#eli has a texas accent

[revanisadumbass]

Hear me out:

Mena Massoud as Eli Vanto

He's got the looks for it, and he deserves to be in more things. Plus Mena has a charm to him that would translate well to Eli's quiet intelligence.

Rinko Kikuchi as Karyn Faro

I know some people like her for Aphra, but I can just see the mix of confidence and long-suffering military woman that Faro's aura generates.

Jessica Matten as Ar'alani

Physical actor for a physical Chiss. Anyone who has seen her acting on display knows that Jessica Matten has a strength of presence that matches Ar'alani.

[roosterm3at]

Asks you about half life headcanons (Kliener and Barney specifically) 😄

bet random barney headcannons

italian, was born in new jersy, but i bet he had like a military family so moved around a few times, maybe to texas when he was younger which would explain the accent and then ended up in California when he was older

personally headcannon him with ocd. he for sure struggles a bit with Compulsions and some sensory things, which is why i always draw him wearing gloves cuz he doesn't always like getting stuff on his hands, and he for sure can get very anxious and easily angry when he's having a hard time.

was raised catholic but lost some of his faith after the war but he sorta just, gives off "slightly religious" sorta man vibes to me idk why

fucking loves football and will flip a table even when he's watching pre-recorded games he's seen 100 times

he loves talyor swift you can fucking fight me on this

and he's bisexual

rando Kleiner headcannons

gay man was closeted during black mesa and most of his life but came out after the combine invasion

for sure has the tism absolutely

i think he likes to write poetry in his free time, helps him relax

has a big ol crush on eli and at some point they start being more than friends, they slow dance together for sure

probably has a sketchbook filled with drawings of xen and alien life

i think he sees barney as sorta a son to him, since he knew him back at black mesa and then was reunited with him when barney was, either transferred to city 17 or whenever that was. Kleiner still sorta sees barney as that young awkward but sweet young man who worked as a security guard near his office and is just worried about him getting himself blowed up in battle.

also jewish

anyway yeah sorry for my basic ass headcannons

[ashintheairlikesnow]

to merge two very different things you’re tumblr famous for:

which of your characters would most like red, white, and royal blue?

if you were going to write rwrb whump, what would happen in the story?

Hm. Kauri definitely likes to watch just for the actor who plays Alex. Granted, so does Jake, although he rolls his eyes the whole time.

I think the character who would actually like the book would probably be Ben, Chris's friend. Who gives it to Akio who is mostly just... Confused but supportive.

Nat enjoys the film but has to be banished because she won't stop trying to talk about Uma Thurman's Texas accent.

Antoni barricades himself in his room and demands someone let him know when it ends.

(Eli loves it)

(but he doesn't tell anyone)

(Nine notices anyway)

-

For RWRB (btw, @orchidscript writes some great RWRB fanfic on AO3!) whump... Kidnapping whump. Keep it simple and straight forward. Alex is kidnapped while the relationship is still newish, before it gets leaked to the press, and Henry is the one the ransom note is sent to... Along with a photo of Alex beaten and bloodied...

[townofcadence]

Muse Information - Elias Rivera-Flores

Directory | Character List| Headcanons

Basic Information:

Full Name: Elias Emmanuel Lewis Rivera-Flores

Nicknames: Big guy, Lewis, Lew, Lew-lew, Eli, Ly-Ly

Age: Deceased at 21 (now 22)

Date of Birth: December 21st

Nationality: Mexican (not really sure what effects this, but born in Mexico and raised in Texas)

Accent: Mexican-American

Blood Type: O negative (but has ectoplasm now)

Pronouns: He/Him or They/them

Sexuality: Bisexual, Panromantic, Polyamprous (crushes hard on ....?)

Relationship Status: In a Relationship with Eevie

Occupation: Paranormal Investigator and (currently on hiatus) dishwasher for his family's restaurant, and babysitter for his siblings. Aspiring chef.

Physical Traits:

Height: 7'7" (231.14 cm)

Weight: 255 Lbs. (157.42 kg) (as a ghost weight doesn't effect him-- unless he wants it to.)

Eye Color(s): brown, can turn almost white in spectral form

Hair Color(s): navy blue and pale white-blue

Notable Features: A large plaid coat with bi flag color lapels, a ponytail, and bangs in brighter color. Also a thick dark leather belt. In his ghostly forms, his appearance changes (but I don't have a ref yet lol)

Nature: theatrical, friendly, nurturing, introverted extrovert, calm, go-with-the-flow

Art Ref:

[hobbitinthetardis]

no wait hang on—

edgy blue-skinned red-eyed bitches:

and their southern/wildspace accent boyfriends:

[l-r-christian]

Title: Fake it till you love me

Warnings: Fuff, future smut, abusive exboyfriend, angst, terrible mother

Summary: Y/N comes from a wealthy family and has to return home for a weekend for her little sister's wedding. And Y/N asks Elijah to come with her to pretend to be her fake boyfriend so her mother doesn't try to set her up with her ex. But along the way she finds herself really falling for Elijah, will he return her feelings or break her heart?

Part two

It was a calm late summer afternoon as Y/N sat braiding Hope's hair while Kol was asleep next to them, Hayley was reading when Klaus walked in with a envelope in hand as worry written on his face as all it had was Y/N's name on it with nothing else.

"Y/N, a man came by dropping this off for you." Klaus said as the woman looked up taking it as the others looked over noticing the worry that Klaus was trying to hide. Y/N opened it letting Hope climb up into her lap as the others came over wanting to know what was happening. Y/N pulled out a fancy card that was white trimmed with gold and hand written in cursive.

~You are formerly invited to the wedding of Kris Prescott and Luke Woodward~

The wedding will be taking place on the Prescott Estate

August 4th in Texas

~A plus one for Y/N Prescott~

"It is a wedding invitation to my little sister's wedding." Y/N said as her dear friends noticed the bitterness in her tone. Y/N had never really talked about her family nor her childhood since the four years she knew the Mikaelsons and they never asked.

"Will you be going?" Hope asked Y/N with a smile as the woman smiled back, she didn't want to but if she didn't she'll never hear the end of it from her mother and older sister.

"Yeah hon. I need to call my mother." Y/N tells Hope her Texan accent bleeding though her tone as she kissed the tribrid's head getting up to call her mother leaving the family too look at one another. Later that night Y/N walked into Elijah's study to ask him to be her fake boyfriend as she knew if she Kol, the wildest Mikaelson would tease her and asking Klaus was a every big no so it left Elijah.

"Elijah....are you busy?" Y/N asked Elijah who smiled up at her gently and pulled her into his lap making her blush but was used to it as Elijah was always affectionate with her.

"No darling. What do you need?" Elijah answered pulling her closer enjoying having her close as she blushed harder and Elijah picked up on her racing heart.

"Can you come to Texas with me to pretend to be my boyfriend? I don't want my mother to set me up with anyone."

