#garbage band musician

[lindyloosims]

SLIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD:

So Carmelo's brother Bradly just died of old age (RIP) and when I was looking at his family tree I noticed his job and it just made me laugh! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂

[psychedeliclush]

( INFORMATION AND EXAMPLES OF EACH GENRE UNDER CUT )

ELECTRONIC ROCK !

Artists: Garbage, LCD Sound system, Teddybears, The Cars, Ladytron

Most popular Era: Late 80s to 90s

Basic definition: Electronic rock is a dynamic and energetic genre that blends the raw power of rock with the sleek and futuristic sounds of electronic music. Characterized by pounding beats, distorted guitars, and synthesizers, electronic rock is known for its high-energy and driving rhythms that create an electrifying and immersive listening experience.

Song examples:

2 TONE !

Artists: The Specials, Madness, The Beat, Bad Manners, The Selecter

Most popular Era: Late 70s - early 80s

Basic definition: Blending elements of ska, punk rock and reggae, 2 tone as a genre would emerge in the late 70s, known for its upbeat rhythms and catchy melodies. The music often featured a mix of horns, guitars, and a prominent bassline, creating a danceable and energetic groove.

Song examples:

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Round 2 Group A Match 3

expand for propaganda ↓

Alanis Morissette:

"If you guys don't vote alanis I will get violent. have you seen her perform live?????? She's like no one else she's so amazing. Listen to forgiven and come back to me and vote for her . i'll wait."

"activates my feminine rage in a lesbianic way"

"Alexa play the Full House theme song"

"ALANIS MORISSETTE IS MY BABYGIRL. SHES MY CANADIAN BABYGIRL AND SHES AMAZING AND IF YOU DONT VOTE FOR HER SHELL SCRATCH HER NAILS DOWN SOMEONE ELSE'S BACK AND YOU WILL FEEL IT."

Shirley Manson:

"Shirley Manson is MY FAVORITE LADY OF ALL she is loved. She is LOVED. Garbage is hot music for hot people."

"First and forever dream girl #1 Crush 🥰"

[zanygardenherowobbler]

Watch "I think I'm PARANOID - Garbage | REACTION" on YouTube

[silverskyeline]

'number one fan'

series (part 1) - rockstar logan meets popstar wade backstage. what could go wrong? (1.1k words) pairing - logan howlett x wade wilson tags - first meeting, rockstar!logan x popstar!wade, enemies to lovers, swearing, logan feels drawn to wade, alcohol mention, kind of cute, wade is his number one fan, band au, wade still wears his deadpool mask, wade uses the name 'deadpool' as a stage name.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

logan had never heard of their support act, but by the name alone he wasn't particularly interested. what kind of a name is 'deadpool' anyway? they probably play some regurgitated heavily sampled pop trash, the same sort of crap they loop on the radio that makes his ears bleed. or maybe metal, but not the good kind.

'deadpool'. . . what a load of shit.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

it's not until logan finds himself backstage that he lands eyes on him, the front runner.

well, it's less that it was a casual encounter, more that wade makes his presence known in the only way he knows how.

"OH. MY. GOD." he squeals, balling his fists and shaking them as he squirms in front of the taller man, "it's you." he's adorned in merch, a shirt with logans face on it, badges on that same shirt, plus some stickers that were very obviously homemade. logan winces at the sight, but his eyes are more preoccupied with that mask he's wearing. red and black. what was he supposed to be, was this a sex thing?

there's silence, but only for a few moments, wade quickly fills it.

"can you sign my boobs?" he tilts his head, trying to meet logans gaze, pointing to his flat chest, "pretty please? i swear i won't sell it on ebay - or, well, i mean i guess there's probably people on ebay looking to buy human skin but-"

"don't do autographs," logan grumbles, thinning his eyes as he shakes his head. he pushes roughly past him, eyes glancing around for the rest of the band. why'd he always get dumped with the crazy fans?

"riiiight, gotta keep the fans at a distance, huh? smart, smaaart. . . i promise i'm not the kind of fangirl to hide in your basement. if i was i wouldn't have just told you that," he rambles on, following closely behind logan like a lost puppy, "the attic though? now that's-"

logan stops, wade walks directly into his toned back, stumbling backwards like a connecting bumper car.

taking a nice, deep, calming breath that does nothing to soothe the storm brewing within him, logan turns to face him once more.

"you know, you're taller than your wiki says. you should really do something about that," wade sighs, hands on his hips "unless you're the one that edited it. anyone can edit it, by the way - wikipedia, total garbage fire. i once had a back-and-forth fight with a mod while i tried to change the 50 states of america to just say: 'canada'. rest assured! i am banned for life."

a beat, and logans eye twitches. "do you ever shut the fuck up?" he asks with a look of sheer confusion on his face, he's not even sure what half of those words that spill from his mask-covered mouth even mean. and though he can't see through the material, he can tell the dumbass in front of him is smiling.

"no, not really," he shrugs nonchalantly, "it's one of my charms, that's what my wiki says. totally truthful. 100% accurate. 101% filled with grammatical errors."

logan groans and shakes his head in disbelief, he mutters something along the lines of 'this fuckin' guy' as he walks towards his dressing room. he had to be a joke, right? there's no way this guy was a serious musician, he could hardly hold a conversation never mind an instrument. who the fuck booked him?

