#andrew plays the drums i think

[baby-foxes-and-frens]

Kevin Andrew and Robin as rock band but Kevin gets a fancy ass electric violin

[angelofsmalldeaath]

Could you write anything about Andrew in his blue jeans. They got my going feral, absolutely loosing my shit

a/n: the blue jeans aren't heavily mentioned but i think they still do play an important part

cw: andrew having a dire desperate crush, very slightly suggestive

it’s thirty minutes until he’s supposed to be on stage. 

he’s in a city he’s played in multiple times, he knows the setlist from back to front, and he’s already thinking about what twists he can put on the songs tonight. the backstage is pretty crowded and bustling; his drummer sits on a chair, idly drumming away to whatever’s playing in his ears at the moment. his bassist has a laugh, chatting with some of the backing singers, a cigarette in one hand.  

he sits and watches. 

he knows she’s far too busy running around from one person to the next, making sure everything is perfect and ready to go. her staff lanyard swishes back and forth every time she dashes past him, and his heart squeezes every time she throws a casual smile at someone else.

“you’re running around like a headless chicken,” he calls out as soon as she’s within earshot. 

she staggers to a stop, looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “yeah, well,” she shrugs, “i have a million last-minute things to look at.”

he knows it’s literally her job, but in this moment, all he wants is for her to sit next to him (better yet, for her to sit in his lap) and just talk to him. about anything and everything. but then a small smile blooms on her face and his heart skips a beat. 

“your pins are all wonky,” she laughs a little and gestures for him to stand up.

it’s become a bit of a habit for him now, wearing the pins crooked by just the slightest. it happened a few months ago on accident when he was rushing, but then he saw how it irked her and how she was dying to fix it. how close they both stood while her fingers worked deftly at aligning them.  

and so now he does it on purpose, wears them just crooked enough to irk her so she would come over and fix them for him. but he has to be careful enough not to do it every time. and on days he wears them perfectly, he constantly dreams about what it would be like to have her hands still brushing against his chest.

“blue jeans today?” she quirks an eyebrow, looking him up and down.

“oh, you know all about my fashion choices, do you?” he teases, trying to compensate for how breathless he feels. a faint scent of jasmine washes over him—her shampoo or her body lotion, he doesn’t know—but his mind has started associating the scent with her and her alone. 

“no…” she trails off, looking at him a little sternly, and he worries a bit that he’s teased at the wrong time.

she was clearly running around, busy with other things backstage and now he’s sprung an additional task on her. he’s worried that he’s come across as a petulant rockstar who needs assistance for as simple a task as this. 

“they look nice on you. better than the black,” she bites her lip to stop herself from smiling and his brain short circuits. 

for one, she’s just teased back, even if it was barely anything. and now all he can think about is biting her lip while holding her in his arms. 

the height difference between them means that every time she looks up at him, it’s through her eyelashes. his lips part slightly, like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. and he can’t; he can’t just go around burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. so he has to collect little bits and pieces of her whenever he can and store them like stolen candy. 

“there,” she says once she’s done and gives him a little pat on his chest, “now you look all handsome again.”

him. handsome. she thinks he looks handsome. he’s sure he has the stupidest, silliest grin on his face.

“oh god, don’t smile at me like that,” she blurts out. it’s rushed, almost a whisper, almost like it wasn’t supposed to be said out loud, but her eyes widen. and she looks away in an instant.

“why?” he feigns arrogance, seamlessly slipping into the confident artist his fans meet, “does my devastatingly handsome smile make you go crazy?”

she rolls her eyes but doesn't take a step back. she doesn't even move her hands from his chest. which is a bit of a problem because his heart is racing. 

“you okay?” she asks and he watches her brows furrow in concern. 

shit. shit. shit. he has to think on his feet, and the only thing he can’t do right now is focus! 

“just nervous about the show?”

it comes out more like a question, and he wants to kick himself for telling such an obvious lie. she knows he has played here like four times before. she knows he has everything rehearsed and ready to go, and whatever amount of nerves he might feel, they’re nowhere near enough to make his chest pound like this. 

she gives him a sceptical look and opens her mouth, about to say something, but someone calls her name. both their gazes snap to see another person on the staff, clipboard in hand, feet tapping impatiently. he feels an instant annoyance because how dare they look at her with anything other than adoration, but then his gaze snaps back to her. 

“i gotta go,” she gives him a small smile. “but good luck out there, you’ll be fantastic.”

he nods absently, like a pathetic idiot. 

“and,” she grins “wear that blue jeans more, will you? it really does look gorgeous on you.” before he knows what’s happening, she stands on her toes and presses a tiny kiss on his cheek. and just like that, she’s gone, running around the set once again. 

in a daze, his fingers come up to lightly touch his cheek. multiple neurons in his body are misfiring, and he feels a bit like he’s about to fall off a cliff. 

he wonders if he should follow her and kiss her hard enough that he will taste her for days. he wonders if she tastes like the cherry lip gloss she uses. then he worries that she’s just a friendly, affectionate person. and finally, he burns with envy that someone out there might be getting a real, proper good-luck kiss from her. 

“alright, mate?” his bassist appears, finally back from a cigarette break, and he has to stop himself from unloading everything on him. 

it’s ten minutes until he’s supposed to be on stage.

and now all he can think about is his blue jeans on her bedroom floor and cherry-flavoured lips. 

[etunpeudevitriol]

A collection of things from various Tally Hall concert video recordings that give me that little kick of dopamine:

The way Zubin trills through the word heterophonic in some live recordings of Welcome to Tally Hall

Rob beating the shit out of the tambourine during Praise You

Praise You tambourine toss

When Andrew plays a particularly complicated piano part and his head gets stuck in tilted position as he focuses

That time period when Zubin's bangs were so long you couldn't see half his face

Joe's double jointed eyebrows (like that megamind "no bitches?" meme) during emotional/intense songs

How Zubin's always grooving and bopping to the song they're playing

Occasionally Rob also bops with the songs, and sometimes when he does his upper body rocks back and forth like a metronome

Andrew using his sound effects keyboard for evil

When Zubin flexes his vocal capabilities during covers. During any song really, but he always turns it up to 11 (out of a possible 5) for covers

Ross going *bongobongobongo clap bongobongobongo clap clap* toward the end of acoustic versions of Spring and a Storm

"Mr. Moon?" "Yeah?" "Tell us about the sky!" "Okay" <-during the Wall Party concert. I now add in the "okay" myself every time I sing along to Spring and a Storm (like the "Où! Ça!" in the Notre Place if you know you know)

Every single shenanigan that occurs when they start playing Just A Friend

When Andrew plays with his face half an inch away from being fully faceplanted into the keyboard

Bora being a jack-of-all-trades. Whistling, accordion playing, bass playing, American Sign Language, saying "Sold!", he does it all

Andrew headbanging so hard that his glasses yeet themselves off

When Zubin turns away from the crowd and plays to Ross

When the other ties hype the shit out of Ross and he gets the wildest applause. And he'll either be doing a crazy drum solo or sitting all proud like :]

Joe's 4-syllable insert during Just a Friend (if only he'd also done one for the studio recording 😔)

Maple Leaf Rag intro with all the instruments joining in

I'm sure there's more but that's all I can think of

[deeppenguinstudent]

The car ride back from West Virginia was eerily quiet. Kevin saw Wymack switch the radio to a station playing an upbeat 90s pop, but all he could hear was the deafening drumming of his own heartbeat in his eardrums. He unlocked his phone and refreshed his text messages with Neil; his hands felt clammy and head was pounding with a nauseating migraine.

Yet all he could see was the single text message from Neil, and his breath visibly stuttered as he reread the message for the nth time:

Jean tried to kill himself.

Take it from Neil to be so direct about this situation and leave the sugarcoating to one's own imagination. He clutched his head, and his breath heaved as Wymack looked at him in concern, eyes off the road.

"What do you need, kid?" Wymack had asked, his voice was hoarse and weary.

"Alcohol," Kevin choked out, "Vodka, Tequila, Whisky fuck, anything."

His eyes were bleary with tears as Wymack gazed on the road ahead. Kevin held his head down and didn't even realise when the tires screeched to a halt. He heard shuffling and the open and close of the car door before a brown paper bag heavy with glass bottles was tucked beneath his legs.

Kevin haphazardly reached inside and took out the first bottle he could grasp; it didn't matter which order he opened the bottles in because he was sure by the end of the night, all of them would be depressingly empty. He chugged the first bottle, not slowing down until his tongue tasted of acrid acid and his throat burned.

"Don't tell Abby," Kevin turned to Wymack, his head already lost in the clouds. He let out a disgruntled agreement before hobbling away from Wymack's car, up to the shared dorms of the Foxes. The brown bag was tight with a death grip around his chest.

-☆-

Kevin couldn't sleep.

His stomach gurgled, and his thoughts roamed torturously to Jean. When Kevin was drunk, it was like his mind was against him. People drink to stow the pain away, yet Kevin drinks to remind himself of all the horrors he has seen. He drinks to remember the sickening crunch of his bone shattering to punish himself for leaving Jean back at the Nest. He drinks to invite the pain and erode his mind away until all he can even fathom to think about is Jean.

Jean, who sobbed as Kevin stitched him from battered bruises and stinging cuts. Jean, who had taught Kevin French in hushed whispers and playful nudges on the staircase. Jean, who was the only one in that god forsaken place that saw Kevin as anything but number 2. Jean, who had agreed to distract Riko after that catastrophe. Jean, who had suffered greatly for Kevin's selfishness yet still allowed Kevin to stay beside him despite the scornful scowls. Jean, who broke their promise after the Foxes beat the Ravens.

