I do wish it found a better place to end rather than noodling on for a further thirty seconds, but the melody will get a more central, and more bombastic, treatment in the final track, so it's probably okay for it to trail off here. (It's also apparently a reprise of a villain theme from the very first season's OST, which is rad. More on that in the Track 11 blurb.)

Second Coming: This is a bizarre one because, while I complained that Hayashi's BNHA tracks are usually short, this one is a full six and a half minutes--except that it falls clearly into movements of about a minute each, with clear lulls in between. I wish it was twelve minutes and everything was twice as long! As it is, I'm highly doubtful that we're going to hear this one played in its entirety anywhere, since I can't imagine what scenes would require this specific sequence of musical passages at this length. 0.00 - 1.01: I love that the song kicks in comparatively quickly; the first minute's passage has a great, thrumming drive that very nearly hits major key towards the end. 1.02 - 1.53: The drive picks up pace in the second minute before the chorus arrives, and for once, I am very prepared to love a BNHA choir piece. I hope this is what plays when Deika's going up in ash. 1.54 - 3.01: I love the melodic line being carried by the intentionally hard to distinguish violin and whatever brass instrument the violin's trading off with in the third minute. It's bit out of place with the rest of the track, but I like it quite a bit on its own, and it does have a similar sound as some of the "dirty" brass in RE-DESTRO and Mine Woman. It's probably too long for RD's childhood flashback, but I wonder if it'll play for an MLA character somewhere? 3.02 - 4.07: The fourth minute has some very fun drums, but otherwise doesn't jump out at me as much of the rest of the track. I'm very curious to know when this will play, though. 4.08 - 5.32: The fifth minute, god bless, has some proper march drums--I like this passage a lot, particularly when it come back in the sixth minute accompanied by the choir. I like this because the key is minor but it's not "oooo scaaaary" minor; it's more dramatic, a bit tragic, but triumphant too--pretty much perfect for Re-Destro, Spinner and Machia's moment of revelation in the crater. I wish it were longer. 5.33 - 6.36: And here for the end we're back to the driving guitar and some fun low-thrum strings and percussive chain sounds. Like the fourth passage, it's fun, but jumps out at me less, particularly as the song's finale.

Gigantomachia: This is an extremely boss kaiju song. Seriously, that brass in the opening could come right out of a Toho flick. Extremely good walking calamity number, love that distorted synth stuff towards the end. It's going to sound great when (if) it plays over Machia leaving the villa, the hand rising up through the floor behind Toga, Momo and the other students surveying the desolation left in his wake, and so on. (I know that's all Season Six material, shhhh. I hope they use this piece there.)

Mine Woman: This is so fun. And so extremely superior that that awful Christmas insert song! I'm glad Curious got this at least, and I love the moment the beat drops at the one-minute mark, and that interwoven sax. So good. It's hard to imagine the fight between Toga and Curious being paced to this song, mind, but it's real good, anyway.

TOGA's Nature: This one showcases the other problem I have with Hayashi's BNHA work, especially his stuff for the villains: it feels very on the nose in a way that tips over into being Too Much. The birdsong, I think, is on the nose but in an effective, playful way, with the natural beauty of the birds undercut by the lovely but ominous piano/synth melody. I am considerably less kindly disposed to the creepy child laughter, which just feels on the nose in a thuddingly obvious way--though I do like the way it slides in when the birdsong fades. I like, too, the sort of cloudy roaring reprise of the melodic line that kicks in around the 1.10 mark. It feels like an effective echo of Toga--cute but creepy as a young girl, and then, after she snaps, creepy in the same way but now you can't ignore it.

Symbol of Fear: The beginning doesn't do much for me, but I enjoy the howl that gives way to the organs at 1.15; while it's too action-heavy to be Tenko, the transition does still put me in mind of Tenko wandering the streets, internally crying for anyone to help him, and the person who finally does is--well. I like that the organ nurtures that howl into something considerably more dire, though you still get a return to that guttural cry periodically. While it is, again, difficult to imagine this scoring the scenes between AFO and Tenko's first meeting and Tenko being formally named Tomura--it's much too bombastic--it does still feel like an excellent representation of AFO sculpting Tomura's formless, aimless rage into something that really could tear down the world.

I Don't Kill My Friends: It would have been really nice if they'd let the most significant, unadulterated personal triumph of the arc sound actually fun. Why does the Sad Man's Parade song sound so upset?? @aysall predicts that it'll play over Twice's confrontation with Hawks and death scene, and I can see it working extremely well there, but it's a pretty weird call for the Dead Man's Parade bit, if that is indeed what this is intended to evoke. Quibbling about the title aside, I do like the way this pulses and throbs, something like an exposed wound, which is not a bad description of poor Jin's mentality. I still hope this isn't what scores his breakthrough, though. As I said previously, the villains are the heroes for just this one arc, and it'd be nice if the score could reflect that at least a little.

