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thedelicatearcher · 9 months ago

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Hiii I just wanted to tell you that I love your work and that it always brightens my mood!!

And can can you make something about finnicks and reader who is like really musical, can play instruments and maybe include something (only if you want to) about r making a sad song and he's kinda worried about her?? 💕

thank you so much!! i really really appreciate when someone tells me that, i love writing about soft finnick

finnick odair with musical gf headcanons

finnick had a ukulele when he was a kid. every afternoon, he would go to the beach with his little ukulele and strum chords as he watched the shore, trying to find a melody that matched the calm and relaxing ocean waves.

but he stopped playing years ago. after a powerful hurricane hit district four and destroyed parts of the city, his home suffered the same fate. the fierce winds took his ukelele away, losing it in the chaos. young finnick was really devastated by this loss and couldn't bring himself to play any other instrument after that.

when he met you, it was as if he were transported back to those moments on the beach, when it was just him and the music. your presence made him feel like he was hearing the prettiest melody. he was completely enthralled by you, wanting to listen to your voice for hours as if it were a classical tune.

you always bring an instrument wherever you go, whether it’s your guitar, your keyboard, or even your harmonica. and wherever you go, finnick goes too. so it's no surprise that he is used to you randomly playing an instrument when you get bored, him quietly moving his head along to the rhythm of your music, looking at you with an adoring look on his face.

he loves your harmonica, loves watching you play such a simple-looking instrument so skillfully. but what does he love the most about it? borrowing it and playing it himself. at first he just blew air into it until he was out of breath, inadvertently coating it- and everything in front of him -with saliva. but after sitting down with him and patiently explaining how to play it, he can now play short, easy songs. the proud smile on his face after he’s done is worth more than any capitol jewel.

you convinced him to try to learn to play the piano, but he’s just terrible at it, lacking the coordination needed to move both hands simultaneously while maintaining a good tune. he gets very frustrated every time you try to teach him and often says he prefers when you play, observing how gracefully your fingers move and noting that you don’t sport the big frown he does while playing.

you're singing all the time, from humming your favorite songs while you cook together in the kitchen, to softly singing in the shower the song that’s been stuck in your head for days, to singing your self-written songs on your shared bedroom floor at night. finnick, as your biggest fan, adores your beautiful voice. he especially loves the way you run your fingers through his hair while softly singing to him a song you wrote about his sea-green eyes. he has the time of his life when you dramatically perform songs from your favorite musicals just for him.

what he loves the most about you is that you are also a songwriter. ever since you were fifteen, you’ve spent most afternoons on your bedroom floor, pouring your feelings into songs. that hasn’t changed now that you are older, but now you have a muse. his soft crinkles by his eyes, his soft pink lips, and the way he bites them when focused are details that fill you with love and inspiration. his loving and playful personality fuels most of your songwriting. however, you don’t always write songs about him; some are inspired by past relationships, general non-romantic emotions, insecurities, or scenarios from movies you’ve watched.

one day, finnick came home early and heard soft music as he entered. slowly approaching your door, he was met with the sound of your voice singing a melancholic melody. as the caring boyfriend he is, finnick became worried about you. he didn’t enter the room, wanting to give you some privacy, and waited for you to finish your song and come out to ask if you wanted to talk about your feelings. “i’m fine, finn, just had a rough day and i’m feeling a bit insecure,” you said as finnick held you and kissed your forehead. knowing that writing songs is your way of coping, he simply cuddled you and asked whether you wanted to talk about it or get distracted. after hours of cuddling and watching a movie, you took him to your bedroom and showed him your song, opening your heart and sharing with him a vulnerability only he gets to see.

#IM SO SORRY THIS WAS SENT LIKE A MONTH AGO #i was uninspired im really sorry #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #thg #some of the things i write for finnick are inspired in my life #for example i have a piano but i absolutely suck at playing it

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doryyaaa · 1 year ago

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Hi there! Would it be possible to request a Steve x reader story about him declining to sing while you're at karaoke but makes up for it with a trip to the music store to play the ukulele? I know it's a bit specific, so it's okay if it doesn't quite spur the inspiration! But I'd love to see you tackle if it you can

The victory party is in full swing. Steve Fox stands triumphant in the center of the room, raising his newest championship belt for everyone to see. The strobe lights shine across him like diamond trails over his blond, slicked-back hair. His boxing gloves are still strung over his shoulders, and he’s knocking back beer glasses with his mates like there’s no tomorrow. At some point, you take your eyes off him for just a few seconds, but he’s quickly closed the distance and sidles up to you at the bar area.

“Fancy another drink, luv?” Steve raises two fingers to the bartender, and slings an arm over your shoulders. His fresh cologne scent tickles your nose. The bartender returns with your drink, and Steve happily clinks your glass. “Here’s to you! My darling babe, the sexiest angel and my greatest treasure in the world—”

“Okay—I get it, I get it!” You burst into a giggle as he peppers small kisses along your jawline.

“Is the party too boring for you? Any creeps hitting on you? I’ll clock ‘em in the face,” Steve says, making a show of blowing on his knuckles.

“There will be no clocking,” you say, while your eyes wander over to the karaoke machine in the corner. “How about a song? I’ve never heard you sing before.”

A drunk partygoer stumbles behind you then, and Steve is quick to shield you.

“Woah! Easy there, fella. Hands to yourself, alright?” Steve playfully bumps his fist against the partygoer’s chest, just hard enough to elicit a choked laugh. He turns his attention back to you.

“You were saying, hun?”

“Karaoke! Will you sing for me?”

Steve glances to the machine from afar. Some other drunk guys have just picked up the microphones and started belting out a beloved classic. More people gather around to cheer and tease.

“Right. Actually, maybe now’s not the best time for that,” Steve says, much to your disappointment, and you settle for imagining it in your head instead, the way Steve’s cheeky tone might shift into a deep, honeyed timbre.

Your tiny pout must have left a mark on Steve, though, because he skips the after-party to go for a walk with you into a fancy shopping district. The sun has already set, and soft fairy lights glow from the surrounding gardens. Steve leads you by the hand through boardwalk, gentle as ever. He stops to cover both your eyes before nudging you towards a certain shop.

“Alright, you can look now!”

You find Steve’s adoring smile, and the music store standing quiet behind him, deserted at this odd hour.

“Here’s a special performance, just for you.” Steve picks up a ukulele on display, testing a slow strum. The chords echo melodiously in your ears.