"Of course, dear. I wouldn't want you uncomfortable while there for your sister's wedding." Elijah tells her brushing her hair from her face making her smile hugging the vampire who hugging her close. Next morning Y/N had packed her bags letting Elijah put them in his Bentley while Hope was asking for a gift which the woman laughed telling her Yes.

"Anything I should know about your family?" Elijah asked Y/N as she gave him directions to her childhood where the wedding was being held. Y/N let out a shaky breath as memories were flooding her mind then looked at Elijah smoothing out her sundress.

"My mother, Loretta Prescott, is a house wife in every sense of the word and tries to play matchmaker which is one of the reasons I asked you to come. My older sister, Amelia Prescott, is a model and Victoria Secret Angel. My little sister, Kris Prescott, is a fashion designer."

"Then lastly my father, Sebastian Prescott or known by family members as Big Daddy, is an Oil Baron so call him Mr. Prescott."

"Your family is worth billions then?"

"Try trillions Eli. Big Daddy is a businessman so I told him you were a C.E.O....oh one more thing Big Daddy isn't much of a talker." Y/N tells Elijah who smiled nodding pulling up to the mansion Y/N called home for most of her life and saw Loretta standing dress in white dress pants and a teal button up with her infamous red heels hair done up with her diamond jewelry on. Big Daddy stood by Loretta in a suit with his dark sunglasses as Y/N recalled her childhood and realized she have never seen her father's eyes.

"About time yall' got here." Loretta said in a huff as Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes while Big Daddy placed a hand on his wife's shoulder in a silent warning. Before Loretta could say anything about Y/N not bringing anyone when Elijah stepped out of the car, Loretta was shocked while Big Daddy gave a small smile.

"Momma, Big Daddy meet Elijah Mikaelson... my boyfriend." Y/N said smiling as Elijah walked over shaking hands with the Oil Baron then kissed Loretta's hand making the woman blush.

"Oh darn. I told James that you wouldn't be bringing anyone sweetpea." Loretta said dragging Y/N inside as Big Daddy followed after with Elijah. Y/N saw Kris and Amelia talking to James and Luke, Amelia still looked gorgeous with long blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes wearing a little black dress that hugged curves perfectly with red bottom heels on. Kris had gotten a lovely tan, her dark hair cut short, her dark blue eyes twinkling with joy as she was dressed in a skirt and white botton up with powder blue heels.

"Well well the ugly duckling has came home." Amelia said smirking her blue eyes landing on Elijah as Y/N knew where this was going so once Loretta let her go, she moved next to Elijah looping her arm though his.

"Kris is getting married I wouldn't miss it for the world." Y/N said ignoring the hurt the old nickname left on her heart and how James's eyes raked over her body like a piece of meat. Amelia walked up her hips swinging the smirk still on her face close to Elijah as she had never left any man alone that Y/N would date.

"And who is this?" Amelia purred her blue eyes gliting with lust as Elijah smiled gently removing her hands from his chest and wrapped an arm around Y/N's waist pulling her close.

"Elijah Mikaelson, Y/N's boyfriend." Elijah said and Kris smiled walking over to meet the vampire and after meeting family members. Y/N was showing Elijah around when he saw photos of her and Amelia in colorful dresses.

"What's this?"

"Photos of my pageant days with Amelia. I stopped at eleven, don't tell momma this. Big Daddy began to sneak me into his board meetings seeing how I wouldn't do pageants anymore." Y/N answered Elijah seeing him smile as he looked at the photos.

"You are every close to your father."

"Yeah Big Daddy understands me better than momma does." Y/N said softly picking up a photo of her sitting in her father's lap in his office when she was five. Y/N had always been a daddy's girl and still was as Big Daddy was the only one who really called her other than Kris, to see how she was doing.

"This James.... who is he?" Elijah asked hiding the flare of jealousy that filled him seeing a photo of her and James dressed for some kind of dance. Y/N sighed walking over to Elijah after placing the photo down.

"James Maxwell...my ex boyfriend. He comes from a wealthy family also. Momma wants me to get back with him not understanding why I left in the first place." Y/N told Elijah as he gently grabbed her hand rubbing it with his thumb and place a kiss on her knuckles. Dinner rolled around as Y/N lead Elijah to the dining room and James moved to sit next to Y/N but Big Daddy glared stopping the man and Elijah held a chair out for her then sat next to her.

"So Elijah, what do you do?" Amelia asked sitting on the other side of Elijah. Across from them was James, Kris and Luke while Loretta and Big Daddy sat at both ends of the table.

"I run my own business." Elijah said holding Y/N's hand making it every clear to Amelia that he wasn't looking for another while Loretta lit up at what Elijah said as he was looking better and better than James.

"What does your business do?"

"Many things but mostly working out contracts with Presidents of other countries." Elijah answered Loretta with a smile rubbing Y/N's knuckle with his thumb.

"It's nice that Y/N found such a gentleman." Kris said with a smile as Y/N knew her sister was talking about James and Elijah caught it too.

"How did you meet?" Big Daddy asked looking at Elijah though his sunglasses, his voice was low and gruff and Elijah smiled softly remembering how he met Y/N.

"In a small bookshop she was working in. Y/N was climbing a latter and lost her footing and lucky for Y/N, I caught her." Elijah said looking at Y/N with adoration twinkling in his mocha eyes as Y/N blushed lightly looking away. Dinner went smoothly and Big Daddy asked Elijah to share a glass of whiskey in his study something Big Daddy rarely did with his daughter's boyfriends.

"Your father seems to like me." Elijah said later that night as they got ready for bed as Y/N smiled climbing into bed with Elijah following. Y/N felt her heart race even though she was used to sharing a bed with at least one Mikaelson at night but she was never used to waking to find Elijah next next to her.

"He does. Big Daddy rarely shares a drink in his study with any of my boyfriends." Y/N said laying down as Elijah smiled chest filling with pride leaning over kissing Y/N's head.

"Nice to know. Goodnight my dear."

"Night Elijah." Y/N whispered as her heart raced realizing that feelings she buried deeply in her was coming back worst than before. Y/N knew she had to survive this weekend then hide her feelings again but for now she was going to enjoy being held by Elijah.

[nugnthopkns]

hey @fuckyeahmattytkachuk here's a snippet of our himbo coffee king kevin hayes (ofc everyone else is allowed to read too🥰)

You’re almost home, only three blocks away, when you see the flashing neon sign signalling the business is still open to customers. The sign above the door lets you know it’s called Parks & Basil, and you make note of the odd name as you step over the threshold. Despite it being nearly two in the morning the store stereo is blaring punchy hip hop. Taking in your surroundings, you notice it seems like the type of hipster joint that would only play early Joni Mitchell, which makes the contrasting music choice even more appealing. As you make your way further into the storefront you notice there’s no one there, and you wonder if the sign was left on by mistake.

Suddenly, a tall man pokes his head out from around a corner. “It’s a little too early for coffee, even for myself,” he jokes, voice loud enough to overpower the stereo. “What can I get started for you?”

