#also shout out to the lumineers who came up with the melody (again i SEE YOU referencing appalachian folk ballads)

[academiaipromise]

the ballad of songbirds and snakes movie is just simply one piece of my long con of finally getting james newton howard his oscar

[kykyonthemoon]

Soul Linked

AU’s notes: This story was inspired by what happened in the Lv103 main storyline; therefore, it may contain slight spoilers. However, it doesn’t follow everything in the main story, since my MC has a different background from the one in game.

For the past dreams and promise between Chime and my MC mentioned in this story, I recommend reading Made You Up.

I was too late. When I arrived at Well of Bones, Chisei Gen had already fallen in front of his twin brother.

I rushed to the twins. Chime Gen— or Ruri Kazama paused. Under the mask, his eyes fixed on me.

I reached to Chisei on the floor. He was still breathing, yet could not move. While running towards the two, I heard Kazama shouting something, something about showing his EX skill to his brother. Then, he sang and Chisei fell. This must be it. A spell that put people to sleep; I knew it because it was similar to my own.

There was a moment when I wanted to rush to Kazama’s side. But I couldn’t. He wouldn’t recognize me anymore. I knew that. I was a thread to him, like anyone else in this world. He wanted to destroy this world.

I tried to wake Chisei up. My hand kept shaking his. If I had to use all my power to wake him up and stop Kazama, I would.

I heard the sound of fabric swept on the ground. My ears caught a melody, so gentle and heavenly, as if an angel was singing it. I could not understand a thing, but I let myself indulge in that voice, that melody. It brought me to a place where I felt safe, and at peace; where there was a golden field and a starry sky; and nothing in the world could hurt me anymore.

Yet, a voice in my head was screaming “Danger!” I turned around. Kazama was standing behind me.

He leaned down closer. His lips slightly parted but he had stopped singing. He reached a hand out to cover my eyes. Everything around me fell into darkness.

When I woke up again, I found myself still lying on the ground. But something was not right. Chisei Gen had gone, and Kazama was nowhere to be found. I tried to get up. Voices screaming in my head. It was heavy. I wished the world in front of me would just stop spinning.

Suddenly, a cold voice spoke,

“Welcome, to Hell!”

And everything went back to silence. I recognized that voice. But something else caught my attention. It was Luminous.

I ran to him, calling his name but his face was emotionless. He was in a pool of blood and he was not breathing! Next to him, it was... Caesar?

I shook Caesar too, but he was just like Luminous. I turned to the other side and caught NoNo’s body covered in blood. And there was Finger’s. There was also Johann’s... I ran to each of them and screamed their names. Nobody woke up.

But it was the moment I saw Cery’s body when I lost my mind. Her face was pale and to my horror, my worst nightmare, she was dead. Dead like everyone else that mattered to me. I screamed as if I was ripped off. My heart was torn into pieces when I reached to her, only to realise that my power was useless.

I could not heal anyone. Not Lu; not Caesar nor NoNo; not Finger; not Johann and now Cery... I held her cold body in my tremble arms. At that moment, I knew how my mother had felt when she lost her unborn child and vowed not to use her healing power ever again.

“What’s the point of healing when you have to watch the ones you love, die?”

I gazed up. Tears covered most of my sight, but I still recognized that face.

His sad eyes fixed on mine, then he walked away. I put Cery down to the ground, mumbling “I’m sorry” a thousand times in my cry. When I got up to find that person, he was waiting for me on the other side of the ruins.

I wiped away the tears. He looked... sad, as always. But he was just a boy in a plain kimono, with silver hair covering almost all of his red eyes. As I ran towards him, I realised the changed in my own self. I was a little girl in white dress.

I followed him to the hill, where the flowers were withering and the stars fell down from the sky. He was fast; I never caught up with his steps. But he stopped when we reached the top of the hill and turned to face me.

“You promised to find me.”

There was nothing in his tone. Nothing. Not anger or sorrow.

“And I have always been looking for you.”

“You’re too late.” The boy looked at me, giving me a sad smile before his body was ripped, from inside out. From where he was standing just a moment ago, it was Ruri Kazama.

He laughed. In horror.

“Whoever you’re looking for, has died a long time ago. Silly girl, aren’t you?”

I gathered all the strength just to face him again. Ruri Kazama, Chime Gen, the boy in my dreams... They had been messing with my head!

“He died.” Kazama spoke again. There was pain in his voice now. “He died that night when his brother pierced a blade through his chest. You cannot save him. You cannot save your friends. Silly girl. And now, you cannot save yourself.”

In a blink of an eye, he closed the distance between us and his hand squeezed my neck. I gasped for air but all I took in was blood blending with the soft flower scent of his; once was so familiar to me. He was not the boy I met in dreams many years ago, when my power began to awake. He was not the lost man who came to ask for help to defeat his own devil. And he was certainly not the one who held my hand so gently, just a couple of nights ago when he said he was close to remembering our past dreams.

Our dreams connected in a way neither of us could explain. Through meeting him in the past, my power was somehow awakened. Although he could not remember me when we met again in Tokyo, I knew he was the one in my dreams.

And now, he wanted to kill me.

He was always the nightmares. All this time. Was I the only one holding onto the hope that the little boy I had met a long time ago was still there?

I felt powerless. I could not save Cery or anyone. I could not save him. Like he said, what’s the point of my healing power?

I should have listened to my parents, to just stay home and be a normal girl. I had always been useless. I could not heal, nor get myself out of this nightmare. All along, I was just lying to myself. I lied that Cassell would help me be a great healer. I lied that I would use my power to help my friends and family. I lied that I would be able to meet the boy in my dreams again and pull him out of his endless nightmares.

Even after seeing him in Tokyo, all I wanted was to help him remember me, remember the person he was before.

Who was I to think that I had such power? Useless, that was me.

Maybe I should just give in. And let him win. The grip on my neck was about to take away my last breath. That moment, I saw it. A trail of golden, though very slender, was glowing as it wrapped around his wrist. It was my Golden Thread. Or half of it.

For every beautiful dreams I had had, or encountered, I weaved them into the Thread. It is the source of my powers and I wear it on my wrist.

One night, when Kazama was screaming in his sleep at Takamagahara, I cut it into half and tied one around his wrist. I said it was a protection charm; something that would help him get through the nightmares.

He did not know, that I gave him half of my soul that night.

The half on his wrist started to glow. So did the other half on mine. They connected and formed a bright ray of light, almost like a soul link that soul dancers like me use to protect our allies. But this one, it was quite special. It was brighter than anything I had seen.

Kazama was shocked to see it too. He loosened his grip and I took the chance to fill my lungs with air again. He took a few steps further away from me. His attempts to get rid of the Thread only caused the link to be stronger. His golden eyes locked mine in a second. He was scared and resentful, of how he slowly lost control over this nightmare to me.

