#folk guitar cords

[joy-of-jamming]

Lesson 25 - Play 12 - Open Chords - A Major - Learn How to Play Guitar

[aqua-regia009]

Requiem for a dream by Corde Oblique From Per le strade ripetute (2013) NeoFolk - from Italy

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Task Force 141 Music Headcannons

Price

-He has some significant influences from 70s/80s heavy metal, mostly influenced from his mum who was a rebellious metalhead (and a feral KISS fan) herself, but toned down her partying when John was born. That didn't stop her from showing him the good stuff. 

-John’s earliest memories are of him and his mother going on roadtrips, radio blaring. His mom giving him little music “tests,” urging John to guess the artists of the song before they ended. Being so proud of him when he got them right.  His mom had a huge stereo system, an outrageously pricey thing compared to the rest of their meager home. It could play both CD’s and tapes and it was his mom’s pride and joy. 

-They had “cleaning” days where they would deep clean the house. Taking turns between swapping songs as they danced and dusted. A trend that extended well into his teenage years until he joined up.

-John would later pick up more thrash and progressive metal influences from his older CO’s and later by his own team. John is a radio kind of man, and other than the stuff he got from his mum he doesn't bother much with collecting, but he usually can find a radio station or two that plays what he likes. He still blares music when he cleans or works out.  

-John also dips into a bit of blues, folk and country.  He’s fond of the acoustic elements, it’s easy listening and some of them tell a good story.  

-Absolutely owned a “Frampton Comes Alive” CD. 

-Price was a bit petty about it at first, but the rest of the 141’s music tastes aren’t terrible…he still shoves the foam earplugs in on the truck ride home once Soap gets ahold of the aux cord. Though it gives him one hell of a laugh to see Soap cut a rug.  

-Gaz downloaded a huge playlist for the man and crammed it on his phone. Price was tickled pink over the selections, and now this is the only mix he fusses with, throwing it on shuffle and letting it play while he smokes and does his paperwork. 

-Man actually loves to dance, he doesn't just bop around like Soap does but he will take you by the hand and groove a bit with you. He loves to feel a warm body moving with his, letting the music move them together. This is actually how he woo’s ladies at the bar. A bit of liquid courage, and smooth song. He has someone giggling in his arms in no time. 

Soap

-His library is mostly made up of funk/groove metal, metalcore, pop, disco and electronic. He can party to really anything really, he just loves anything that is fast. Something that has a bounce to it.  There is never a wrong setting for this. Has nearly slipped and busted his head open having a one man mosh in the shower.  

-Used to have several piercings, his tongue and eyebrow namely, as well as a couple more pieces in his ears and nipples. They unfortunately had to go when he joined up. But he will still throw the earrings in when it's time to party. Some thicker captive bead earrings from where he had them stretched just the slightest. 

-He's actually pretty solid with a guitar. Doesn’t talk about it because it makes him feel like a douche. But he and his friends did have shitty garage band as teenagers. (Anyway..here's Wonderwall).

-Tries to keep it heavier when hangin with the boys but don't buy his tough guy bullshit, the next song is Madonna. His shuffle will give you whiplash. 

-He and Gaz vibe the most, both crowding into the front seats to put on a concert the whole ride. Having a jam session while they cook together or having heated arguments on whether something is a cover or not (Gaz is always right). 

Gaz

-The most eclectic out of all of them. Pretty similar to Soap, he tends to gravitate toward alt rock/indie, r&b, pop, and psychedelic. While he enjoys the upbeat electronic stuff that Soap enjoys, he prefers the groove. Something a bit slower and well…sexier.  

-He is actually pretty knowledgeable (special interest you could say) about music. The man is like an encyclopedia for music. Can name songs by the first 2 seconds alone. He is a menace on trivia nights for this reason. 

-Has started collecting records in his free time. He has favorites sure, but sometimes he'll just snag a few with interesting covers and give them a spin. He has found some gems this way…and also some straight *trash*. These songs have turned into memes between he and Soap.

-Makes playlists as a love language.

-Always trusted as the trip DJ, takes his job very seriously and considers all his teams tastes to carefully weave a mix everyone can vibe too. 

-Sung in the church choir as a kid, absolutely hated every minute of it. He was always the star of the christmas cantatas until he quit going as a teen.

-He and his sisters would have knock down drag out fights over the sole CD player they had as kids. Genuinely can't stand boy bands due to his big sisters obsession with them at the time. (The shit was on repeat for months.)

Ghost

-absolutely uses the balaclava to hide a earbud when he's just doing paperwork in his office.

-It's his ritual after an op. Simon pops his earbuds in, leans his head back and rests. You don't talk to Simon during this time. He'll take them out when he's ready to talk. 

-He also keeps one in while on leave, focusing on his music in the grocery or doing mundane errands. But just one earbud, he keeps the other out to listen for anything sus.

-Simon's music is pretty precious to him, and something he's actually pretty protective of. He never listened to his music out loud, even kept it turned down low with his headphones to prevent any accidental overhearing. 

-He picked up a lot from his brother that he used as a springboard after that. Lyrics that gave him goosebumps, words for feelings he could never articulate. To him, there was music for anything. Anger, sadness, elation. 

-Simon Riley who's favorite past time was rooting through old used CD's with his big brother at old video rental shops.

-Tommy who would usher him into the bathroom, putting big clunky headphones over his ears to block the sounds of their father's abuse. Clicking play and mouthing a “Stay here” as he clicked the door shut behind him. 

-Simon Riley who scrawled his favorite lyrics onto the soles of old dingey converse. Colored them into the skin of his forearms in a mock up of the tattoos he would later get.

-And he would, Gaz finds them later, inky poetry weaved into the images along his arms, and on his collar. He subtly looks up the words later. Smiling as lyrics of old grungey 90s songs fill his screen. 

-Tool enjoyer, literally just plays the albums start to finish, he is actually really fond of the instrumentals

BONUS!! Alex

-very similar to Price though he leans away from some of the heavier stuff. He loves the easy yacht rock type vibes with some classic rock. As well as some 90s and outlaw country. 

-He is an absolute crooner when he’s drunk. He actually has a gorgeous singing voice, low and rich, reminiscent of Tracy Lawrence.

-He does know the dance to Copperhead Road, tried to teach Farah who does not have rhythm to save her life. 

Actual Playlists

Price Soap Gaz Ghost Alex

I'll be adding to all these mixes as time passes, I would love to hear what you have in mind too <3

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Hairdresser!Fem!Reader

Of All The Gin Joints In All The Towns (Part 3)

Summary:It's a Friday night and instead of being sad moping over your ex, your friend decides that you need a night out of drinking and good company

Word Count:1, 896

<- Previous Part Next Part ->

Masterlist Series Masterlist

The floor of The Hideout is just as sticky underfoot as you remember it ten years ago. Back when you were trying to sneak in with Robin, cautiously showing your fake IDs to the bar staff in the hopes of sharing a few beers with a friend.

The place is dimly lit, save for a few colourful twinkling fairy lights and bright neon signs that brighten up the otherwise dingy bar.

There’s the faint sound of a live band playing some blues-y folk-country music, that gets overshadowed by the chatter of the bar's regulars, and the sound of balls knocking against one another on the green of the pool table.

"Didn't you say something about a live band?" You ask Robin as you take a sip from your bottle, pointing towards the band already on stage. 

"Oh that's just the warm up act. The real band will be on in a minute"

It's not that the music that they were playing was bad, but judging by the way the patrons largely ignored them, you'd guess that they weren't really warming up the crowd as much as they had hoped. Your only hope is that the next band to go on would be more engaging.

The warm up act graciously say their thank you's to the less-than enthusiastic audience and start to leave the stage.

"Here they come! Corroded Coffin always put on a show" Robin declares as she nudges her elbow into your side.

Corroded Coffin? Why did that sound so familiar?