Kevin had to see Jean. He couldn't wait until the next morning when his head was clear; Kevin needed to see Jean breathing. He needed to feel his heartbeat to know that he was still alive. He quietly toed on shoes and slipped past his snoring roommates.

"Where do you think you're going?" A piercing voice cut through the air, and Kevin cringed as he turned behind - Andrew's keys jingling within his palm.

Kevin coughed out, "The pub?"

Andrew, the preparator of the firm voice narrowed his eyes on his car keys in Kevin's hands before speaking, "Alone? At this hour? It's past 3 in the morning; you and I know damn well that going to a pub at this hour is beyond your foolishness. Try again."

"Exy practice."

"Then I'll wake up Neil."

When Kevin remained silent, Andrew puffed a fatigued sigh before snatching his keys from Kevin, "I'm not an idiot, Kevin, I know you want to see him, but now is not the time. You're clearly intoxicated. Do you think he'll appreciate seeing you in such a state?"

Kevin lowered his head down, Andrew did have a point, but his burning desire paired with his obstinate attitude trampled all sense of logic within him.

"I'll still go, even if you try to stop me," Kevin mumbled before lifting his head up in defiance. He relished in Andrew's expression, morphing into mystification as Kevin folded his arms across his chest.

"Your sophomoric behaviour is truly unbecoming. You're spending too much time with Neil," Andrew bypassed him before pulling open the door and stepping out, "Hurry up, if you don't want anyone to see us leave."

-☆-

"I'm giving you 20 minutes before I come and break down the door," Andrew held Kevin's forearm in a vice grip as they stood outside Jean's room.

"You don't have to stay here."

"I do, and I will. I don't trust him with you."

Kevin swallowed before reluctantly agreeing to Andrew's terms. It was a miracle he even allowed Kevin to leave the house, let alone drive him to Abby's house with no complaints. He didn't want to take any chances, so Kevin gave a curt nod as he entered Jean's room.

[shimmering-starsun]

i looove post whiplash Andrew being like. the worst person ever. He’s just mean to everyone and the addiction painkillers definitely doesn’t help. he probably does coke too. if these things can make him better, why not do them? if he got better by being broken apart why doesn’t he break apart others as well? he’s ruthless to the bands that play with him, he has no friends, he’s silent about his private life because he’s got nothing except for Fletcher and Maybe his dad.

He misses thanksgiving with his relatives. Even better, he comes a day late, buzzed out of his mind, asking his aunt where everyone is.

He’s the best fucking jazz drummer in new york and nobody likes him but he’s too good. you have to kneel to him, keep your head low around him. He’s that bastard that demands you play on time or he’ll say you might as well work at a fast food joint.

There’s zero grace, until he gets on the throne. He demands the best, he is the best, he is so fucking mean, he is a disgrace to his family (as seen, they don’t care about legacy, but rather family)

At the end of his short life, he is celebrated as a musician, not a human. He is a legend. Praised, not loved.

Maybe loved by Fletcher,

By Nicole, who can say “I dated Andrew Neiman, he was horrible.” And she would take a drink from her cup and everyone around the dinner table would have wide eyes, her boyfriend has heard it all before. “He was wild, his life was drums, he said I would stop him from being great. Jazz. Why do they even bother? It’s just for the backround, isn’t it?”

Fletcher is at the funeral, he’s one of the Seven people at the funeral. Relatives, all of them, except for him.

The one that found Andrew’s body.

He’s apart from the rest of the people at the funeral, mysterious, dark. He holds an umbrella low over his head. A black trenchcoat, a black fedora, black gloves.

I like to think about post whiplash Andrew

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

20 minutes of my life I'll never get back. 🤦‍♂️

I must be a glutton for punishment because I actually watched Kinsey Schofield's 20 min interview w/Valentine Low. May this rant save you from making the same mistake:

Valentine Low & Kinsey Schofield just reminded me that the British press is in desperate need of a grief recovery workshop to let go of their palace manufactured PR image of Sparry, "the CONSERVATIONIST," and accept the REALITY: Sparry has ALWAYS been a member of the lost boys who never intend to grow up. He loves drugs, perverted soho house sex play pens, and living a secret lifestyle in San Francisco, CA. As we saw in the South Park Documentary, Sparry has always wanted to be left alone so he can just bang on his drums all day.

The British media needs to accept that they never knew the Sparry aka Prince Harry. Much like Fergie & Andrew: The Meghans are two (2) intellectually below average individuals who married in haste. Both their academic & professional work histories indicate that these two (2) immature adults, lack even the basic skills necessary to function in society without the help of a PR "machine" whose job is to clean up their messes and repeatedly rebrand them into more acceptable members of polite society. It's past time for Valentine Low and other UK journalists to admit that they never really knew Sparry. All their Diana goodwill should now be invested into the future of the BRF (the family of Prince William)

No amount of hoping for the best or "covering up" for Sparry's misdeeds can transform the moral rot in his character. They bought and sold the PR image manufactured by the palace. It was the paparazzi & other "undesirables" who had the misfortune of observing the REAL Sparry. They watched him mistreat drivers, security, staffers, etc long BEFORE he was seduced by MEgain.

V Low believes Sparry flew a helicopter! 😳 Come on! Too many REAL service members have spoken out about Sparry's military character and performance and there's nothing good about it.

Sparry, like his wife is also a liar and a bully. He's not intellectually bright, he never was... He even bullied his grandparents before the "spectacle," he bullied Meghan's father...we heard reports about seeking a left wing wife and his interest in living in the US----all before MEgain.

Low also thinks Sparry loves his children. Has Valentine Low ever seen the invisibles? No. He's transferred a PR image to a couple of never before seen kids and their so called father. A so-called "father" who is willing to destroy his brother's children (and the innocent children of other couples) through the spread of destructive lies, has zero interest in the REAL wellbeing of anyone's kids, least of all his own.

As for the Wife: her ability to earn a college degree as an American teenager/young adult without even the offer of an ACADEMIC scholarship means that she too is mediocre and overrated. Her university commencement program states that she was a candidate for a degree in "communications" NOT some whip smart area of study like biochemistry or engineering! 🤦‍♂️

As a university student, thanks to her dad's brother (mike), she spent a measly six (6) weeks in Argentina on an exchange program (paid by her father) until she failed an exam that would have allowed her to apply for (real) jobs in the States. An intellectual or any hard worker would have studied until she passed the test. Not Rachel Meghan Markle. If no one was willing to make an exception for her low marks, then she would whore her way up a series of ladders until she found someone dumb enough to give her a platform.

No, this is NOT a "smart" couple. This couple is a cautionary tale about how Water seeks it's own level: Sparry's mother and teachers did him a disservice, just as MEgain's father did her a disservice: SPARE the rod & SPOIL the child

Kinsey believes that MEgain is "smart" because she achieved a Duchess title. (What does this tell us about Kinsey's IQ. 🤦‍♂️😳)

MEgain became a "Duchess" because she was a professional "seductress" employeed by Markus Anderson & Soho House. Everything this couple achieves is smoke & mirrors based on TRANSACTIONAL relationships where they bully & harass anyone standing in their way.

They don't even possess good work ethics, let alone above average IQs. Please call a spade a spade (or in this case a spare a spare) and stop gaslighting the public about what Sparry could have done had he not been involved with the wife.

We watched the wife verbally abuse KP staffers over bereavement flowers and feckless Sparry stood by in AGREEMENT. Wicked queen Jezebel 2.0 and traitorous king ahab 2.0. Let them go!

[codename-adler]

[Day 01]

@allforthegamebingo ; Angst Edition

slipping on ice - breaking bones - unable to move || “you should have never come here.”

Jean x Aaron // T

———

“You should have never come here.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let Jeremy call me.”

Aaron knew this one decision would be met with fight after fight from everyone involved, and not. First Andrew, because of course. And Aaron wasn’t even asking for the Maserati, Matt’s truck would be just fine. Matt didn’t need to know the distance he’d make with it, at least not yet. It’s not as if he was driving all the way to California. He would never do that. Of course not. Nobody’s worth that much gas…

Luckily the Trojans were playing their eponymous rivals, USC Columbia, where Aaron and Andrew would probably have gone to were it not for Exy and Coach Wymack. Aaron personally disliked thinking about it. This other version of him wandering around, who was probably free of murder and all the other dogshit that went down in just the one year.

And it looked like this season was about to be eventful as well, to say the least. Though nothing could rival the clearly toxic hatred between the two South Carolina teams, and though the Foxes had had nothing to show for a while before thoroughly humiliating the USC Gamecocks (which, why), Jean Moreau’s transfer seemed to have heightened the hate-stakes for everyone. The face-off had been brutal, and dirty. Not many players would be on Saint Nicholas’s Nice List this holiday season.

Especially not the guy who broke three of Jean’s fingers.

There was no way his move had been anything other than intentional. You don’t move your racquet backwards like that once the ball has left your opponent’s net. Yet that #26, Valdekis, has snapped the end of his stick in a wide arch behind his back, while he’d already shoved Jean against the plexiglass. His larger, heavier stick caught Jean’s fingers against the wall, continuing its arch unbothered while the fingers bent backwards far past what the human body allowed. Pop, they went.