His accent is immediately recognizable as being from Boston, and you can’t help but chuckle at the thought of telling your Bostonian grandmother you met someone else from the city. You must have spent too much time in your head, however, because he’s looking at you strangely and waving a hand in front of your face.

“Just gonna stand there?”

You snap out of your daze then, embarrassed you were caught within the layers of your mind, and grin sheepishly. “Could I please get an oat milk latte?”

The man smiles, doesn’t roll his eyes at the thought of making a drink so basic, and turns away from the till. The store lights up in a whirl of machinery as the coffee is poured and milk steamed, but when he returns with your drink in his hand you realize you haven’t paid. You move to take out a few bills from your wallet, mentally tallying how much you need for a generous tip when he stops you with that still thick but waning accent.

“It’s on me.”

Accepting kindness has never been your strong suit though, and you shove the pile of change into his hand. Wordlessly he dumps it in the cup labelled ‘tips for Eli's college fund’, and shrugs his shoulders when you cock a brow in his direction. “Thank you,” you sigh, inhaling the smell of freshly roasted grinds before taking a sip of the drink.

He laughs, loud and carefree, and it’s then you notice that his eyes are the nicest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. The detail takes you aback and you file the address of the store away for later. You definitely want to return.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Houston.”

You’re confused by the apparent nickname. “I’m not from Texas,” you explain, though it’s obvious by your lack of accent. “I’m from Maryland.”

“Could’ve fooled me with how you were staring into space a minute ago,” he smiles, all teasing and good-natured jokes. “I’m Kevin.”

The name suits him perfectly, though you aren’t sure how you can tell, and it rolls off your tongue easily as you repeat it back to him. You give him your name, which he seems to approve of, and with nothing else to say you bid him a good night and head to continue your journey home.

Though Kevin knows your name, the knowledge doesn’t stop him from using your newly-minted nickname as he stuff a rag into the pocket of his apron. “See you around, Houston!”

[handy-is-still-anonymous]

Been a while since we've check in, hm?

Well our little marine has set up a small group underground that helps hide people in need of an escape route.

Adrian had recently been helping a woman and her child get somewhere safe when he got a message stating that a resistance leader needed their helping getting from Germany to France. He signed himself up to help that leader, hoping that this would make them on good terms with the other group. He hated the combine and so did the resistance, it made perfect sense that they would team up.

Adrian is now waiting for this leader in the sewer system under a home. This system was probably used for illegal immigration from the two countries. That didn't matter now, there were no countries left. There was nothing but chaos and confusion. Barely nothing to eat, and even if you get a good enough meal, you'd probably get killed the next day because of it. Though, he had a healthy supply of things. Adrian was never a picky eater, and would eat anything if it means he could survive. Yes...

That does mean he started eating some of the alien species.

He notes that some deep fried headcrab meat actually tastes like deep fried chicken! It's also much healthier. With the mutated proteins in the headcrab, it seems that even covered in grease it'll still be healthier then any salad. Enough of the cooking talk though.

Which leader needed help? He only heard one of their names, knowing him as a close friend of... someone special. Eli Vance was the only name he knew within the Resistance Leaders, though he suspects that will change because of the future alliance. Maybe he could talk with Dr. Vance about that.

His heart stopped for a moment when he heard wet footsteps coming. He hid momentarily, before hearing the familiar whistle of a crewmember. He peeked around then stepped out, "Fred. You scared the shit out of me. Is the Resistance Leader here?"

"Not yet, Sherri is taking him here." The French accent made Adrian shiver a little. Accents were always a big thing for him. There was barley much of an accent in the mid west of America so heard someone from Texas, or even New York would make him swoon. God though, his accent was sure unique. Off topic! Focus. "Alright. Lets hope she actually does the whistle sooner then-"

Another familiar whistle was heard and a blonde girl was leading a man in stolen combine gear over. "Ho-ly shit. How'd you fuckers get that?" Adrian blurted, impressed with the suit being stolen. The man stayed quiet and Sherri ended up whispering to Fred that they should go.

Adrian rolled his eyes, "I'm, Adrian. Adrian Shephard. I used to work with the U.S marines but now I'm the lead operator of the underground. He smiled, hoping that small speech would impress the other.

"I know who you are already, Adro."

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Phantom Stallion Timeline #4

[other timeline posts]

Book 4: The Renegade --X Ambassadors plays softly in the background--

Summary: The Phantom has gone MIA and Sam is V. Concerned. Some rodeo lady Karla Starr has also been hanging around Linc Slocum. Surely, these two events are only a Coincidence. Also Sam gets kicked off the bus for Being Dumb, Rachel wants to be a Rodeo Queen™ because Ryan is now coming home at Christmas, Sam ends up trying to teach Rachel to ride because $$$$$ (this goes about as well as expected), and there’s A Lot of Rain.

Timeline: late September/early October. Jake’s birthday is supposed to be October 1, according to book 2, and that happens about halfway through this book (it’s a Thursday).

Ages: Sam is 13, Jake turns 16 (though he’s allegedly been 16 the past several books) (I’m really just gonna assume Terri rounds up).

Notes:

Rachel rides double with Jake and Sam is Mad Jealous about it

Jake breaks his leg! I don’t know why this is such a good scene to me but even when we see Jake get emotionally vulnerable (a la reliving The Accident in Book 1), we rarely (especially at this point so early in the series) see him vulnerable at all/see other people have to take care of him

She mentions that the Elys were all at the hospital by the time Wyatt left and I’m wondering if she means ALL or like did a brother or two stay at home, man the fort, not take up space in a car, etc. I’m just saying, there’s A Lot of them to crowd the hospital lol (also if Kit existed in this book, he’d be off rodeo’ing)

I’m on book 14 currently and Linc’s new Cronie of the Week is a man named Karl. I hope he and Karla are related somehow.

Rachel and Ryan’s stepfather is a baron (“or something”) which is a Really Fun Tidbit. I assume Linc just lets Rachel get away with more (or that she doesn’t get along with her mom) and that’s why she chose Nevada over London. It does seem like their mom might be slightly less Batshit than Luke but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Darrel!!!!

We actually get to finally interact with Darrell and he is a GEM

He’s very Disappointed Jake can’t go drag racing with them (when does Jake have time to do this in a normal week is my question)

ONLY wears baggy pants

Takes his bb cousin to the fair and definitely loses him

Sam doesn’t know what drag races are when Darrell mentions them and pictures Horse Pulling. Sweet child

Dallas is in this book a lot, and he is ALSO a gem. Between him and Gram we get a Good Healthy Dose of Old Western Folk Wisdom. Also Dallas totally caves to Sam and lets her talk her dad into letting them go stake out a rodeo.

Mrs. Ely asks Sam what she’s doing over the weekend after Jake breaks his leg because she thought Sam might want to come over and keep Jake company

Jen’s mom is named Lila in this book. She has a faint Texas accent.

Karla Starr kinda tries to flirt with Wyatt (it’s clearly a Business Tactic) and Sam wishes Brynna were there

Dr. Scott shows up for the first time in this book! And then he never stops vetting!