You watch as the group file onto the stage, the drummer sitting behind the drum kit, and all three of the guitarists, one bassist and two electric guitars, each hoisting their instrument's strap over their head.

In the sparkling glow of the strung up fairy lights the band's lead guitarist's features are illuminated. 

Waves of long dark curls fall around his shoulders, as he looks down to connect his amplifier's cord to his guitar.

The overhead spotlight hits him, and he looks up and out to his crowd

And..hang on a moment…That's Eddie! 

It was all flooding back to you now! Memories of him and the rest of the band at the middle school's talent show! Performing a very solid version of Paranoid that only served to further your crush on the boy.

"You didn't tell me Eddie was playing tonight!" You whisper-shout to Robin.

Robin only smiles at you, as if this was her plan all along. 

“shh..They’re starting. Just sit back and enjoy the show.” Robin shushed you as the band begins to play the opening notes of Ride The Lightning. 

You watch as his fingers dance up and down the neck of his red and black guitar, whilst his other hand is skillfully plucking and strumming the strings to perfection. He almost looks lost in the music, so completely in his element performing up on stage.

The song finishes and Eddie leans close to the microphone, his voice is raspy from singing. 

“I hope everyone’s having a rockin’ Friday night!” a few cheers, and two very distinct ‘whoops’  from you and Robin sound out in the audience. “We're Corroded Coffin, and this is a little song called ‘Master of Puppets’”

There’s a 4 count beat from the drummer before Eddie and the other guitarist launch into the song’s very familiar intro. 

The rest of the band's performance is electric. The beat of the drum thrums in your chest, the sting of the guitar's strings resonate in your heart. You try your best not to focus too much on Eddie up on the stage, his loose-fitting tank top hangs on his lean frame, showcasing the array of crawling tattoos up his defined muscles, but you can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to him every single time.

His long, frizzy, dark hair falls down around his shoulders as he leans into the microphone once more. His dark brown eyes sparkle under the lights and as he looks out to the small crowd he spots you. His eyes meeting yours as his raspy voice sings out the last note of the final song in their set-list .

“Thanks for being such a great audience, enjoy the rest of your night, and don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do” he teases with a wink and a cheeky smile, before making his way off the stage.

Robin leans over to you, letting you know she's off to the bar to get another drink.

"You want another one?" She offers.

"No, I'm good, thanks." You smile back at her, watching as she goes over to the bar.

You sit with yourself for a moment before you hear a voice come from over your shoulder.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, or people are gonna start talking about us.” 

You follow the voice to see Eddie once more. Fresh off the stage after his performance. His long hair is now tied up in a little bun at the nape of his neck, although a few loose curls manage to fall free, falling down around his face.  

“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty seat beside you.

You look over Eddie’s shoulder to see Robin laughing, joking and leaning into the touch of a freckled red-head girl. You smile, glad that she’s finally moving on from her unrequited crush on Tammy Thompson. You figure she’s not going to need her seat for a while by the looks of things.

“Sure, go ahead. ” you nod.

He sits down in the chair next to yours and sitting as close to him as you are right now, you can see how his big brown eyes are lined with a smudge of black eyeliner. 

“I loved your set, by the way, the whole band sounded amazing!”

“Aw, thanks! That’s very kind of you to say.” he smiles, and you can swear that there is a faint dusting of a pink blush rising to his cheeks.

“You were like a total rockstar up there!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, I mean we really only ever play to small crowds in here anyway.” he chuckles.

“You’ve gotta start somewhere, right? You never know! One day you could be playing here and some big, important talent scout might wanna sign you!” 

“Well that would be something, wouldn’t it?” he smiles with a laugh.

“Then when you’re a world-famous rockstar, I’ll be telling people about how I was there at the beginning, when they were playing small gigs in The Hideout!”

Eddie finds himself smiling at your excitable nature, and the way you laugh with a slight scrunch of your nose is down-right fucking adorable. His uncle Wayne was right, as usual, he did have a crush on you. Eddie was well and truly screwed. 

Suddenly an idea struck him, it might be a long-shot, but it might just work.

“Hey this might seem, like, really forward, but can I give you my number? We’ve bumped into each other enough times by now anyway.” He says, trying his best to hide the slight nervous stutter in his voice.

“Sure!” you smile as you reach into your bag for your phone. “You can give me your number, and then I can text you so you have my number too! You know, just in case something else goes wrong with my car." You laugh. The conversation between you flows so easily that part of you wonders if he wouldn't mind if you called him as more than a desperate plea for help to fix your car. Talking with Eddie felt like the most easy and natural thing in the world. Even in the few moments you'd spoken to him he'd put you at ease in a way that Jacob never did throughout the entire time you were with him.

He gives you his number and you tap it into your phone.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again, hopefully I'll see you around. Enjoy the rest of your evening." With that he bids you goodbye with a two fingered salute as he walks off.

Robin and you stumble back into the apartment in a fit of hushed giggles as you clinged to one another, the effect of the alcohol hitting you both all too quickly.

You both slump down next to each other on the couch for a moment.

"You looked real cozy with that red-head at the bar? You finally getting over Tammy once and for all?" You ask, leaning your head into her shoulder.

“Who? Vickie?” she asks, a faint blush dusting across her freckled cheeks.

“Oh on a first name basis with her already are we? 

“Well we were only talking for a little while.”

“I thought you lesbians moved fast in relationships” you joked with her.

“First of all, that is a stereotype, but yeah I kinda maybe do like her a little bit.” she admits, with the flush on her face deepening by the second. “Anyway, enough about my love-life! What about you, huh?”

“What about me?” you parrot back to her, not following what she was getting at.

“Don’t play all innocent with me, I saw you! You also looked ‘real cozy’ hanging out with Eddie! So what’s the deal there?”

“There is no deal, we just got to chatting about his music, that’s all..” you trail off, not daring to mention to Robin that you had swapped numbers with him.

She raised her eyebrows at you, almost as if she didn’t believe a word of what you were saying. 

“I feel like there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Under her suspicious gaze you squirm in your seat. Damnit Robin. Why did she have to be so good at sniffing out the truth? 

“..And we maybe exchanged numbers..” you mumble out quickly out of embarrassment of having your little secret pulled out of you by your best friend.

“What on earth are we doing just sitting here! Go get your phone right now!” Robin screeches, jumping up excitedly.

“No, no, it’s late and he’s probably tired. I don’t want to bother him”

"Well maybe you're not bothering him…"

You turn around to see Robin holding your phone in her hands as her fingers work quickly to send a text.

You try to jump up and stop her, but Robin holds your phone just out of your reach.

"..Aaaand send." Robin smirks proudly.

"Oh my god, Robin! What did you do?" You panic, your mind racing at a hundred miles an hour.

"Relax.." She assures you. "I just sent him a friendly little message. I figured since you were too much of a chicken-shit to do anything about your crush, I'd just give you the little push that you so clearly needed" 

She hands over your phone and sure enough there the text, as plain as anything proudly displayed on the screen of your phone.

"It was nice seeing you again, I had a great time chatting with you, perhaps we could meet up again sometime? -y/n "

It doesn't take long before your phone buzzes back to life once more, notifying you of a new, unread message.

"I had a great time talking to you too, I'd love to see you again! How does Sunday sound? Hopefully this doesn’t sound too forward, but there’s an fall festival going on over the weekend, perhaps we could go together?”

@sunflowerdaydreamer @xxhellfiregirlxx @penguinsandpotterheads @munsonology @seatnights @avalon-wolf @jesssssmaybankk

[cataclysmiceuphemism]

1 or 9 Dolenzmith for the kinks 😊

a list of 69 kinks– send a prompt and a ship–#9 phone sex

"Are you alone?"

"I suppose it depends who you ask," Mike teased, cradling the phone into the crook of his shoulder as he played a little, mindless tune on the guitar. "Some folks say you're never really alone."