RE-DESTRO: I like this one a lot. I love the interwoven layers of that dirty sax and the Big and Dramatic orchestral strings + brass, but both of them undercut with that regular, machine beeping that could almost be a heart monitor, but mostly isn't--right up until the long beep at 1.52/1.53. It feels like a strong illustration of the titular character's different personas--his attempts at casual, friendly villainy (like menacing Giran or chatting with Shigaraki on the phone), him when he's thundering full-volume about the weight of his legacy at people (THE BLOOD OF DESTRO FLOWS THROUGH THESE VEINS I AM RE-DESTRO), and, beneath it all, the constant little thread of stress that Rikiya can never escape (right up until Shigaraki). I probably wouldn't love it so much in isolation, but I'm easy to win over with the right character association. XD

Paranormal Liberation Front: Very fun grubby guitar intro. It also has much the clearest melodic throughline, which inclines me towards it. What inclines me to it even more is the knowledge (per @aysall again) that it's the same main melody as the track Villains Theme from the very first season's OST. That track already having used its allotted Doom Choir quotient, this track makes do with less synth and a lot more orchestra and chunky bass backing, which is much to its benefit, I feel. I do wish it had any of the MLA's theme in it, to represent the merger, but admittedly, it'd be hard to make that very audible when the MLA theme has…next to no central melody, percussive rhythm, etc. Still, as an evolution of the League to something bigger, classier, and far more dangerous, it's real good--just long enough to develop into itself and explore its central leitmotif. Probably my favorite track simply on its own merits.

Thanks for the ask, anon! I'd listened to the tracks once driving around for work, but sitting down with them properly gave me a greater appreciation for them, and now I'll definitely have an ear out for them when we get to this material in the anime…

….whenever that winds up being. *sob*

[calamitykaty]

Invisible String: Part 4

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Word Count: 1747

Warnings: None (but let me know if there is and I will add them)

Charlotte pulled back from her embrace with Julie and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, she lightly laughed as Julie did the same. She couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from turning up into a full on smile. It had been so long since Charlotte had any real sense of normalcy in her life and she was relishing this feeling. 

“C’mon, I have something kinda...weird...but amazing to show you.” Julie beckoned Charlotte to follow her as she made her way to the front door before abruptly stopping. 

“Oh! My mic, I almost forgot!” Julie exclaimed and as if right on cue, Ray was rounding the corner with the mic held in his outstretched hand. Julie grabbed the mic and gave her dad a thankful nod of appreciation before grabbing Charlotte’s hand with her free one and pulling her behind her down the pathway to the studio. As they stood outside of the doors, Julie turned around and placed her hands on Charlotte’s shoulders. Charlotte gave her friend an inquisitive look in return. 

“Before we go in there I just wanted to warn you that this is going to be hard to explain and just...promise me that you will try to stay calm.” 

Charlotte scrunched her brows up in confusion and stayed silent.

“Promise!?” Julie urged. 

“Fine--fine, I promise---” Charlotte surrendered. 

Julie gave her a swift nod and turned around top open the doors. She stood to the side, allowing Charlotte to enter ahead of her before she closed the doors. Julie looked around at each of the guys to examine the space they would need and then pulled a chair out for Charlotte. She once again grabbed Charlotte by the shoulders and navigated her to the chair, gently pushing her down into it without saying a word. 

“Who’s the cute chick?” Reggie asked, earning a smack to the back of the head from Alex. 

“Hey…” Reggie whined and rubbed the back of his head as he made his way over to Julie with the two other boys. They all huddled into a circle and Charlotte sat silently as she watched, starting to wonder if this was all part of the prank that she was sure that Chase was pulling on her. She had to give to him, this was a super elaborate prank, even for him. Several minutes later, Julie sat down at her keyboard and laid her fingers softly on the keys. Charlotte smiled, she would never deny that Julie Molina was the most talented person that she had ever known. 

Julie stood up from the keyboard and moved in front of Charlotte, the other three boys suddenly joining in on the song as well. Charlotte had to admit, they were good, really good. She was slightly perplexed though as she never saw them grab their instruments or plug them in but she shook it off as her just focusing too much on Julie, The song finished and Julie stood in front of Charlotte with her arms stretched out on both sides of her body “So…?” Julie trailed off. 

“....you’re in a band now?” Charlotte guessed. Her eyes darted between Julie and her assumed band mates until the gears in her mind clicked. “Wait! You’re the Julie in Julie and the phantoms!?” Charlotte exclaimed. 

Julie nodded her head excitedly before her face contorted into one of confusion. 

“...how do you know about that?” Julie questioned and looked back at the guys, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Luke took a step forward “I was signing us up for the open mic night and she was behind me…” he trailed off. 

Charlotte snorted, “yeah, right after he made me spill my chai tea.” 

Julie’s face was flushed and she slowly shifted her gaze from Luke to Charlotte and back again, 

“You can---you can see him?” Julie stammered. 

Charlotte felt her hands clenching at her sides. She narrowed her eyes at Julie, Luke and Alex. She bit down on her bottom lip trying to stop her eyes from filling up with tears. She was a notorious angry crier and she was done with everyone pulling one over on her just to have a good laugh. She felt humiliated. 