[heroic-endeavors]

Eli drawing her friends in the cart as she smiled happily as she taps Victor "a new album by YuRiPa has dropped called call on me it's upbeat and has good tempo" smiling happily. Cart driver "you kids are kindest ones I take rest call me old man and creepo, say if you want I can add a snack box for you guys" smiling. (Chocobo Jack I'm adding a sweet mid 30s texas accent brunette with brown eyes guy to the scene)

Tori was surprised by this, "It's crazy hot rude some people can be." Victor nodded, "Sounds neat."

[jinzlers]

my wife's started reading Thrawn and mentioned Eli apparently has some kind of Southern accent in the audiobook, I knew growing up in Texas would pay off someday

[mxrtcm-blog]

INTRO POST TIME MOFOS !!!!!

eli. eliiiiii. elly.. atty’ bro... my third son..... oops....................

as always, im a ho for plotting and will be throwing him violently in people’s directions. more info to come as i get more of a grip on him but here’s this monster

full name is elijah but he hasn’t gone by elijah since it was put on his birth certificate 

was raised by a combination of nannies and his grandparents-- his parents had v little involvement in his upbringing after they got rich quick. something that he’s highkey salty about but has convinced himself doesn’t matter. still loves those deadbeats 

can be a smartass if you tilt your head to the right angle. it’s more of a subtle ‘yeah ok karen’ kind of smartass-ery. the “o im definitely judging you right now” kind of smartassness. it has gotten him punched before.

protective over atty but he also recognizes she ain’t a saint. like he’s either “god what a brat i stg i’m going to just leave her here” or “don’t even look at my little sister or i’ll fight”... think of the “ho don’t do it” - “oh my god” meme... 

hasn’t seen atty for most of his life, though. like he’s p sure she’s dead rn / somewhere off in another state causing trouble for people. 

he played the organ at church, which was really the only reason he went at all -- it sorta contributed to his reserved disposition. although he isn’t v religious 

HAS A TEMPER LIKE A BAD ONE but 8/10 times will hold his tongue and not outwardly react. he will hold grudges like a motherfucker tho don’t doubt that. mostly he just bottles up all that rage and lets it boil into a nice, warm resentment stew :) 

he’s a skinny / small guy so he isn’t v intimidating ( 5′ 5″ ain’t that bad but still he doesn’t like it) but that’s mostly used to his advantage. when he was little he was p wussy about fighting / he’d rather just tell an adult than actually get his lil butt kicked. now he’s just smart about how he reacts / acts in situations where he’s being threatened

quiet guy for the most part until you get to know him. thick southern accent which u wouldn’t expect from looking at him but damn it’s there.. rlly tho look at him the bean

has taken to covering himself in blood and a hoodie when just ghosting around so the zombos / walkers don’t pick up on the fact that he’s alive

sometimes spraypaints buildings bc apparently he thinks he’s Apocalypse Banksy smh... majority of it is just nonsensical stuff tho. partially him trying to leave his mark on a dead planet

has a doggo named bosco who makes that difficult. bosco is a 5 yr old sheepdog mix who eli found at a gas station like four months ago. eli will say he hates bosco / “he just wouldn’t stop following me”. eli actually really loves bosco even tho bosco is a lil dumb at times

has morals more or less. definitely has shot / killed someone by now, though, and he doesn’t feel really guilty about it. (they were tryin to steal his stuff, he had v little as it was) 

the last group he was in kinda tore itself apart form the inside, and he got to watch everyone turn on each other and he ended up leaving on not-so-good terms. 

aka he shot the patriarch of the family who’s place they were staying at in the calf then stole his truck. truck ran out of gas in texas and he walked to amarillo where he stayed for a while

left amarillo looking for more resources

the rest is being written / plotted

[psychic-timetraveler]

Here’s some of the new characters in a sloppy mess drabble document I started. Devon is going to be a fun character to write and he already has a face claim and a person of inspiration because he is based on that person/persona (like a few of my other characters are) and he’s just a lot of fun to write. Excited to see where he goes.

The door flung open and Devon ran through, out of breath. “Sorry… I’m late!… Boss… hates me… didn’t let me leave… when I was supposed to…” He let out a deep sigh. “God damn I’m out of shape!”

“Did you run from CVS here?” Foster asked, holding a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

“Yes.” He panted. “Didn’t want to be… late.”

“Dude, that’s like five blocks away!” Foster exclaimed. Devon merely nodded.

“Bathroom is down the hall if you want to change.” Jason gestured towards the only hallway.

“Muchas gracias, señor.” He gave him a tired smile before shutting the apartment door and heading towards the bathroom. Lucky for him he brought a change of clothes.

Jason looked to Foster who just shook her head. “Look, I don’t know where Taren found him either. They need each other to function so whatever. I learn to live with it and he’s funny. Odd, but funny.”

“Odd is a nice way of putting it.” Jason nodded.

“Momma always taught me to see the good in others. Even others like Devon.”

“My daughter was taught similar messages.”

“Doesn’t your daughter kill people?”

“Yup.” Jason nodded.

“Will she-“

“Let’s just hope she’ll never have the displeasure of meeting that young lad. It might take a few people to hold her back from ripping his throat out with a plastic spork.”

Devon emerged from the bathroom looking refreshed and back to normal. Finally out of his disgusting CVS uniform and into a pair of black jeans and a blue flannel buttoned up to the top. “Fucking ready to party! Where the hell is Taren?”

“We got back a bit late from work. He’s working on it.” Jason explained.

Devon let out a loud groan of annoyance. “Taren!” He yelled towards his friend’s room door. Instead of knocking or anything else, he just burst through the door yelling his name. At least he was kind enough to shut the door.

Jason just watched everything play out in front of him. “I take that back. Maybe I will invite Izzy over to meet this young lad.”

Foster laughed. “You’re devious in a funny way. I can see why that’s a turn off at work.”

“Now you’re catching on.”

Devon finally emerged back from Taren’s room. “He just called me a ‘fucking wanker’ and to “get out of his washroom” and kicked me out.” He did his best attempt at a British accent before shaking his head. “Five minutes.”

“So, Devon, where are you from exactly?”

“Maine.” He made himself comfy beside Foster at the island. “Topsham to be specific. Got tired of the scenery, had to get out. Make a name for myself elsewhere. Leave all of the past behind and start new somewhere else. Guess that’s why Taren and I get along so well, we’re both in the same boat and all. I use stupid humor to cope with my crippling depression and self doubt.”

“Good lord.” Jason just stared at this kid who he wanted to adopt now.

He waved him off with a smile. “I’m living my best life, my good dude! I’ve honestly never been happier. Yeah, school kicks our asses but it’s worth it. It’ll be more worth it when,” he turned his head towards Taren’s room and yelled, “someone fucking hurries up!”

“Would you bugger off!” Taren yelled through the door. “Three minutes, tops!”

“In the nicest way possible, is this why you don’t have friends?” Foster then asked Jason to break away from Devon and Taren’s apparent lovers quarrel through a door.