"God can go watch a show at Pussycat Theater," Micky said dismissively. He'd never had the guts to watch a movie there himself, but God wouldn't have to pay a dollar for a ticket taker to know he was about to jack off to Playgirl Beauties in the balcony. "Are Pete and Davy there?"

"Pussycat Theater?" Mike repeated, startled so much by the implication that he and his guitar made the same squeaking noise. "Uh, n-no." He cleared his throat. "No, Mick, they're out of the house at the moment."

"That's good," Micky said, grinning at the flustered noises Mike was making. He wasn't actually sure how to start. The only time he'd started having a sexual type of conversation with a girl over the phone, Davy had sneaked up behind him, stretched up to moan in his ear, and laughed when his flailing had gotten him tangled up in the phone cord. "I got the house to myself, too. Mom decided to go shopping…."

"That's good," Mike echoed.

"I really am glad you're alone. I miss you," Micky carried on, "I've been thinking a lot, what we're going to do when I get back."

"A lot of unpacking, I imagine," Mike said, "You could stay gone for months, with how much you brought with you." He wasn't even sure how Micky would get it back on his own; it had taken two of them to heft it over the side of the car, and even then Micky had gotten knocked right into the backseat alongside it.

"Man, I can barely handle a couple'a weeks without you. Months would kill me," Micky said, laughing. He leaned against the wall, spoke into the phone quiet, like maybe he was saying it into Mike's ear, "You know what I'm thinking, Mike. Do you mind it?"

Mike cleared his throat again. "I don't mind it," he decided. He couldn't lie and say he didn't know what Micky was getting at. He still almost wanted to, just to have Micky say it outright. "I just don't much know how to go about it. You're more of a talker than me, Mick."

"Well," Micky said, so bolstered by that that he didn't feel the need to say he didn't know much how to start, either. "Do you like that? When I talk to you? Tell you how good you make me feel?"

Mike smiled soft as he set his guitar aside. "You know I do."

Micky grinned. "Yeah, I do. I do know. It makes you so proud of yourself when I beg for you. You should be proud, y'know, I'm really losing my mind over here, Mike. I can't wait to be home. Do you know what I like?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "I like it when I wake up and you're playing guitar in bed, naked, because, you know, because you were too tired to get dressed, after. That really gets me."

"I'd hate that, if it wasn't you next to me."

"Because of Peter and Davy? They don't mind," Micky said. Mike did his damndest not to seem sexual in front of the guys at all. Did his best to let them know well in advance if he and Micky needed any privacy. Sent them out on errands to get the house to themselves. Made hints that weren't subtle to start and ended quite a bit more obviously on the occasions Peter still didn't get it. And when they finished, Mike always tried to make sure he and Micky put their clothes on—pajamas, if they were set to go to bed— and looked in all ways presentable, like nothing had happened at all. Micky hadn't ever understood that, and would have fucked Mike right in their living room, right in the way, for Peter and Davy to step over them, if he hadn't known Mike preferred the discretion.

"Well, because of them," Mike agreed, "And because of me. You know, it's a lot easier to not care so much, when you're already there next to me, not caring."

"Yeah? Just a second. Don't say anything, just listen." Micky slipped the phone from his ear, instead holding it at his waist. With his other hand, he slid his zipper down, slow, trying to drag the sound out, before he brought the phone back up to his ear. "Did you hear that?"

Mike paused. "I heard something," he agreed, stilted, because he was clearly meant to have both heard it and recognized the sound. "Sounds like you're breaking up, Mick."

Micky laughed. "Okay, no sound effects. Just talking. I was undoing my pants. I'm gonna tell you what I want to do, when I get home. And I'm going to jerk off—" he started to, then, gasped at his own hand in a way that was just a little bit of a put on, the exaggerated emotion of stage acting, so Mike could know what was happening all the way across the state. "You got to, too. Pull your cock out for me, touch yourself, okay, babe?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

And Micky could hear the rustle, maybe of Mike's clothes but maybe just the way the phone, clamped between Mike's cheek and his shoulder, was rubbing against the side of his face a bit. But he still asked, "Are you doing it? Tell me," purely as encouragement.

"I'm touching myself," Mike said, as he stroked himself to hardness.

"Thinking of me?"

"You're the only thing I ever think about, when I do it, so."

Mike sounded embarrassed in admitting it, in admitting anything of the sort; he had never felt entirely comfortable sharing his feelings, sharing the things he liked, in having preferences, whether it related to sex or not. Micky encouraged, "I wish I was watching you. You oughta jack off in front of me, when I get back."

Mike laughed a little. "Man, I'm never gonna hear the end of it that's all I'm doing, babe."

Micky's eyebrows furrowed, confused, then he laughed, too. "Well don't—don't finish without me. But let me watch you a little, before. I like it when you do that." Mike didn't often stroke himself in the foreplay of it— Micky rarely ever saw it at all. Which, he thought, was largely because of the fact he was so handsy, himself. Because he loved touching Mike's cock so much, himself. He loved to feel it as Mike grew hard for him, loved dropping his hand down Mike's pants when they were sitting around, watching TV maybe, just in moments of idle boredom. Mike rarely had the need or the opportunity to get there before he did. "What're you thinking of? What're you doing to me?"

Micky heard as Mike swallowed. "Fucking you."

"You dog! Right to it, like that?"

"You want me to—"

"No, nono, don't stop, I'm teasing, I need you. Imagine touching me, too. I'm touching myself like it's you, doing it."

"Is it different?" Mike asked, but he followed up with, "I'm touching you."

"Yeah, you…You do it slower. You don't use your wrist as much. You like to— you rub the head, with your thumb— you like to look at me, when you're doing that. You drive me crazy when you do it…"

"Do that now. I'm looking at you," Mike said, and he took those hints to inform his own touch; he rolled his wrist more often, sped up his stroke, as though it was Micky whose hand was on him.

Micky moaned low and it just about made Mike dizzy.

It took a moment before Micky could talk again, to ask, "How're you fucking me? Fast? Slow?"

"Slow," Mike decided. He'd had to shut his eyes, to really picture it in his head. "It's been too long. I want to savor it."

Micky felt his cheeks go pink, his entire face going hot with the idea. "You know how pent up I am."

"That's why."

"I'm gonna beg for you. Mike, go faster. Please, please…" Micky panted, then muffled himself then, sticking two fingers on his free hand into his mouth, sucking on them to get them wet. "Will you?" he asked, fingers still running along the sides of his tongue, making way for his speech while still getting ready.

"No," Mike said, "Slow, baby. Good and slow."

"Deep?"

"All the way, every time."

Micky bent his knees, dropping his hand between his legs and fucking his fingers into himself. He gasped, groaned, aching, and turned his head against the phone with eyes scrunched shut tight. Even with the wetness of his spit it was a little uncomfortable, a little dry for how fast he'd pushed in.

"Micky?"

"Yeah, Mike?"

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fucking myself." Micky laughed a little. "I got impatient. You could tell?" He wasn't so sure he would have been able to, himself. Pain and pleasure didn't always sound so different, removed from the full context of it all.

"I think I know all the sounds you make," Mike said, proud of himself, and a little amused with himself, "Any case, I know the ones I'm going for, and that wasn't one of them."

"Oh, Mike," Micky said. It was a placeholder of sorts, just something fond because he couldn't quite work out how to say all it was that he was thinking. How much he loved Mike, and loved how Mike loved him, how Mike knew him inside and out. How he couldn't ask of anything better, couldn't even think of it. So he moved his fingers instead; moved his hand instead, fucking himself as best he could, and stroking himself firm and steady. It took no time at all to move past the discomfort, back to the pleasure of thinking of being with Mike, moaning low, whimpering for him.

"There we are," Mike praised him, his voice deep and low.