“No way.” You gasp softly. Steve strums again, easing into a slow love song, the strings vibrating under his deft fingers. He takes his time working up to the climax, never missing a note.

“What can I say?” Steve winks. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“You’re amazing."

"Why, thank you."

"A musical genius.” You press a sloppy kiss to his cheek this time, and it’s his turn to giggle, boyish in his smile.

“I just hate to see you disappointed. You mean the world to me, you know that? I'll do anything to make you happy,” Steve says between slow strumming. You kiss him again, a peck on the lips.

"You already make me the happiest I can be."

"Oh, my heart." Steve ends the song with one last strum, soft and full of love. He puts the ukulele down, and pulls you in for a sweet embrace.

It’s much, much better than anything you could have imagined.

#tekken #steve fox #x reader #here's to all the steve lovers #ive had this in my notes for a while #my first time writing a british character and the hardest part was trying to decide his dialogue....#i think steve is quite the charmer :^)

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kata4a · 2 years ago

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a. you can image a subculture of musicians who assign short melodic fragments to each letter of the alphabet, and write music by stringing those fragments together into words and sentences—musical analysis then becomes a process of "decoding" longs pieces into text, and then analyzing them against the frameworks you would typically use for written literature.

I happen to think that a culture of music like this would be pretty aesthetically unrewarding to participate in

b. it seems to me that a lot of people want music theory to be an empirical study of "what effects different musical features have in listeners." I think that taken to its logical conclusion, a music theory with this goal would become obsessed with the straightforward emotivity of pop music and fail to say anything of substance about more avant garde styles (after all, the empirical effect of twelve-tone serialism on most people is "they think it sounds bad")

while I'm certainly as ardent a proponent of the straightforward emotivity of pop music as any, I nonetheless can't find myself fully on board with this approach to music theory either: I do like experimental styles, and I do find it rewarding to engage with music (and art in general) that asks more of me as a listener than to merely passively respond to stimuli

a. there are a number of features of "melodic ciphers," as I'll call this hypothetical genre of music, that I think contribute to its aesthetic paucity:

first and I think most obviously is the unsatisfying arbitrariness of a premise like this. given that this is a community which essentially treats pieces of music as literature, why not simply write pieces of literature? it is reminiscent of the tedium of analyzing a musical composition by annotating a page of sheet music, without ever actually listening to the piece

c. the aesthetic principles underlying classic music (sensu lato 😘) are often presented both very theoretically and very abstractly. the classical theories of western harmony, the linear approaches of schenker and his sympathizers, and the twelve-tone systems of the second viennese school, despite being three dramatically different ways of composing and listening to music, all treat musical fundamentals as essentially theoretical objects. what does it matter to a theorist whether a harmonic progression is played on an organ or a ukulele?

for that matter, what does it matter to a theorist that a piece of music be sound at all? one could "arrange" a piano sonata for a set of colored lights (with hues corresponding to different frequencies of sound), and while I'm sure an astute enough "listener" could learn and even deeply internalize those correspondences, I am skeptical that they would ever find the lightshow as musically satisfying as if they actually got to hear the piece with their ears

b. the late romantics and the impressionists, despite very much working under the theoretical principles of classical harmony, also present the strongest case for how even solo instrumental music can be medium-specific: sound symbolism. here, piano arpeggios evoke the ebb and flow of canal boats, here, a trill suggests birdsong, here, a low bass ostinato sounds like the grumbling of an old man

and of course once you have been presented with the type-case, you can see the same ideas in other pieces, albeit in perhaps much subtler forms. the mood and character of a set of mozart's variations are very much influenced by the kinds of things it sounds like, even if it is not trying to sound like any one specific thing

c. bach's prelude in c major from the well-tempered clavier is I think a particularly good example of the kind of depth that can be opened up by sincere and active engagement with the aesthetic background of a piece

I think this prelude is very easy to listen to as a series of pleasant, unoffensive chords. mostly people, I would imagine, could put in on in the background and do some work relatively undistracted, treating it as a sort of peaceful background melody

I also think that there is a subtle but very present sense of tension and release and climactic buildup and payoff underlying the harmony of the piece, a feature which is much easier to pick up on if you're familiar with the musical conventions bach was working with

a. when I listen to a prelude as a vehicle for classical harmony, I'm not perform an act of "translation"—I do not listen to a chord, think "ah, a seventh chord," and then "that means that this is a point of tension in the piece,"—I simply hear the chord and feel the tension as a direct feature of the chord. even though I may have had to learn that association originally, once I do learn it it becomes an immanent feature of my perception, not a process I need to consciously perform

this immanence, I argue, is the crucial feature that musical ciphers lack. while I can imagine becoming, with practice, extremely good at performing the translation from melody to letter, I am skeptical of the possibility of internalizing that process so thoroughly as to make it a direct feature of my perception; and certainly never more direct than simply hearing or reading the sentences

abc. what I take to be the goal of any music theory—and in fact of any aesthetic framework—is not to teach you a way to analyze or value some medium, but to give you a way to perceiving it; and therefore the criteria by which I judge a music theory is 1. how effectively it can give me a new way to see the world and 2. how I feel about the way that the world looks when I adopt that way of seeing

#I waited to write this until I was past the point of caffeination where I could just bang the post out #so I'm trudging through this as part of an attempt to cultivate solidarity between my different selves across time #art and media criticism

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ourshadowstallerthanoursoul · 2 years ago

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Interview to JPJ

(by Steven Rosen, Guitar Player - July 1977, Chicago)

It was shared on ultimate-guitar.com by Steven Rosen himself (link). I suggest going to read the introduction because there's a bit of angry JPJ which is quite surprising (to me at least). Enjoy!

What was the impetus behind becoming a bass player?

I used to play piano when I was younger, and there was a rock and roll band forming at school when I was fourteen, but they didn't want a piano player, all they wanted was drums or bass. I thought, I can't get the drums on the bus, bass looked easy, four strings, no chords, easy so I took it up. And it was easy; it wasn't too bad at all. I took it up before guitar, which I suppose is sort of interesting. Before I got a real 4-string, my father had a ukulele banjo, a little one, and I had that strung up like a bass, but it didn't quite have the bottom that was required. Actually my father didn't want to have to sign a guarant or to back me in the payments for a bass. He said, ‘Don't bother with it; take up the tenor saxophone. In two years the bass guitar will never be heard of again.’ I said, ‘No Dad, I really want one, there's work for me.’ He said, ‘Ah, there's work?’ And I got a bass right away.