“Yes.” He nodded. “That is a nice way of putting it, but yes. This is why I don’t have friends.”

“Eli?”

“Eli is more like family.” Jason then noted.

Taren finally emerged in a pair of white jeans and a black pullover hoodie with a Union Jack flag on it. “Ready.”

“Fucking finally!” Devon groaned loudly and over dramatically. “Here I was worrying that I was going to be late.”

“And I even planned on that. Now I’m worrying that you’re annoying the hell out of these two.” Taren gestured to Jason and Foster.

“You can’t prove a god damn thing!”

Foster then looked towards Jason again. “I promise you, they are always like this. It’s sickening in the cutest way possible.”

“Yet you still put up with them.” Jason shook his head, unable to grasp that concept.

She just shrugged, unsure herself. “I mean, they make great videos for the internet. But never play them in beer pong. They will dominate.”

“Good to know.”

“Besides, someone has to make sure they don’t get arrested.”

“That is also very true.”

“I’ll make sure Taren gets home in one piece. He may be half dead but he’ll be in one piece.”

“That’s reassuring enough for me. Thanks, Foster.”

“Want to feel really terrible? I have a twin brother. There’s two of me. His name is Kevin and he’s going to school in Texas right now.” Devon smiled.

“That is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard.” Jason just stared wide eyed at the odd little man his son was friends with.

“Let us ride off into battle, my nobleman!” Devon proclaimed, putting both hands on Taren’s shoulders before jumping onto his back.

Thankfully Taren caught himself from falling to the floor. He was too busy laughing to be able to make sense of anything else that was happening. He hoisted his friend up into a comfier position before heading towards the door. The two began their ‘party!’ chant on their way out, leaving the door open for Foster to follow.

“I’ll make sure they don’t hurt themselves.” She sighed.

“That would be appreciated, yes.” Jason nodded. “But have fun while making sure they stay in one piece.”

“I question my friendship with them every single day of my life, but I will make sure they don’t hurt themselves.”

[kittydarlingplanets-blog]

Sometimes we do the right thing and it spreads like a game of telephone  on the playground. That’s how this election has felt to me. At first there were these little whispers of this guy… this guy who once had a punk band that was over on the border. Not Mexican, but has a Mexican name term of endearment nickname. Young. Handsome. Schooled at Columbia. All the beautiful secret things that are the real Texas. 

  See. I’m a native Houstonian. I love my fucking city. I also hate my fucking city. Or rather, I grew up hating it. I hated the burbs and the shit kikkers and the red necks and that we were known for whiny country music and rodeos and horrible accents that sounded like we were a bunch of dumb hicks. What I loved about Texas was so subliminal I didn’t even realize it until I left for awhile. Moved to another state and found out that my entire mindset was formed yes, of course by the books I had read and the education I’d received, but the foundation of who I was? The rock bottom core of my soul? That was Texas, folks. Drenched in sweet barbeque sauce and sizzled on the triple digit Houston sidewalks. 

They say that you don’t have to ask someone where they’re from who is from Texas. They’ll tell you before you get the chance. This is truth. Another thing I didn’t realize until I lived outside the state. Other people would go around the school or work meeting and mention children or accomplishments.

The first thing that would come out of my mouth was I’m from Texas. I began to realize that Texas is a State of Being. It’s a State of Mind. You can take the me out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the me.

You sir, may go to hell. I am going to Texas.–Davy Crockett

Like so much of life, being away from home made me appreciate it. Then respect it. Then realize I’d not so much been in love with it as it coded into my soul.

I mean, I’d known when I’d driven the long stretches of road listening to the Fabulous Thunderbirds, which to me was Austin where I spent half of my time my college years dancing at the Continental Club or Club Foot and eating chicken fried steak, or when I’d gone to Lubbock to the Buddy Holly Festival that Joe Ely always played  in the closed down streets celebrating his idol and his own hometown.

I  taught myself to speak without an accent and read a lot of books. And the only thing I knew to do was reject everything that was symbolic of what I hated–small town thinking from small town sensibilities. The illiterate by choice. Cowboy boots unless they were worn by Keith Richards or Joe Ely or Joe Strummer. (I now love them  beyond.) I hated and hate hunting because you know, slaughter. Prefabricated neighborhoods outside the inner city loop where people lived who wanted yards as flat as football fields and houses too big and character-less for anything useful and huge expensive cars and a commute that stunk up the city and blocked the highways. Even then, back then, 40 years or more ago, it all felt wrong. Too much. Nothing good could come from so much….so much… waste….  clutter.

It was like Benjamin Braddock at his graduation party being told about plastics. It was Jack in the Box having too many damn menu options when all anyone needed was the Jumbo  Jack and fantastic flat Super Tacos that could be put in an envelope and mailed and Frings–a mix of french fries and onion rings and those dollar menu chicken sandwiches. Everything else was just too precious and absurd.

At 16 I found the Rocky Horror Picture Show and a mass of people that were not the same as those who frequented Katy High School, home of rice farms and small minds. At 17 I went to work at an AMC Theatre and found a bunch of misfits like myself who couldn’t quite get behind Friday night’s lights and shopping malls filled with generic crap. At 18, I found Herschel Berry and the Natives at Anderson Fair and my real love affair with Texas began.

What I learned from local music, what I learned from punk rock–was that in fact, love is all you need. That even the freaking Hard Rock Cafe is right–Serve All Love All. That hidden beneath the Urban Cowboy shit was this city of mystery and secrets. There was this unreal music. There was all night Tex Mex with kick ass juke boxes and those who frequented it. There was this love and honor among the punk rockers and the aging hippies and the drag queens and the gay men and the homeless teens and all of the others who didn’t fit into the Lone Star State stereotype  regardless of color or sexual orientation or socio economics.  You just didn’t know until you left the comfort of your sedan and talked to the people in the streets. We just didn’t let the others know. It was ours. They could have the rest.

Eventually someone would rise out of here or out of a place just like here that encapsulated all that is bright and beautiful and blazing about Texas. Our real culture. Our blended population. Our love of music that defies labels, like  Herschel, or Alejandro Escovedo. Our mixture of punk and cowboy that pulled in Strummer to hang out with that cowboy guy he liked, Ely. It’s not just music or clothing. Those simply reflect the ethic that is here. It’s mom and pop diners and taquerias and dive bars and little music halls. It’s a hot humid wet sweater of a place that is so deranged that out of it comes the Art Car Parade and the Orange Show and even a secret serial killer that only the locals know about, despite the liklihood he could possibly have the highest body count of all time. Before craft brew, we choked down Lone Star Beer in bottle necks because it was local, even if it tasted and still tastes like rat piss. It’s local heroes like old  lonesome Howard Hughes. That’s how we do things here. We have musicals written about our whore                                                            houses.

We create a legacy of cadallics buried in the dirt of what would be wasted landscape. We once had a pig here tattoed with wings. This is how we do art.