"w-wait, where ya' goin?" wade calls out meekly, waving dramatically like a wife who's waving off her husband at war, "am i seriously not gonna get an autograph?"

slamming the door to his dressing room, logan disappears inside leaving wade to shrink in disappointment.

". . .aw man, wait 'till the mutuals find out i met the logan," he smirks, causing his mask to wrinkle as he searches desperately for his phone in one of his many pockets.

-

logan pays no attention throughout the support act, in fact, he remains holed up in his dressing room nursing a bottle of whisky. it was a pre-show ritual of his, and he wasn't going to give it up now. not even when his mind lingered to the little masked creature who annoyed the fuck out of him despite only being in his presence for a few minutes.

what? why the fuck was he even thinkin' about him?

whatever, logan thought, couldn't let people like that get inside your head. you give them too much room and they take root there like a bad smell, and logan had enough anger issues as is. he did not need this guy to make it worse.

so when he takes to the stage, his mind is firmly clear. well, as clear as it can be. logan often finds his mind to be slightly murky, waves never calm or gentle, a storm he couldn't quite tame. but music alleviated the heaviness of his thoughts, grounded him, finding peace in the melody, in the rough texture of the strings, the harsh beat of the bass that hits you in the chest like a bullet.

his eyes open, settling upon the audience.

until one audience member lets out a particularly loud shriek.

one that sounds all too familiar.

logans eyes immeditely hone in on the same guy from earlier. he's cheering in the front row, louder than everyone else. his body is pressed against the barrier as he waves a crudely written cardboard sign in crayon that says 'marry me logie' with a large red heart at the side.

maybe it's something in his pure enthusiasm, or the balls he must have to not feel an ounce of embarrassment, or maybe the fact that he's almost sort of endearing in a pathetic kind of way. but logan finds himself. . . smiling? no, it's not a full smile. that's rare, reserved for real special occasions. but it's close.

he's always found himself drawn to strays, because they often remind him of himself - lost, looking for a home, looking for somewhere to belong. and in that moment, logan could see something reflected in that stupid fucking weird mask of his - a craving for connection.

fuck.

in that moment, logan knew that this idiot had already taken root in his mind and was trying to make a home there. he couldn't let this happen, he wouldn't let this happen. he was a stranger, a deranged one at that.

no, this was not happening.

logan steals a glance in his direction once more.

except it was.

[marimayscarlett]

After going through their answers in this questionnaire and a few others - I don't know why everyone thinks Richard is the one when Paul is the absolute edge lord!

Hi 👋

(Older ask regarding this interview.)

While I would not call Paul an 'edge lord', I do get what you mean. Paul can be, just like Richard, very honest and open in interviews, but his approach is sometimes less diplomatic - really quite direct, casual, and straight from the heart. Very much "Berliner Schnauze", you could say 😄

Some examples I found of Paul being...well, Paul:

Some quotes from this fan-interview:

Question: Do you think you'll be on stage again when you'll be 60? (like rolling stones for example...) Paul: Hopefully somebody will die first. Then we won't have to worry about that.

Question: I really liked Keine Lust video, whose was the idea that you were fat? Paul: It was Schneider's idea. Inside the suits it was really hot. Thankfully, the warehouse was really cold. The whole crew had to freeze but we sweated like pigs. The fat make-up took around 4 hours. But it was still a lot of fun. Most of all, when we had to piss. But I won't tell any more details on that.

Question: Should you ever consider to bring another musicians on stage during concerts like a trumpet player or so? Paul: Six is more than enough. If you ever see us with backing singers, bongo players and horn section, please shoot me!

Question: Aren't you afraid of falling into a deep black hole after the band's intensive life together at the end of the tour? Paul: Wipe your ass and change your diaper, then you'll feel at home again. On tour you have a kind of royal life, it spoils the character. We're fighting to keep from going insane. But sometimes I enjoy not having to do the dishes or take out the garbage. The food is introduced to me orally, I hardly need to chew anymore...(Metal Hammer)

On the topic of 'explosives': Paul: Our downfall, essentially, was that we knew a guy who could get his hands on explosives illegally. He would always supply us with explosives, and so we started blowing things up. It began with a fish we bought from a store, just to see how it would blow up. We’d wrap the explosives in a film canister and then blow up everything we could find. That was really our downfall—once you start blowing things up, you just have to keep going. (Radio Fritz)

Just this one here (from this post by lovely @tinnike):

At the MTV European Music Awards 2007: Markus Kavka: You’re having a completely relaxed evening tonight, which doesn’t happen often for this band—neither nominated nor performing. A whole new situation for you. How will you handle it?Paul: We’re going to get drunk! Markus: Oh, so you haven’t done that before? Paul: Oh, we have.

On finding new topics for lyrics (ZDF documentary): Paul: People always think we sit there like: Hmm, we’ve done incest already, hmm… sex between siblings, yeah, we’ve had that too, hmm… with dogs? Nah, Die Ärzte already did that. Alright, we don’t need it…

But I guess every band needs a very outspoken and open person, and I think Paul is fulfilling this role perfectly 😅

[retropopcult]

"Thirteen" is a song by American rock band Big Star.  Rolling Stone describes it "one of rock's most beautiful celebrations of adolescence", and rated it #396 on their list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. It was written by Alex Chilton and Chris Bell.