What was your first bass?

Oh, it was a pig; it had a neck like a tree trunk. It was a solid body Dallas bass guitar with a single cutaway. It sounded all right though, and it was good for me because I developed very strong fingers. I had no idea about setting instruments up then, so I just took it home from the shop. I had an amplifier with a 10 speaker... Oh, it was awful. It made all kinds of farting noises. And then I had a converted television; you know one of those big old stand-up televisions with the amp in the bottom and a speaker where the screen should be. I ended up giving myself double hernias. Bass players always had the hardest time because they always had to cope with the biggest piece of equipment. It never occurred to me when I was deciding between that and drums that I'd had to lug a bass amp.

What kind of music were you playing in that first band?

Shadows, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis stuff. I started doubling on piano. We didn't have a drummer at first, because we never could find one. That happened to another bass player, Larry Graham, Sly Stone's bass player. He started off in a band with no drummer, which is how he got that percussive style. You've got a lot to make up for once the lead guitar takes a solo because there's only you left. You've got to make a lot of noise. We got a drummer after a while whom I taught, would you believe. I've never played drums in my life.

That must have definitely had an influence on your playing.

I suppose it must have. I don't like bass players that go boppity boppity bop all over the neck; you should stay around the bottom and provide the end of the group. I work very closely with the drummer; it's very important.

How long did that first band last?

Not very long. I found a band with a drummer. This band also came along with really nice looking guitars, and I thought, ‘Oh, they must be great!’ They had Burns guitars so I got myself one, too. The one with the three pickups and a Tru-Voice amplifier. We all had purple band jackets and white shoes, and I thought, ‘This is it, this is the big time.’ But as soon as I got out of school I played at American Air Force bases, which was good training, plus they always had great records in the jukebox. That was my introduction to the black music scene, when very heavy gentlemen would come up insisting on Night Train eight times an hour.

What was the first really professional band you were in?

It was with Jet Harris and Tony Meehan (bassist and drummer with The Shadows). That was when I was seventeen, I suppose. And those were the days when they used to scream all the way through the show. It was just like now, really, where you have to make a dash for the limos at the end of the night make a sort of terrible gauntlet. In the days before roadies, you'd have to drag around your own gear, so we all invested in a roadie. We thought we owed it to ourselves, and this bloke was marvelous. He did everything, he drove the wagon, he lugged the gear, he did the lights... the whole thing.

What kind of bass were you using with Harris and Meehan?

Oh, I got my first Fender then. I lusted after this Jazz bass in Lewisham, and it cost me about $250, I think. It was the new one. They'd just changed the controls, and I used that bass up until last (1975) tour, and then she had to go. She was getting unreliable and rattling a lot, and I just had to leave her home this time.

What followed your working with that band?

I got into sessions. I thought, ‘I've had enough of the road’, bought myself a dog and didn't work for six months. Then I did start up again. I played in other silly bands. I remember that Jet Harris and Tony Meehan band, John McLaughlin joined on rhythm guitar. It was the first time I'd met him and it was hilarious. Here he was sitting there all night going Dm to G to Am. That was my first introduction to jazz when he came along, because we'd all get to the gig early and have a blow. Oh, that was something, first meeting him. And then I joined a couple of other bands with him for a while, rhythm and blues bands.

Do you remember the first session that you ever did?

No, I don't think so; it was in Decca Number 2 (studio in London). I was late, and I suddenly realized how bad my reading was. There was another bass player there, a stand-up bass, and I was just there to provide the click. It was nearly my last session.

Who were some of the people you were doing sessions with?

All kinds of silly people: used to do calls with Tom Jones, Cathy Kirby, Dusty Springfield.

The Rolling Stones and Donovan, too, didn't you?

I only did one Stones session, really. I just did the strings, they already had the track down. It was ‘She's A Rainbow’. And then the first Donovan session was a shambles, it was awful. It was ‘Sunshine Superman’ and the arranger had got it all wrong, so I thought, being the opportunist that I was, ‘I can do better than that’ and actually went up to the producer. He came around and said, ‘Is there anything we can do to sort of save the session?’ And I piped up, ‘Well, look how about if I play it straight?’ because I had a part which went sort of ooowooooo (imitates a slide up the neck) every now and again, and the other bass player sort of did wooooo (imitates downwards slide) down below, and then there was some funny congas that were in and out of time. And I said, ‘How about if we just sort of play it straight; get the drummer to do this and that?’

How did the session go?

The session came off, and I was immediately hired as the arranger by Mickie Most whom I loved working with; he was a clever man. I used to do Herman's Hermits and all that. I mean they were never there; you could do a whole album in a day. And it was great fun and a lot of laughs. I did all of Lulu's stuff and all his artists. I did one Jeff Beck single, and he's never spoken to me since. It was ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’. I did the arrangement for it and I played bass. Then we had ‘Mellow Yellow’ for Donovan, which we argued about for hours because they didn't like my arrangement at all, not at all. Mickie stood by me. He said, ‘I like the arrangement, I think it's good’. It wasn't Donovan. He didn't mind either but he had so many people around him saying, ‘Hey, this isn't you.’ But he sold a couple of a million on it, didn't he?

Was the Hurdy Gurdy Man session when you first met Jimmy Page?

No. I'd met Jimmy on sessions before. It was always Big Jim and little Jim. Big Jim Sullivan and little Jim and myself and the drummer. Apart from group sessions where he'd play solos and stuff like that, Page always ended up on rhythm guitar because he couldn't read too well. He could read chord symbols and stuff, but he'd have to do anything they'd ask when he walked into a session. But I used to see a lot of him just sitting there with an acoustic guitar sort of raking out chords. I always thought the bass player's life was much more interesting in those days, because nobody knew how to write for bass, so they used to say, ‘We'll give you the chord sheet and get on with it.’ So even on the worst sessions you could have a little runaround. But that was good; I would have hated to have sat there on acoustic guitar.

How long did you do sessions?