Houston still is the mystical and beautiful and secret place. This club for those in the know, on the inside. The cool kids. Most of those places  we frequented are still here. Preserved. Not just moments in time but part of the spiderweb that holds up our city even as it sinks into the swampland we are built on. Key words. Code words. Houston is a small small town, baby.

So the whispers started and slowly the buttons and bumper stickers began to emerge…. quietly, slowly likely from fear of retaliation despite the fact that we here all know that this is already a blue state. This is in fact, a brown state. The only reason this state reads red is because it was gerrymandered beyond belief so that areas range from Austin almost to Dallas rather than say, Austin being one place. In fact, those of us over a certain age, recall the whirlwind of all that is bravado and cyclonic about Texas in human form, Governor Ann Richards. Ann took no shit. We are channeling Ann this election. This day. This time when the tide is high.

We began to realize that it was  like a secret clubhouse. Nods, smiles, a quiet thumbs up. We were one. We were all still here. There was more of us than we were led to believe. In the ugly loud jarring swagger of the New GOP, even the natives here had been led to believe the stereotypes, the lies on par with Dallas, the TV show, not the beautiful lilting song. Love All Serve All.

The cowboy way. The musicans way. The rebel way. The artist way. The Texas way.

I think after Harvey we’d all just had enough. Enough of the fucking lies about us. Enough of being disregarded and counted off as worthless. A joke. A universal joke of Cowtown, USA. We weren’t going to go quietly into the night. We were going to rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And we had the One. Out of El Paso, of all places, our hero emerged. A tall drink of water, as we say here in Texas. A 40-something who still looked like a kid, like Alec Baldwin in Beetlejuice before he blew up. Long arms swinging, long legs running and walking and jumping and driving across a state that is close to the size of Europe. Hours and hours and miles through the heat, the sonic heat. Doing what others before said was a collasal waste of time. Those who didn’t know Texas. Those who didn’t know the real us.

        Not a dumb ass speaking of having beers together and how we don’t need no city slickers telling us what to do and  a C is good enough. That’s facade and bullshit.

The Texas I know has pockets of Republicans who are old school…. meaning that they don’t give a shit what you do in your own bedroom or your own home. They’re conservative in wanting their guns and their Southern gentleman ethics and the right to lead their own lives be it to homeschool their kids without answering to the Man which is the same as the old Art Car Parade slogan of we just want to ride around in our machines and not be hassled by the man. Which is the same damn thing. And they don’t care how their neighbor got here and what color he is if he keeps his place nice and will lend a hand in a tragedy and raises some respectful kids. I grew up next to a Mexican family, the Ninos, and I do not recall once hearing the word Mexican other than to descibe the exquisite cuisine and in regard to the family itself, the dad brought over left over KFC from his job as manager and we invited them to our BBQ’s and everyone pitched in if a car wasn’t running or one of the moms decided to have a garage sale or when their new babies were born.

Texans remember the Alamo and the aftermath. They celebrate Mexican cowboys. They weave tamales and brisket together like Spanglish. At least when it matters they do. We do. Before the brainwashing. Before the river of lies longer than the Rio Grande.

And then Beto showed up. With his Columbia education that is valued as the damning of the elite here never pertained to education… it pertained to attitude: being better than. Having some letters behind ones name is honorable especially those sleeves are rolled up and you’re willing to work side by side with ranchers and farmers and minority field hands.  Someone running and talking and talking and running. To everyone. The thing that is going to overpower the new not so grand old party today is that we do know a city slicker. We do know a used car salesman. And we do know the words to The Who. And yeah, we have lived a Teenaged Wasteland for awhile now… but it’s not going to be where we end up because it’s not who we are.

It’s Texas. We trust musicans here. It’s in the blood.

Tonight I sit here in a dive bar in an area that was once a broken down ward and is now an up amd coming bohemian artist haven being saved by millineal meets Gen Z punk rock aesthetics, just on the edge of Montrose. There’s nerves and hope and more movement than is normal for a Tuesday night. The bartender is hoping for celebratory customers later in the night. He’ll be here if things swing the other way. We’ve had Beto’s black and white signs out front of our blocks for months. Beto himself stopped in one afternoon early last Spring when he saw them and had lunch at the ancient diner and stopped in the shop of oddities and the record store. His photo was in the NYTimes here in that diner. We have his back. He’s got ours. And this we is the we I met so long ago, when I was a kid here having stumbled out of surburbia and inside the loop where the real Texas lived.

My twenty year old heart will dance tonight when the returns come in and once again, there will be faith in what we’ve created here. What we’ve dug into the mushy soil and what has somehow made this most unlikely of cities the 4th largest. That kid from the Border, a former punk rocker in a dress,having grown up on the   border not knowing there was a reason to think an arbitrary line meant anything and knowing for sure one language was as good as another, has risen up. The world. The entire world is watching. And he, this Irish guy with the Mexican first name, is going to let the world in on the secret of Texas and lead the world forward. I will wear the tears of joy and nostalgia like a Victory V in my boots eating tacos. Viva Beto.

the lone star is ever in your favor: you beto you beto you bet Sometimes we do the right thing and it spreads like a game of telephone  on the playground.

[johnebaumann]

Saving Country Music Review: Proving Grounds

One of the reasons Texas country is outpacing Nashville at the moment from both the level of quality and infectiousness in the music is because of the latitude Texas artists are afforded to explore their influences and develop a sound that’s all of their own. You might think that Music Row labels will release just about any damn thing and call it country, but it still must adhere to a dedicated formula for what they know will sell, and artists are given little to no leeway when it comes to expressing themselves outside the norms.

Sometimes the Americana world is not much better in how sometimes artists aren’t allowed to let loose with their more rowdy side, and are supposed to be serious and heartfelt all of the time. In Texas country, you can get a little unhinged and release a drinking song, and then turn right back around and hit the audience with some serious singer-songwriter material, and nobody in the audience will bat an eyelash. In fact in some ways, that’s what’s expected of you. There’s always been the easy-on-the-ears element to Texas music, but the level of songwriting has upped its game so dramatically in recent years, you better be able to bring the gut punches when the party’s over.

Both sides of Texas country are well-represented in upcoming artist John Baumann’s third official release, Proving Grounds. You don’t have to go digging for a bio on Baumann to find out what he’s all about, it’s all articulated right there in his songs. Hailing from all over Texas, including San Antonio, Lubbock, Amarillo, and now Austin, he speaks from the experience of growing up with the music in the album’s opening track, “Here I Come” about being inspired by those flatland legends like Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Joe Ely, and looking at the photos at Floore’s Country Store or Gruene Hall and wanting to emulate the success and songs of those founders of the Texas sound.

John Baumann has plenty of songs that get the blood pumping and the alcohol flowing, like the wit-filled “The Trouble With Drinkin'” (originally done by Aaron Lee Tasjan),  and the ode to imbibing in life’s inebriating substances, “Heavy Head.” If there’s any problem, perhaps it’s that Baumann gets a little too drunk muscled in these songs, and gets a little bit of a cowboy dick about him, with his Texas accent coming out, while on other tracks you barely hear an accent at all.