The name of the album was #1 Record, which was bitterly ironic, as it ended up selling under 10,000 copies upon its initial release in 1972 (the name of the band also proved to be an unfortunate misnomer, because outside of critics and other musicians, they remained virtually anonymous during their brief time together).

Bell and Chilton wanted to emulate the Lennon/McCartney formula as much as they could, so they shared credit on many of their songs even though there was in fact little writing collaboration between the two. “Thirteen" was in fact entirely Chilton’s creation, and he also delivers the aching vocal that vacillates between hope and heartache and that many cover versions have tried to emulate but never quite matched.

The yearning acoustic ballad focuses on an age that is somewhat underrepresented in pop and rock music. Chilton found that bittersweet spot when innocence still lingers but more complicated emotions start to work their way into the picture.

Over tender guitars, he begins with a question that thirteen-year-old boys have been asking thirteen-year-old girls for generations: “Won’t you let me walk you home from school?” “Won’t you let me meet you at the pool?” he follows, again treading lightly so as not to scare her away. He eventually suggests a date at the dance on Friday; “And I’ll take you,” Chilton delicately sings, as if anything more forceful than a gentle plea will destroy his chances.

In the second verse, the narrator for the first time reveals an obstacle blocking the path to this girl for whom he is clearly falling hard: “Won’t you tell your Dad get off my back?” he asks her. His response to the doubting father is brilliant: “Tell him what we said about ‘Paint It Black.’” By drawing a parallel between his own musical tastes and that of the father, he’s hoping to show that he’ s not just some punk kid with bad intentions.

The final verse finds him struggling as she remains seemingly unknowable (“Won’t you tell me what you’re thinking of?”) resulting in his sweet but awkward follow up (“Would you be an outlaw for my love?”) His final lines redeem him in terms of his integrity and honor, even as they suggest that he’ s losing his opportunity with her in the process: “If it’ s no then I can go/ I won’ t make you.” The final “Ooo-hoo” that Chilton utters is a real killer, tinged as it is with the sting of implied refusal.

Over the decades there have been some fine cover versions of this classic, with brilliant and diverse artists like Garbage, Wilco, and Elliott Smith taking their turns, among many others. But they’d likely all agree they were playing for second behind Chilton’s one-of-a-kind, haunting performance. “Thirteen” is as good as it gets for those looking to relive that moment when life is still rife with possibilities but love seems stubbornly impossible.

Music critic Simon Robinson rates it as Big Star's best song and one of the most important of 1972, praising the "catchy melody and jangly guitars that perfectly capture the carefree and optimistic spirit of youth" and the "simple yet poignant" lyrics that evoke the "experience of teenage romance and heartbreak."

[magnoliahwrites]

Lean On Me (Don’t Knock Me Over)

or: harry is a touring musician and you're here to interview him

feat: childhood friendship, flashbacks, friends to enemies to lovers,mention of panic attack/anxiety/puking

note: this is part one of a three-shot. Side note: I made up names for harry’s band, it’s an up and coming pop punk band so there’s that

Much like most things in life, when the paper slid through your desk, you immediately shoved it under the outgoing mail box.

anything that causes you stress immediately went there, a future problem for yourself.

It wasn't until the night before the show, when your manager turned best friend, Cindy sat in front of you tapping her new manicure on the desk in front of you that you even remembered it.

"I just don't see the big deal," she huffs, stopping the tapping of her nails long enough to push her blonde hair out of her eyes, "like, you two were kids. He probably doesn't even remember you. And besides, I have three people lined up who would literally kill you for this chance."

You groan, resisting the urge to fling your body on the floor and ahve a full body temper tantrum.

Instead, you act like an adult and throw a mini fit, throwing your head back and shoving the papers away from you.

"he'll remember me." you groan, rubbing your temples, "It was a small town."

"Good," Cindy shrugs, "Make him regret it, or whatever."

she pauses, and her voice drops, some of the hard that radiates off of her melts away for a second.

"I don't see what the big deal is still," she says quietly, "What happened?"

You remember the first time you heard him on the radio.

Driving down a crowded street in Cindy's car (the kind you could never even think of affording) the sun roof down, your hand out the window as the radio blasts, the sun beating down on your hand.

"This is 93.9 playing the hottest hits of the summer! To begin, we have a new single from Kennedy Curse, sure to get stuck in your head. They're new to the scene, but singer-"

Cindy all but squeals, leans forward to turn the dial on the radio up louder, "I love this band. l've been trying to get an interview with them for weeks.”

You snort as you drum your thumbs on the steering wheel, "Can't imagine it would be hard to get an interview with them-"

"Shh!" She hushes you, leans forward and turns the volume up until the car shakes under you.

"Chipped paint, Carol's gonna turn into dust-"

it was a reflex, a knee jerk reaction, something you couldn't stop. before you even knew what you were doing, you were leaning forward in your seat, slamming your hand against the volume button, immediately a silence falls over the two of you.

Cindy knows you've mentioned in passing an ex boyfriend, a singer, but haven't really elaborated on it. Now, it seems like you don't need to.

"So you'll do it?"

Cindy is all but squirming in her seat as she brings you back to the current.

The sigh is all the confirmation Cindy knows, letting out an ear piercing squeal again, "You won't regret it, i promise!"