Three or four years, on and off. Then I thought I was going to get into arranging because it seemed that sessions and running about was much too silly. I started running about and arranging about forty or fifty things a month. I ended up just putting a blank piece of score paper in front of me and just sitting there and staring at it. Then I joined Led Zeppelin, I suppose, after my missus said to me, ‘Will you stop moping around the house; why don't you join a band or something?’ And I said, ‘There are no bands I want to join, what are you talking about?’ And she said, ‘Well, look, I think it was in Disc, Jimmy Page is forming a group’, he'd just left the Yardbirds ‘why don't you give him a ring?’ So I rang him up and said, ‘Jim, how you doing? Have you got a group yet?’ He said, ‘I haven't got anybody yet.’ And I said, ‘Well, if you want a bass player, give me a ring.’ And he said, ‘All right, I'm going up to see this singer Terry Reid told me about, and he might know a drummer as well. I'll call you when I've seen what they're like.’ He went up there, saw Robert Plant, and said, ‘This guy is really something.’ We started under the name the New Yardbirds because nobody would book us under anything else. We rehearsed an act, an album, and a tour in about three weeks, and it took off. The first time, we all met in this little room just to see if we could even stand each other. It was wall-to-wall amplifiers and terrible, all old. Robert (Plant) had heard I was a session man, and he was wondering what was going to turn up some old bloke with a pipe? So Jimmy said, ‘We're all here, what are we going to play?’ And I said, ‘I don't know, what do you know?’ And Jimmy said, ‘Do you know a number called, The Train Kept A Rollin'?’ I told him, ‘No.’ And he said, ‘It's easy, just G to A.’ he counted it out, and the room just exploded, and we said, ‘Right. We're on, this is it, this is going to work!’ And we just sort of built it up from there. ‘Dazed And Confused’ came in because Jimmy knew that, but I could never get the sequence right for years; it kept changing all the time with different parts, and I was never used to that. I used to having the music there, could never remember. In fact, I'm still the worst in the band remembering anything. And the group jokes about it, ‘Jonesy always gets the titles wrong and the sequences wrong.’ Even now I have a piece of paper I stuck on top of the Mellotron which says: ‘Kashmir remember the coda!’

What were some of your early amplifiers?

I've used everything from a lousy made-up job, to a great huge top valve (tube) amp. We started off in a deal with Rickenbacker where we had these awful Rickenbacker amps; they were so bad. Our first tour was a shambles. For about a year I never even heard the bass. They said, ‘We've designed this speaker cabinet for you’, and I said, ‘Let me see it, what's it got in it?’ It had one 30 speaker! I said, ‘All right, stand it up there alongside whatever else I've got, and I'll use it.’ I plugged it in, and in a matter of five seconds it blew up. I thought the bloke was having me on; I said, ‘There's no such thing as a 30 speaker!’ And I had to take the back off because I couldn't believe it. Then we met the guy from Univox, and he came up with a bass stack, which unfortunately didn't last the night. But while it was going, it was the most unbelievable sound I've ever heard. It was at the Nassau Coliseum in New York, I remember, and the bass filled the hall. It was so big, it couldn't have lasted. I don't think I'll come across anything that sounded like that. But as I said, three numbers and wheel the Acoustics out again. I used two or three 360 standard Acoustics for quite a long time. They served me well.

You used the Jazz bass until just recently?

Yeah. Oh, I got a hold of a very nice Gibson violin bass (pictured in the little cut out wheel on the cover of Led Zeppelin III). That was nice, too, it's not stage worthy, but it gives a beautiful warm sound. I don't like Gibson basses generally because they feel all rubbery; I like something you can get your teeth into. But the violin bass was the only Gibson that was as heavy as a Fender to play, but still had that fine Gibson sound. I used it on Led Zeppelin III, and I've used it every now and again, usually when I'm tracking a bass after I've done keyboards for the main track. The one I have went through Little Richard's band and then through James Brown's band, and it arrived in England. In fact, I saw it in an old movie clip of Little Richard. It was probably about a '48 or '50 or something like that; it was the original one. Actually, I've also got an old '52 Telecaster bass. I used that on stage for a while, for ‘Black Dog’ and things like that.

Do you ever use a pick when you play?

Yes, when the situation demands it; on the 8-string it's awful messy with your fingers. On ‘The Song Remains The Same’ I use a pick to get that snap out of the instrument. It's fun, you play different. If I was just playing straight bass, I'd use fingers. When I first started I always used my fingers.

How has playing with Jimmy Page for the last nine years styled your playing?

That's hard. I play a lot looser than I used to. For instance somebody like John Entwistle is more of a lead instrument man than I am. I tend to work closer with Bonzo I think. But then again I don't play that much bass on-stage anymore, what with the pianos and the Mellotron. I'll always say I'm a bass player, though.

How do you develop a bass part?

You put in what's correct and what's necessary. I always did like a good tune in the bass. For example, listen to’ What Is And What Should Never Be’ (on Led Zeppelin II). The role of a bassist is hard to define. You can't play chords so you have a harmonic role; picking and timing notes. You'll suggest a melodic or harmonic pattern, but I seem to be changing anyway toward more of a lead style. The Alembic bass is doing it; I play differently on it. But I try to never forget my role as a bass player: to play the bass and not mess around too much up at the top all the time. You've got to have somebody down there, and that's the most important thing. The numbers must sound right, they must work right, they must be balanced.

You just picked a track from the second album, but there was something so gloriously unique about the first Zep record.

I know what people mean when they say the first Zeppelin album was the best. It was the first. I don't know what it was; we could never recreate those conditions it was recorded in. It was done in about thirty hours, recorded and mastered. There was a lot of energy in those days. But I liked (Physical Graffiti). I liked most of them actually. The funny thing was about the first album, when we got to about the third album (Led Zeppelin III) and started using acoustics everyone was saying, ‘Ahhh, Led Zeppelin has gone acoustic. They've changed their style.’ What everybody forgets is there were two acoustic numbers on the first album. Right? ‘Babe I'm Gonna Leave You’ and ‘Black Mountain Side’. The funny thing is people try to pigeon-hole you with all that heavy metal stuff. And if they ever listened to the fucking albums they'd realize it was never riff after riff after riff. It never was like that, you know? Peculiar... oh, well.

Do you practice?

In a word, no. I fool around on piano, but bass I never practice. Although again, with the Alembic, I'm beginning to feel, ‘Wouldn't it be nice to have it in the room?’ It really makes you want to play more, which is fantastic.

The band has always had a strange relationship with the press.

There is an amount of professionalism which must be retained. You can't go around canceling gigs and things like that. After Robert's accident there were rumors of, ‘Oh, they're afraid to come out’ and this and that which was really hard on us because we've always tried to be as professional as possible. And we take a pride in this. We've tried to turn up on time but it gets hard moving this amount of people. And that sort of thing hurts. Robert was in a wheelchair and we had to wait until he was healed. And then we were all ready to go and he got tonsillitis on this '77 tour. And he must have felt so bad. I tell you if this band ever drops from favor with the public, a load of people are going to come down on our asses so fucking hard. They're just waiting for us to drop. I don't know why, I honestly don't know. I always remember the first review of our first album in Rolling Stone and the bloke dismissed it out of hand. I don't even think he would listen to it and said as much. Then they dismissed us as hype.