It was Mike's voice, hungry for Micky's own pleasure, that pushed him to coming. He thought to say so for Mike for only a half-a-second, but the fact of it was Mike knew what he sounded like when he came just as well as he did the moans that led up to it, and he knew he didn't need to tell him so.

"Fuck me," Micky begged, sinking, leaning his weight heavy against the wall next to him, "Fill me up, c'mon, babe." Mike wasn't nearly so vocal as he was. About anything, ever, really. But Micky smiled, satisfied, when he heard Mike's breath catch, followed by a short groan that came from somewhere deep. He imagined the flood of heat filling him. He loved it when Mike came inside of him, and fingered himself just a moment longer, as though he could feel it inside of himself, before he withdrew. "Good boy," he said, maybe just to return the praise that Mike gave him.

It took a couple moments before they said anything more than that, just enjoying each other in the afterglow of it like they often did when they were in reach of one another and not hours apart. Eventually Mike said, "I gotta go clean up, now. But I love you."

"Yeah, yeah me too. I love you, too."

"And I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Y'know, I dunno if that helped." Micky laughed. "Now I know exactly what I'm missing."

"Well," Mike said, clearly shifting back to that slight embarrassment, "You know my number. If you can't wait."

Micky snickered, but agreed that he'd be calling Mike soon, before he hung up the phone.

[starry-907]

thanks to a few posts in the community and a sonic au, i've started vaugely thinking abt a possible musician/band/idol au for ava, with a dash of "hannah montana" for intrigue.

more under the cut cuz i already have some thoughts abt this sdfkljjkjddffr

so! this au is essentially taking almost every main character in ava/avm and giving them some level of ties to music.

most of what i have is character thoughts atm so! let's discuss the hollowheads and the colorgang!

second/orange

the main character is second, who performs as an idol under the alter ego of orange (a measure that their siblings suggested to keep them safe from paparazzi and fans outside of performing). i don't have designs for the two outfits quite yet cuz i just came up with this, but as orange they wear a mask on their lower face and take a lot of measures to make their idol look different from their casual look.

one day they accompany dark to an open mic night and bump into the color gang, an aspiring band, and wind up helping them perform. and it's really fun performing without pressure, and none of them recognized second so...

(they wind up doing keyboard for the group. their voice is fairly recognizable so they don't wanna risk it)

"orange's" real identity is a hotly debated topic among their fans, folks often try to piece things together going off of the vauge details they give in interviews

vic and chosen

vic and chosen were an idol duo years before second took the stage. in this au they're twins, so that wound up part of their appeal. however their manager, alan, was still inexperienced with managing, and wound up pushing the duo too hard and ignoring concerns, leading to vic having a bad accident during a meet and greet, leading to the two retiring shortly after (vic due to trauma, and chosen out of solidarity with their sibling)

when second told them about becoming an idol, both were concerned. chosen helped come up with "orange's" look, while vic was more unsure. (and both still weren't ready to forgive alan yet which, fair.)

chosen occasionally joins dark for performances (and to make sure he doesn't blow out his voice), while vic moved to produce for a quickly growing group called "the mercs" (they'd be such a boy band we know this)

dark

dark is attempting to become an independent artist, not wanting his style to get muddied up by record labels or producers (plus he was older than second when vic had their accident. he remembers better the events that led up to it). he's picked up a bit of a following.

dark does mainly a strange mix between heavy metal and breakcore (and risks destroying their vocal cords every performance, nuch to their siblings' chargrin). they've gotten chosen involved in a few songs, and has offered to let vic sing on a song if they ever get comfortable enough again. for the most part with second he's content just taking them to some of his performances, he doesn't wanna risk them getting recognized.

the color gang!

an up and coming band known for it's style of music. a bit strange sometimes, but in a fun way.

green is the defacto leader, as well as lead guitarist and singer (with the rest of the cg providing accompanying vocals as needed). he's also the one who invited second to play with the group (still dunno exactly why but it does occur). is a fan of orange, but unsure abt the speculation on their identity.

blue plays standing bass, providing an interesting contrast. she's the quietest of the group in interviews and in songs as well, but provides a lovely sounding supporting harmony with her instrument and when she sings. has the most eclectic style of the group as well.

yellow handles percussion! she has one of those midi fighters with all the buttons that has a bunch of different percussion noises saved (also a drum kit if needed). she also tends to help with soundchecks. she's also a fan of dark's music

red provides supporting guitar or really any other needed instrument. no do not ask why they needed a triangle for a song. he also tends to be the most energetic on the occasion they get interviews. keeps trying to convince green to let his pig ruben be the band's mascot (it goes about as successfully as you'd think).

[dustedmagazine]

Richard Dawson — End of the Middle (Weird World)

Photo by Sally Pilkington 

“Good morning, Britain…a soft boiled egg.” In a reedy, confiding tenor that reaches, sometimes, way up into the uncertain regions of his range, Richard Dawson begins “Gondola” with a domestic scenario. The song rifles through the everyday for its imagery, unpaid bills, bus trips, the husks of deceased insects on the sill. Its tragedies are small-scale and ordinary but still crushing. A man forgoes education to work for his dad in a jewelry shop. A son doesn’t call home very often. Minor ailments hurt. And yet by capturing the ache and drama behind the mundane, Dawson reaches a kind of grandeur. These elusive sketches in voice and acoustic guitar strike at something element. The devil, it turns out, really is in the details.

Dawson is, of course, a prolific and wide ranging talent who doesn’t always confine himself to intimate studies. His last album, the Ruby Cord, centered around a 41-minute long track. Before that, he collaborated with the Finnish metal band Circle. Though rooted in a wry and articulate folk tradition, he often colors outside the lines. This zeroing in on the small and the specific is very intentional—Dawson says he was inspired by the domestic dramas of Japanese auteur Yasujirō Ozu — and it works. 

These are intricate stories, sketched out in plain but observant language. “Bullies” tracks a dad still scarred by a youth terrorized by other children who finds that his own son is an abuser. The first part describes the father’s own trauma (“After what happened in PE, I didn’t want to go back/I knew it wasn’t gonna be good, but it turned out so much worse”), in a winding, memory-hazed way that is anything but nostalgic. The second part turns to the son, who goes wrong in an entirely different way (” He’s been scrapping again, broke a lad’s door and now he’s suspended again, pending investigation”). The father’s anguish, both at his own suffering and at the damage his boy causes is palpable, underlined by the unhinged blare and squeak of a clarinet between verses.

It's tempting to describe these compositions as short stories, but the music is good, too, though not in a showy way. It’s almost all acoustic guitar and voice, for one thing, the most minimally intrusive drumming to give it a pulse. And yet the melodies are compelling and often follow lines you’re not expecting, and the guitar playing, while spare, shifts subtly from mood to mood. In “Bolt” its ruminative and full of shimmer. In “Bullies,” it slashes with a tetchy aggression. In “More than Real” a haze of synthesizers haunts the air, suffusing guitar and voice with a golden, indeterminant glow.

Yet it’s the sharp description that elevates these songs, never more so than in the long, trance-like “Knot” which limns a wedding in exacting, excoriating detail. “The best man’s speech is pretty much a bleak, ham-fisted powerpoint on the groom’s former life and depravity and degradation” is a fair sample. And yet there’s a gentleness to this and the other songs. Dawson gets people right in a way that’s not very flattering, but even so, his songs revere the tiny rituals and interactions and experiences that make up ordinary life. It’s a celebration, for all its sarcasm, of the things that make us human.

Jennifer Kelly

[wrenb1rd]

Complete unknown criticism rant v

Obviously the trailer is out and the movie isn’t even in theatres yet although I’d like to make my point about the movie as someone who enjoys studying things and forming opinions.

First of all, I must state that none of the actors look like the people they are portraying. You could state that the actors won’t ever look like those they are acting as but I’m very sure they at least need to take some consideration for that and make sure they look somewhat similar but it took me a few minutes to realise that the woman playing Joan Baez is supposed to be Joan Baez.