Aaron had watched the slow-motion recap one time too many. Trying to convince the med student part of himself, as well as the backliner part, that the fingers could be fine, surely. He wasn’t even close to being convinced when Jeremy called. That’s when he knew it was no longer a matter of if, but how bad?

“He won’t let any of the nurses approach him,” Jeremy had shakily uttered through the phone instead of his usual cheery greeting.

“Not even Davis?” Aaron had responded immediately, taking it in stride. He mentally pushed away the thought of how incriminating it was that he knew the Trojans’ staff by heart, as well as how Jean felt about them, and they about him. He needed that space to go into panic over the fact that this injury was apparently not like the others Jean had suffered since his transfer.

“No one,” Jeremy repeated. His voice was so much quieter than normal. It deafened Aaron like a drum beat on his very heart nonetheless.

“You want me to come?” Aaron asked, because he would, he was already moving, he needed Jeremy to call him stupid and tell him to sit his ass down.

“Yes please,” Jeremy replied, breath shuttering, delivering Aaron’s fast pass to GO! Collect 200$!

And so Andrew fought him without a word, then Neil because, Neil, then Kevin, and the USC Columbia staff, and the Trojans’ staff, and finally Jeremy took over for him. The captain let him in the locker room, which was empty except for a giant backliner trying to make himself infinitely small. Jeremy nodded at Aaron as Dermott and Alvarez waited for him in the doorway, arms open and ready to catch the shaken striker.

Aaron approached the corner of the room, tightening his grip on the “first aid” duffel he’d put together before he left Fox Tower. His steps echoed and Jean felt them.

“I told everyone, and I’m saying it again: my hand is fine, it’s nothing, I can still play. I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything,” Jean bit out without turning around.

“If your hand’s fine after that foul play then I’m shitting rainbows right now,” Aaron spoke.

Jean whirled around, his face contorted in picture perfect affront.

“How the fuck are you here,” Jean said with venom.

“Drove here,” Aaron answered blandly, taking none of the crap Jean was trying to scare him away with.

“You are not needed here. You are not wanted. Turn back around and go away,” Jean weakly barked.

“If you’ll let Davis do his job, sure.”

Aaron thought Jean’s cold front was thing of the past between them, but apparently he could still bite at him, and it could still hurt. Aaron tried not to let it sting.

Jean remained silent. The impasse was foiled with the hum of the harsh neon lights and the pulsating pain shooting up his fingers. He could hear Aaron’s breaths too, calm but a little shallow. All of this was bad. Very bad. Aaron being here reflected how ill-adjusted Jean really was, and that would not do, not for the Trojans, not for the press, and certainly not for Lord Moriyama.

“You should never have come here,” Jean bit out.

“Then you shouldn’t have let Jeremy call me,” Aaron talked back.

Jean lifted his head at that.

“Yeah, Jean. You’re scaring the crap out of him. It’s bad. I know it’s bad. But you and I both know you’ve been worse when you landed in Palmetto. And you and I both know I’ve seen the worst when I had to take over from Abby during the nights. So why don’t you let me look at your hand, see how ‘fine’ it is, and I can help you fix it and put you back on the track. Then I’ll be on my merry way.”

Jean looked at him for a long time. Aaron stood still, letting him search for what he was looking for, hoping he’d find it. No matter the world outside, Jeremy and the Trojans, the Foxes, the fans, the press, Ichirou… Time felt frozen here. The urgency had passed and gone away. He was with Jean, now. He got to him in time. He was here, now, ready to fix him, and nothing else mattered. Aaron could wait. It was Jean’s call, now.

When Jean’s stormy eyes settled back into Aaron’s ember ones, he nodded. “Okay. You can look.”

Aaron put down his duffel on the bench.

“Can I let your team know that we’re gonna start treatment? I don’t want them busting in thinking we killed each other because it’s taking us some time,” Aaron asked Jean.

Jean nodded again, something strange in his gaze.

Aaron moved quickly to the door and slipped outside. The whole team turned to face him in sync, eyes wide and expectant. Aaron was too impressed to address this nervous crowd, so he turned to Jeremy and spoke to him only. “Jean agreed to let me treat him. It might take a while. Do whatever you have to do to be ready to leave as soon as he’s patched up, and to minimize rumours. Don’t- Don’t come in. He’ll meet you when we’re done. Jeremy? He’ll be okay, alright? I’ll do my best. But he’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

Aaron saw Jeremy’s shoulders lose some of the enormous stress weighing down on them. That was enough. He didn’t wait for an answer and moved back inside. He was met with Jean’s eyes immediately. He’d been waiting anxiously, but patiently.

He moved swiftly, taking out all the stuff he brought from home and displaying them methodically on the bench beside Jean’s. He then straddled that bench and sat down facing Jean. He extended his own hand, open to the sky. Then he waited.

Jean slowly revealed his left hand, bringing it towards Aaron from where he’d cradled it against his side. His glove had already been removed. Aaron saw all of the damage in an instant.

It was bad. But it was okay.

Before taking Jean’s hand, Aaron spoke. Speaking was the easy part here. “You know what’s what already, this is only for me, so you can tune me out,” Aaron explained quietly. “Alright. It’s a beautiful night to save some bones. Skin’s not broken, that’s good. Members are heavily bruised and swollen, but no blood or loss of circulation. Phalanges of three middle fingers are bent out of shape, but remain connected to the palm. Also good. No need to pop ‘em back in place. A simple three-finger brace should be good to avoid further damage until proper scans in Cali.”

Jean listened. He remembered how it had been in that dark little room in Palmetto. In the beginning. He remembered how Abby trained Aaron, made him say everything he was doing and why, so she could be sure he was doing the right thing. Even when Abby stopped showing up and let Aaron do the night rounds, he would still voice what he was seeing and doing, step by step. It was those whispers that saved Jean. At first they might have been a distraction, something to focus on instead of the pain and the anxiety and the devil voice in his head, but the more he actively listened, the more Jean understood the words. He was never left in the dark about what Aaron was doing to him. Everything was always as he said, nothing more, nothing less. Every shot, pill, liquid, cream, they all came with Aaron’s quiet voice explaining the what and when and how, and why. For the first time in his life, Jean was in full possession of his medical history, minute by minute.

Aaron didn’t have a local anesthetic, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the pain that scared Jean. When his fingers snapped on the court, the sudden explosion of pain had been terrifying, yes, but it was the few seconds after, when he’d blacked out, that did him in. Because, for a moment, he was back under there, in the Nest. When Grayson broke his fingers. When Riko broke them too. When he was forced to break them himself.

Smalls would set them straight quickly, quietly, exasperatedly, every time, and tape the fingers together, until next time.

Davis was okay. He warned Jean every time something uncomfortable had to be done, apologizing once, then urging Jean to take care. It was unfair of Jean to compare him to either Smalls or Aaron. But he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he wished Aaron had never happened. He set the bar too high.

Often, Jean would message Aaron about one thing or another that he felt was wrong, but loathed going to the Trojans Med Center to ask for help. Aaron always answered. Unless it was something unusually serious, Aaron always placed the solution in Jean’s hands.

Go to the pharmacy and look for Claritin in the flu section, box is blue with clouds on it. Look for the non drowsy one. Take one pill every 24h. Unfortunately Cali is the kingdom of year-round allergies. Don’t worry.

Take a bowl large enough for both your feet and fill it with ice cold water. After 15 minutes of soaking, your blood should have stopped flowing to your head only and travelled back down. If that doesn’t stop the migraine, try caffeine supplements. If that doesn’t work either, you should ask Davis for a prescription. Migraines are no joke, Jean.

No, you won’t die if you accidentally took your antidepressant twice today. Just let someone else know, Davis or Jeremy or Cat, so they can be there if you start feeling unusual, but I doubt it. Just don’t take your dose tomorrow and drink a lot of water, be sure to properly feed yourself. Happens a lot, it’ll be okay.

And here he was, in the flesh. His flowing words like a lullaby for Jean.

“We’re gonna have to put that brace on, now. Do you have anything to hold for your other hand? It’s gonna feel like a bitch,” Aaron finally said to Jean.

Jean looked around, briefly held up his jersey, then shook his head. Aaron took it in stride and searched around in his duffel. He pulled out a small orange thing and placed it in Jean’s right hand. Jean looked down at it and pressed lightly with his fingers. He looked back up at Aaron, unimpressed.

“Fox stress ball,” Aaron winked at him, knowing Jean was hating it.

Then the hard part started. The taping was painful, but Jean handled it, knowing what was coming would be infinitely worse. Aaron’s calloused hands were ever so careful. When Jean focused on them, he could almost forget the ugly one they were treating.

When Aaron started to put the metal bands in place, Jean wished he’d kept his mouth guard. He feared his jaw would shatter, yet he couldn’t stop biting down. It hurt. He didn’t want to close his eyes, scared to wind up back in the past, but he didn’t want the tears to escape either. He started trembling.

“I know, I’m sorry. I know, I know,” Aaron whispered, trying to work faster.

Jean had no strength left. The stress ball was shit, and he wanted to let go, and he wanted to cry, and he wanted comfort, damn it.

All at once Jean’s control snapped. He slumped down and bit his lips. His bowed head landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Jean? Jean, talk to me. Jean?” Aaron said, starting to panic.

Jean only burrowed his head deeper into Aaron’s shoulder. He tried to breathe in, but a sob escaped his throat and made him choke on it as it echoed into the empty locker room.