“This... is not the end...” He spoke in a cold voice. My chin was lifted by his other hand and clutched, aggressively. “You still cannot wake up. There is a show just for you, silly girl. I will break you and I will dance to your cry. I will make you watch your friends fall into endless nightmares. You once said this world was beautiful, didn’t you? I’ll burn it down to ashes, along with everything you love. Including your little Chime Gen.”

There was bitterness in his laugh before he vanished into darkness, leaving traces of fluttering wings and a soft scent of flowers.

I dropped down on my knees. The tears were dry but the pain still lingered. If I could not stop him, this nightmare would become my reality. I only needed to remind myself that this was all a dream, and I had such power to weave it the way I wanted. Kazama was much more powerful than me. But as long as our souls were linked, I believed I still had a chance to stop him.

I picked myself up. The world in front of me began to spin again. The next time I opened my eyes, I was standing on the shore and Chisei Gen was there.

(to be continued — maybe?) 

———————————

Masterlist

[mysmesomefluff]

Saeran Fanfiction #3: Cat-nappers

A/N: Here’s the drabble, as promised. :) But I did it pretty quickly so I didn’t actually go all the way with this idea.

Inspired by @mizueki‘s drawing of Saeran and Seven’s infiltration of Jumin’s apartment. Thank you for sharing that really cute piece of art on tumblr! :) Link to the picture is here.

Summary: Your job description never mentioned anything about having to protect a cat from two twin cat-nappers, or that one of them would be a particularly cute cat-napper.

You... had no words. Absolutely none.

You hadn’t worked in this field for long, so you had yet to experience or witness many odd things, according to your seniors. But then, you didn’t think that even they could have anticipated something like this to happen. and no amount of training could have prepared you for a scenario as absurd and ridiculous as this.

Honestly, it was almost laughable, except that your job was currently at risk even though you had only started work two days ago.

You gaped at the startlingly huge hole in the window through which one of them had crashed through — how was that even possible? This was the top floor, for crying out loud! — and the little shards of glass scattered across the smooth marble flooring. It didn’t look too bad, you supposed. They looked like diamonds from here, with the sun’s rays reflecting off them that gave them an iridescent glow.

Oh, who were you kidding, you were definitely going to get fired the moment Mr. Han got home.

The stress of not knowing how to account for this to your superior or Mr. Han, as well as the shock of your overwhelming failure on your second day, gradually morphed into anger, which you directed in the form of a glare at the two twin perpetrators, one of whom you had handcuffed to yourself.

The man handcuffed to you, in turn, was glaring at his brother, while the cat, Elizabeth the 3rd (you still thought her name incredibly odd, but you knew better than to make a comment about it), was rubbing her head and body against the angry man’s leg. Her tail would brush against your pants every now and then, which didn’t really help to ease your frustration with the entire situation.

As you mentioned before, you simply had no words to spare.

Everyone was currently playing the waiting game, and some of your other colleagues had gone to secure the apartment. Another had left to call for the cleaner to clear up the glass, in case an accident occurred — namely, in case the cat went over and got her paws cut. In which case, it would mean instant death by corporate heir employer.

Meanwhile, Mr. Han was reportedly rushing back home for his beloved and apparently distressed cat. It didn’t really seem to be the case. If anything, she seemed perfectly happy, rubbing her body against his leg. She seemed to have taken a liking to her kidnapper. You didn’t think Stockholm syndrome could kick in so early, and for a cat, no less.

You spared the man handcuffed to you a sideways glance, and you saw uncertainty flicker in his striking mint green eyes as he looked on silently at the cat by his leg. His hands were fidgeting by his sides, and he was biting the inside of his cheek. He probably wanted to pet her as much as she wanted to be petted by him.

She was adorable, one of the most elegantly groomed cats you had ever seen, but you couldn’t afford to be distracted by her. You were working. Not for long, anyway. You sighed inwardly when you heard her meow for the tenth time in the past... fifteen minutes. There wasn’t really much else to do, and since dwelling on your imminent downfall was doing little to help you feel better, you decided to just observe him quietly. Maybe it was a habit from your job, but something about observing people calmed you. Gave you something to think about, and at times, something to imagine.

The man next to you had messy red hair just like his brother’s, and upon closer inspection, you noticed some strands of white fur clung to the very tips of his baby hairs, no doubt because of the cat. You had been told she was known to shed an unusual amount of fur, which you hadn’t believed at first, given the stark cleanliness of the apartment in its original state. But now, looking at your blank pants that were stained with little feathery white strands, you concluded that the cleaner was exceptional at her job. Maybe you could ask her for tips later on how to get rid of all this fur when you got home.

The man next to you didn’t seem all too bothered by it, however. The barest of smiles, just a ghost of it, played on his lips as he continued to stare at the cat as she meowed and purred at him.

...Cute.

The corners of your lips began to twitch upwards, and the moment you realised it, you pressed them into a thin line and let the frown settle back on your face, trying your hardest to keep the heat from spreading up your neck.

Get a grip, you instructed yourself. You were working now, you couldn’t afford to get distracted by an unusually cute cat-napper.

But, well, you supposed there wasn’t really anything wrong with this. You were simply observing him, after all. Besides, it wasn’t as if you had anything else to do at the moment.

So your eyes went back to him, and you noted the peculiar mint green hue of his eyes, which differed greatly from the golden ones that his brother had. You were fairly sure they were twins, however. They shared the exact same facial features, except that his brother had glasses on while he didn’t, and then of course there were the eyes, and the fact that he had a completely different aura about him compared to his brother.

His brother, who had introduced himself quite grandiosely as “God Seven-Zero-Seven” when you first caught them both lurking in the hallway, was animated and strangely spirited even though he had just landed himself in hot soup with the team. Maybe slightly insane too, evident from his obsession with the Mr. Han’s pet. He seemed likeable enough though, and you would have appreciated his eccentricity and unique sense of humour more in another setting.

On the other hand, the man next to you was quiet, composed. He was eccentric in another way altogether. His face was a mask of calm, though from the slight turn down of his eyebrows, you could tell he wasn’t entirely happy with getting caught up in this mess. It was highly likely that he had been dragged into this infiltration mission by his brother.

His eyes were still fixated on the cat, and although his face was stone, betrayed no emotion, you could tell from his gaze that he truly longed to touch her, if only to pass the time while waiting for Mr. Han to return.

So against your better judgment, your lips parted to speak.

“You can touch her if you want, you know.”

His head turned, and his eyes came to rest on you.

You didn’t get a chance to take a good look at him earlier, since you had been too caught up with chasing after the both of them. But now, seeing him under the white beam of light from the ceiling, with him facing you and neither of you in a rush to make a move, you couldn’t help the slight quickening of your pulse.