Who do you listen to?

I don't. I used to listen to a lot of jazz bass players once, but jazz has changed so much now, it's hardly recognizable. I listened to a lot of tenor sax players: Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane and all those people. Bass players? Scott La Faro, who died. He used to be with (jazz pianist) Paul Chambers. Ray Brown and Charlie Mingus, of course. I'm not too keen on the lead bass style of some players. Paul McCartney, I've always respected; he puts the notes in the right place at the right time. He knows what he's about.

Who don't you listen to?

Ian [Anderson] is a pain in the ass. We toured with Jethro Dull [sic] once and I think he probably spoke three words to Jimmy or I at any one time. The band was nice but he was such a funny fucker. His music bores the pants off me, it's awful. Page came up with the greatest line about them. He had a title for a live album when Jethro was playing in Los Angeles: ‘Bore 'Em at The Forum’. (Ritchie) Blackmore is another guy I don't like. He was supposed to have been a big session man but he must have done demos because he was never a regular session man. I'm getting out all my pet hates.

There's nothing you'd like to do outside of Zeppelin in an instrumental context?

I always get the feeling I'd like to write a symphony. I like all music. I like classical music a lot. Ravel, Bach, of course, Mozart I could never stand, though to play it on the piano is great fun. If Bach had ever come across the bass guitar, he would have loved it. Rock and roll is the only music left where you can improvise. I don't really know what's happened to jazz; it has really disappointed me. I guess they started playing rock and roll.

So you're able to continually experiment in Zeppelin and expand your playing?

Yes, absolutely. I wouldn't be without Zeppelin for the world. What's it like being in Led Zeppelin? I don't know. It is a peculiar feeling; it intrigues me.

#john paul jones #jonesy #led zeppelin #robert plant #planty #jimmy page #pagey #john bonham #bonzo #60s #70s #70s rock #70s music #rock music #ourshadowstallerthanoursoul

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my-jokes-are-my-armour · 5 months ago

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Well I am sharing a bit of random things currently as I am hit by a wave of nostalgia. And here is the musical share of today.

I always loved the mix of music and humour. And I have a long list of groups that do that. I have a classical background, studying music, but I did only one year of conservatory. That year was a pain in the ass for me, because this was too strict and this is a competition. I stopped right away, even if I was not hating what I was learning. The good point was that what I learnt stayed in me for a very long time and when I decided to start music again way older, I had a good boost from the start.

Anyway... for me music is about sharing and emotions and the musical clowns provides a new way to enjoy classical training or technicity, with a good laugh.

Today I am gonna share The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain 🥰

I am not gonna share their most known video, which is a reprise of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. I let you find out by yourself if you like. I am gonna share other songs they reprised.

In this group, not all the members are good singers - their forte is in the instrumental part and the arrangements for the ukulele - but there are some very solid elements on the vocals. And they come out with good vocal ensembles overall.

Their humour is more in the form of the very stoic british kind.

For a time I had a slight crush on the bassist because, fucking hell, he is good. Nice voice, legendary whistler, and he can pull out some crazy basslines on the classical parts mostly. He reminded me of my own bassist years in a guitare orchestra. And I am telling you, the bass is often hellish and just under the soloist in terms of difficulty, because your voice sounds nothing like the music, you have strange rhymes to hold while every is doing crazy stuff above and when you have some very rapid parts, you can literally have your finger bleeding, as the strings are quite hard. Nice memory haha !

But I fucking loved bass. I am (was) a bassist.

So here is my selection :

1 - I said they had not specifically good voices but they are very good all together. So here is the acapela version of Pinball Wizard, in a sea song style 😅.

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2 - We continue with in the rock transformation with : Psycho Killer, ukulele version 😅

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3 - We finish with my favorite boy, the bassist, with 4 highlights 🥰.

The first one is the arrangement for ukuleles of the Devil's Gallop, which is a fast pace orchestral piece. For this one, you may want to put headphones on, because the bass is alone against all the ukuleles. The man in the middle, is the soloist. When you realise that the basse is doing the same thing then, yeah, respect 😅. I remembered trying it, and I couldn't reach that tempo on my bass haha

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Here is another example of the importance of a baseline. Everyone is doing chords here, with intricate rhythm but the bass is doing everything else, and Jonty never misses even laughing, the bassline never breaks 🥰. The song is Wuthering Heights.

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I also said that he was a fantasic whistler. Here is a proof 🥰

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And to end this selection, here is for those whose brain can follow several lines at the same time and this is a little sarcastic nudge to the fact that many song have the same chords progression 😏.

I actually used his baseline to sing Life of Mars to my teacher and he loved how the song could work with so little notes. It was not that easy to sing, because on the chorus, the bass is doing nothing like the voice.

Now enjoy his voice, his regularity, and the composition of the strange medley ! (This is very hard for everyone by the way 😅)

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[Edit] Other members have very good voices, that I like a lot. That man is just unapologetic my favorite 😋

#random music i like #“humusistic”#i am inventing words 🥰#Youtube

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ukulelesunanimous · 2 years ago

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Try out 4 songs with no more than 4 chords! 😊🎶

#ukulele #chords #photooftheday #songs #easy

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maybebug · 22 days ago

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Okey, so there are 184/238 from the first book are have been read

Today I started to learn to play on baritone ukulele. I think that’s really satisfying, because I was hypnotised by the fact that I am the source of sound. You can just tinkle strings, and that already enough for become calmful

I tried to play harpy hare, cause it’s really easy to play (only G, C, Em chords). Chores and strumming pattern have been found, but I haven’t played all song yet. That’s need some time

#baritone ukulele #beginner musician #diary entry #productivityboost #currently reading

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musicalcolorsmc · 3 months ago

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If you're starting your ukulele journey, learning easy ukulele chords is a great way to get started. Our detailed color-coded sticker guides with simple chord cards and step-by-step instructions will make playing fun and accessible for beginners. With just a few chords, you can strum along to your own songs and impress your friends and family. We focus on the simple chords to start, ensuring you build a solid foundation for your playing. Explore our resources today and start making your own beautiful music with ease. Embrace the joy of ukulele playing and discover how quickly you can progress with a color-coded fretboard. For more details on upgrading your instrument, please visit our website www.musicalcolors.com

#fretboard notes #all notes on guitar #easy guitar chords #basics of guitar chords #music color method #guitar chords for beginners #color coded piano keyboard stickers #learn to play the guitar #easy ukulele chords #simplest guitar chords

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pandulce135 · 2 years ago

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The Fivefold Trap (TMNT 2012 Reader Insert)

Note: This is such a wannabe song fic lmao. Straight up, this is an idea I had for my OC Toru for the 2012 version of her (cuz I have a version for 2003 and 2018, too). Like, if I were to write a whole fic, this would be a highlight on Toru's home life and honestly, it wouldn't be seen by the turtles until they go to space because of that holograph room. This idea has been plaguing my brain for months and honestly? It's for the angst. The other versions of her are much more lighthearted. 2012 Toru is just not having a good time.