As fun as some of these songs can be, they will not be the indelible mark of John Baumann’s career, though they may be the gateway drug for many to get there. It will be his deeper material that will keep the fans he makes begging for more. “Old Stone Church” about the death of a father has already been named one of Saving Country Music’s Best Songs of 2017 So Far, and the excellent “Lonely In Bars” could have made it on the list as well. Why some massive mainstream superstar couldn’t pick up a song like “Lonely in Bars” and have a huge hit with it, I don’t have a clue. It’s too good I guess.

There’s nostalgia—which is regularly broached in country songs—and then there’s John Baumann’s nearly 9-minute “Pontiacs” that closes this record out. Why more country artists don’t have the courage and boldness to really explore how deep a song can go like “Pontiacs” does is curious, but Baumann proves it can be done, and is all the better for not trying to squeeze in at four minutes.

Proving Grounds is a great album. It’s not an excellent album, but it has some excellent songs like “Pontiacs,” “Old Stone Church,” and “Lonely in Bars.” It might be easy to question the approach they took with songs like “Love #1” with its heavy reliance on one guitar riff, but they tired to keep things interesting, which they accomplished. An maybe one of the best things about Proving Grounds is how it makes you really hopeful from the output from Baumann in the future as a young songwriter. These songs are brand new, but you already want more from where “Loney in Bars” and “The Trouble with Drinkin'” came from.

[nonoboymusic]

Monday Music: Parekh & Singh / Wes Anderson & Colonial Legacy

A lovely, little group to stumble across as the summer nights linger a little longer than we deserve in the northern hemisphere and we have need of songs with which to further enjoy the lengthened twilights and unnamable oranges and pinks which play on clouds or air pollution, depending on your location.

The venn diagram of people who would enjoy Parekh & Singh and people who would enjoy quirky coming of age comedies with an OCD level of attention to whimsical detail and the meticulous direction of Wes Anderson, has a large overlap, as you can see in the chart below.

It is then a smart branding move of Parekh & Singh, with their perfectly pocket sized indie dream pop tunes to make music videos in tribute to Wes Anderson, the divisive, brilliant auteur, and favorite of the indie set. 

I quite like this music. It’s good. But, what I find really interesting here, is thinking about Wes Anderson’s films and specifically the criticism he faces when it comes to his handling of minority and foreign characters, especially in the context of two Indian guys taking his work, which at times has indeed, been questionable, especially in its portrayel of Parekh & Singh’s fellow countrymen, and other south asians.  

I’m an ardent W.A. fan, but I do not mind if people jump on Anderson for Gene Hackman’s character being openly (and hilariously) racist in Royal Tenenbaums or if they have a problem with Owen Wilson’s Custer obsessed, war paint donning character in the same film. In all honesty, the mention of the tongue-in-cheek “Chick-chaw” trail in Moonrise Kingdom always makes me cringe, even though I love that film. I appreciate when people are aware enough to point out uncomfortable moments of appropriation in his films and I do not make apologies for him. But, I personally don’t get too bent out of shape over that stuff when it pops up in movies, especially when I think that this director (white man, he may be) is smart enough and sensitive enough to be pointing out the problems of race in society through showing cartoon versions of racism. My argument would be that Anderson doesn’t get race right all the time, but he might actually be doing better work with it than we might have previously thought, given the knock that Wes Anderson and White are synonyms.

(Eli Cash high on mescaline wearing war paint, Royal Tenenbaums)

Take Royal Tenenbaums. Hackman’s character Royal is an admitted “asshole” after all and his racism is a part of that lost old white man-ness of his character. Eli Cash, Owen Wison’s character, and the other great offender within the ensemble cast, is a drug addicted sendup of white academics who get way to deep into the culture they “study,” and go totally off the rails, wearing funny hats and in Cash’s case, writing in a “sort of obsolete vernacular.” The one prominent black character in any of Anderson’s ensemble casts is Henry Sherman, played by Danny Glover. Sherman certainly is largely there as a target for Hackman’s racist comedy (”Coltrane,” “You want to talk some jive!? I’ll talk some jive!”) but Glover’s character is also successful accountant and ends up marrying Royal’s wife, played by Anjelica Houston, which obviously upends a lot of stereotypes of black folks in cinema. 

(The great back and forth between Glover and Hackman, Royal Tenenbaums)

Thinking about it now, I actually think Royal’s racist moments, are not only for easy-ish laughs, but to also identify him as a man out of time, as a tragically flawed hero. In many ways, Royal Tenenbaums is a very American movie, about a family which chases innovation and prestige, dedicating itself to upholding a strong protestant work ethic, only to come up short despite all of their talent because in the end the world is hard and we are all broken to some degree, and all that really matters is love and tending your own garden, as Voltaire might say. The tragedy and triumph of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s writing and life sings throughout all of Anderson’s American set films (especially in RT and Rushmore, which was inspired by Fitzgerald’s “The Last Tycoon”).  

What better sin to possess the patriarch of this dying star of an American family with than a kind of dwindling, last gasp of the white supremacy. Royal has to overcome many things in order to redeem himself by films end -- abandoning his family -- but he also must overcome a bigoted white machismo, as he finds himself outmatched not only by a changing, more progressive society, but also more directly by a strong, smart, and handsome black man, who has won the heart of his wife, because he is a better man than our hero could ever be. 

Just because an issue is dark and complicated, doesn’t mean it can’t serve well in a colorful comedy--see the way Anderson also handles mental illness, anxiety and suicide in this film, in a way which doesn’t drag the proceedings into total despair, or interrupt the pace, or comedic stability of the overall work, but at the same time, does not treat these topics as inconsequential, but in fact addresses them with respect. 

(Royal Tenenbaum and Henry Sherman making amends, Royal Tenenbaums)

In short, I think it’s fair to criticize Anderson. If you just don’t like his style, fair, his talent may not engulf you the way it does myself and other fans, and this certainly alters how we view his appropriation, or how he writes for characters of color. I get it. It’s fair to cry foul over a movie like Tarantino’s Django Unchained, and say, maybe, white film makers just shouldn’t put words into the mouths of black actors when explosive issues of race are involved. I can respect that because it comes from a position of historical knowledge in which, taking in the scope of slavery, anti-blackness, civil rights, and white supremacy, it’s almost too much to deal with, and honestly, who needs a white guy trying to write blackness onto the screen, especially when plenty of black filmmakers don’t get the same shot. 

If you don’t like Anderson’s precious, meticulous aesthetic (or Tarantino’s over the topness, for that matter), which I can understand, his inclusion of minorities and foreigners (which he has made a space for since his first film) is an easy target. But I think it’s worthwhile to consider this: W.A. is a white dude writing racially charged dialogues and characters, but what is that dialogue and what are those characters doing?