He was handsome, and very much so.

His face looked especially pale under the lighting, but and it gave a gleam to his beautifully luminous eyes. He reminded you of a cat’s eyes in the dark. Glowing, mysterious, magnetic.

“I can?” he asked softly, his voice flowing like honey towards you. Just minutes before he had been shouting at his brother for “coming up with such a stupid plan”, and you hadn’t expected to hear such a tender quality in his voice. It was soothing, gliding into your ears like a gentle melody.

“Go ahead,” you replied, allowing a tiny smile to show on your face briefly, as you slowly knelt down so that he could also lower himself to pet Elizabeth conveniently.

You caught the eye of your other colleague who had a brow arched questioningly, but you mouthed a quick assurance to him. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt the cat. And if he did, you would make him pay for it, as well as for jeopardising your career.

The moment he lowered himself enough, Elizabeth practically jumped up to him, meowing in delight and nuzzling her head against his chest. He looked a little bit conflicted, a little hesitant as he raised his hand to gently stroke her head. That earned him a satisfied purr in response, as well as jealous cries of protest from his brother at the other end of the room. He began begging your colleague to let him touch her as well, but your colleague refused to budge. Fair enough, given that Mr. Han had stressed time and again not to allow a bespectacled man going by the name of Seven anywhere near his cat.

You watched quietly as he continued stroking her, the little frown that had been there on his face slowly melting away, replaced with a gentle, kind face. The corners of his lips were curled upwards slightly as he played with the cat, looking more comfortable with her by the minute.

You didn’t even realise you had been smiling yourself until his gaze moved from Elizabeth to you, and in that instant, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Hastily, you averted your gaze, and you instinctively moved away to put some space between the both of you, except the tug of the handcuff on your wrist prevented you from doing so.

If anything, because you tugged a little too hard, the returning force made you lose your balance since you had been balancing on the balls of your feet while squatting next to him.

And then the next thing you knew, you were falling towards him.

You heard a sharp cry from the cat as she jumped away just in time to avoid getting squashed in between the both of you. And then you felt two strong hands hold firmly onto your arms to steady you, which lessened the pain as you crashed face first against his chest.

His broad, warm, strong chest—

You pulled away from him, cheeks flaming and heart racing. You muttered an apology as he steadied you, and when your eyes met, it dawned on you suddenly how close you were to him. He was holding you in place, which meant your faces were just inches apart; too close for comfort. Colour was rushing to his face, reddening his cheeks and the tips of his ears. From the heat gathering in your face, you guessed you probably looked the same.

His eyes had widened, shock and bewilderment swimming in them, as they stared deeply into yours. His gaze was penetrating, piercing, intriguing enough that you could get lost in them, just observing him all day long. 

Except you had a job to do. You quickly shook yourself out of your daze, aware that your colleagues were still in the room and had probably witnessed your moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness.

Hastily, you looked away, putting as much space as you could between the both of you without causing another similar mishap. You heard him clear his throat, and from the corner of your eye, you noticed his face was still a little red as he petted the cat who had already made a swift return to his fur-covered lap.

You caught the eye of your colleague, who had arched a brow at you and was sending you a teasing smirk.

And all you could do was stare at the floor, speechless.

You had no words. Absolutely none to defend yourself, or to explain what had just happened.

All you knew was that your heart was still beating furiously in your chest and that the heat in your face wouldn’t go away.

Second day on the job, and this was proving to be increasingly disastrous as the seconds ticked by.

You didn’t know if you should be relieved or not when Mr. Han finally arrived. He had that frigid air of professionalism about him as always, though the anger simmering beneath his cool face was plain for all to see.

He exchanged a few harsh words with “Seven”, threatening to call the police on him for unwarranted trespassing of property, damaging his window, attempting to kidnap his cat and for putting her through an unbearable ordeal that could scar her fragile mind for good. (Were all corporate heirs this dramatic when it came to their pets?)

You noted, however, that he seemed otherwise fine with the man next to you, whose name you learned was Saeran. He requested you to remove the handcuffs and you did, although he didn’t ask the same of your colleague who was with Seven.

Saeran sent a flat glare in the direction of his brother when Seven pleaded for him to put in a good word for him with Mr. Han, and you had to fight to suppress a chuckle when he later sneezed thrice in succession, no doubt because of all the cat fur on him.

It wasn’t long before you and your colleagues were dismissed Mr. Han from the apartment, requesting all of you to get back to your work. You exchanged glances with the rest of the team, and in general, everyone looked quite relieved. Probably meant your job was safe for now. One of them whispered discreetly to inform you that Seven and Saeran were both experienced hackers, and that they were both part of the RFA charity organization that Mr. Han was also a member of, so nothing too severe would happen to either of them, or to the team.

That was enough to make you release a long exhale, and for the stress that had been giving you a mild migraine to fade away. You couldn’t ask for better news.

You were the last to exit the door of the apartment, and you couldn’t help but turn back. You didn’t know why you did it, exactly. You just... felt like doing it.

And then you found yourself staring back into mint eyes. He had turned over his shoulder too, to spare you one last glance before you left.

Once more, you felt your cheeks heat in a blush, but this time, you didn’t look away. You offered him a tiny smile and a nod, which he returned in kind. A wordless goodbye. Maybe a “see you later”. Who knew?

You had work to do.

So with a slightly giddy head and a loud thumping in your ears, you turned around and left, closing the door behind you, and silently hoping that the two cat-nappers would drop by sometime soon. 

[ladydarksbane]

Future Except from “Bird of Prey”

Rayvin picked up a lute, melancholy flickering in his eyes. He had come to a decision. He knew it was for the best, whether anyone else would agree or not. Several would not, a couple of which were the ones that had been the closest to him.

“Here’s to making sense,” he licked his lips and glanced down at the strings on the instrument. They blurred for a second and he blinked it away, refocusing his vision and cleared his throat. He began to strum the soft melody and left the lyrics to the song flow from his heart, though he couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone in particular.

“Do we make sense?/I think we do/In spite of everything that we've been through And you say black/And I say white/It's not about who's wrong As long as it feels right/Don't think those stars won't align

 Under your scars I pray/You're like a shooting star in the rain You're everything that feels like home to me, yeah/Under your scars I could live inside you time after time/If you'd only let me live inside of mine Live inside of mine

Wish you were here right beside me/So I could watch you sleep Hold your body closer, breathe you deep/And everything feels broken when you're not next to me Would you still be you if we weren't we?