The songs used in this fic are: Pieces by Sum 41, Perfect by Simple Plan, Spaceship by Art Sorority, A Better Son/Daughter by Rilo Kiley

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: troubled home life, strained relationship with parents, self deprecation, drug use, mention of thoughts of suicide, child neglect and emotional abuse, psychological abuse and trauma, experiment, not proofread (lmk if I need to add anything!)

~~~~~

You were awake, you knew it, so why couldn’t you see anything? You felt your eyelashes make contact with something- were you wearing a mask? How did you get here? Why were you so achy? You had no recollection of getting here- wherever you were.

The last thing you remember was sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building. There was no one up there, no one around. You were trying to get a breath of fresh air and relax while you strummed on your ukulele. It was after seeing the Hamato sons at their Lair. You strummed chords at random, coming up with a tune in your head. Your hands on the strings were illuminated only by the lights of the city and shining moon above you.

The boys had gotten into an argument when you excused yourself from the Lair. You had told Donnie to text you and reminded him that he’s doing great under all the pressure his brothers and father are placing on him. He had left at the same time you did, explaining that April called him. He had given you a quick ride back to the surface in one of his armored go carts before continuing his drive to his own destination.

You didn’t get the chance to play your ukulele long. You remember feeling a presence behind you and stopped playing, your fingers freezing over the strings abruptly. There wasn’t enough time for you to turn around before a sharp pain hit your head.

That’s what happens when you let your guard down.

You groaned as you sat up, still unable to see what’s around you. The ground was cold and smooth with a glossy finish. This wasn’t a cellar, by any means. There was a smell in the air, however. A cleaning product, Lysol?

To your left, you heard two different voices.

“You’re sure it will work?” A feminine voice. Karai.

“You shouldn’t doubt my skill. I know exactly what I am doing.” An arrogant voice. Male. Baxter Stockman. He usually speaks like this when he’s talking about science, so you’ve seen. What exactly is he…?

“They’re awake too soon. Hit it.”

“Wait-” You tried reaching out, tried saying something to stop them when music began playing from whatever contraption was on your head. You placed your hands on it, hearing a sad guitar begin to play. Your fingertips were met with cold, heavy duty steel that seemed to stay on your head no matter how hard you pried.

Before you, a crying young teen sat just as you recognized the song and the person.

“I tried to be perfect But nothing was worth it I don’t believe that makes me real

I thought it’d be easy But no one believes me I meant all the things that I said

If you believe it’s in my soul I’d say all the words that I know Just to see if it would show That I’m trying to let you know

That I’m better off on my own.”

You looked at the younger version of yourself. Curled up, sobbing with headphones blaring music to try and calm down. You liked listening to this music because it allowed you feel seen and heard- like someone finally understands.

There were a lot of things that led to these thoughts of isolation and beliefs of not being good enough: degrading parents who expected their only child to be a spitting image of them, being average when they demanded perfection, ultimately having such low confidence because of their words.

Worthless.

Even when you did your best, it just wasn’t enough. Maybe you were better off on your own.

You sat there staring at your crying form for three minutes before the image in your head changed and you were now in your kitchen. A new song began to play in your ears and your parents had just gotten home from a long time of being at their out of state lab- almost a month.

Not even five minutes into them being home and they’re yelling at your preteen self. You had forgotten about this. It had probably been pushed to the back of your mind, shoved away so you could continue moving along. You had gotten a few B’s on your last group of tests. They threatened to take away the electronics in the apartment, they wanted to make it so the only thing you would do was study, not even be a kid.

“We raised you to be smart and capable. Not average!” Your father shouted down at you with a vein threatening to burst at his temple. “You’re supposed to be like us: smart, capable, you’re an idiot!”

“Hey, dad, look at me Think back and talk to me Did I grow up according to plan?”

“Spending all your time playing that stupid ukulele, watching those stupid videos on the computer. You need to study. B’s are for average children. You’re supposed to be better than this!”

“And do you think I’m wasting my time Doing things I wanna do But it hurts when you disapprove all along.”

Your mother towered over your quaking form. You were trying to hold it together, trying to remain strong until you can hide away in your room to let it all out.

“We’ve worked hard to keep a roof over your head, to give you the best education we can afford and you do nothing but disappoint us. Go to your room!”

Grades were all that mattered to them. They still are. Even when they tasked you with saving the world.

“Nothing’s gonna change the things that you said And nothing’s gonna make this right again Please don’t turn your back I can’t believe it’s hard just to talk to you But you don’t understand.

‘Cuz we’ve lost it all Nothing lasts forever I’m sorry I can’t be perfect.”

“I did my best,” you had muttered. Your hands were fists at your sides, trying to keep your voice steady. Trying to stay strong for just a few more minutes.

“And it’s just too late And we can’t go back I’m sorry I can’t be-”

“-perfect.” You had said the last line of that song before you turned to go to your room. You had slammed the door shut and locked it before letting your emotions out. You had forgotten all of that.

You stood up to follow your younger self through the memory and into their room. You moved your hand to the doorknob to enter only for it to phase through the door. You let out a small gasp but jumped as a voice came over an intercom.

“Greetings turtles… and Y/N. It’s time for us to play a game.” Karai’s voice came over the intercom. So the boys were here, too! Good, good. At least you’re not alone in this. “Each of you have been placed inside a room with a unique trap. Oh, we all had input. Isn’t that right Xever?”

Xever’s voice was a bit muffled, he obviously was standing further away from the microphone. “I helped design yours personally, Raphael. Everyone loves baked turtle.”

“Raphael, you’re inside the first trap, aptly called the Hot Head. Can you figure a way out?” Karai’s voice was menacing over the intercom. Her attention shifted. “Hello, Leonardo. Welcome to the Courage Slayer. To save your brothers and Y/N, you’ll have to face ninja blades as skilled as your own, which isn’t all that formidable. So I cranked up the speed to 100.”

Your eyes widened but were still only able to take in the darkness inside the metal helmet mask you wore.

“Donatello, are you smart enough to beat the Brain Boggler? Connect he pieces as they appear on the game grid. Make a mistake and you get zapped. Get zapped enough times, and then you’ll truly know what it feels like to be brain fried.”