(Anthony, Inez, and Dignan from Bottle Rocket)

I met Wes once, at an NPR office of all places, and so I picture his tired but kind, press tour handshake and smile, when I think of him as I write this. He wears his influences on his sleeve. A white, liberal boy from Texas with a hard on for 60s European cinema and British folk/rock music, who is a nice guy in an expensive camel hair blazer. A soft voiced auteur who seems both normal and a bit snobby, with a singular vision within filmmaking. 

Still, I can sympathize with those critics who call him out, and I don’t necessarily disagree with their points. It’s important to have watchdogs out there to not let people get away with shit concerning race, because some really serious, bad stuff can go down if marginalization is the norm, like life or death stuff, not just annoyances from silly movies. Although, I do feel bad for these critics if they haven’t experienced  the brilliance of Rushmore, the first movie I remember sitting down and watching and afterwards, coming out of the theater,  telling my buddies Josh and Phillip, whoa, that was like a really good film.

(”Payback Scene” from Rushmore, featuring The Who’s “A Quick One While He’s Away”

So, back to Parekh & Singh... Two private school kids from Kolkata who do the indie dream pop thing as well as anyone in the states or Britain, with no trace of an accent. Obviously, British colonialism has left a trace on these guys. Is that a bad thing? Well, I sure like this music, and judging from their pin-point accuracy in performing this style, they sure like British music and have studied the great indie pop of the 90s and 00s from the isles and stateside. And what does their adoption of the Anderson aesthetic in their promotional videos and photographs say? Well, obviously, like many indie pop fans, they enjoy his films. It’s an eye catching visual to replicate and it got my attention, as I would imagine it got many of the hundreds of thousands of people who have viewed their videos’ attention. 

The intrigue arrives when we consider that Anderson’s least successful film, both as a film and a cultural product handling race, is Darjeeling Limited. It’s his most exploitative work by a mile, setting a story of three rich white brothers (played by Jason Schwartzman, Owen Wilson, and Adrian Brody) on a farce of a spiritual journey to reconnect with their nun-mother who is living somewhere in India. They travel by train and India, like classic films from the 50s and 60s, stands in for the “exotic” locale where rich white people find out something. 

(Darjeeling Limited trailer)

There are two supporting actors of south asian descent on the train --which serves brilliantly from a cinematography point of view as the main setting-- played by Amara Karan and Waris Ahluwalia, but they have little more complexity than the colored folks in a Tin Tin comic, that is to say not much (that is to also say, I cherish my Tin Tin comics, even Le Lotus Bleu.)

(Amara Karan plays “Rita” in Darjeeling Limited)

The criticism of Anderson, privileged, white boy director, is most founded here. The movie--rewatching some scenes, now--still has a ton of great moments, though the script is more uneven than his best work (especially the films cowritten by Owen Wilson) and the chemistry between the leads is not great. But when it comes to his treatment of India, there are a number of head shaking moments to choose falling into the cliches of bad, racist costuming, cultural mishandling (especially in terms of religion), exoticization of "oriental” women, white savior complexes, and the fact that the country is little more than literal window dressing from the inside of a train, a liminal but safe compartment from which these three western brothers bicker like children and try to find meaning while taking drugs, fucking hot chicks, and being tourists playing at the Beatles-y spirituality which so many westerners define India by. So, criticism deserved on this one, I say. It’s one thing when W.A.’s setting is Brooklyn or a prep school, because Anderson has some ownership over this cultural context. He has very little ownership over India. He took a trip there, enjoys Bollywood, but the conflation of the country and the superficiality with which he treats it, especially given how necessarily superficial and visually focused his movies are, that’s a little bit of a deal. 

Still, some great scenes, amazing shots, great use of The Kinks, and funny lines. 

(Brody, Wilson, and Schwartzmen in Darjeeling Limited)

So, the question I would love answered is what do Parekh & Singh think, as Indian dudes who love Wes Anderson about Darjeeling Limited. They probably love it, the same way, as an east/southeast asian dude, I really like Karate Kid or don’t actually mind Last Samurai, because 1.) Tom Cruise is fucking awesome always (in movies) and 2.) it’s a fucking movie and my outrage is better spent elsewhere. But, perhaps there’s something more annoying about Anderson’s missteps in Darjeeling than those hollywood blockbusters precisely because Anderson wears a camel hair blazer to an NPR interview with Robin Young. Artsy, bookish liberals are supposed to know better where big hollywood productions don’t give a shit about race sensitivity and just want to make money, so, duh, Tom Cruise totally should be the centerpiece of a movie that takes place in Japan. Still, I’m curious what Parekh and Singh would think (I’ve also texted several south asian friends on their Darjeeling feelings, realizing I’ve never asked). 

Anderson’s aesthetic is highly colonial. He loves the prim and proper style of the British Empire, the bright colors of the military uniforms, and the organization inherit in Britain’s grotesque domination of much of the world in the 19th and 20th century. 

(British Colonial style)

Musically, Anderson’s heavy use of 1960s British music is interesting because it came at a pivotal time in British and western history. It was the soundtrack of a dying Empire and an emerging globalized (American) world. I ask myself, was the British Invasion with all of its appropriation (Rolling Stones=Blues, then country, Kinks=Rock, Hillbilly) the swan song of an empire or a the sonic marking of a sea change towards a more progressive society? 

(The Kinks)

Concerning film, Anderson borrows heavily from French New Wave cinema and classic Italian masters, and we must ask, similarly to his British Invasion admiration/fetish, is this a continuation of brilliant but white-washed and colonial film making in the guise of mid century cultural change within these respective western european countries, or was this film making truly pushing towards a more culturally inclusive and aware future?

(Seberg et Belmondo, A Bout de Souffle (Breathless))

So, again, Parekh & Singh: Sons of colonial subjects taking the culture of their former conquerers and making their own music, or subjects of a continued colonial legacy? Probably both. Having grown up Vietnamese, but fully appreciating the French culture my mother was born into in Saigon, I don’t think it’s such an easy thing to demarcate. French culture is my culture, even if, I think French colonialism was bullshit, horrible, and wrong. British culture is Indian culture for some Indians, probably moreso of upper class kids like Parekh and Singh, and their private school crowd. No judgement on any individual actors. By looking at their work, as well as Anderson’s we can take a minute to reflect on the deeply engrained transnational, colonial influences, and the good and bad of this legacy in art, and in the world.

At the end of the day, this is talented group making good tunes and using a popular director’s style to promote their music, and I’m fine leaving it there. As an academic-ish, I do appreciate their videos for making me think more deeply about Anderson’s work and history, I guess. 

Also, I want to mention, that, after Darjeeling Limited and the ultra-white, school boy fantasy Moonrise Kingdom (a great film, despite the “Chick-chaw trail), I really loved Anderson’s next film Grand Budapest Hotel featured Tony Revolori, a Guatemalan-American actor as the film’s hero. I’m sure Parekh & Singh, like myself, appreciated seeing a brown skin kid as their hero, especially in what was perhaps Anderson’s best work to date.

(Tony Revolori as Zero in Grand Budapest Hotel)