Under your scars I pray/You're like a shooting star in the rain You're everything that feels like home to me, yeah/Under your scars I could live inside you time after time/If you'd only let me live inside of mine So hey, if you feel like coming down/If you feel like coming around Just call my name out loud, na, na, na/Hey, if you feel like coming down If you feel like coming around/Just call my name out loud, na, na, na, yeah

Under your scars I pray/You're like a shooting star in the rain You're everything that feels like home to me, yeah/Under your scars I could live inside you time after time/If you'd only let me live inside of mine Live inside of mine.”

A round of clapping and cheers came from the crowd that had gathered around the small group of friends that had been sitting at a grouping of couches near the spa once Rayvin had begun to sing. The song had been a bit somber, poignantly affecting the ones who knew Rayvin all too well. 

As the majority of the clapping died down, one person emerged from the crowd, clapping slowly, his face an angry mask. “For the Maker’s sake, be on your way then. You have no place here,” he sneered. 

Rayvin set the lute at his feet and stood to his full height, which put him a head taller than his detractor. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Trevelyan?” He smirked. “You’d like to think you can snap your fingers and run me off, but I’m not that easy to get rid of, am I? After all, you left me in the Fade, despite the fact, you said you’d reopen a rift to get me out. You tried your damnedest to get rid of me and you failed. How does that feel? You thought if I was out of the way that you’d get what you wanted. How’d that work out for you?”

Trevelyan glared at him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Of course I never meant to get you out. The Inquisition was better off without a broken down drunk hiding behind the title of Champion. Thedas hasn’t missed you. Perhaps you should crawl back into whatever shithole you crawled out of. I have bigger problems to deal with besides you.” 

Rayvin laughed out loud. “Is that the best you’ve got, boy?” Silver eyes glittered luminously. “What shithole are you referring to, dear Inquisitor? Ferelden? Kirkwall? Skyrim?” He glanced around the crowd, noticing a few key faces, some of which appeared less than pleased. He swaggered out amongst the throng of people. 

Rayvin stopped near someone he knew. Having met the man before on multiple occasions, he inclined his head respectfully and held out his hand. “Arl Teagan, it is wonderful to see you again. I trust all is well in Redcliffe. You’ll have to pass my regards to Queen Anora. Long may she reign.”

“Champion, how fortuitous that you live. The Inquisitor spread the story you had perished at Adamant.” The Arl accepted Rayvin’s hand, shaking it firmly. 

“How very kind of him, but like an old war dog, I’m difficult to kill.” Rayvin replied, his eyes twinkling. “Why the man feels he must besmirch my homeland just because he resents my presence is tragic, especially since Ferelden is calling for the Inquisition to disband. That sort of talk won’t earn him any favors. Then again, he never was very bright.”

“Perhaps you should have been the Inquisitor, Champion. We wouldn’t be in this state,” came Teagan’s terse response. 

“I admire your confidence in me, Your Grace,” Rayvin’s grin sobered and he put on a serious expression. His arms crossed in front of his chest. “But it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“You always were very candid and forthright. Despite your protests, you would have been right for the position.”

“And if you had called for us to disband, I would have listened because I know the work is done and whatever concerns Ferelden have must be valid ones. Thank you, Your Grace.” Rayvin moved on, making his way back to the couch where Varric sat. “But maybe you weren’t talking about Ferelden. Maybe you wouldn’t risk more trouble and send your Ambassador into an even bigger tailspin. Perhaps you meant Kirkwall where I earned my title of Champion. Let’s ask the Viscount how he feels about you calling his beloved city a ‘shithole.’ Granted there are parts of Kirkwall that are bad…”

Varric flashed skeptical eyes at Rayvin. Why was Hawke dragging him into his pissing match with the Inquisitor? He would have preferred to be left out of this. Kirkwall wasn’t the best, especially in its current state. There was still a great deal of reconstruction that needed to be completed. Some of which still stemmed from the aftermath of Blondie destroying the Chantry. 

The dwarf shrugged, a twinkle in his eyes and a lopsided grin on his lips. “This is all you, O Champion.”

Rayvin rolled his eyes. He knew all too well what that meant, knowing Varric as he did. “You are truly too kind.” He circled back to Trevelyan, who was looking fairly smug. “You still failed and we both you couldn’t beat me on your best day. I kicked your ass, remember? I also defeated the Nightmare demon, something you couldn’t do. So I don’t know where you get off calling me broken down. I’m far from it. I won’t deny the drunk part, but you haven’t lived through the things I have.

“Furthermore, you think I haven’t heard about the death threats you received after Adamant, especially the one that came from the Hero of Ferelden. I would have loved to have seen Rihanna Amell show up at Skyhold and rip your walls down around your ears, but her quest took precedence, didn’t it? You got lucky. She has a temper. One hell of a temper. There’s also the fact that the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces resigned at Adamant as well when you wouldn’t get me out of the Fade. You should know by now you aren’t smooth enough or smart enough to get away with blackmailing people in order to get what you want. I know all about that, too.” He grinned wider as the smug look vanished from Trevelyan’s face. “Despite your claims that I haven’t been missed, I’m still held in higher regard than you. Where I live now, I earned the title of Thane of a Jarl’s court.”

“Of some imaginary world that no one has seen or even heard of,” Trevelyan scoffed. “Nice try. Most likely a drunken delusion of the Fade.”

A blonde woman hopped up from her seat and pushed her way over to them. She wore a furious expression on her face as her silver eyes flashed. “Excuse me, but just who are you to call my home imaginary?”

Trevelyan looked her up and down, taking stock of her odd wolf armor. Power radiated from her. He could feel it pulsing through the anchor. “I am Inquisitor Aedan Trevelyan. And you are?”

Her upper lip curled. This was the man who had wronged Hawke, the reason he had ended up in Tamriel. Everything about him felt slimy. “I am Dovahkiin.” She let the power of the thu’um rumble through her voice. The ground below their feet trembled. “I am the Dragonborn. Aria is my name and I hail from that world you call imaginary. Who are you to dismiss that which you’ve not seen?”

Trevelyan cocked a brow at her then he glanced at Rayvin, who still stood beside her. “Dragonborn? What is a Dragonborn? Are you descended from them? If so, I’ll have you know, I’ve killed about a dozen high dragons.”

Aria laughed out loud. “A dozen?” She clapped mockingly. “No, I’m not descended from dragons, per se. I’m a mortal with a soul of a dragon. Being Dragonborn allows me to absorb dragon souls. I’ve killed hundreds single handedly, including one called Alduin the World-Eater. Being Dragonborn allows me to do this. You might want to backup. In fact, everyone might want to backup quite a bit.”

Rayvin helped direct the crowd out of the way. He had a good idea of what see was going to do and he couldn’t help but grin. If it put Trevelyan in his place, he was all for it. “YOL TOOR SHUL!” A gout of flame burst forth from her, singing the air around them before it dissipated. Cries of dismay and gasps of surprise echoed through the crowd. Many of the people wore frightened or stunned expressions. 