Also the actor for Johnny cash looks nothing like Johnny cash, you can stick a hair do on a guy and call him a name but it won’t work out unless you put a reasonable amount of effort into it.

Now I’m not a film major or anything of the sort, I don’t even take any film related subjects so my opinion simply does not matter however there are certainly some things I believe that should have been approved.

I remember when pictures for the movie was first released and one of them was the woman who’s playing Joan walking out a building. The way it was portrayed was genuinely so odd to me, they made her look like a newcomer as if she wasn’t on the scene before Bob. I feel as though they’ve kept that in the trailer, putting her as a background character or a sort of ‘damsel in distress’ that’s head over heels for the main character. Not to say Joan didn’t have that kind of look to Bob but the way they portrayed it was almost like simplifying a very complex relationship.

Another thing I pointed out was the way they seem to villainise Pete Seeger in the folk fest scene. I mean that’s a very common thing with news papers but if you’re making a biopic that’s not even creatively written at least stay on track. From the things I’ve read Pete Seeger was not upset at Bob playing ‘rock’ music, he wanted people to hear the lyrics but found the instrumental to be too loud so he wanted to cut the cord as none of the instruments were plugged in / set up correctly, not that he disliked bob’s electric guitar.

The way they made it seem in the trailer was that he hated it and yelled ‘turn it down’ now I must admit that I am aware they did something similar in I’m not there although that is a creative movie based around Bob Dylan, not a straightforward classic biopic.

The line ‘who wrote this’ ‘he did’ was genuinely so corny to me, it reminds me of all those awful biopics that are so off topic from the actual life of the person they are portraying. It literally brought me back to that Elvis parody biopic.

Overall the trailer is ok, it’s got its ups and downs, I wasn’t really even expecting woody Guthrie or Pete Seeger but yk it looks cheaply made and an excuse to add some famous names onto a movie.

As much as I may dislike it I will still be watching it simply because I am a big fan of Bob Dylan and have been for a long while but it will be very obvious as to who’s there for timothee and who’s there for bob.

Thank you for reading if you’ve got this far 🫡

+ Bob Dylan picture for the troubles

[cozza-frenzy]

I know some of y'all's tastes, but I'd love to know what everyone's favourite bands/artists/musical genres are. <3

Tough question to ask! For some of these we've gone for vibes more than solid genres; since we're all parts of what should be one personality, we're like a group of people that grew up together. So we've kind of narrowed it down to what music makes us think "X would like this" or "this is X's vibe", as well as a few songs they (sometimes exclusively) like. Terry Moods: Duality, contradiction, mix of soft & harsh sounds, pass the aux cord at your peril because it's going to get weird Genres: Experimental, Glitch, Prog Rock, House Music, Nu Disco, Vaporwave, Outsider Music Examples: Deuteronomy - Clair De Lune Pink Floyd - Brain Damage Blank Banshee - Eco Zones

Chaos Moods: Psychedelic, Chaotic, Bassy, bouncing-off-the-wall madness Genres: Hair Metal, Bass Music, Moombahton, Drum & Bass, Jungle, Plunderphonics Examples: Bassnectar feat. Amp Live - Ugly The Prodigy - No Good (Start The Dance) Extreme - Play With Me Taffy Moods: "Spacey" vibes, themes of isolation, distance, and nature Genres: Braindance, Psychedelic Rock, Prog Rock, Prog House, Ambient Examples: Greenhouse - levällään David Bowie - Space Oddity Peter Gabriel - Down To Earth Andy Moods: Hyperactive, colorful, happy and nostalgic Genres: Speedcore, Happy Hardcore, Chiptune, Bubblegum Pop, Rock Examples: Anamanaguchi - Endless Fantasy Furries In A Blender - Wind Me Up Galactikraken - Best Band In The Universe Roy Moods: Lust, anger, violence, dark and moody, lyrics about yearning to be understood Genres: Dubstep, Power Metal, Harsh Noise, Neurofunk, Metalcore Examples: Bring Me The Horizon - Can You Feel My Heart Powerwolf - The Sacrament Of Sin Cookie Monsta - Mosh Pit VIP Dagwood Moods: Party time! Anything that's catchy or good to sing along to; happy, nostalgic, with a sense of bringing people together Genres: Pop, Parody, Electro Swing, Jazz Examples: Dexys Midnight Runners - Come On Eileen Lionel Hampton - It Don't Mean a Thing (Jazz Reconstruction Club Mix) Weird Al Yankovic - My Bologna Martin Moods: Simple and comforting; songs that are good to sing along to or emphasize a sense of togetherness, simplicity, and nostalgia. Genres: Indie, Melodic Pop, Europop Examples: Sleeping At Last - North Sigur Ros - Hoppipolla ABBA - Mamma Mia Vivien Moods: A sense of longing, or waiting for better times. Also likes songs that are good to sing along to, maybe to overcome those feelings that form the "basis" of their tastes. Genres: Synth Pop, Alternative, Britpop, Disco, Glam Rock Examples: Gorillaz - Melancholy Hill Coldplay - Paradise Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Black Summer Jenova Moods: Soft acoustic guitar and drums, soft lyrics, magical and fey-like Genres: Alternative, Indie, Pop, Folk Examples: Nirvana - Something In The Way Dodie - Ready Now Loreena McKennitt - The Mummers' Dance Thirteen Moods: Heartbreak, loneliness, distance, but with a hopeful tone Genres: Alternative, Pop, Geek Rock, Prog Rock, Jazz Fusion Examples: The Cure - Just Like Heaven Ludo - Drunken Lament Journey - Faithfully

Roses Moods: Feeling dissatisfied, leaving things behind, soft 80's-style synths and heartfelt lyrics and melodies Genres: Electropop, City Pop, Synthwave, Synth Pop, Melodic Rock Examples: Magic Dance - Restless Nights Porter Robinson - Something Comforting The Killers - Human

[daenystheedreamer]

(Tyrionyork) in your kuwtb / modern au who do you think listens to what music? Doesn't have to be artists (cause thats a lot of artists) just general genres etc

YAY love thinking of this stuff. ok i have a post from 2021 w some of my opinions i still broadly agree with:

quick disclaimer. my main opinion forever is these motherfuckers would NOT listen to mother mother or tally hall or cavetown or jack stauber or AJR. sansa MIGHT. but not a single other character would. im sorry to break the news to you. there is a HUGE difference between 'song that reminds you of character' and 'song character would listen to' and im sorry but robb stark is NOT listening to the oh hellos no matter how much you think soldier poet king fits him. doing the starks + theon send asks if u want a specific character :^)

ROBB he likes kanye west do not even fucking try and claim otherwise. he likes UK drill and all kinds of rap and 90s r&b. he listens to the top 40 when working out. the gayest thing he listens to is beyonce. i also think he likes country music (sorry.)

THEON oh everything. lots of electronic and if he's in charge of the aux cord he puts on whatever it most annoying and bad for the vibe. i do think he's a little bit lana del rey especially post-ramsay. definitely a barb just to be annoying. would never be honest about his music taste. is a dj :)

JON teen jon listens to paramore mcr etc but older jon likes tame impala and king gizzard. def an arctic monkeys/snow patrol/strokes/kooks kinda guy. im on the fence about mitski on the more dubious side. beach boys pet sounds. WEEZER AND NIRVANA.... lots of grunge. he and robb listen to wu tang and NWA together. can play guitar and did wonderwall oasis for ygritte to impress her and she was like ach canae ye listen tae good music even?

SANSA swiftie all the way. i may not like the blonde devil's music but it is undeniable that sansa is a swiftie. i think she likes pop and folk. lots of female artists :) goes to pop concerts with margaery and gets vip backstage passes cos margaery is kind of a starfucker name dropper and uses it to impress sansa on dates. can play piano and maybe also flute or violin...