She gets up to make her an escape, mentions something about transportation-

"I'll do it, but there has to be rules in place-" You're rubbing your temples, a headache already on the horizon, but Cindy isn't listening, long gone as she stops everyone in the hallway to mention the interview with the Kennedy Curse.

Backstage, harry fixes his hair in a broken mirror.

Something about ten years of bad luck, but he rations that's the problem for the person who broke it, not him-

A stage hand, over worked and underpaid, sticks his head backstage: "harry, Ten minutes.

Someone's here to see you-"

And the show is on.

The smirk finds his way to the corner of his lips, and it's game on. the harry who had a panic attack in the back room five minutes ago is long gone, definitely didn't puke into the garbage can earlier because of the nerves. Instead, it's now replaced by the harry he wants everyone to see; confident, cocky, bold-

"Fans already-"

And he rounds the corner and almost hits you with the door.

he speaks first. A reflex, like he's been searching for the name for months or years, waiitng for it to fall onto his lips again-

he speaks before he can stop himself, before he can hate himself for it he speaks before he can stop himself, before he can hate himself for it.

"Birdie."

The low whistle follows, some bird card be always associated with the nickname, for you always singing with him-even if you insisted you were bad.

it falls flat, feels wrong.

Not the cute nickname it was before, when you two would lie in the shared two sized mattress, harry’s feet falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets thrown over both of your heads for security;

“Birdie," he'd say, his voice low, eyelids heavy. even half asleep, the whistle followed, "I promise, to keep your side of the bed warm, always."

Under the sheets was vows between the two of you, the sillier the better, most of the time, but the hushed voices always told the truth.

Instead, you spoke back, his fingers over your lips, calloused from the non stop practicing, the yanking the garage door open at all hours of the night to practice: "I could find you in a crowd."

He laughs; it's lazy and low, like you both have all the time in the world, and he opens his mouth to say something about his height, but it lays heavy in the air as he kisses the crown of your head:

"And i'll always find you, Birdie."

Seeing him is jarring, to say the least.

The last visit was less than good, yelling and tears (from both of you) things said in the heat of the moment that keeps you both up and tossing and turning-

"It's just my normal name now, thanks." You say quickly, hoping it's dark enough backstage that he can't see the red spread across your face.

"Right," he nods, smirks as he leans against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest, "Well, birdie, I gotta say, you got a lot of nerve to wanna hear me sing after you tossed us into the gutter."

You snort, "Still the victim. i see nothings changed."

"Hilarious," he laughs without humor, takes a step toward you, eyes narrowed, that stupid fucking smirk still pulls at the side of his lips, "I see you're still following me around, hm?"

"God, I can't say I missed this. You're still an insufferable asshole-"

"An asshole you paid to see. So tell me, birdie, which of my songs do you like, hm? Still-"

You want to smack the smirk off his face. You dig your fingernails into your palm into you're sure they're going to bleed, leaving little half crescent moons in the middle of your palms, the same ones he use to study, trace over and commit to memory, kiss them better.

In some sick way, you were hoping you'd see each other and he'd apologize, come home-

"I'm just here for the interview," You shake the VIP lanyard around your neck in his face, "And then you never have to see me again."

His eyes dart to the lanyard and back to you, and for a second, he looks almost lost, like something hangs in the air that he wants to say-

"You have five minutes."

You snort, take the pencil from behind your ear,

"I'll make it two. We won't act like these are some deep songs of yours or anything-"

A local nobody band is opening, the drums are heavy and loud backstage, and the ponding begins the second you open your mouth, like it's planned.

harry leans in closer, grabs you by your elbow,

"Let's make a deal, birdie."

You act like you don't hear the low whistle fall out after the nickname.

"Listen-"

he cuts you off, "You listen to us and i'll do the interview, no bitching, after the show. we can go to the bus-"

the look you throw him is irritated and he huffs, holds his hands in the air, "Fine. I'll take you to a fuckin' restraaunt. I'll be on my best behavior, i'll have your manager eating out of your hand after this interview. Scouts honor."

He makes a show of crossing over his heart, holds his hand open in the air.

The smirk never leaves his face, even when your eyes narrow as he sets his hand between you two.

"Deal, birdie?"

You don't speak, eyes narrowed, but your hand slides into his like it never left.

It feels like you're making a deal with the devil.

[harrisonarchive]

Photo by Dezo Hoffmann.