Aaron freed one of his occupied hands to cradle Jean’s head against him. Jean’s hair was still wet from the grueling match and the following hardships. Aaron turned his face so he could talk into Jean’s ear. “I’m sorry. We’re almost done. Stay there, okay? Bite down on my shirt, you’re gonna break your teeth like that. Okay, Jean? Okay?”

Jean barely nodded against Aaron’s neck. He mouthed at Aaron’s sweater until he had enough cloth to bite down on. His nose brushed along the skin under there and suddenly Jean could smell an entire new world. He took a deep breath, filling his throat with it.

Aaron’s sweatshirt was getting wetter and wetter, and his neck felt humid too, and he could also feel Jean’s mouth, but he pushed on, working to get Jean out of this mess as soon as possible. He was sure none of his clinicals would ever be this hard.

And suddenly it was over. The brace was in place.

Aaron released the breath he was holding, his shoulders slumping, Jean’s head going down with them. He carefully held Jean’s injured hand in one of his own, freeing his other to return to Jean’s hair.

“Hey, we’re done. Hard part’s over. You made it. You’re good, Jean,” Aaron whispered into his ear, emotional somehow.

Jean released Aaron’s shirt from his mouth, but didn’t move otherwise. Aaron carded his fingers through the dark curls, letting Jean have his moment, and indulging a bit, too.

When Jean finally lifted his head away from Aaron, his eyes were dark. Aaron tried to remove his hand, but couldn’t quite manage to let go. His finger rested on the side of Jean’s face, rubbing small circles into his skin and scalp. Any minute, now, he would let go. Any minute.

Aaron squeezed one last time, preparing to untangle his hand. But before he could, Jean took a hold of his chin. His fingers, though unharmed, trembled. Jean leaned down. And down, and down, until his lips landed home, right on Aaron’s.

Aaron tightened his hold.

So did Jean.

No balm had ever soothed either of them this good. There was no medicine like this kiss.

They were tired, hungry, scared. Their lips on one another fixed all of that.

Jean sighed into the kiss, and it almost brought Aaron to tears. He couldn’t get enough. There was a hint of blood on his tongue, from Jean’s mouth, and he savoured it like it was the last drop of water on earth. Jean pushed into Aaron, wanting more, wanting it all. They separated for a second, inhaling each other, before Jean dived back in deeper. He no longer felt his broken hand. He only tasted Aaron, felt him, smelled him, consumed him.

Aaron would have let him swallow him whole. When they finally had to stop, lest they passed out, they stayed in orbit of each other, so close another collision was inevitably imminent. Jean’s thumb traced Aaron’s mouth, their foreheads resting against one another. Aaron mouthed at Jean’s finger with butterfly kisses and small flicks of his tongue. Within their bubble, Aaron quietly spoke.

“Should I go tell the good news to your team?”

Jean looked down at his bandaged hand, then up at Aaron’s lips. “Which one?” he replied, eyes glimmering.

Aaron kissed him again, unable to stop himself. He pulled away with a trembling smile.

“Any one. Any one you want.”

[lifemod17]

The time has come for me to yap about Hymn To Virgil from Hozier's Unreal Unearth: Unending

12/06/2024

THE PRODUCTION?!!?! I tip my hat to the incredibly talented producers Jeff Gitty, Bekon, and Some Fuckin Guy™ named Andrew idk

I think they did an incredible job balancing out the tasteful use of vocal effects and letting his natural voice soar! mans was BELTING. also the runs?? he is a runner he is a track star

I am in love with the off kilter flow he gets into during the verses!!! he doesn't do that very often but man oh man, does he smash it out of the park

THE MASSIVE WAVE OF THE CHOIR VOCALS. opening the song with this modulated choir- it immediately ropes you in. drown me in that ethereal sea of gorgeous sounds please and thank you. YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS- it was bugging me that the intro sounded familiar but I couldn't remember what -> IT'S LIKE THE INTRO FOR Through Me (The Flood)!!!

the synths?? FORGIVE HIM FATHER FOR HE HAS SYNTH!!

the keys are so gentle yet haunting. there is no better way I can describe it other than it is HAUNTINGLY BEAUTIFUL.

the lyrics are insane but I mean, it's Hozier. when has the lyrics been NOT heartbreaking, soul crushing, breathtaking, yearning levels of insane?

"If I held in my hands everything gold could buy I'd still not have a thing worth giving you You tell me the sun is shining in paradise And I have to watch your lips turn blue I would burn the world to bring some heat to you"

as for the part that I absolutely lost my mind to last night, you ask? around the 14 second mark, it happens for just one second- maybe even half a second- but it's the part where the first vocal run is introduced. it rises in a crescendo OR SO YOU THINK, because it doesn't even GET to finish! it gets cut off by the bass and drums!!! and then the first verse starts!!! That's like some Labrinth type of production I AM OBSESSED it's such a small detail that could easily be overlooked, but to me that part was an instant stank face moment I squealed and startled my cats. The way it starts off quiet and gradually gets louder only for it be cut off... And this all happens in the span of one (1) second... I immediately felt the depression leaving my body.

I would love to see this song be used in a movie because it is just too damn epic, it is nothing short of cinematic. Hymn To Virgil is the type of song that needs to be played loud. thems the rules.

[minyard-05]

another banger from me (thinks an ungodly amount about aftg) and my friend (knows 3 characters' names and nothing else)

BAND AU #6

(suspend your disbelief here on in)

anyway i was talking about neilaaron bestfriendismz with the aforementioned friend and she just said "band au with them" and i was like "yes okay now what" so we drew up a plan (in like 10 minutes between classes)

neil & aaron are already friends, either in college or just out of it

andrew just got out of prison

kevin's just had his big injury

neil & aaron are like hey we should totally start a band this is a great idea and theyre both like "i know someone who plays an instrument !"

so aaron calls his brother and is like dude come play drums with us and andrew's like okay fine (then there's something of a deal made there I don't know)

neil runs into kevin and is like hey you wanna play guitar and kevin's like yeah alright but i broke my hand and neil essentially says that's fine we can't play either

(and they can't)

they gradually get better and Dynamics begin to form

nicky shows up and becomes their manager/pr guy/wrangler

they share a rehearsal space with the other foxes because wymack owes andrew a favour (andrew killed his dad for him)

roles are pretty much like usual, neil & aaron are co lyricists (andrew occasionally contributes) aaron does vocals + bass kevin & neil are guitar andrew is drums

(nobody notices when andrew and aaron occasionally switch roles so sometimes andrew's singing and nobody picks up on it lmao)

renee signs on as their keyboard player slash backup drummer eventually

kevaaron. andreil. probably. that or i kill them all in a zombie apocalypse it could really go either way

here's what we have so far

[nasturtiumloom]

hi hi ! could i please request an andrew neiman fluffy fic ? :3

hope you enjoy ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

She had always been fascinated by the way Andrew played the drums. His intensity, the way he seemed to pour every ounce of himself into each beat, captivated her. One afternoon, while they were hanging out in his practice space, she found herself staring at the drum kit. Andrew noticed the way her eyes lingered.

“Thinking about giving it a try?” he asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know, maybe. You make it look easy.”

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “Easy, huh? Let’s see about that.”

He handed her the drumsticks, and she hesitated for a moment before taking them. “I’m going to embarrass myself, aren’t I?” she said, already feeling a bit silly.

“Not a chance. I’ll teach you,” Andrew reassured her, guiding her to the stool. “First things first, you need to hold the sticks like this.” He showed her the proper grip, and she mimicked his movements.

“Like this?” she asked, trying to adjust her fingers the way he had shown her.

“Almost,” he said, stepping behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands covering hers as he adjusted her grip. “Here, let me help.”

His voice was soft, the proximity of his body making her heart race. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but it was hard to think with him so close.

“Now, try hitting the snare drum,” he instructed, still holding her hands.

She tapped the drum lightly, and the sound was weak and uneven. She cringed. “That was pathetic.”

Andrew laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest against her back. “You’re too tense. Relax your arms and let the sticks do the work.”

“Relax, he says,” she muttered with a smile. “Easy for you to say.”

“Hey, I’m the expert here,” he teased, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

She rolled her eyes but followed his advice, loosening her grip and trying again. This time, the sound was stronger, more controlled. “Better?”

“Much better,” Andrew said, nodding in approval. “Now, let’s add the hi-hat. Just a simple beat.”

He guided her hands again, showing her the rhythm. She could feel the steady pulse in his movements, and soon enough, they were playing a basic beat together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“See? You’re getting the hang of it,” he praised, his voice filled with genuine pride.

She couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, but I’m not anywhere close to your level.”

Andrew shrugged, still standing behind her. “You don’t have to be. I like you just the way you are, even if you’re not a drum prodigy.”

She turned her head slightly to look up at him, her expression softening. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Only for you.”

love this so much i never see any fics of andrew .·°՞(˃ ᗝ ˂)՞°·.