ARYA everything that gives you tinnitus. heavy metal industrial noise. bonds with jon over grunge. punk and grindcore. every kind of metal you can think of. and yes she is a juggalo. she likes insane clown posse (argue with the wall) her and gendry + lommy + hot pie are in a terrible band together. plays drums FOR SURE

BRAN beatles :) psychedelic rock.... i still see him as pretentious about music 😭 listens to pink floyd The Wall high with the reeds. makes music in garageband its actually pretty good.

RICKON he is also a juggalo

[krispyweiss]

Carsie Blanton at Natalie’s Grandview, Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 17, 2024

Be good to the people you love and love everybody alive.

So sang Carsie Blanton, her Handsome Band and a full house gathered at Natalie’s Grandview Sept. 17 to end the trio’s wildly entertaining, life-affirming, anti-fascist-campaigning, revolution-supporting gig with a simple message: “Be Good.”

What transpired leading up to this point was much more than a traditional music concert; call it a non-traditional concert wrapped in tragedy and comedy. The heavily tattooed Blanton - in a sleeveless black top and fishnets and pink shorts and tennis shoes with a matching pink cord for her acoustic guitar - and bassist Joe Plowman and drummer Sean Trischka (Lula Wiles) in black-and-white cow prints spent 80 minutes doing what folk musicians do best - agitating, engaging, comforting and encouraging as they tried out a new set with new songs - including the just-composed “Everything for Everyone” - for a new tour in a new (for them) city.

But first, an introduction:

I’m an ugly, nasty, commie bitch, Blanton sang on the 90-second song of the same name, inspired by some of the heckling she’s received over the years.

There was also the history of Red Scare tactics and Pete Seeger’s 1,800-page FBI file on the brand-new, unrecorded “FBI;” a hearty kiss off to the antisemites who gathered in Charlottesville in 2017 on “Shit List;” a warm remembrance of John Prine on “Fishin’ with You;” a little bit of romance as Blanton performed the tender “Lovin’ is Easy” solo and by request; and a lot of humor when she covered Dan Reeder’s “Born a Worm,” Blanton’s favorite song of all time, and again had the sold-out Columbus, Ohio, venue singing along:

Born a worm/spins a cocoon/goes to sleep/wakes up a butterfly/oh what the fuck is that about?/what the fuck is that about?

Blanton and Trischka were the rhythm and Plowman was the soloist, coaxing six-string-sounding leads from his electric four-stringer and providing the only accompaniment - aside from Blanton and Trischka’s snapping fingers - on double bass on “Rich People.”

They’re fuckin’ us all, is the wink-and-a-smile refrain.

Grade card: Carsie Blanton at Natalie’s 9/17/24 - A-

9/18/24

[joy-of-jamming]

Lesson 29 - Play 15 - Open Chords - G add 5 and C add 9 - Learn How to P...

[a7xbrazilianfans]

Avenged Sevenfold members were interviewed to end-of-year issue of Rock Classic Magazine. Check out the full interview below:

Stranger things: Avenged take metal on a trip. Earlier this year, powered by existentialism and hallucinogens, Avenged Sevenfold crafted the weirdest album by a major heavy metal band in decades. Frontman M Shadows and his wife, Valary, were having a night out at a local bar when the psychedelic mushrooms began to take hold. A new Avenged Sevenfold album was already in the works, but the singer wasn’t seeking chemically enhanced inspiration at that moment – until the feelings of love and happiness got intense.

“Then we got home,” Shadows recalls, “and we just had this connection, being so sure that we had travelled through space and time to be together in every life that we meet up in – the ultimate love story.”

From that experience, Shadows wrote the lyrics to Cosmic, a sweeping ballad with influences ranging from Elton John to Daft Punk and 808s-era Kanye West, and nothing to remind you of metal. It’s also the longest track on 2023’s mind-expanding Avenged Sevenfold album Life Is But A Dream…, with a romantic vocal that promises: ‘As we chase through the stars beyond forever, I’ll follow you.’

The music is fuelled by wild experimentation, balancing heavy riffs with textures and ideas taken from other genres and dimensions. It is the band’s magnum opus, an album of miniepics and pocket symphonies, absorbing sweeping moments of pop, prog, jazz, gypsy folk, hip-hop, Daft Punk-style robotics, classical melody, the Phil Spector ‘Wall Of Sound’, and even some crooning from the Frank Sinatra school. Shadows is excited to watch the fallout.

“I want to make an impact. I want to make bold art,” he says of the album. “I think after people get used to it, it won’t be so crazy. And then it’ll be like: ‘Well, what’s next?’ That’s the journey we’re all on.”

That makes Life Is But A Dream… both a confrontation and an invitation, as the band seek to change the definition of what an Avenged Sevenfold track is supposed to sound like. This time last year, Shadows posted his top five most-played artists on Apple Music, which might have been a clue to his state of mind: The Commodores, Weezer, Kanye West, Queens Of The Stone Age and Billy Joel. And yet just the other day he had Slayer’s Divine Intervention on repeat in the car, happily feeding off its raw power.

“I consider us a metal band,” he says. “We’re definitely influenced by Slayer and Pantera and Metallica and some quirkier things. We’re just trying to put our own twist on it.”

The first public glimpse of the new album was its debut single, the nearly-six-minute Nobody, which mixes ominous guitars with a trap beat and a full orchestra, male harmonies more R&B than metal, and, shortly before an epic guitar solo, a mysterious declaration from Shadows: ‘I’m a god, I’m awake, I’m the one in everything/I’m alive, I’m the dead. I’m a man without a head.’ Initial reactions were mixed – surprised, angry, confused, ecstatic. Some Avenged fans embraced the sound immediately; others didn’t get it at all.

“They’re like: ‘That is fucking shit! These guys forgot how to write a song! Why would you put a solo at the end?’” says Shadows. “We were just laughing. That was more fun to us than someone saying: ‘This is great.’ We always gear towards a little bit of ruffling feathers.”

That song only hints at what the rest of Life Is But A Dream… offers. Working with Joe Barresi, who also produced Avenged’s previous album The Stage, guitarist Synyster Gates calls it “a full U-turn. It’s just like a blast off into outer space”.

Work on Life Is But A Dream… began after Avenged Sevenfold cancelled the final leg of their 2018 tour, due to a viral infection that affected Shadows’s vocal cords. The band returned home to Huntington Beach and started writing new songs. Shadows and Synyster would sit together for hours, hashing out their ideas, usually at the latter’s house. The album took nearly five years to complete.

“It feels like an entire lifetime,” says Gates, whose daughter Monroe was born in the interim. “We needed a break after two decades of doing stuff, but we needed to go to work because there was a creative itch.”

On the new tracks there are riffs as tough and heavy as anything from the band’s past, but the context is completely different. A frantic beat kicks off the crazed We Love You, shifting into the grinding guitar that accompanies Shadows as he chants a wish list of society’s insatiable appetites: ‘More power! More pace! More money! More taste! More sex! More pills! More skin!’ There are moments of stuttering electronics and Beatles melody, closing with guitarist Zacky Vengeance sounding like George Harrison on a 1920s acoustic and a bit of bottleneck to create a warm sound of gypsy jazz, as the band’s chorus of tattooed dudes hums along.

“Me and Gates get [a lot of] joy out of playing crazy jazz chords that we’ve never, ever incorporated in Avenged Sevenfold,” says Vengeance.

Getting the band there was a long, strange trip that included psychedelic experiences for two of them in the form of mindaltering venom – aka 5-MeO-DMT – from the rare Sonoran Desert toad.

“When we went deep into the 5-MeO-DMT stuff, it was before covid,” Shadows explains. “But you don’t just go into that, right?"

The Stage was already starting to deal with these existential things – like: ‘Gimme all the information of what we know about why we’re here.’”