“What kind of magic is that?” A look of concern lingered on Trevelyan’s face, his eyes wary. She wielded a power he had never seen before. Was she like Mythal?

A smile crossed Aria’s face. “It isn’t magic at all. Not as you know it. It’s called the Thu’um. Being Dragonborn, I have the inborn ability to speak as dragons do. Learning the Thu’um or simply the Voice, takes long years of study, but as Dragonborn, when I absorb a dragon soul, I absorb their knowledge and thus have learned to shout. The Fire Breath shout I just demonstrated is one of many I know. Let me show you another.”

“Do I need to make the crowd move?” Trevelyan asked skeptically. He really didn’t want to see anyone come to harm just to sate his curiosity. 

“It’d be a good idea if they don’t wish to get wet.” Aria grinned before hearing Rayvin groan beside her. She didn’t wait, however, to see if those gathered heeded her warning. She threw her arms up in the air, throwing her head back, shouting to the very heavens.

Hawke had a good idea of what was going to happen next. He grabbed hold of Cullen and Varric, pulling them toward the spa. “Don’t argue. You’ll thank me.”

“STRUN BAH QO!” The sky blackened, unleashing a torrent of rain. Lightning split the heavens, crashing down around her. Panicked, frightened people screamed and ran for shelter, becoming soaked to the skin before they even made it indoors. Yet Aria stood amidst the storm, reveling in the chaos, her cackling laughter as loud as some of the thunder. 

“LOK VAH KOOR!” She shouted next, completely clearing the skies of the raging thunderstorm. Blue skies returned, the sun shining brightly overhead as it had before she had unleashed the Storm Call shout.

Trevelyan flashed an annoyed look at her, as he was now soaking wet from head to toe. “That was not necessary. Have you any other of these…, uh, shouts that perhaps wouldn’t have unleashed a maelstrom on us?”

A wolfish grin crossed her face, “Of course I do, but you couldn’t see any of their effects. Frost Breath is similar to Fire Breath. I have shouts for just about everything. Shouts that make me ethereal. Shouts that can be used to disarm my foes or dismay them. There’s one called ‘Kyne’s Peace’ which can be used to calm hostile animals. I have a shout that can bolster allies, their speed, stamina and so forth.”

Trevelyan cocked an eyebrow, “And how were you chosen for this?”

“Dragonborn aren’t ‘chosen’, not really. Not as you know it.” Aria explained. “There have been many of the dragon blood through Tamrielic history. The Septim dynasty of Emperors were all Dragonborn, including Tiber Septim, the man who conquered all of Tamriel and founded the Empire. Legend holds in times of great need and peril, Akatosh, the greatest of the nine, sends a Dragonborn into the world. There was a prophecy. ‘When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world, When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped, When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles, When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls, When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.’ I brought that prophecy to fruition when I defeated the World-Eater.”

Trevelyan narrowed his gaze upon her, regarding her carefully. She was no ordinary warrior and the power she possessed was like nothing he had ever seen. It was prudent to be wary of her, especially since the anchor was threatening to consume him. He had not told anyone of the pain it was causing him. He crossed his arms defensively before him. It allowed him to cradle the hand the Anchor was in, but it still sparked wildly, casting a green light upon him and the few people who remained nearby. He winced, gritting his teeth, and held in a noise the discomfort of the mark was causing him.

Rayvin walked back out from the spa. “So it’s true. You don’t have any control over the anchor, not as you did,” he said as he watched Trevelyan very carefully, observing his every move closely. “It’s causing you great pain and this time that elf isn’t here to help you.”

Trevelyan glared at him. “That is none of your business. We were not talking about me. I think you need to take your freak show back to wherever the hell you came from, because you aren’t needed or wanted here.”

“I think he just called you a freak.” Rayvin cast a sidelong glance at Aria, who grinned and shrugged. “You can cast all the stones you want, but we aren’t going anywhere. Not yet. Not because you command it. You see, I’m not some boot-licking sycophant you can push around. I kicked your ass and I could do it again, but I won’t. You are beneath me. You are nothing to me.”

“As you are fond of saying. You boast and you brag, but it’s all hot air. How about you just shut up?” Trevelyan goaded him. He had had enough of Hawke being around and he was none too pleased about the near divulgence of what he had done at Adamant, when he had used Rayvin’s fate against Cullen in hopes of getting what he wanted. It angered him that the Commander would tell such a thing. One did not discuss such secrets. These unsavory things were kept hidden. 

“How about you make me?” Silver eyes glittered with mirth as he grinned widely. Rayvin was enjoying himself, poking the Inquisitor, forcing him to make an even bigger fool out of himself. 

The Anchor sparked again, engulfing Trevelyan’s hand in a sickly green. He made an audible noise and gripped his hand in distress. The pain was increasing and he wasn’t sure why. He staggered a bit, bracing himself against one of the couches. 

“It’s worse than you’ve let on, isn’t it?” Rayvin said, his tone almost accusing. “You haven’t told anyone how bad it’s gotten, have you?”

“Mind your own business,” Trevelyan growled as he turned his back to walk away, but Rayvin caught his arm, the one that held the Anchor, and wouldn’t let go. 

Rayvin glanced at Aria, “That one shout… the Ethereal one… Feim… I need you to use it. On him. I have an idea.”

Aria eyed him speculatively, unsure of what Rayvin meant to do. “What are you plotting now?” 

“The Anchor is going to kill him if something isn’t done about it. I think I may be able to remove it, but normally it would cause a hell of a lot of pain for him, which would be bad, but your shout should negate that, if it works the way I think it will.” Rayvin explained to Aria.

This caused Trevelyan to tug his arm away from Hawke, but he couldn’t quite break the grip. Concern filled his eyes. “What now? What are you going to do to me? And why would I let you?”

“Fine, fucking die.” Rayvin sneered. “Or let me help you.”

Trevelyan cocked an eyebrow. Suspicion lingered in his eyes as he gazed upon Rayvin. “Why would you do that?”

“I’ll be honest. I fucking hate you. I think you are a bitch that’s been handed everything your entire life and you couldn’t stand it that the one thing you wanted you couldn’t have because I had it. I still have it. But I’m not going to stand by and let you die just because I hate you, not when I can do something about it. It’s all about being a bigger person. Sure, you left me to die, but I didn’t. I came back, stronger and more powerful.” Rayvin nodded to Aria, who moved within an arm’s length of Trevelyan. 

“FEIM ZII GRON!”

“What she did, her shout, has made you ethereal. In this form, you cannot be harmed. It should make it possible for me to extract the Anchor without causing you any undue pain. I’m going to use a spell on you. I’m not entirely sure if this will work, but we’ll see.”