George’s first American visit, part 2 —

“When the trio [George, his brother Peter, and sister Lou] arrived, they were informed that Marcia [Raubach] had already gone home for the day. At the station were Art Smith, an advertising salesman, and Joe Browning, the weekend announcer. Smith remembers George Harrison as being ‘a very nice fellow,’ and Browning agreed. But Browning added, ‘I thought he needed to get a haircut.’ […] When [Marcia] arrived [back] at the station, [she] recalls, [George] was very excited about the car she was driving. It was her father’s black 1959 Oldsmobile Delta 88 with tail fins. ‘He really looked it over; he asked me if it was my car,’ she said. ‘I told him no, but he was really impressed with it. He was impressed with a lot of things.’ Marcia recalls [George] as being ‘very, very clean cut,’ wearing a white shirt, jeans and brown sandals. […] Raubach said she found the young British musician to be ‘really soft-spoken and almost hesitant to ask me questions.’” - Before He Was Fab: George Harrison’s First American Visit (2000) “George told Marcia that he was an apprentice electrician, but that the Beatles were really taking off back home. ‘He really liked my dad’s Oldsmobile Delta 88,’ Marcia recalls. On her radio show that day she played ‘From Me To You’ and ‘She Loves You,’ but it’s her recollection that the songs made little impression on her listening audience. George gave her a copy of ‘She Loves You,’ which she keeps in a safe deposit box at the bank. ‘I wish I’d have asked him to autograph it,’ she says. Marilyn Lewis, who also interviewed George, for the Echo, the Benton Community High School newspaper, says she did it ‘mainly as a favor to Louise.’ […] George told her that so many fans mobbed his band at one appearance that they had to be smuggled into the venue in a garbage truck, but Marilyn wasn’t overly impressed. Was he cute? ‘Heavens, no,’ the now-retired Ohio teacher says. ‘He looked kind of pitiful.’” - Smithsonian Magazine Please note: You can find photos taken during this vacation featured in Living In The Material World. (x)

[top100countdown]

Coolest People of All-Time

4. SHIRLEY MANSON

Shirley Ann Manson FRSA is a Scottish singer-songwriter, musician, and actress who is the lead singer of the Scottish-American rock band Garbage, who have toured worldwide and sold over 17 million records as of 2017.

#shirleymanson#garbage#garbageband

[theweightofthecaravel]

April Showers and Prom Flowers

Pairing: High School Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing + intimacy.

Summary: it is prom night, and Jake comforts you after you have been rejected.

The downpour tapped at the window, the sun having set not too long ago. The sky was covered in dark grey clouds, shielding the constellations and stars from the human eye. It was dreary, the kind of weather that makes yo want to curl up in a warm blanket, drink some cocoa, and watch a comfort movie.

Well, that was Y/N’s plan for the night. It was the night of her high school prom, full of her repulsive classmates rubbing up against each other to the DJ’s horrible taste in music. She would much rather spend that time in her bedroom, watching a comfort movie, drinking hot chocolate, and staying in her comfortable pajamas.

However, Y/N’s best friend and next door neighbor, Jake, had been convinced he could change her mind and get her to go to prom with your friend group. He was determined to get Y/N out of the house that night, to get her on the dance floor, watch her hips sway to the (shit) music.

But Y/N remained stubborn, refusing to partake in such an activity unless she was asked by the one guy that did not romantically revolt her: Daniel Wagner.

Daniel was a musician, much like Jake, but he tended to not pay as much attention to Y/N as Jake did. Sure, he was a sweetheart, but Daniel was absolutely oblivious to Y/N’s affections. All because he was in love with Leila Anderson, the most popular girl in their class. As Y/N described her, she was a “Grade A Bitch”. But in Daniel’s eyes, there were no imperfections that lied within her.

Y/N patiently waited for Daniel to ask her to the dance, weeks and weeks she gave him. But that day never came. Instead, he asked Leila, who very grumbly accepted his proposal. Y/N, feeling down and quite a bit insecure, hung up her dress and locked the closet door behind her, afraid to look at it ever again.

Prom night had come. Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her pajama pants hugging her hips and her baggy grey sweatshirt hanging loosely over her chest and arms. Her hair was frizzy and unkempt, laying in an uneven fashion as some of the stray strands stuck to her tear-stained face.

As Y/N reached for the television remote control, a knock came from her closed bedroom door. She quickly wiped her tears away with her sleeve, trying to adjust her disheveled appearance. She cleared her throat, attempting to hide the choked sobs that threatened to escape.

“Who is it?” she asked, with a hint of pent up frustration in her voice. “Mom, if that’s you, just-”

“It’s me,” a voice answered from the other side of the door. It was Jake. “Can I come in?”

After a moment of hesitation, Y/N nodded to the door, as if he could see her. She muttered a quiet “yes”, and he opened the door.

Jake was decked out in formal attire. His tuxedo was tailored to perfection, his long brunette hair slicked into a nice bun. His boutonnière was placed nicely against the left side of his chest, in his suit pocket. He was dressed to the nines, making Y/N feel like a flaming pile of hot garbage.

“Why are you in your pajamas?” he asked, leaving his spot in the doorway and sitting next to her. “I thought we were going to laugh at those assholes dancing to Gangnam Style or whatever the fuck that DJ calls ‘music’.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. While ridiculing others with Jake was one of her favorite pastimes, seeing Daniel dance with the girl she hated the most would have been enough to make steam blow out of her ears.

“As fun as that sounds, I’m not going tonight.”

Jake’s eyes widened at that. His eyebrows quirked as he tried to understand why you were missing out on such an opportunity to make fun of your colleagues. Plus, while he hated to admit it, Jake wanted to see you get all dressed up. Similarly to him, you wore band tees and jeans to school, with the occasional flannel or miscellaneous graphic tee.

“Why not? We’ve been looking forward to this for months! You said you got a dress and everything!”

Y/N crossed her arms and leaned back against the array of her pillows. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing out of her control again.

“I don’t feel like it,” she replied dryly. “I’m just not in a good mood right now, I wouldn’t be much fun there.”

Jake looked at Y/N skeptically, leaning back a little. His left eyebrow raised higher than the other, and his previous smirk faded.