The Stage, released in 2016, was a concept album about artificial intelligence that closed with a 15-minute meditation on the Big Bang, narrated by astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson.

“I want to form my world view based on facts and science, which a lot of times is very nihilistic, then reading philosophy or really great novels about this sort of thing,” says Shadows.

“And then that record dove into the sort of AI element, which we’re dealing with now. And it dove into the Big Bang. This record [Life Is But A Dream…] dove into: ‘Now what do we do with all that information as a human that has emotions, that evolved to this spot where we have our upper brain [wired for reasoning] and lower brain [wired for primitive responses] and they’re battling each other?’”

For the 5-MeO-DMT experimentation, which he hoped would pause that battle, Shadows flew in a shaman, whose skills had previously been employed by engineers at SpaceX and Google. He went through three days of sessions, including one with Gates and another with Valary.

“I don’t promote this,” he’s careful to say. “I don’t want to say that everyone needs that.”

For Shadows, the trips were eye-opening and difficult, resulting in a “pure existential crisis for a year” and loss of ego at one point, but eventually also a feeling of deep connection to the world.

“You come to terms with how important everyone thinks everything is, and how they work themselves up,” he says. “And none of it means anything. You work your fingers to the bones and everyone tells you you’re great your whole life. Then all of a sudden you look back on your life and you go: ‘What the fuck was that?’ Ha ha ha!”

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 820: Nomeansno 0 + 2 = 1

Nomeansno began in 1979 as the rhythm section two-piece of Rob and John Wright. They added Andy Kerr on guitar in 1983, a year after releasing their debut album Mama. While Nomeansno always retained a heavy focus on the interplay between bass and drums, Kerr found a spot to insert his wiry, jagged guitar lines without undermining the low-end force of the Wright brothers. Kerr wound up with another crucial role: nodules on Rob's vocal cords meant that he had to step back from lead vocals, allowing Kerr's snotty timbre to outweigh Wright's booming baritone on the remainder of their '80s output.

Nomeansno closed out the '80s with the most popular album of their career, 1989's Wrong. The band's rising profile across North America and Europe allowed (or perhaps forced) them to quit their day jobs, and by the beginning of the '90s the band was touring full-time. When it came time to record the follow-up to Wrong, the band was in a very different position. They were no longer practicing several times a week and slowly stockpiling new material---they'd been on tour non-stop and were now having to quickly cobble together another studio album so they would have something new to tour on. The band had become a job.

Such realities weren't generally considered cool back in the '90s. Being a career musician in a punk band wasn't heroic to anyone. Professional musicians didn't take you seriously and the punks considered you a sell out. The irony was that Nomeansno were phenomenal musicians and staunchly committed to the underground.

If anything, Nomeansno could've benefitted from playing the industry game a little more. Their press photos were always confusing and never clearly featured all three members. They championed younger bands and even started their own label, but they also avoided opening for bigger bands, even as they watched the younger bands they'd supported eclipse them in popularity. Nevermind had come out just two months prior to 0 + 2 = 1 and Nomeansno could've easily capitalized on the global interest in the Pacific Northwest underground rock scene, but instead they were content to continue touring squats in Europe. At a time when it seemed like Nomeansno should've gotten even bigger, they instead saw the first dip in album sales.

Maybe folks just weren't as excited by 0 + 2 = 1. Maybe it was written in too much of a hurry. But I don't buy that. I'll admit that i don't love "Everyday I Start to Ooze" (some of the vocals tread a little too far into theatrics) and that I mainly get my fix on Side 1. But jeezus... can we talk about those first five songs?? "Now" is an electrifying album opener. "The Fall" is classic Nomeansno power. "0 + 2 = 1" is like a nightmarish mashup of Ginsberg and Burroughs prose sent against a lurching Man Is The Bastard riff. "Valley of the Blind" reasserts their classic punk vigor before "Mary" comes crashing down with its monolithic bass-driven weight. And Side 2 is packed with punches too. Whether it's the vitriolic attack of "The Night Nothing Became Everything" and "I Think You Know" or the blueprint for Unwound's future blend of guitar dissonance and mid tempo bass throb on "Ghosts," the songs are solid enough for the album to be held on the same pedestal as its predecessors.

But Andy Kerr would leave the band at the end of the album cycle, officially capping off the classic era of the band. Grunge was having its moment in the spotlight. Pop-punk would follow on its heel steps. And the two weird old guys from Victoria, BC that looked like Phil Donahue's long lost siblings and sounded like Dead Kennedys and Rush had a baby would continue to avoid the limelight while cranking out records and living in tour vans.

[droitsdesfemmes]

🎶 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝘅 𝗲́𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀𝗲́𝗲𝘀 - 𝗔̀ 𝗹𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗲́𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗻𝘂𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗲 𝗹'𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗶𝗿𝗲 🎵

🎸𝗔𝘂𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗱’𝗵𝘂𝗶 : 𝗘𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗮𝗯𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗖𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 (𝟭𝟴𝟵𝟯-𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟳)🪕

Dans l’histoire musicale américaine, Elizabeth Cotten, gauchère audacieuse, crée l’inédit avec une guitare pour droitier, les cordes non inversées, donnant naissance au « Cotten Picking ». Dès l'âge de sept ans, elle embrasse le banjo puis, peu après, une guitare nommée Stella. Son hymne intemporel « Freight Train », naît de son esprit créatif à tout juste dix ans. Sa vie, éloignée des scènes, la voit évoluer en tant que domestique, jusqu’à ce que le destin la place au sein de la demeure des Seeger. Là, son don refleurit, encouragé par l'enthousiasme de la famille pour la musique folk. C'est la résilience et la passion qui l'amènent à partager à nouveau son art en pleine maturité, capturé par Mike Seeger et diffusé par Folkways Records. Dans les années 60, sa présence scintille aux côtés de légendes telles que Mississippi John Hurt, John Lee Hooker et Muddy Waters. Sa contribution unique au folk est célébrée par des grands noms, de Jerry Garcia à Bob Dylan, marquant l’histoire de la musique. Son œuvre est couronnée en 1984 par un Grammy, célébrant une vie de création authentique. Lorsqu'elle se voit honorée, elle exprime un souhait simple, celui de partager une mélodie avec sa guitare. Une artiste, une inspiration, une âme affranchie des chaînes du conformisme.

🔗 Pour en savoir plus : https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Cotten

🎧 Écouter : https://youtu.be/R2DCWfBkMSI?feature=shared

📸 Photo : Elizabeth Cotten - Live !

[mywifeleftme]

227: Jim Sullivan // U.F.O.

U.F.O. Jim Sullivan 1969, Monnie

Jim Sullivan’s U.F.O. has become one of the best-known private press records of the late 1960s, thanks largely to the tireless efforts of Light in the Attic’s Matt Sullivan (no relation), who by his own admission became obsessed with Jim’s music and the mystery of his 1975 disappearance in the New Mexico desert. Backed by members of the Wrecking Crew, the session aces who served as Phil Spector’s house band, U.F.O. is a fine folk rock record that at times leaps up into something more (“Highways,” “Jerome,” “Sandman”). Since Jim’s finally received the flowers that eluded him in life, I wanted to use this space to highlight six lesser-known private press folkies you might also want to explore.

Tarp Clancy

The reclusive Clancy recorded a series of 10” EPs in the early 1960s at his rudimentary cabin studio in Muhlenberg County, the heart of Kentucky coal country. An elderly former miner who had lost most of his picking hand when a vial of nitroglycerine he was transporting ignited in his glove, Clancy homebrewed a mechanical strumming prosthesis. He would loop a cord around his neck that allowed him to cleverly control the tempo of his metal claw by moving his head and shoulder, though over time he began to suffer from nerve damage and light-headedness from the way it constricted blood flow to his brain. The EPs, recorded solo on acoustic guitar and dulcimer, have a poignant jerkiness to them that matches his lyrical obsessions with isolation, tribulation, and grisly industrial accidents. They were distributed in extremely limited quantities through ads in the local Baptist church’s circular and were forgotten until one of the discs was discovered by Brooklyn DJ Anathius Taylor at a goodwill while visiting his family home (Beechland Plantation). Clancy himself disappeared (nearly) without a trace sometime around 1970, though in 1985 a claw of his design was discovered buried under the Jefferson Davis memorial in Fairview, Kentucky during routine maintenance on the obelisk.