“Next, we have the Flush-O-Matic. Once the tanks are full, the flush valve will open and dump mutagen all over you poor, little Michelangelo.” There was a moment where you knew Mikey was talking back to your captors, probably something about the name.

“Last, but certainly not least, Y/N. On your head is Memory Activator Helmet. You already know how it works. It’s able to see memories you’ve subconsciously pushed away. With the help of music, you’re able to see those memories right before your eyes. You will always be the least favorite only child in the eyes of your parents.” Karai let out a laugh. “We wanted to see you break before we break you. Good luck, Turtles, and good riddance.”

It was like a Saw movie. Traumas you had already lived through began to bubble up to the surface as another song began to play, just a guitar, and a new scene appeared before your eyes.

You were staring out of your window. It was three in the morning. There was a handwritten note on your desk.

“Get-get, get inside your spaceship You don’t have a car, but you don’t have to take this You’ll jet up out the city like your favorite authors Look up at the stars, look up at the stars

You’re on a fast track living from a backpack Leaving all the sad-sack suckers in the dust behind you This is how you roll, permanent vacation You put in your time, now you’re out of patience.”

Your behavior at school had begun to get worse. You were isolating yourself from your peers, others were beginning to start rumors. In their eyes, you were a weirdo, a product of an experiment gone wrong thanks to your parents. The career of ‘scientist’ mixed in with a social outcast of a child really gave your parents a certain reputation.

“You can really go, no one’s gonna stop you You can really go, no one’s gonna stop you You can really go, but now you’re getting caught up in it Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute!”

You watched as you looked out the window, contemplating, thinking, wondering. Your younger counterpart’s eyebrows were furrowed, obviously deep in thought. Little you glanced at the note they had written minutes prior. Looking into those tear stained, tired eyes, you yourself began crying. It hit you like a truck, this memory. Your chest hurt and you clutched at the shirt that you wore as you stepped back. A hard wall collided with your back and helmet as you watched yourself ask if they’re ready.

“Think about your friends, think about your other friends Thinking ‘bout you when they can, probably wondering what happened to you Can’t return their calls, skipping every breakfast You tried to be a writer but instead you only fact check.”

That’s when you threw yourself at the other you. You where shocked when your arms wrapped around their body rather than go through them, but held on nonetheless. You sobbed into the shoulder of the you from before you met the turtles, and began training with Splinter, and studying with April and Casey even though you went to different schools, sat there.

“It gets better, I promise,” you let out in a hoarse voice, hardly above a whisper. “You have six new friends, you have a sensei, and you have a second home. Don’t give in just yet, please!” You held onto yourself, crying. Eventually, their head was on your shoulder, sobbing. Is this how it happened?

There had been a feeling of warmth that encased you, and then there was a nice voice mixed in with the bad ones, telling you to keep going, telling you to not give up. A fire in you ignited that night that burned bright, angry, and proud.

“Keep going and do not falter.”

You didn’t even notice the song fade out, you only heard your sobbing.

Karai had watched the whole thing from the observation deck screens where she could see the others as well. This was a little experiment that Karai had Stockman doing, and it also incorporated a type of torture, less physical, more psychological. She laughed, watching you stand frozen before backing up, clutching your chest. But then you did something that made her confused. You leapt out with your arms out.

“What are they doing?” Karai asked the scientist that stood to her side. Stockman looked from you to Karai to the screen that showed them what you were seeing. Upon seeing, his eyes widened and he began to stammer.

“This wasn’t anticipated! It’s very interesting.” Stockman pulled on the monitor to show Karai the screen. “They appear to be hugging the version of them from their memory.”

“Interesting.” Karai stared at the screen, holding her chin in thought. “Stockman, can you ruin a memory?”

He stammered. “What do you mean?”

“The memory they’re in, can you make it worse?” Karai clarified, still eyeing your form on the monitor as you began to calm down from your crying. She rolled her eyes at the sight. “So emotional…”

“From what I have currently, I cannot.” He answered, straightforward and simple. “But,” he pressed a button on the console he stood before, prompting another song to play and a new memory to appear in your head, “we can make them remember the worst of the worst.”

The version of you that you were hugging fazed out and you fell forward. Your hands made contact with the cold floor to keep you from face planting. You felt your gut begin to twist and swirl, a newfound nervousness taking hold. The sights and scenes began anew.

You stood over yourself laying in bed it was the morning after a particularly terrible fight you had with your parents. This one was the most recent memory, only taking place a few months ago. You hardly got any sleep and the bags under your eyes showed for it. In your hand was a small device resembling a USB drive. It wasn’t for memory storage, though.

You remember how your world seemed to spin that day and you just laid in bed, avoiding your parents. You didn’t have to wait long though, they were out of town for the next month in their lab the following day.

“Sometimes, in the morning I am petrified and can’t move Awake but cannot open my eyes

And the weight is crushing down on my lungs I know I can’t breathe I hope someone will save me this time.”

You watched as the version of you in bed lifted the small device to their lips and breathed in a heavy breath. You sat there for a moment, letting the chemicals mix with your insides before breathing out, a cloud of smoke escaping through your lips.

You weren’t addicted by any means, no. It was just an opportunity to stay loose, so you took it and ran. It was an effort to remain calm in a stormy apartment.

At this point, you had known the turtles for a bit, but they didn’t know about your home life and you still won’t plan on telling them. However, you’re sure Master Splinter had realized something was amiss. The way you held yourself and avoided much conversation of your parents probably helped him piece that one together.

You let out a gasp when the scene changed but the song stayed the same. They’re really aiming for torture, aren’t they?

“Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for upsetting things Crawl back into bed to dream of a time When your heart was open wide, and you love things just because Like the sick and the dying.”

You were looking at a child version of you, probably five, so happy, so smiley. Your parents loved you then and you had felt that warmth until you reached middle school.

You missed the way they looked at you like you were the light of their lives, like you belonged with them. Your existence made them proud to call you theirs.

It all changed when they began taking longer leaves to their lab. They cracked down on you, made you feel worse and worse about being average.