“It’s about Danny,” he started. “Isn’t it?”

Y/N slowly opened her eyes, finally making eye contact with him. She slowly started to nod, a shameful and pathetic look in her eyes.

“Yes…go on. Laugh at me. Tell me how much of a loser I am for getting my hopes up. For fucking wasting $400 on a dress that’s collecting dust in my closet, for thinking I had a chance with him.”

Jake stopped at that, shaking his head at Y/N. His smile returned and he denied her.

“No,” he said. “I’m not gonna make fun of you. But I’m also not gonna let you wallow around in your bedroom by yourself when we could be out on the dance floor making everyone else look like rookies!”

While Y/N admired his efforts, she would hate nothing more than going to that dance. She sat up on her bed, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“You should go,” she muttered. “You’re gonna be late for the Grand March. I know how much Karen’s going to want to get pictures of you for your senior prom, and I don’t want her blaming me for keeping you here.”

“No,” he stated firmly, shaking his head once more. “If you’re not going, I’m not going.”

“Jake, don’t-”

“No. If you don’t go, I will just be worrying about you the entire time I’m there. Who will listen to me make fun of the DJ? Who would be the one to force me on the dance floor even though I have told you multiple times that I will step on your toes?”

Y/N chuckled at that.

“Jake, I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin your night. Please don’t spend it worrying about me. Plus you’re already dressed up and you look so nice, it would be a waste-”

“No. I’m not changing my mind. I’m staying right here with you.”

Jake placed his hand on Y/N’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. As much as she wished to deny him, to force him out the door to get to that dance, she could not form the words.

Instead, Jake grabbed the television remote, turning the television on and connecting her DVD player. He picked out a disc from her shelf, and put it in the machine.

“Jake, what are you doing?”

Then right before Y/N’s eyes, the iconic introduction to one of her favorite movies of all time, 10 Things I Hate About You, started playing. The sound of the song “One Week” by the Barenaked Ladies filled the room as the cliche 90’s title style appeared.

“Why did you put this on?” Y/N asked quizzically. Jake gazed back at her, almost looking at her as if she were crazy. “You could’ve picked anything on that shelf. Why this one?”

“Because it’s your favorite,” he replied matter of factly. “Right?”

Y/N’s grin widened at that, nodding her head. She cuddled up in her blankets as Jake made his way back over to her. As he settled in next to her, he put his arm around her, his hand rubbing her shoulder.

Y/N could not help but feel a bit guilty for not pushing Jake out to the dance, knowing it was both their last chance to go to a high school prom. He should be out on the dance floor with his buddies, she thought to herself. Not stuck here with me watching movies.

Y/N looked over to him, noticing his expression utterly invested in the film they were watching. She tried to bite back a smile, but could not fight it. The way his brown eyes lit up by her bedside lamp was a sight to behold.

Jake noticed her staring, and made eye contact with her. He raised his brows, a concerned look filling his eyes.

“You okay?” he questioned. “Because if you’re gonna try to convince me to leave again, not gonna happen.”

“No,” she started, her voice taking on a more nervous tone. “That’s not…nevermind.”

Jake nudged Y/N back in his direction as she started to avoid his gaze. He moved his hand below her chin and gently tilted it up, but only slightly.

“C’mon,” he softly said, leaning his face down so that his voice reaches her ears. His breath washed over her face. “You can talk to me, you know that. Please tell me.”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, giving into his touch. Tears started to fill her eyes, and she quickly dabbed them away.

“It’s stupid,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes at herself. “All I wanted was to have that stupid slow dance every girl fantasizes about. To wear that fucking ballgown, spin around, maybe even a fancy dip? Whatever the fuck I could get. But instead, I’m stuck here, wondering how I am going to face everyone in class on Monday.”

Jake’s expression softened at Y/N’s explanation, the weight of her words sinking into his soul. His grip on her shoulder got tighter, and he held her closer.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…but…you don’t have to miss out on that entirely, you know?”

Y/N looked up at him, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks once more. Her eyebrows slowly knit together in confusion.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well,” he began. “For starters, don’t act like this is the one chance you’re going to get to slow dance with a handsome guy. Hell, once you leave Frankenmuth to go to college, those guys are gonna be lining up around the fucking block to get a chance with you.

“Second, we may not be in some ballroom, but hear me out. I’m in a suit, you’ve got a dress, and you have a record player.”

Y/N was still a bit confused, sitting up more on her bed.

“What are you proposing?” she asked, which only caused Jake’s smile to grow. He stood up from the bed and opened her closet door, revealing the dress she had spent hours at her minimum wage job working for. “Jake…?”

Jake grabbed her dress off the rack, excitedly tossing it to her.

“Go get changed,” he told her. “I’ll wait here.”

Without much argument, Y/N took the new gown in her arms, and to the bathroom connecting to her bedroom. She locked the door behind her, removed her pajamas, and put on the expensive ensemble.

The sky blue dress glittered in the mirror lights, the skirt puffing out far enough to add some volume, but not to take up too much space around her.

As Y/N emerged from the bathroom, Jake’s jaw nearly dislocated from his skull and fell to the floor. He was in absolute awe of her. He had always thought of her as a princess, but this look really sealed the deal in his mind.