Trevelyan nodded, giving the go ahead. At this point, what did he have to lose?

Rayvin directed the spell at the hand he gripped, a combination of force, alteration and conjuration magic. The heavily modified soul trap spell zeroed in on the Anchor and he concentrated, pulling on the mark. From a pouch at his side, he extracted a black soul gem. It floated above his off-hand, spinning kinetically. Adding more force to the spell, Rayvin yanked harder, this time pulling directly on the magical energy of the Anchor, extracting it from Trevelyan’s flesh and using the soul gem to absorb it.

As Aria’s shout wore off, Trevelyan dropped to his knees, clutching his arm. The mark was gone, but his hand felt strange, a tingling of energy lingered. He shook his hand and flexed his fingers, his mouth gaping wide open. 

“I can’t believe that worked.” Trevelyan gasped, his eyes wide. “How in the name of the Maker can you cast magic? You always claimed to not be a mage. Were you an apostate all along?”

Rayvin smirked, “Maybe it’s your imagination, but no, I wasn’t an apostate all along. Could you imagine, though, how events in Kirkwall might have played out if I had been one?”

Beside him Cullen groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Not all magic is bad.”

“And you know as well as I do not all mages are good.”

Rayvin cocked a brow. “We are not having this conversation. Not after I just saved his life.”

Cullen realized Rayvin was right and nodded, taking a step back with a smile on his face. 

Trevelyan mumbled his thanks.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hawke asked with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I said ‘thank you’,” Trevelyan repeated, the words tumbling out swiftly. 

Rayvin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Was that so hard?”

“I warn you, Champion,” Trevelyan said between his teeth. “Do not test your luck.” 

“I don’t need luck. I have magic,” Rayvin said promptly summoning a fireball to his palm, flashing a smile at the Inquisitor, who simply turned and walked away angrily, muttering to himself. 

“Damn, Hawke, are you sure you want to kick the hornet’s nest again?” Varric chuckled. 

“Well I did ask the Inquisitor not to encourage him,” Cullen grinned. 

“Shall I shout his ignorant ass to Oblivion?” Aria quipped, her smile matching Rayvin’s. 

“As much as I’d love to see that, no. As Cullen would say, he’s toothless.” Rayvin returned the couch and picked up the lute he’d set aside. “Our time here grows short. I’d rather spend what’s left of it doing something more enjoyable.”

“And what’s that?”

“Spending it with the people I care about. Now sit your ass down, Dragonborn, before I magic you into Oblivion.”

Aria burst out laughing. “Bring it!”

“Don’t tempt me. There’s nothing I’d love more than to turn Orlais into a smoking crater.”

...

[morningrainmusic]

Top 25 Albums of 2017

A lot of very good albums came out in 2017. These are my favorite 25, with some thoughts on each of them. See you in the new year.

Best,

The Staff of Morning Rain Music

25. Ty Segall – Ty Segall  Almost all of Ty Segall’s albums (there are a lot) are made to be turned up to 11. His second self-titled release is no exception. Segall said of the live recorded album, “There’s something about a band in a room – it’s a feeling you can’t replicate. There’s a feel to the music. The band is so good, and I love the feel of this record.” So do I.

24. The Feelies – In Between  I took one journalism class in college. The professor would play music before starting lectures and I vividly remember one class when he played The Feelies and then talked about how great and underappreciated they are for a little while. I don’t recall much else from the class, but I remember that. I wonder what Greg Downey is up to now.

23. Mount Eerie – A Crow Looked at Me A Crow Looked at Me is this year’s Skeleton Tree (Nick Cave’s 2016 musical tribute to his late son). To call Phil Eleverum’s meditation on the death of his wife a slog of misery would be a profound understatement. Listen to it and feel his utter despair.

22. Fleet Foxes – Crack-Up  Fleet Foxes’ return after six years on hiatus isn’t as triumphant as Helplessness Blues, but it’s a bold and invigorating odyssey of an album that could only come from the questioning, adventurous minds of Robin Pecknold et al.

21. Ryan Adams – Prisoner I got really into Adams’ Heartbreaker this year. Could this have primed me to enjoy Prisoner more? It has been called his best and most personal record since his 2000 debut. You be the judge, I guess.

20. Chastity Belt – I used to spend so much time alone If The National are music’s reigning “sad bastard” kings, Chastity Belt’s latest album make them contenders for the spot as queens. Or “sad bastardesses” maybe. A quick glance at the track-list is a pretty good indication of what you’re in for—“Stuck,” “What the Hell,” “5am,” “Bender.” These aren’t exactly pit of despair bummer songs. They lack the “look at me” dramatics of The Smiths or Joy Division. Chastity Belt keep it low-key, conveying something of a slow-crippling, dejected resignation that’s truer to life. If I’ve just made this record sound like complete agony, let me assure you, it’s not. I used to spend has some pep in its step—a bit of that Pacific Northwest punk spunk. One of the guitar breaks in “Something Else” even slightly recalls The Cranberries’ “Dreams.” So it won’t completely overwhelm with its ruminations on feelings of self-loathing/emptiness. For that kind of experience, turn to Mount Eerie.

19. A. Savage – Thawing Dawn Thawing Dawn  has some glaring flaws, but I listened to it a lot in 2017 because I really like it. Andrew Savage (who is in a band called Parquet Courts, you might’ve heard of them) has an everyman’s voice that sounds like a too-clever-for-his-own-good friend talking to you on the subway, regardless of whether you’re actually listening (“Eyeballs”). He also delivers a tender, slow-burning love song (“Wild, Wild, Wild Horses”) and a full-blown country waltz, slide guitar and all (“Phantom Limbo”). It doesn’t all work (see the church organ-heavy dud “Untitled” and overly drawn-out existential crisis-mode plod of “What Do I Do”). But something about the rest of Thawing Dawn, imperfections and all, is simply pleasant and demanding of the occasional revisit.

18. Kevin Morby – City Music If you like Bob Dylan (any era) you will probably like at least a handful of Kevin Morby songs. This may seem like a lazy assertation since the same could reasonably be said about a few dozen current artists, but I feel the comparison is worth making because Morby leans into the Dylan-ness a bit further on City Music, the follow-up to last year’s also excellent Singing Saw. The influence, of course, is not accidental and it isn’t limited to Morby’s charmingly wooden vocal delivery. City Music finds Morby getting even more introspective, a tad emotional and notably more poetic. One of the highlights is the ambling, groove-laden title track, which is preceded by a short Flannery O’Connor passage read by musician Meg Baird. The track gradually builds to a rapturous rave-up with Morby shouting the lyrics (there are only fifteen distinct words in the whole song). Play it fuckin’ loud. Side note: “Caught in My Eye” is a great introductory song to this album and Morby in general.