“And sometimes, when you’re on, you’re really fucking on And your friends, they sing along and they love you.”

You thought back to the four turtles, April, Casey, Master Splinter. They gave you love your parents never did. They are proud of you. They don’t see you as merely average, but an outstanding fighter with a brilliant mind.

There was an ache beginning to form in your skull. Your head was hurting. All of these memories being pulled out, sobbing for so long, thinking of your past and present life. The scene changed to another more recent memory.

“But the lows are so extreme, that the good seems so fucking cheap And it teases you for weeks in its absence.”

You hadn’t gone to visit the turtles in a few days, you didn’t even text them. You were losing your mind trying to study for an intense exam coming up. Notes were littered on the kitchen table and your laptop played notes videos that taught you nothing. The fear of failure continued to push you, though, even if that meant ghosting the turtles for a few days.

But they came to check up on you.

“But you’ll fight, you’ll make it through You’ll be better and you’ll be smarter and more grown up And a better daughter or son And a real good friend.”

The four climbed in through your window and you calmed down. Donnie recognized the work and walked you through it, Leo made you some tea and listened to your ranting, Mikey allowed for a few minutes of mindless distraction, and Raph encouraged you to release some stress through some playful sparing on the roof.

Oh, how you appreciated them.

You put your foot down that day. You vowed to yourself that you’ll be by their side no matter what, facing who knows what challenges. You may have your own ups and downs, but these were friends you were not willing to give up so easily, not like you had allowed with your peers in the past.

You may be below average in the eyes of your parents, but you have a new family. A better family. The turtles, Master Splinter, April, and Casey.

“And your ship may be coming in You’re weak, but not giving in And you’ll fight it, you go out fighting all of them.”

You heard a click. Maybe you were going crazy? Then a hissing. Then a voice came over the intercom.

“Stop fighting it, Y/N. It’ll be a lot easier for all of us if you just let it happen,” Stockman’s voice rang through your ears. What was he talking about? It was then that you noticed that the memory before you was glitching and there was no music playing. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

You moved without thinking, standing up straight and squaring your shoulders. With trembling fingers, you moved your hands up to the metal contraption that was holding you hostage with your own memories and traumas.

“What are you doing? Stop it!” Stockman shouted over the intercom. This would ruin his ‘research,’ effectively destroying his work on this matter.

“You really had me in the first half, not gonna lie.” You pulled the helmet off of your head and blinked as light flooded into your vision. You turned to face a camera in the corner of the room. “But you underestimate me. I’m strong, Stockman. I survive.” With that, you smashed the helmet against a nearby wall with as much force as you could muster up. Upon impact, it shattered onto the floor. The mechanical bits were now loose and visible, but you continued to stomp on it, making sure it still wasn’t usable.

“No! No my work,” Stockman cried out, mourning the loss of his invention that left you way more messed up than you already were.

But yet now there was a sense of strength and belonging. You were where you needed to be.

You looked around the room you were in, trying to find a way out, and then you spotted a door hidden in the corner on the other side of the room. You took off in a sprint and were able to make it out of the room and were surprised when you found yourself in a sewer. You were less surprised to hear fighting down one end. You followed the sound.

“Surrender, my daughter,” Splinter’s voice echoed through the tunnel you were running through. “You are defeated. My sons and Y/N are free.” His voice made you pick up your pace and soon enough, you were watching him face off with a giant white mutated snake- Karai.

Splinter’s words seemed to anger Karai and she let out a growl. “I’ll never surrender to you!” She shouted, her voice echoing off of the dark walls that surrounded them. She charged at him. “Never!”

It was easy enough for Splinter to overpower his daughter and throw her to the ground, but you knew that mentally, it was a difficult task for him.

“Miwa.” Splinter tried to reason with her, only to earn a hiss before she jumped off of the platform in the middle of the opening and into the water below.

That water was the only thing keeping you away from Splinter and April, who were both still on the platform. You looked around, trying to find a way to cross to the platform as Splinter began chanting. It was easy to recognize that he was trying to call upon the ancient scrolls, but you couldn’t tell which one. When Karai reappeared behind him, he was able to dodge her attack and planted his own.

“I love you, Miwa.”

It was easy to remember your place in all of this now. You were a sidekick, helping the turtles until all of this was over. You were never a part of their family, they already had one. A stray tear fell down your cheek and landed on the rusty metal tunnel.

You let yourself watch as Karai fell into the water, you were too far to help her. April had to hold Splinter back as he tried to lunge over the the side for his daughter.

That’s when you all heard Tigerclaw’s voice from above. “Your victory has come at a price, Yoshi-san.” In his hands was a rifle that he pointed at Splinter. You all heard it begin to power up and you could have kicked yourself for not looking for any weapons before making your way over here.

However, a sword sliced at his gun, sending it flying towards the floor. Everyone’s gaze followed where the sword came from only to see the turtles jumping down from the ceiling.

“Sensei!”

“April!”

Once they had landed, Tigerclaw flew away, an evil laugh echoing off the walls of the tunnel he flew into.

”Where’s Y/N?” Leo asked, looking around the expanse of the area. That’s when you called out.

“Over here!” It didn’t escape you how your voice pitched up in the middle of your call and took a deep breath. You eyed your surroundings and pinpointed a few pipes you could use to make your way over to them.

When you landed, Splinter spoke up. “I trust that you are all unharmed.”

Physically? Yes. Mentally? Psychologically? You turned away from the group so they wouldn’t see the tears threatening to escape once more.

“Sensei?”

“What happened?”

Donnie and Leo both asked.

Splinter moved to steady himself, using the edge of the console to assist him. “She forced me into combat, but the Healing Hands I used on her were meant to help her, not harm her.” You felt the air in the room grow thicker. “I fear that we will never see Miwa again.”

Leo moved to stand behind Splinter. “Never give up hope.” He placed his large three fingered hand onto his father’s shoulder. “That was the greatest lesson you taught me as a kid, Sensei.” That prompted Splinter to turn around and look at everyone before him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back. The strain of having your memories pulled out of the darkest shadows of your mind to shine at the forefront still weighed you down.

Splinter stood up, placing an arm around Leo’s shoulder. “Come, let us go home.”

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