“Woah…” he breathed, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Just…woah…”

Y/N smiled at his reaction. She picked up the fabric of her dress, spinning around in a singular circle to show the dimensions of her flowing skirt.

“So,” she started, brushing her dress off. “Do you like what you see?”

Jake was still dumbfounded. His mind was empty. All he could do was stand there, and try to understand the beauty in front of him. As his jaw finally set back into place, he cleared his throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he finally answered. “Truly…truly beautiful.”

Y/N grinned, taking a few steps closer to the record player. She placed the needle on the vinyl, and the sound of “Nobody Knows” by Billy Squier filled the room, and she turned back to Jake.

After his eyes roamed over her once more, he held out his open hand, palm up, to her. His smile had turned into a smirk.

“Shall we, your majesty?” he mockingly asked.

“We shall,” she replied, taking his hand in hers.

Jake pulled Y/N in by her hand, putting his free hand on her hip. He started to lead her in a simple dance, not moving too far or too fast, but easily enough to where they could grow to be in sync with each other.

As the song progressed, Jake introduced a series of spins and a few dips. He tried his best to impress Y/N, and give her that dance that she had desperately wanted to receive tonight, whether or not she originally wanted it from him.

When the song reached its climax, Y/N laid her head against his chest, closing her eyes and humming in contentment. Jake chuckled under his breath, his grip on her hip tightening and then starting to softly sing the words of the song in her ears.

As the song came to a conclusion, Jake pulled a bit away from her, just enough to make eye contact with her. He gave her a smile, one she quickly exchanged.

“So, how bad was I?” he asked, making Y/N laugh. “Oh come on! I couldn’t have been that bad! I did the twirly thing you like so much!”

“You were wonderful,” she replied. “But don’t get a big head about it.”

Jake laughed at that, not releasing his grip on her hip and hand.

“I’m glad you thought so. And for what it’s worth, I’m also glad I skipped prom. This was way more fun. I like dancing with you.”

Y/N’s expression grew more joyful, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing his hand that was once holding hers to drift down to her other hip.

“I’m glad I got to spend my night with you, Jake. You really saved my ass.”

Jake nodded, putting his forehead against hers. Their noses made contact, sending a shudder down their spines.

“Anything for you,” he whispered. “…princess.”

And with that, the two danced the night away, without a care in the world, only for each other.

[krispyweiss]

Christine McVie Dead at 79

- “She was the best musician anyone could have in their band and the best friend anyone could have in their life,” Fleetwood Mac says

Fleetwood Mac’s Christine McVie has died “following a short illness,” her family said in a statement.

McVie died Nov. 30 in a hospital with her family nearby. She was 79.

“We would like everyone to keep Christine in their hearts and remember the life of an incredible human being, and revered musician who was loved universally,” McVie’s family said.

“Gutted to learn about the passing of Christine McVie,” Garbage said in a statement. “Just gutted. Songbird forever.”

“This is so unbelievably sad,” Foghat wrote on Facebook. “RIP, Christine McVie. Such a beautiful soul.”

Born Christine Perfect, the singer/songwriter/keyboardist played first with Chicken Shack. She joined Fleetwood Mac after contributing to 1970’s Kiln House and was the band’s third-longest-serving member after Mick Fleetwood and her ex-husband John McVie.

“We cherished Christine deeply, the band said in a statement.

“She was truly one-of-a-kind, special and talented beyond measure,” Fleetwood Mac said. “She was the best musician anyone could have in their band and the best friend anyone could have in their life.”

McVie played alongside every member of Fleetwood Mac save for Peter Green and appeared on all but four of the band’s 18 studio albums.

Living Colour’s Vernon Reid eulogized McVie as his second-favorite Mac member after Green and quoted her lyrics to “You Make Loving Fun” as some of her best.

“No other voice … captured that feeling of the narcotic stage of love better than Christine McVie,” Reid said.

“What a tremendous loss to the music community,” Bret Michaels said on Twitter. “My deepest condolences to the family, friends and fans of Christine McVie.”

She recorded three solo albums between 1970 and 2004 and released a 2017 duo album with Lindsey Buckingham that was followed by a tour.

Her death is “terribly heartbreaking” and an “enormous loss,” Ron Sexsmith wrote on Twitter.

“She wrote my favorite Fleetwood Mac songs and I also loved her solo work,” he said.

11/30/22

[zanygardenherowobbler]

Watch "GARBAGE - Battle in Me ☆ REACTION" on YouTube

[notgreengardens]

The thing about the linkin park comeback is that I *want* to be excited about it. Like everyone, both the band and chester's death had impacted me a lot and I am seeing so many people who are so excited about the return now and I *badly* want to be one of them. I *want* to count the days down to their new album release and I *want* to spend half an hour refreshing the same web page in the hopes of getting tickets.

When it comes to her as a musician, they made the perfect choice with emily armstrong and it absolutely does not feel like a cash grab to me but the best way to handle a shitty situation without giving up on a band that obviously means a lot to them (just look at mike's smile during the livestream!)

But she did defend a rapist (a *convicted* rapist! with how hard it is to get a conviction for sexual assault, how much of a walking pile of garbage do you have to be to get sentenced to 30 years!!!) and if she does not distance herself from that decision, it's nothing short than a slap in the face of what linkin park used to be and what it meant to so many of us who grew up as miserable teenagers finding compassion and solace in their music.