[nightsteps]

Everyone talks about Dad Rafe in the JJ years, but I've never seen anything about Dad John B, which I think is absurd because John B would be a great father, and he was the only one who showed interest in children in the series.

see john b is my man and for that reason here’s a run down of john b and blueberry’s future family

so john b is a lover boy at heart so they get married pretty young at like 20. they waited to have kids though, so they had their first kid at like 28. he wanted them way earlier but blueberry wanted to wait because kids are forever.

so they only have two kids. their first was a boy, and he’s like those adorable, picture perfect kids you see online. they named him andrew, and he’s actually really similar to blueberry. he plays the drums and he’s in a band with jjs kids. he’s not as heavy on the art front but in terms of music he’s really similar to his mom.

their second is a girl and they named her olive. she’s really similar to john b. she’s a very logical thinker, but she’s adventurous and loves the outdoors. she’s sort of a loner and doesn’t have a ton of friends.

john b and blueberry are probably the best parents out of the group outside of pope and orange. they actually have like structures and rules for their kids. there’s no good cop bad cop they’re a united front. they don’t have to punish olive a lot she’s a good kid but andrew is a little bit of a trouble maker, especially when he was a kid.

they’re honestly incredibly good at knowing when their kids get up to shit though because of all the bad stuff they did as teenagers. like there’s no shot your lying about where you were last night they already know.

[devilish-parrot]

Tally Hall themed names for pets:

you can also use this to name your children (or renaming yourself)

If you own a tally hall themed zoo(bin), then you know where to look for names

these are all of course only sugestions. im not forcing you to name you dog zirconium pants.

Most of this isnt serious but if you see some good ideas, go for it. youre welcome in advance

(this has been sitting in my drafts for months and ive lost motivation to finish it but you can roughly guess how it goes)

peoples names:

Zubin

Rob

Ross

Andrew

Joe

Bora

Casey

Marvin

Sally

Steve

Ryan

Colours:

Blue

Yellow

Grey

Green

Red

Orange

Black

Instruments:

Electric guitar

Acoustic guitar

Guitar

Ukuklele

Accordian

Flute

Drum

Piano

Keyboard

Microphone

Amp

Roland Amp

Violin

Bongo

Pair names:

What, When

Circles, Spirals

Birds, Bees (unfortunetly most people will think its a sex ed reference)

Mary-Kate, Ashley (most ppl will think its a direct reference to the olsen twins though)

Juno, Sun

Good, Evil

T, A-L-L-Y

Case, Bass

Click, Flick

Collectable, Delectable

No Answers, No Questions

Bubmle, Mumble

Once, Twice

Where, There

Here, There

Twice, Thrice

Direction, Voice

Double, Bonus

Bung Vulchungo, Zimbabwe Songbirds

Laugh, Kick it back

Rythm, Rhyme

Whether, Whatever

Whether, Anything

Bungalay, Bungalow

Too much, Not enough

Back, Forth

One Thing, Another

Spring, Storm

Enthusiastic, Alive

Silent, Explosive

Over Again, Never Again

Laugh, Clap

Serious, Delirious

Gallows, Ghetto

Town, Meadow

Billows, Over the Sun

End of a time, Another Begun

sky, all the land

Song Lyrics:

MARVINS MARVELOUS MECHANICAL MUSEUM

Good Day

Id like to say hello and welcome you good day

Glass eyes

Nothing

Something

Television

Cardboard houses

Xray Vision

Silly Rhymes

Telephones

Silly games

Periods

Question Marks

2. Greener

Greener

Seconds

Boulders

Weather

Breaking me slowly

Meaner

Cleaner

Greener shade of envy

3. Welcome to Tally Hall

T-A-L-L-Y

Mini Mall

Mega Mart

Eddie Thatch (most ppl will think youre directly referencing blackbeard)

WWTDH

Tizzy Hizzy

Carnival

Tally Hall (not the most creative but whatever)

Automated Players

Suave Fellow

Heterophonic Tunes

Proud Loud Guy

Sipping 'gnac (or Cognac)

Bill Laimbeer

Locksmith

Keys

Badiggle

Unpredictable Games

Antiqueties

English Chap

Knickers

Gall

Sterosonic

Animatronic

Robo-Electronic Ebonics

Quick Distraction

Mechanic Attraction

Good Old-Fashioned Puppet Show

Marionette Quintet

We think we're playing in a band

4. Taken For a Ride

Helpless land

Happy

Sadistic Mystic

Elavator

Fifteen Flights

Creatures

Listening

Painted Whispered Light

Forgotten Hill

Stranded Senate

White Brick House

Lonely Papaerbacks

Tiptoed

Wooden Sign

Lovely

One Secondary Smile

Extra Mile

Chemistry (is gone)

Taken for a Ride

Actor

World Renowned

Last real day of silence

Picture of a Letter

No Secrets (In the door)

5. The Bidding

Mmm-mmmmm-mmmm-mmmm (you have to hum the tune)

Cardboard Box

Liqor shop

Pavlov Dog

(Activate my) Bell

(Not a) Single Lady

Atmosphere

Continent

Hemisphere

Circumvent

Disappear

I graduated at the Top

(I like to take advantage of the) Bourgeoisie

Fantasy

Queen

Couple bucks

Gentlemen

Four Times a Lady

Dont shop Around

The Bidding

He's Sold

6. Be Born

Quite Content

Swimming Pool

Pink-Skinned Babes

Forever Young

See the Sun

Six Inches

Dozen People

Cry

(Follow my) Instruction

Little Ball

Bah/ Dah/ Baheyah

7. Banana Man

Colonel P.T Chester Whitmore

Bung Vulchungo

Zimbabwe Songbirds

Banana man

White Hot Sand

Banana Tree

Banana Flow

Mm mm mm mmm

Flame

Spirit

Spirit Game

Spirit Names

Spirit Cloud

Songbirds

Fire light

uptight

Little Fun

Bungalow

Bumping of the drum

Troubles

Go with the Flow

Whatever you may never know

Beckoning Man

African't

Nine o clock

Busy Town

8. Just Apathy

Just one state of mind

Something better

(no) Perfect find

Why i bother

Consider the Possibility

Im so tired

Inspired

I feel bad

I made her sad

I need to learn

Step blindly

close my eyes

Acting kindly

9. Spring and a Storm

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Please stop complaining

Rain

Ground

Sky

Music

Clouds growled overhead

Thunder

Drained my soul away

Mr moon

Deep

Dark

Eternally high (great name for a giraffe)

Obscure

Star

Silent

Explosive

Create

Universe

Overworked

Re-crown

Creation

Over and over and over again

Never again

10. Two Wuv

little thing

just a fling

solely mine

mural

great eyes

fancies

apartments

enrolled in your school

bee

sadness

passes

im calling from tally hall

say that again slowly

lovliness blossomed

11. Haiku

trying

write

haiku

beyond

ancient asian poetry

lost in the sauce

formulaec verse

forte

tried attempts

lah da dee diddum lah dah dah dum ditto dum doo lah dee doh

sufficient

webster

12. the whole world and you

pretty people

sotries

passing letters

questions answered

metaphysical

astronomical

mystical

magical

la la la la la la la la la la la la

kings

distant cities

servisory

congratulatory

brewing

cooing

revealed the truth

not about me

retract

abstract

concluding

13. Ruler of everything

juno

juno was mad

shot at the sun

sun

wily

wily one only friend

mechanical hands

ruler of everything

ruler

everythung

jackrabbit

dance

zurconium pants

consequental

trance

walk

talk

disintegrates

chalk

wif

job

egocentric

mannerisms

wall

mirror

clearer

standing so tall

slobber

clovers

side of the hill

observing the birds

circle in for the kill

facade

scam

cry

detective undercover brotherhood

objective obscene

flibbity jibbity jibber jabber

word to sell story to tell

ringing the bell

comprehend

ubderstand

you resemble a fool

bumbling dragon

14. Hidden in the sand

playing in the sand

found a little band

bid adieu

buy a pony

15. Mucka Blucka

bluck

ba-bluck

a-bluck

blucka

bluck-bluck

blu-ha-ha

blaaah

mucka blucka

mucka-blah

mucka

mucka ba-ba

ba-ba

blough

blucka

bluck

bow

bluckity

blickity

bluck-bluck-bluck

blick

beeiiish

jerk chicken

Good & Evil

Never meant to know

lay of the land

feather in cap

sun in the sand

offered

together again

the earth can stay below

meat from the bone

perfectly equal

being alone

outermost clime

parts combine to one

around the sun

disarray

the sun the shadows cast

reasons on the other hand

2. &

love of the s*n

martyr claiming friends

either perspective of &

weak, strong

wet, dry

right, wrong

live, die

sane, gone

love, not

we forgot

hear it

dont deny it

high, low

new, old

stop, go

hot, cold

john, yoko

dark, light

good night

lesson fron their fathers

same command

lives stuck beside

words, numbers

sound, silence

stop the peace, keep the violence

no, yes

we digress

sad, hapenis (i know how to spell happiness i just cant unhear "ha penis oh god")

big bad betty

golden rule

jungle meet

nothing to love, no one to beat

thungs we know, things we dont

think, cant, will, wont

loath to gather

together, bereft

capitalists, communists

hokey pokey

hate eachother, love yourselves

heaven, hell

3. you & me

starting out a road

carefully unload

open-eyed

another seed to sow

getaway undone

divine, circular design

do do-do do-do

time, place

points along a line

keep on turning

sitting in the park

carefully remark

better when youre learning

in the dark

keep on turning

turn away and around

ive been coming down

4. cannibal

cavern

place where she can stay

darkness

obsessed

need to feed

willing victim

cannibal

rips out my bones

animal

blood is drained

calls it a game

wound

unimstakeable

dig up the skeletons

believe

corners disguised

phantom of glammer

feeding

conceding

5. who you are

appointment

sitting, waiting, hoping

air, night, airplane

flight overcame

distance

emmiting a glow

holding the thoughts

thinking too often

little aloft

not enough heart

armed to the teeth

fireside

falls down

rose up, rode underground

finding found

6. sacred beast

service of the king

almighty

in control of everything

queen decides

lives, dies

tonight we will sing

love, *humming and whistling*

easiest thing

mission

slay the sacred beast

claim our innocence

wont return

feast

riding high

hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm

easisest thing

mission

claim our innocence

it knows its only truth

made of lies

auht, ever-wise

compromise

other sides of our disguise

seperate peace

LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE AWSOME TALLY HALL CONTENT LIKE THIS!!!