17. The xx – I See You  The xx, a band known for hushed tones and stark minimalism, broke free and brought dancehall spirit to their brooding songs. I See You is a natural next step in the group’s evolution.

16. The National – Sleep Well Beast  The National are not everyone’s bag, and understandably so. They require time and attention, which people seem to have less and less of these days. For those who do though, and are inclined to give The National a chance, the experience is a rewarding one. On Sleep Well Beast they do a bit of everything—rock out, wail lovelorn agonies, get glitchy, and mutter cryptic lyrics. I’d like to know who “dead John” in “Carin at the Liquor” store is, one of the record’s strongest, and most National-y tracks. But then again, The National are with each new record proving that they’re quite adept at going in a lot of different directions.

15. Hiss Golden Messenger – Hallelujah Anyhow  Hallelujah Anyhow is a record that seems to have slipped through the cracks. That’s a shame because MC Taylor creates the kind of terrific country-ish folk rock that should make any self-respecting music fan who’s ever picked up a Lumineers or Mumford and Sons record seriously question some of his or her life choices—no offense to those bands. Listen to “Harder Rain” and tell me that isn’t dang good southern rock music. But really, listen to the whole album.

14. Aimee Mann – Mental Illness  Aimee Mann does here what she does best, which is craft melancholy portraits of life’s disappointments. And she does so beautifully. It’s a strange and strangely uplifting album. Also, it might be the most universally enjoyable album on this list.

13. LCD Soundsystem – American Dream James Murphy broke up his band when they were seemingly at the height of their popularity, threw a huge goodbye concert/party in Madison Square Garden, and then spent years puttering around with coffee, wine, and musical turnstiles. All the while he was (presumably) wondering why the hell he called it quits. LCD Soundsystem’s new album which, as recently as three years ago was never supposed to exist, is a solid homecoming that retreads their well-established punk meets electro art-rock style with some new tricks. They have a long history of spastic, challenging songs and American Dream contains the most in terms both of quantity of tracks that fit this bill and quality (the challenging-ness, that is). If you don’t like their first album (or the genre they’re working in) don’t bother. That being said, songs like “how do you sleep,” “oh baby,” “tonite,” “emotional haircut,” and “call the police” bring the goods dance-wise. Album closer/bonus track “pulse (v. 1)” finds LCD going full techno for almost fourteen minutes. So yeah, it’s good to have James Murphy and co. back again.

12. Alvvays – Antisocialites  Alvvays, is one of those little indie bands that could. The spelling of their name is stupid. The songs they make are sunny and catchy. Lead singer Molly Rankin wrote much of the album “in isolation in an abandoned schoolroom” on the Toronto Islands. Taking your word on that one, Spotify “about” section.

11. Japanese Breakfast – Soft Sounds from Another Planet  Soft Sounds could be called a distant cousin of Frankie Rose’s Interstellar from 2012. Both Rose and Japanese Breakfast’s Michelle Zauner sing in angelic tones, inspired by distant worlds in the infinite cosmos. Zauner, however, thinks a bit bigger, and quite a lot hookier too. I’m talking about entrancingly dreamy, poppy, shoegazing tunes that shoot for the stars and land firmly in the heart. Fantastic song titles too, like “Here Come the Tubular Bells,” “Jimmy Fallon Big!,” and my personal favorite, “The Body is a Blade,” also one of the standout tracks on an album full of those.

10. Vince Staples – Big Fish Theory  Between songs during Vince Staples’ set at Pitchfork Music Festival in July, I leaned over to a friend and said I think Staples could be the next Kendrick Lamar. He looked at me quizzically and said, “I think he already is.” It was a bit of a “no duh” moment and one listen to Big Fish Theory proves the comparison to be accurate. It’s a club-ready banger of an album with sharp rhymes and an aggressive current running through it. “745” is, give me permission to write this just one time, the trillest track of the year. It also echoes Lamar’s “Backseat Freestyle” with the repeated “all I want” lyric.

9. Spoon – Hot Thoughts By now, everyone who gives a damn about good music should recognize Spoon as one of the most reliably great bands of the last twenty years. Hot Thoughts sees them stretching their legs, experimenting with some new sounds, but always sounding like Spoon, which is to say cool, confident, sexy, and slick.

8. The Courtneys – II  I feel like The Courtneys should be bigger. Maybe not huge, but definitely a lot bigger. They’re three gals from LA by way of Vancouver who love 90s pop culture and write songs that fall somewhere between candidly wise (“Tour”) and endearingly goofy (“Lost Boys”). There’s also a Big Star-inspired track (“Country Song”), one about a guy moving to the cold North Country (“Minnesota”), and one about iron deficiency (“Iron Deficiency”). Everything is up-tempo and there’s nothing not to like.

7. Lost Balloons – Hey Summer How do you feel about fuzzy, sentimental jangle-pop? How about infectious melodies sung by a guy from Japan? How about deep left-field bands cracking the top ten of MRM’s best albums list? Those questions are rhetorical and this album is very good. Lost Balloons’ Jeff Burke and Yusuke Okada crept under the radar for a while, but they’ve earned the seven spot with a record full of sprightly, mournful ditties. They’re what the characters of Sing Street call, “happy-sad.”

6. Mac DeMarco – This Old Dog The pepperoni playboy is so good at making excellent, laid-back, reflective indie-rock, it feels like only three full-length records in, folks are already taking him for granted. I’ve seen very little love for This Old Dog on other year-end lists…what gives? It’s the most stripped back and mature-sounding of DeMarco’s work so far. Is Mac more fun when he’s singing about the lighthearted aspects of life? Of course. But listening to a song like “Dreams from Yesterday,” it becomes clear that this gap-toothed goofball is at his best when he gets into the deep stuff.

5. Alex Cameron – Forced Witness Part of me can’t believe one of the year’s best albums is by a dude who sings about prowling for women on the web, benching other guys’ bodyweight, and how he’s “packing heat” under his jeans. What’s so remarkable about Forced Witness is how easily it could have been a complete disaster. Adopting a stage persona this crass and outlandish requires an unwavering commitment to the character and, more importantly, having the musical chops to back it up. Cameron and right-hand man on the sax Roy Malloy deliver both, with a batch of killer tunes that weave tales of pathetic delusion, macho posturing, and (perhaps unexpectedly) extreme vulnerability. The carefully crafted façade Cameron takes on is one of the most entertaining aspects of these songs, but it’s how sadly desperate for connection his brazenly low-life characters are that make many of them perversely beautiful. Cameron mixes uninhibited rock star swagger with portraits of seedy, disturbed individuals from the underbelly—like Springsteen, Zevon, and 80s Joel all rolled into one greasy-haired goon. The results are mesmerizing.