Key song: “Cold Fingers”

Remy “Mad Crawdad” Beauregard

Beauregard grew up in a vibrant 1920s Louisiana Cajun community and learned to play guitar from his father. His parents raised him to venerate Governor (and later Senator) Huey Long, and the day Long was assassinated was the day Remy Beauregard would say he lost his innocence. “It was like being told they killed Santa Claus,” he later wrote in his journals, “I felt all the magic and hope in the world drain from me in a matter of seconds.” Hopelessness drove the young man to street crime, joining the infamous Les Gamins gang, and he soon ran afoul of the law. A boy called Remy Beauregard went into juvie, and a violent criminal called “The Mad Crawdad” came out, albeit one with a remarkable gift for the accordion.

Remy had a few close calls with greatness: after visiting 439 Baronne a few times, and even getting to jam with the legendary George Girard, Orin Blackstone made moves to begin recording the young man. Only two recordings survive, “Where, Mother?”/ “Dandelions” and “I've Got Nine” / “Life Will Screw You,” the latter an extremely rare shellac 10" thought lost for decades. Unfortunately, another run-in with the law hampered his burgeoning musical career, as Remy bludgeoned a man to death in a drunken bar fight, spending the next six weeks in prison. While in the slammer, Remy found Jesus, and upon his release the newly sober musician recorded the Forgiveness LP. It is a desperate and cynical record, the product of a self-loathing man seeking a salvation he knows he will never achieve. His sobriety would be short-lived, and he drank himself to death in 1957 having lived a life in near-complete obscurity. His final single, released posthumously, was titled “Why Did You Leave Us, Mr. Long?”

A career-spanning compilation is set to be released by Light in the Attic records in late 2024, titled Crawdad Sings! with liner notes by Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys. — D.J.C.

Key Song: “Life Will Screw You”

Jeramie Laramy

The Vietnam War inspired some of the most powerful protest songs of the 20th century, from “Eve of Destruction” to “Napalm Sticks to Kids.” But Jeramie Laramy stood virtually alone in 1975 when he sang the words “first my mother left me / with a man called Dan / then my country abandoned the brave people / of South Vietnam.” Laramy was a Canadian who renounced his citizenship and moved to San Francisco, California in 1967 in hopes of being drafted, but due to his complicated residency situation he was deemed ineligible. Referred to in Jerry Garcia’s memoirs as “a vicious simpleton,” he nevertheless took up the guitar and began busking, with primitive yowlers like “Mr. Saigon” and “Hippy Dachau” anticipating punk rock by nearly a decade. Laramy's music won him few admirers in the burgeoning counter-culture, but he was embraced by Hells Angels-affiliate Andre “Baby” Jane, who bought him studio time he used to record 1972's Jungle Mower LP, a commercial failure. After an intense, inadvertent psychedelic experience at the Berdoo Angels' clubbouse, Laramy's music became more abstract, culminating in the geographically-confused psych-folk double A-side “Seoul Stealers” / “I Wished Upon a Machine Gun.” He disappeared in 1976.

Key song: “I Wished Upon a Machine Gun”

Liesl Eddy

Alan Lomax called Liesl Eddy “the only woman prison singer who mattered.” Mississippi Fred McDowell called her “that miserable mute bitch.” Eddy was no one’s idea of a sweetheart, but even a cursory scan of her biography makes plain why she had to be tough. Raised Liesl Edzurbriggen by stern Swiss-German Calvinist tenant farmers in dustbowl-era Kansas, her parents forbade her from speaking in the belief that the family was being spied upon by papists. As she aged into young adulthood, Eddy’s muteness brought her into frequent, violent conflict with townsfolk in the nearby community of Arkansas, and she was eventually sentenced to eight years in prison after braining a local furrier with a cast-iron skillet.

Despite suffering from Marfan syndrome, Eddy was tremendously strong, and there was concern that she was too dangerous for women’s prison. Thus, in 1934 she became the only female inmate at Georgia’s notorious Lillyfold Penitentiary, where she worked breaking rocks on a chain gang. It was in prison however that Eddy’s unusual vocal talents were discovered. Despite her continued refusal to speak, she possessed a deep, southern-accented singing voice, and it was said that she alone could drown out a 20-man gang. Certainly it’s her lungs that stand out on the Lomax-recorded album of chain gang songs and spirituals Let Us Be Released (From Her) (1937), on which the tension between Eddy and her fellow prisoners is palpable.

Following a violent brawl that saw six men injured, Eddy was moved to solitary confinement, where Lomax was able to convince prison authorities to allow her use of a cigar box guitar. Eddy’s surprisingly vulgar, raunchy country blues tunes like “Hogmeat Driver Rag” and “No’ Mo’ Cone Pone” led the blushing musicologist to suppress her recordings for decades, though due to a clerical error “Liesl’s Idyll” was included on some early pressings of Lead Belly’s Negro Sinful Songs in 1939 before the mistake was noted. Eddy’s trail goes cold after her release in 1942, but following Lomax’s death her work was rediscovered. Her catalogue was issued for the first time in 2015 as Sugah On Mah Tongue: The Silenced Sessions on Lena Dunham’s Muff Trade Records.

Key song: “Liesl’s Idyll”

Cleodora Thanks

Raised by roving bead peddlers in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, Cleodora Thanks relocated to Greenwich Village in the late 1950s and founded a rooming house where a number of the brightest names in folk music spent time, including Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk, and Horace Plenty. Although her cooking was so noxious Laura Nyro was reportedly briefly hospitalized by a casserole, Thanks was regarded as a mother figure by many of her tenants. Dylan made her the subject of his unreleased song “Big Momma I Don’t Know Blues,” while Joan Baez has claimed Thanks made uncredited contributions to a number of early Joni Mitchell songs. Thanks’ own culinary-obsessed music, which joins the earthy blues of a Bessie Smith with the subtlety of Bette Midler amid hints of gypsy jazz and klezmer, was largely unknown in her time, and she vanished in 1983 on her way to a state fair near Syracuse. New York-based archivist Karl Nard of Swede Nothing Records discovered a cache of unsold LPs in the basement of Thanks’ former rooming house after his uncle purchased the property. Thanks' soon to be reissued work represents a crucial missing lunch in the story of mid-century American folk music.

Key song: “Peanut Brittle Elegie”

Jimmy Whaley the Folk-Song-Singing Crocodile

Jimmy Whaley was a crocodile that sang folk songs. Believed to be an urban legend for years until his existence was confirmed by Desmond Morris, the man who discovered an elephant who could paint and made a BBC documentary about how women don't know what bicycles look like and desire horses. As Jimmy was only able to speak English while singing, most of what we know of his life is what has been parsed from those songs that have been tentatively identified as autobiographical. He was probably born in the Nile River, before stowing away in a cargo ship in the Suez Canal and making his way to Boston, and then the Appalachians, where he lived and sang for locals with a banjo he plucked with a back claw. His life was cut short when he was tragically shot after being speciesally profiled as an alligator by a poacher in East Texas. His remains are displayed at the Stephen Foster Folk Music Center in Chattanooga, Tennessee, in the form of a handbag. An anthology of Jimmy's early work comprising several selections from the Great American Songbook, AmeriCroc, is forthcoming from Smithsonian Croakways Records. — D.J.C.

Key song: “America (My Country 'Tis of Thee)”

Prepared with the assistance of D. John Christie, Osgoode Hall Law Special Collections