“Well, this is going well…” Reggie remarked under his breath, or so he thought it was under his breath. Charlotte turned her heads towards him and mustered up the deadliest glare that she could. Luke thought coming to Julie’s was going to make explaining everything easier but he was suddenly now so sure about that hypothesis. He glanced over at Alex, who was staring back  at him with the same worried expression on his face. 

“You can tell Chase that he wins, ok? I’m done with his stupid prank.” Charlotte spat venomously at them. She quickly turned on her heels and headed towards the door but Julie grabbed her wrist, stopping her. 

“Let go!” Charlotte yelled and violently yanked her arm back. 

“Char-”Julie pleaded gently, “ I promise I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t even know who Chase is.” Julie crossed her heart and held her left hand up to her lips, something the pair had done since they were elementary school kids. It was like their scouts honor and Charlotte knew that Julie would never do it if she weren’t telling the god honest truth. 

Charlotte's shoulders slumped in defeat. She slowly walked to the old couch that she used to call her bed and flopped down onto it. A deep sigh escaped her lungs and finally she filled the silence with a question “you asked if I could see them, why?”

Luke cautiously cleared his throat “---because we’re ghosts and up until today no one could see us but Julie unless we were playing music together which is what she was trying to show you but you can already see us so…”

Julie handed her phone to Charlotte. Charlotte looked down at the phone, the three boys were on the screen accompanied by an article about their tragic death 25 years prior. 

“I know that it seems insane--” Julie started, grabbing Charlotte’s attention “--I thought it was impossible to and I went through the same confusion that you are probably experiencing right now. I mean...I literally thrust a cross right through Reggie before I realized they were actually real ghosts.” She sat down next to Charlotte and took the phone from her hands, setting it down on the coffee table. 

 “Why does this actually make more sense to me than Chase being able to pull off the most elaborate prank in the world?” Charlotte doubled over in laughter. Julie lightly bumped her shoulder with Charlotte’s. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day with all of this. I wish I would have been there with Luke earlier and I could have explained everything right away”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders “ sorry for being so dramatic.” She could feel her cheeks heat up with blush from embarrassment. Julie stood up and turned to Charlotte, grabbed her hands and pulled her up. 

“Let me formally introduce you to the guys---” This, she pointed to Alex “is Alex, he plays drums.” Julie moved onto the next boy, the one that Charlotte was not familiar with. “This is our bassist, Reggie.” Reggie winked at Charlotte. 

“And, I’m Luke, former lead vocalist of sunset curve and current lead guitarist for Julie and the phantoms.” 

Julie rolled her eyes at Luke and his attempt at charming her friend. “Guys, this is Charlotte Dubois, my best friend….right?” Charlotte beamed at the title and nodded her head. 

“Nice to meet you guys. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Charlotte said as she threw a hand up in a small wave.

“Wait, you’re leaving? Are you staying at your house?” Julie questioned.

Charlotte licked her lips, a nervous tick, and nodded “uhh, yeah...things have been better lately” she lied.

Julie nodded “ok, well, i’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“For sure, I'll ummm be around.” Charlotte lied again and walked backwards towards the doors. She lifted her hand for another quick wave goodbye and rushed out the door. 

She had almost made it to the edge of the driveway before Luke appeared beside her. She didn’t acknowledge him though, instead she shoved her hands in her pockets and walked across the street. Luke silently fell in step beside her. They walked for ten minutes before Charlotte realized that he wasn’t going to go away. 

“Can I help you?” Charlotte Seethed.

Luke avoided the question, instead opting to retort “You’re a terrible liar, ya know.”

Charlotte glanced up, her green eyes meeting his hazel ones for a split second before she looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Hmmmm” Luke hummed before asking “so, where are we going exactly?”

Charlotte looked at him in bewilderment “WE aren’t going anywhere, I, however, am going home.”

With that, Luke poofed back to the studio. He knew that Charlotte had a rough day already and didn’t want to push her too hard but he also knew that she was hiding something. He wanted to help her, he wasn’t sure why but ever since he saw her at the coffee shop he just felt drawn to her.

Charlotte looked around briefly and determined that she was once again by herself. She approached the town's abandoned playground which was surrounded by a chain link fence with ‘No Trespassing’ signs posted every 10 feet. Charlotte and Julie used to play here all the time but as time went on it was left to rust when a newer, bigger and better playground was built across town, Charlotte pulled back a corner of the fence and maneuvered her body through it. She kicked a few white rocks while she made a beeline to the place she called “home.” 

She carefully climbed up the ladder on the play set before getting on her hands and knees to crawl into the round blue tube. On the far side of the tube laid her duffel bag which held all of her necessary belongings. Charlotte pulled her smooshed  pillow out of the bag and thin blanket. As she laid down she could hear the crickets chirping, the wind blowing through the leaves and the ‘No Trespassing’ signs clanging against the metal fence. Those were the sounds that she had grown accustomed to over the past few months. Before she knew it, her heavy eyelids were closed.

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