4. Mount Kimbie – Love What Survives The opening two songs of Love What Survives sometimes remind me of a terrific movie from this year, the Safdie brothers’ Good Time. The film’s music by Oneohtrix Point Never is a completely different brand of jittery electronic from Mount Kimbie, but these songs produce images of urban menace and escalating panic that, if you’ve seen the film, you’ll understand why they would fit snugly in its world. But then, three tracks in, the record pivots. “Audition” and album standout “Marilyn” slide in to cleanse the palate, providing a hazy, coolly detached warmth. If that sounds a bit enigmatic and contradictory, that’s because it is. This is the brilliance of Love What Survives, an album that earns the distinction of 2017’s breakout revelation. The genre Mount Kimbie occupies is admittedly not my area of expertise, but if ever I was asked to recommend an album of UK-based electronic/“post-dubstep” to a total neophyte, this might be the record. Built around a half dozen guest vocalists including James Blake and King Krule, Love What Survives is a gorgeous collage of sounds—organic and industrial, familiar and foreign, soothing and unsettling—that has a truly captivating effect. And while it is not the best of album of 2017, it is the most fascinating.

3. Lorde – Melodrama  I want to begin by saying I think the music of Taylor Swift is pretty much irrelevant to Lorde. They are both massive female pop stars with fiercely loyal fanbases and, as it would happen, the two are pals (or at least they present themselves publicly as such). Stylistically though, all the two have in common is that their songs fall into the (depending on your point of view) ever-broadening or frustratingly narrow genre of mainstream pop. The reason I bring Swift up is because 1989, which is now just over three years old, seems to be the unanimously agreed upon best pop album of recent memory—it is also the highest selling. Its appeal is near-universal and it is indeed, a stellar album. I’m here to tell you that Lorde’s Melodrama is even better. This is a collection of moody and electrifying songs whose consistent quality is made more impressive by the fact that her previous record is similarly fantastic. Loosely based around the concept of a night spent partying, Melodrama is the rare example of pop music that transcends its generic conventions and manages to be both a supremely satisfying get-up-and-dance record as well as a thoughtful reflection on youth, romance, and the fleeting nature of both.

2. Kendrick Lamar – DAMN. Crown him folks. Kendrick Lamar, best rapper alive. What’s that? We already did that? Okay then, if you weren’t sure before, you ought to be now. The man can do it all. DAMN. is a rightfully ALL CAPS PERIOD rap record that tackles everything from heritage to crippling self-doubt to our divided nation and racism like no one else can. When it comes to beats, flow, intelligence, and charisma Lamar is in a category of his own. “There’s a difference between black artists and whack artists, ” Lamar raps on “ELEMENT.” He’s not wrong.

1. The War on Drugs – A Deeper Understanding  This is a blog so ridiculously unread that the point of keeping it up at times feels woefully nonexistent—I sometimes question why I don’t just shut it all down to the dismay of no one. Why post something on the internet for it to be utterly unnoticed? The same question could be posed to the tens of thousands of other amateur music bloggers across the country with year-end lists that probably look a lot like this one. I don’t know what their reasons might be. Complete lack of awareness? Blissful ignorance? The self-assigned obligation of a shameless vanity project? Mine, for the little it’s worth, is an unadulterated love of rock music and a compulsion to champion the uncompromising musicians that make compelling art. That’s a mission statement of sorts, generic and predictable as it may be, for a largely inactive blog run by a guy who listens to and reads a lot about rock music. That’s all this is. And since I’m on the subject of big cliché statements and uncommissioned content that oversaturates this largely vapid world wide web, here’s an undercooked question whose answer is as subjective as it is insignificant: What is the state of rock and roll in 2017? Reading Collin Brennan’s COS piece from early this year, in which he mines bands like Japandroids, Cloud Nothings, Jay Som, and Real Estate for something resembling a conclusion, I got to thinking about this question myself. Then I got to thinking about The War On Drugs and how they fit into this tired conversation. Here’s what I know to be true: rock and roll, contrary to what people may tell you, does not require a new roster of fresh-faced superstars. It does not need to dominate the charts. It does not need to be young people’s genre of choice, the soundtrack of a revolution, and it certainly doesn’t need to lazily repackage the sound of former greats. Don’t call The War on Drugs or any other band for that matter, “saviors of rock” because rock doesn’t need saving.

Artists like The War on Drugs, albums like A Deeper Understanding are proof that rock and roll’s health report is just fine. The Philadelphia-based band, led by studio obsessive Adam Granduciel, are endearing underdogs: the guys that rose from indie obscurity to fame-straddling heights on the back of an exceptional, critically adored 2014 release. They have made a name for themselves by borrowing from the best. A little Dire Straits, a lot of Bruce, some Ghost is Born-era Wilco distortion, Granduciel’s hushed, Dylan-esque drawl—their sound is built from a foundation of musical greats. These influences are easily recognized on A Deeper Understanding, but it never sounds like mimicry. Instead, it sounds like reverence. Steven Hyden (who also named it the best album of 2017) put it nicely, writing about how the record doesn’t actually sound like the artists the WOD are so frequently compared to. “It does sound like your memories of that questing, widescreen heartland rock music,” he writes. “This is what Adam Graunduciel does best: He evokes the spirit of classic rock’s past without ever literally replicating Bryan Adams’ gruff vocals, Mark Knopfler’s bluesy guitar, or Born In The USA‘s glockenspiels.” The band has mutated their sound over the years from rootsy to atmospheric to this new incarnation, which could be called “quietly epic.” This phenomenon comes across best in a song like “Thinking of a Place,” the eleven-minute opus that somehow doesn’t feel a second too long. “Strangest Thing” builds to the point where its swelling guitar motif will forcibly displace you from whatever you are occupied with and once it’s over you’ll need a moment to come back to Earth. “Nothing To Find” is the breeziest on the record, and equally suited for a large amphitheater or a car stereo on an open road. I could go on and on, but I won’t. This album will not knock you on your ass or change the way you think about music. It’s not the best thing since Nevermind, it’s not even the best album by this band. Here’s what it is: an engrossing sonic experience marked by lush guitars, heartland synths, and a whole lot of things being very strongly felt—longing, nostalgia, confinement, and of course, pain. It’s the kind of album that hits you at your core without sounding like it’s trying too hard to. If the question, “is rock and roll is still capable of having a profound impact today?” were a legitimate one, the sixty-six minutes of A Deeper Understanding would make for an effective, resounding, “Yes.”

Honorable Mentions:  Courtney Barnett & Kurt Vile – Lotta Sea Lice Real Estate – In Mind Run The Jewels – Run The Jewels 3 Randy Newman – Dark Matter Four Tet – New Energy Margo Price – All American Made Big Thief - Capacity