Chester can't be replaced but his legacy can be honored and in my opinion, there is a way to honor it with a new era of linkin park. But absolutely not like this.

[l-a-breeze]

Female & Female fronted Alternative Music List

I tried to compile some of the female musicians and female fronted bands I like. I didn't include extremely well known bands like Arch Enemy or Bikini Kill in this list, since you probably know them anyway. I don't know all of the listed bands super well, but tried to at least roughly backround check them.

I will add to the list in the future probably (I especially want to add more acts in different languages) and would love to hear your suggestions! ☺

Metal

Myrkur (Folk/Black Metal, female solo artist)

Ashtar (Black Metal, female solo artist since 2023)

Gallhammer (Black/Doom Metal, female duo)

Astarte (Black Metal, all female band)

Asagraum (Black Metal, all female band)

Chelsea Wolfe (Noise Rock/Doom Metal, female solo artist, also part of female duo Mrs. Piss)

King Woman (Doom Metal/Experimental Noise, solo project of Kristina Esfandiari, who has a bunch of other projects as well)

Darkher (Gothic Metal, female fronted)

Folterkammer* (Black/Opera Metal, female fronted)

Bathsheba (Doom Metal, female fronted)

Hela (Doom Metal, female fronted)

Generally if you are looking for female fronted metal you are most likely to find it in Doom, Gothic, Folk, Power and Opera Metal.

*Disclaimer about Folterkammer because they sing in German: Personally I love their first album (Die Lederpredigt) with it's varying lyrical themes, many of which are about some sort of malicious female devil. However the singles from "Weibermacht" (Women's Might) seems to be mostly about BDSM, which is very disappinting to me personally.

Rock/Punk

Deap Valley (Alt/Garage Rock, all female band)

Gully Boys (Indie/Punk/Garage, all female band)

Nostalghia (Alt Rock, female solo artist)

Emma Ruth Rundle (Post-Rock, female solo artist)

Jack off Jill (Alt Rock/Riot Grrrl, all female band)

Queenadreena (Alt Rock, almost all female band)

The Huntress and Holder of Hands (Post-Metal/Alt Rock, partly female band)

Angelfish (Alt rock, female fronted by Shirley Manson of Garbage)

Rosegarden Funeral Party (Post-Punk, female fronted)

Throwing Muses (Alt Rock, female fronted)

Darkwave/Electronica

Hante. (Darkwave, female solo artist, also part of all female duo Minuit Machine)

Kælan Mikla (Darkwave/Coldwave, all female band)

Void Vision (Darkwave/synth, female solo artist)

Sally Dige (Darkwave, female solo artist)

Winter Severity Index (Coldwave, all female band)

Alice Glass (Electronic, female solo artist)

Foie Gras (Noise/Drone, female solo project)

Honorable Mentions & Artists I Didn't Know Where Else To Put

Kaleida (Synthpop, female duo)

NINA (Synthwave/Synthpop, female solo artist)

Fifi Rong (Alt Pop, female solo artist)

Makthaverskan (Indie Pop/Post-Punk, female fronted)

Corpo-Mente (Dark Opera?, female fronted)

Emilie Autumn (Electronica/Classical/Industrial, female solo artist)

Josie Pace (Alt Rock/Industrial Pop, female solo artist)

[kmp78]

I have a theory about TM leaving the band. It was probably coming for a long time and I bet it was Bitchred’s fault.

It’s long, but hear me out…

TM listened to America, an album written entirely by JL if SL was not involved in writing it then TM was for sure not asked for his opinion/contribution.

As we all know, America is garbage. It’s by far their worst ever album, I don’t think they could get any worse than America. The songs were so poorly written and produced, do you remember when JL was trying to come up with the album art and suddenly he invented the idea of the album being about the situation in America to capitalise on what was going on back then (Trump etc)? Like I said… garbage.

TM probably used at that point that JL writes and controls everything but I bet he questioned the artistic direction in which JL wants to go and more likely criticised it (TM was an Echelon before he joined the band, let’s not forget that) and that was just too much for JL.

TM was probably called their collaborator (I can totally see JL do that to TM’s face) and not band member and an argument ensued because he dared to open his mouth and tell JL the album was trash. SL most likely backed JL, which I bet was hard for TM, they always seemed like good friends.

TM started the tour but the atmosphere was horrible and he decided he was out. Or JL threw him out. One of the two.

I know people were saying that TM’s brother died and he had mental health issues, and I agree his brothers death for sure affected him, maybe it would have prompted him to leave thinking life is too short to be doing what you don’t agree with HOWEVER if TM decided to leave the band for any other reason then being in conflict with JL, they would have announced it like a normal band would and thank him (you would hope).

I still can’t get over the fact that JL and SL did not acknowledge TM’s departure in any way, they just removed him from all band photos and called it a day. And their spineless fan base just let them get away with it.

Do I think TM had to sign an NDA? For sure. Otherwise we would have heard from him. If he could, he would tell us the full story.

AGREED x 1000000000000000. 👆✔️

He saw the writing on the wall and bailed. 💯

If there were any more NON-LETO band members, they would have done the same.

(And no, SA doesn't count because he is LITERALLY NOTHING MORE than a hired musician. 💯)