[iamsmoll]

Headcannon about katsuki bakugou and that his favorite movie is whiplash. Its cannon that he know how to play drums but I like to think he secretly enjoys jazz and how abrasive yet organized it is. The music pushes limits similar to how he likes to do and he admires the determination shown in the movie.

Just random food for thoughts as I’m watching whiplash now 🤷‍♀️ he gives off very Andrew vibes

Further more, following the head cannon that as he gets older he loses more of his hearing do to close proximity with his quirk, he plays the drums more and more often because he enjoys the vibrations and how he can feel the music without having to hear it necessarily.

[5a-alf]

Andrew should play the drums.

Just because that's something I'd like to see btw. He has the vibe, and i bet he has the ARMS (no twinkification of andrew minyard in this house, no sir) and you can bet your ass he is not missing a beat. Also i genuinely think he'd enjoy it

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 10, Number 9

Photo of Aerial M by Tim Furnish

We’ve got a couple of Peel Sessions in this month’s batch, and it makes you think about how people can go on shaping the taste of millions, finding new bands, bringing up worthy underdogs for decades, and then stop. We come to rely on these people—John Peel for sure, but there are others—but they’re not here forever, and who will step up when they’re gone? Well, we’re not saying we’re John Peel, not by any stretch, but we’re still here at Dusted, still digging the obscure and overlooked, still operating in more or less a vacuum. We don’t make Dusted for the clicks or the acclaim and certainly not for the cash (there is none). We do it for each other. We do it for the bands. We do it for you.  

Anyway, we hope you enjoy this iteration of Dust. Jennifer Kelly, Christian Carey, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Tim Clarke, Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell and Jim Marks contributed.

Aerial M — The Peel Sessions (Drag City)

This three-song EP collects the output from Aerial M’s only Peel Session, recorded on March 3, 1998 (it was broadcast about a month later). Here in the interim between Slint and Papa M, David Pajo lays down an extended version of “Skrag Theme,” an alternate version of the single “Vivea,” and “Safeless” from the 1998 Vivea EP (which, very curiously, did not include a version of “Vivea”). Although Aerial M is largely considered a solo effort, Pajo was accompanied on this occasion by a crack Louisville post-hardcore ensemble: Tony Bailey, a veteran of more than 40 Kentucky underground bands, on drums; Cassie Marrett, who would later be known as Cassie Berman and a member of Silver Jews; and Tim Furnish of Parlour, Crain and the For Carnation. That band knocked Pajo’s Aerial M songs for a loop, pushing the woozy guitar tones of “Vivea” with a gut-checking drum beat and shading it subtly with either a keyboard or a melodica. Still moody, still layered with guitars, but subtly more physical, the track is the stand-out of the three. Likewise “Skrag Theme” fills out with a live band, its cerebral guitar lick anchored by the weight of drums and bass. “Safeless” spins out lyrically, meditatively, from a guitar line too chilled and thoughtful for rock, but not exactly jazz either. It’s all enough to make you wonder how things would have turned out if this band had kept at it, pushing at the boundaries of rock and noise and psych together.

Jennifer Kelly

Franco Ambrosetti — Sweet Caress (Enja)

Flugelhorn player Franco Ambrosetti brought together an all-star cast to record at Skywalker for his latest Enja release, Sweet Caress: pianist Alan Broadbent, guitarist John Scofield, bassist Scott Colley, and drummer Peter Erskine, with a generous string section alongside. Broadbent is also arranger and conductor. They dig into an estimable list of standards such as “Soul Eyes,” “Old Friends,” and Charlie Haden’s “Nightfall,” the latter of which sent me right to the piano to learn it. Ambrosetti has a rounded tone and enjoys adding fleet runs to his solos. His colleagues are equally fluent, and a solo violin introduction on the title tune underscores the album as a whole’s suavity.

Christian Carey

BassDrumBone — Afternoon (Auricle)

If you don’t know anything about BassDrumBone, after one look at the cover of Afternoon, with its image a many-ringed tree stump,you’ll have a pretty good idea of what they play, as well as the band’s collective sense of aging. And you’d be right, twice over. Mark Helias plays bass, Gerry Hemingway drums, and Ray Anderson is on trombone, and they recorded this album 46 years after they first got together. What you won’t know until you play it is how comfortable they are with each other, not as in “let’s kick and blow some old tunes,” but in the “I’ve got your back and I know you have mine, so let’s see what happens” sense. They alternate between written tunes that exploit the line-up’s potential for turning tight angles and improvisations that journey from eerie chamber abstraction to robust swing on a path pocked with aside-inducing holes in the road.

Bill Meyer

Black Mold — In the Dirt of Oblivion (Hellprod)

Grim, grotty blackened punk from somewhere in Portugal, released for your unpleasure on a shitty-sounding cassette. That sort of willfully outmoded packaging is the sort of thing that the hipster kids in the various undergrounds love to pieces — but the technical atavisms are unironically earned here. How else should we listen to a song called “Faint in Obscurity”? Turn that tune up loud and you’ll hear all the tasty, weirdo guitar tracks churning and distending under the mix’s buzzy, brittle surface. Is it frustrating that Black Mold seems to care about how their music strikes your battered, beleaguered earholes, and the indifference to anything resembling recording fidelity turns that care in on itself? Is that punk perversity? Kvlty authenticity? When the music is this raw and exciting, does it matter? In any case, the tape closes with a song called “Futile Purpose,” so fuck it, and fuck us all for giving a shit in the first place. Black Mold doesn’t.

Jonathan Shaw

Broadcast — Distant Call: Collected Demos 2000-2006 (Warp)

Following May’s 36-track Spell Blanket, a sprawling, varied and intermittently brilliant collection of Broadcast demos dating from 2006 to 2009, Distant Call is now the final release from Broadcast. It’s a much more succinct and consistent collection of songs, most of which are spare voice-and-guitar renditions of tracks that made their way onto Haha Sound, Tender Buttons and The Future Crayon, including essentials such as “Tears in the Typing Pool,” “Where Tears and Laughter Go” and “Pendulum.”To anyone familiar with the band, it’s not only striking to find that much of the character of these songs resides in Trish Keenan’s unique songwriting style and vocals, but also how much the full album arrangements and production contribute to their vivid realization. I can’t imagine wanting to hear any of these versions in preference to their album incarnations, but there are a couple of previously unreleased songs to sweeten the deal: “Come Back to Me” and “Please Call to Book.” The former’s sing-song melody over ripples of fingerpicked guitar is archetypal Broadcast, eerie and mesmerizing. The latter closes out the collection in a hushed, hesitant manner, with lovely harmonized vocals and a bright swell to the chorus: “When the sun shines inside the sun shines outside.” It’s a bittersweet send-off to one of the most beloved and influential bands of recent decades.

Tim Clarke

The Gabys — Self-Titled 7-inch (Fruits and Flowers)

The Gabys are from the U.K. but are sonically aligned with San Francisco’s bedroom pop scene. Stalwart Bay Area scenester Glenn Donaldson is a fan. His band The Reds, Pinks & Purples has covered “Molly” from the duo’s debut cassette, and he’s released two of their EPs on the Fruits & Flowers label he co-runs with Chris Berry. The Gabys’ music also runs parallel to the general sonic milieu of Paisley Shirt Records, another SF-based champion of fuzzy DIY sunshine. The duo pair the romantic and jangly edges of The Velvet Underground’s oeuvre with vocals eerily reminiscent of Young Marble Giants’ Alison Statton. Their home recording ethos lends their sound a hazy quality. On past releases, Matt and Natasha (the pair behind The Gabys name) have wrapped their harmony-filled song nuggets in clouds of lo-fi murk, but this latest EP polishes off their sound and reveals a quartet of brief and beautiful tunes. This additional clarity makes reveling in The Gabys’ jangly sound world even more rewarding, so hopefully the pair unveil more music soon.

Bryon Hayes

Christoph Gallio Roger Turner — You Can Blackmail Me Later (Ezz-thetics)

While the album name and certain of the track titles imply belligerence, this music steers clear of hostility. However, it’s perpetually tense and mercurial, with pungent horn phrases sharing space with featuring swift changes of attack. Swiss saxophonist (soprano, alto, c-melody) Christoph Gallio sounds exceptionally distilled, doling out pungent tones that gradually build in length and mobility. Englishman Roger Turner’s drumming is a master class in making each strike count and using shifts in volume to shape the music. The duo struck up an ultimately robust partnership when Gallio moved to London for a six-month sabbatical with the express intention of studying London’s improvised music scene. A single gig launched a sequence of private, recurring encounters, during which they hashed out the shared language heard here.

Bill Meyer

Gleaming Shard — Mirrors in Light Diamonds (Balance Point Acoustics)

Gleaming Shard is an improvising duo based in Chicago. Both of its members, prepared guitar player Da Wei Wang and percussionist Jerome Bryerton, have shared stages with musicians you might follow if you’re into that scene, but on Mirrors in Light Diamonds they clear a zone of their own. The instrumentation — mainly a couple guitars on a table and an array of gongs — has some precedent, and so does their sound. But connecting tools to output is a bit harder to do. The album’s six pieces sound like field recordings made at noon in a town comprising nothing but churches. Tom Verlaine once sang about walking around in the ring of a bell, but these guys have set up shop and spent so much time there that their postures have been molded to fit the furniture. It’s a marvelously engulfing racket.

Bill Meyer

hkmori — in search of a life worth living (self released)

How you feel about the work of enigmatic producer hkmori can probably be summed up by how you feel about the genre name “depressive breakcore.” Incomprehension and/or revulsion? Well, there’s plenty of music out there to check out instead. But if instead you’re intrigued by the idea of melding one type of sonic extremity to a different type of emotional extremity (kind of similar in spirit if not at all in sound to depressive black metal, actually), c’mon in. The four EPs hkmori has posted on Bandcamp in 2022 and 2023 are all strong examples of the form, and now their first 2024 release feels like it widens the scope just a little bit. Yes, you’ve still got songs like “tearsoaked pillows” hitting that sweet’n’sour spot, but on “What even is b@#$%core?” and “unrequited meaning” you start getting some new tones and timbres introduced (emotionally and sonically). Still not for everyone, but if you’re on this wavelength it’s another solid transmission.

Ian Mathers

Hubbub — abb abb abb (Relative Pitch)

abb abb abb, the fifth album by Hubbub, was recorded in 2019. This makes it an unofficial 20th anniversary observation by the French electro-acoustic improv unit, which comprises Fréderic Blondy, Bertrand Denzler, Jean-Luc Guionnet, Jean-Sébastien Mariage and Edward Perraud, released just in time for its 25th. Sometimes good things take time, and while the ensemble’s music is created in the instant of performance, it’s informed by a lot of history and takes its time manifesting. While its line-up (reeds, electric guitar, piano, percussion) and component personalities differ, there are aspects of 1990s AMM in the tension that Hubbub obtains from the tectonic friction of sonic layers. However, the music’s silence to event ratio is never so large, and the saxophonists stand ready to switch into close, prickly interaction, which combine to give the music an austere muscularity.

Bill Meyer

Hybrid — Movable Objects (Self-released)

Hybrid is New York tenor saxophonist Adam Larson’s trio with Chicago bassist Clark Sommers and Kansas City drummer John Kizilarmut. On Movable Objects they take a low key but sophisticated run through a 40-minute set of original material. As soloists they favor oblique melodic and rhythmic approaches to passionate intensity and technical fireworks and their interplay has a complexity and depth that reveals itself beneath placid surfaces. On “November to March” provides the template as the trio move from a simple opening motif into deft improvisation with deceptive ease. Sommers’ solo seems to slip sideways before you realize it, darting like a hummingbird from idea to idea. Kizilarmut makes fine use of his rims playing with a relaxed feel that seems to shrug at his inventiveness. Larson is likewise an agile presence, his tone sharp and he invests his runs with both emotional depth and satisfyingly unpredictable turns.

Andrew Forell

Isik Kural — Moon in Gemini (RVNG Intl.)

Isik Kural presents a different kind of expression than that of previous recordings on Moon in Gemini. Gentle lullabies and dulcet vocals provide a mood that transcends mere ambience into back to the womb sound bathing. “Almost a Ghost” is affecting, with hummed backing vocals, plucked acoustic guitar, synth harp, and field recording snippets supporting a laconic lead vocal. “Behind the Flowerpots” has dulcet upper register singing accompanied by scalar pitched percussion and a repeated chord progression in synth strings. The final track, “Most Beautiful Imaginary Dialogues,” quotes a Silvina Ocampo poem, convincingly summing up a warm outing that is compelling rather than cloying.

Christian Carey

LDL — In the Endless Wind (Wide Ear)

in the endless wind by LDL (Leimgruber - Demierre - Lehn)

LDL is soprano saxophonist Urs Leimgruber, (mostly prepared) pianist Jacques Demierre and analogue synthesizer player Thomas Lehn. Originally Barre Phillips held Demierre’s space, and for a time they were a quartet. Years of improvising together have resulted in a shared language that is simultaneously distinctly tripartite and irretrievably blurred; Lehn and Demierre can each run the other’s signals through their respective instruments, and Leimgruber’s high, lacerating shards of pitch come startlingly close to those of Lehn’s synth. Thus, the action often comes from sounds pixilating, flickering at the edge of silence, combining into dense blocks that are decayed around the edges, or snapping back into conventional voices. Their interactions mutate and reconfigure, inviting the listener to follow them on a trip that’s unfailingly alien but never gratuitously weird.

Bill Meyer

loscil // Lawrence English — Chroma (self released)

Colours of Air, last year’s debut full-length collaboration between loscil (Scott Morgan) and Lawrence English, did so much with its pipe organ source material that it’s not shocking that Morgan and English might take another kick at the can. If anything, the surprising part is that while Chroma is identifiably part of the same overall project, it does have a distinct identity, one even gentler and quieter than its predecessor. It also, in the form of “Vermillion,” has an example of how the duo’s live shows went, presenting a gorgeous excerpt from their set at the Vox Organi festival in Vancouver. Fittingly enough, “Vermillion” is the track across both LPs that most clearly sounds like a pipe organ (which was played live by both human and computer). The result is not quite as striking as its predecessor, but it’s hard to be upset with 32 more minutes of this particular good thing.

Ian Mathers

Love Child — Peel Session (12XU)

Peel Session by Love Child

Love Child’s Never Meant to Be is one of 2024’s best reissues, compiling both full-lengths, singles and radio appearances for these NYC-based purveyors of lo-fi post-punk. It’s a comprehensive survey of the band’s 1988-1993 run, but not exhaustive. This four-song EP adds two never-released songs to the catalog and reprises two from the main retrospective. All four come from a December 1992 Peel session that, sadly, never aired. They catch the band at a loosely slung, wildly energetic peak, months before they broke up for good.

The band, if you’re just checking in, featured Alan Licht on guitar, Rebecca Odes on bass and, by that point, Brendan O’Malley, who had replaced founder Will Baum on drums. Their version here of “Asking for It” is careening punk rock, with Rebecca Odes spattering the walls with indignant verses and Licht executing tight repeated squalls on guitar. If you think you’ve heard it before, you have. It was the lead-off track to Never Meant to Be. You might also be familiar with closer “Greedy,” with its seething guitar and candy-coated vocal (Odes again), and for the same reason. But two of these tracks are new to almost everyone, and they capture the band moving in a welcome but unfamiliar direction of droning psychedelia. “All Is Loneliness,” for instance, has approximately 0% of Love Child’s early brat-punk vibe, instead it flickers and builds and howls like an outtake from Bailter Space or, possibly, Bardo Pond. “Slow Me Down,” lurches forward on blasts of heavy metal guitar, tamping the riff down just enough to reveal the song’s indie post-rock heart. A guitar lick that reminds me, no kidding, of the Wrens, coincides with brutalist assault, and it might have been interesting to hear more of that if the band had stayed together a little longer. Oh well.

Jennifer Kelly

Mahti — Konsertti I (VHF)

Konsertti 1 by Mahti

Mahti is a Finnish instrumental quartet with ties to their compatriots Circle, but you wouldn’t know that by listening to them. There’s no heaviness and virtually no rock in their music. Electronic percussion percolates more than it propels, trading off the lead position with a clean-toned electric guitar like a couple of geese swapping a flock’s point position, and synths move volumes of sound like lassoed clouds. A fourth member plays kantele, a Finnish folk zither, but it tends to blend with the other instrumental voices rather than assert one of its own. The music was recorded live, but audience noise and room town are so absent that you might never know. To perky to be ambient, soothing but busy, this music feels familiarly krauty without ever adopting anyone else’s guise.

Bill Meyer

Mutated Void — Listen to the Struggle (Unlawful Assembly)

Listen To The Struggle by Mutated Void

Depending on your tolerance for feral, freaked-out skate punk, you might wish to paraphrase the title of this new tape from Mutated Void: Listening is the struggle. Others among us will be as happy with Listen to the Struggle as we have been with the Nova Scotia band’s previous output. Ugly, stoopid riffage; indifferently bashed percussive elements; harsh, hoarse croaks that have a vaguely humanoid quality — good times, galore. It’s the sound of several layers of skin being peeled off by sunbaked concrete; or maybe, given the Nova Scotia provenance of these noises, a rain-slicked quarter-pipe slowly falling to pieces. In any event, these tunes will scar you, or at least leave you with some nasty splinters. Cassette-closer “Zombie (Mecht Mensch)” is the main attraction. Like a moldy hunk of ambulatory undead flesh, the song really stinks, and it’s just wonderful.

Jonathan Shaw

Meshell Ndegeocello — No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin (Blue Note)

After records celebrating Nina Simone and Sun Ra, vocalist, bassist and songwriter Meshell Ndegeocello commemorates the centenary of author James Baldwin on No More Water. Staceyann Chin’s passionate readings and synthetically treated spoken word treated synthetically are interwoven with song structures. Vocalist Justin Hicks provides an often angst-laden delivery, and Josh Johnson adds saxophone and synths to the mix. Ndegeocello’s adroit bass-playing and low voice anchor the other disparate elements. The mood vacillates too, with elemental fury succeeded by exceeding tenderness. The album doesn’t reflect the music of Baldwin’s time, instead mixing R&B, funk, and electronica. This makes it no less potent an homage.

Christian Carey

Nidia & Valentina — Estradas (Latency)

Italian percussionist and multi-instrumentalist Valentina Magaletti and Afro-Portuguese beat-maker Nidia Borges combine forces to produce a set of rhythmic improvisations on their debut collaboration Estradas. Magaletti is best known as a member of London based dub trio Holy Tongue and here uses marimbas and found objects and synthesizers to complement Borges’ Angolan kuduro beats. Their music has the spatial feel of dub but concentrates on African polyrhythms and melodies. With elements of high life and gnawa thrown in, the duo concentrates on making you move as they explore their intersecting influences. The music itself is hugely enjoyable although at times find yourself wishing the songs were harder, faster, less polite. Minor quibbles about a collaboration that feels it has more to offer in the future.

Andrew Forell

Oliwood — Anatomy of Anarchy (Jazzwerkstatt)

Anatomy of Anarchy by Oliwood feat. Evans, Mahall, Landfermann

German drummer and composer Oliver Steidle is constantly searching for new means of musical expression. Each of his projects showcases a fierce resistance to standing still. Genres bleed together in joyous cacophony and each release boasts its own lineup of collaborators. Anatomy of Anarchy is tame in comparison to some of his other work, being firmly rooted in the jazz idiom. Yet it certainly moves quickly, drawing energy from a cadre of high-octane collaborators. Steidle works alongside experienced players from both sides of the Atlantic: trumpeter Peter Evans, clarinetist Rudi Mahall, and bassist Robert Ladfermann spar with him across this lengthy song cycle. Tracks such as “Freaks” and “Bling Bling Frogs” swing with a sense of unison among the team, while much of the other material strays far outside, exploring group improvisation territory. This crew are not afraid to wander, and Anatomy of Anarchy benefits from this adventurous approach.

Bryon Hayes

Ivo Perelman / Chad Fowler / Reggie Workman / Andrew Cyrille — Embracing the Unknown (Mahakala)

Embracing the Unknown by Ivo Perelman

There are plenty of prolific improvisers, but Brazil-born, NY-based tenor saxophonist has earned the right to have his face in the dictionary next to the word’s definition. Embracing the Unknown is one of eight albums released in 2024, each made with a different line-up. The quartet that made Embracing the Unknown is the largest, and it includes some heavy company — Mahakala proprietor Chad Fowler on stritch and saxello (a straight alto and curved soprano saxophone, respectively), and octogenarians Reggie Workman and Andrew Cyrille on bass and drums. Each has a hand in forming the music’s character. Fowler brings a bag of blues everywhere he goes, and while Perelman favors more abstract pathos, the music’s sentiments are darkly shaded; Workman contributes both propulsion and harmonic dimension; Cyrille’s short bursts of sound give the music a floating quality, articulating its progress without tethering to metrical time.

Bill Meyer

Laurence Pike — The Undreamt-of Centre (The Leaf Label)

Drummer Laurence Pike has been a name to watch for nearly two decades now, first in experimental jazz group Triosk, then in explosive synth-rock band PVT with his brother Richard, and more recently backing Angus Andrew in the latest iteration of Liars and as one-third of the drums, synth and sax trio Szun Waves. The Undreamt-of Centre is Pike’s fourth solo album, which arrives with an intriguing premise: what would a requiem sound like constructed out of drums, electronics, and choral voices? The results are often deeply arresting and affecting, especially the opening two pieces, “Introit” and “Orpheus in the Underworld,” in which the wordless vocal tones and swells of rhythm seem to carry an easily digestible internal narrative. The balance between the voices and drums seems to be key to the varying success of the pieces. The cantering beats of “Mountains of the Heart” don’t leave much space for the voices to steer the music, and the queasy ululations of “Universal Forces” are crying out to be ushered into form by the sparse, pattering drums. Thankfully the album’s longest piece, “Requiem Aeternam,” brings a sense of resolution with its sustained ambient tones, driving synth arpeggios, and washes of cymbals and toms.

Tim Clarke

Saccata Quartet — Septendecim (We Jazz)

Septendecim by Saccata Quartet

There’s an observable phenomenon in which the outernaut members of revered legacy rock acts will let their freak flag fly and get substantial audiences of folks wanting the parent band to show up and play a secret gig. Saccata Quartet (Nels Cline, guitar; Darin Gray, double bass; Chris Corsano and Glenn Kotche, drums) is just the sort of ensemble that could lure a Wilco fan out and then drive them back to the bar, grumbling and disappointed; Septendecim was even recorded at The Loft. Improv heads might come with their own set of expectations; this writer has distant memories of a multi-drummer concert at Chicago’s Hideout that involved Corsano trying to curl up inside a bass drum, and Gray and Corsano have played plenty of volcanic free jazz in the company of Mars Williams and Akira Sakata. But if you put aside expectations and put up your active-listening antennae, something else takes form here that is very good on its own terms. The quartet eschews rock gestures and gonzo energy that diffuses individual identities in favor of a more texturally derived intensity that is generally pretty quiet... until it’s not.

Bill Meyer

Shredded Sun — Wilding (Self-Released)

Wilding by Shredded Sun

Shredded Sun has been at it for a while now, first in the jangle-punk Fake Fictions and now four albums into their current iteration. A lifer vibe of the best sort, then, hovers over these punchy, vulnerable, pop-punk songs. They sound like reticent, literate Yo La Tengo crashing into the Pixies at a four-way stop. When bass player Sarah Ammerman sings, as on caroming “Shake the Clouds,” a warbly, Muffs-style enthusiasm bubbles over. When Nick Ammerman, the guitarist, takes over, a tremulous Feelies-into-Jonathan-Richman aura creeps in. The music pummels and jangles and struts no matter who’s in front, with excellent, energetic drumming from third member Ben Bilow. It’s excellent stuff, creative but crafted with care, occasionally humorous (see final track, “Another Song Called Mirror Ball,” but never silly. It’s what might happen if you just keep doing what you do regardless of whether anyone’s paying attention — you keep getting better and more yourself.

Jennifer Kelly

Luís Vicente Trio — Come Down Here (Clean Feed)

Come Down Here by Luís Vicente Trio

Back at its dawn, free jazz was supposed to change the world. The first changes were mainly technical — can we please untie this chordal straitjacket? — but it was soon aligned in the minds of both audience and practitioner with a broader array of personal and societal liberties. Half a century on, the music endures because in part because it gives musicians the freedom to interact in ways that are uniquely joyous and thrilling. Luís Vicente Trio taps into such opportunities. The themes that trumpeter Vicente brings are skeletal, but just enough to invite a collective act creation that pulses with momentum, expands and contracts like living architecture, and sings with palpable toughness and vulnerability. Sure, you can connect some of this music back to the music of Don Cherry and the Art Ensemble of Chicago on account of its expressive qualities. But within that formal framework, deeply personal shapes and interactions bloom like desert flowers, as vivid as they are time limited.

Bill Meyer

Woody Yang — apple red/dots (Mt. Hazey Records)

apple red//dots by woody yang

Woody Yang delivers a short but solid set of acoustic guitar originals in the Takoma school tradition. Switching between 12- and six-string, he doesn’t break any new ground, but there’s no reason he has to, and his take on the tradition is compelling. Yang certainly knows how to build these kinds of compositions. One of the tracks features his reedy vocals, and another features bongo accompaniment by the audio engineer, but the focus is on Yang’s deft fingerpicking. An auspicious debut.

Jim Marks

[heartshapedbubble]

happy birthday to the blog !!!

Could I get Norton, ganji, lucky guy, mike and/or andrew with a reader that plays electric guitar? They rlly like rock so sometimes they can hear them playing in their room or during matches to draw the hunter away from other survivors?

hello and thank you lots! only 2 characters are allowed so i picked out two of these who seem the most underrated to me ! ^^

lucky guy and ganji gupta with a reader who plays the electric guitar hcs🎲🏏

lucky guy🎲

he's literally fanboying!!

he himself is a jack-of-all-trades, master of none - so whenever he sees someone with an ability so masterfully sharpened and practiced, he can't help being in awe

he doesn't listen to rock/metal music much (in fact... he doesn't really listen to music in general. he listens to whatever is being played at the moment) so he's a tad... confused and impressed at the same time

would shyly ask you if you'd let him hold it a bit, maybe even let him strum the strings a few times..

might stalk you while you play your guitar in your room - just sit there and watch you skillfully hit every riff and lick, banging your head to the instrumental you're following and jumping around to the beat

it's incredibly easy to catch him staring, it's like he doesn't even mind getting caught😭 mans can't help it but admire you

ganji gupta🏏

might get startled at first due to the amount of loud sounds, but once he figures it out a bit, he finds it to be sick as hell

ganji holds music close to his heart, especially indian music, so this new genre you've exposed him to is still mysterious and unknown to him

the brash, screeching noise of the electric guitar is the polar opposite of the flowy, energetic sound of indian music, it may even hurt his ears at the start... it's best to introduce it to him bit by bit, maybe let him inspect it and try to play it himself?

i think that he'd be skilled at playing the drums... so why not propose the idea to him? a manor mini-band is a great idea!

if you jokingly point out to him that he would make a great rockstar he's just going to grumpily brush it off (of course, he's not mad, he's just. pretty bad at accepting compliments although this one made his heart soar, especially coming from you)

...maybe a change of sound isn't that bad after all? try to introduce him to some bit older rock artists first, like van halen or bon jovi!