#got to this reminiscent lamenting scene for a lost relationship

[preciouspatriots]

writing while listening to lorde ,,, making my own self sad

[honey-makki]

Sorry

Characters: Haiba Lev X Fem!Reader Summary: After talking to your father on the phone, Lev wants to help you unlearn unhealthy coping mechanisms. Warnings: family issues, allusions to abuse, bad childhoods, abusive language Song: seven- taylor swift Genre: hurt-> fluff Word Count: 1.7k+ A/N: This is about a rough childhood and growing from that. It’s deeply personal and could very well be triggering to people. I wanted to write something about the value of having a support system without undermining the work an individual has to do personally.

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The holidays are generally a joyous time of year, full of reflection on your growth, sweet traditions with friends, and time spent with family. You adore the yearly gift exchange that you and Lev host in your shared apartment. Wreath cookies fresh out of the oven, hot cocoa in everyone’s mugs and silly pajamas.

The gifts were never serious, ranging from bacon toothpaste to a copy of Flubber (which Lev would argue is a fantastic movie, but that's besides the point) to a unicorn mug. Laughter floating around the house as people switch gifts and mosey around snacking on food and catching up with others.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing your friends, all gathered together and just existing. Nothing can crush your spirit other than a phone call from your father. “Y/N, we expect you will be home Thursday night for the family dinner and stay for breakfast with Grandma in the morning.”

You know it won't matter how you try to get out of it, years of attempts proved that you go, or it gets worse. The already tense relationship strung even tighter, harsh words thrown your direction, implications that were clearly false, guilt piling up until you can’t take it anymore and you head home for a visit.

You tried explaining to your father that you had an overnight shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be able to make it. Hearing laughter from your friends through the phone, he tears into you for “valuing their companionship more than the people who gave you everything.” You try to get a word in but he doesn’t stop.

Lev notices you’ve been gone for almost 20 minutes on a call and decides to check on you. He walks outside to see you, sitting on the snowy stoop. The scene breaks his heart and lights a fire in him. Seeing you crying into your knees, your father still spewing vicious words from the phone sitting at your side. Both of you can hear him clearly even though he isn’t on speaker, the venom of his voice is amplified through sheer anger.

In the coldest tone your silver haired boyfriend has ever used, “Y/N has to go now,” and hangs up on your confused father. He slides into a seated position next to you, placing an arm around your shoulder, cooing soothing nothings to you. His voice brings you back to earth a little, silently crying, rather than the gut wrenching sobs.

Voice raspy from overuse, “I-- I’m sor- sorry-- sorry you had to c-come check on m-m-me.”

“Angel, don’t worry. You have nothing to apologize for. I checked on you because I care about you, not because I felt obligated,” knowing you want to rebut, he continues “don’t talk, let your voice rest. Just let me tell you that I love you and I’m here for you for as long as you’ll have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap and holds you until you feel strong enough to go inside, watching the snowflakes fall together in the meantime. ------------ Lev knew that your childhood wasn’t the best. You never brought up him meeting your parents or visiting home for the weekend. You never joined in the conversations reminiscing about “the good ole days” stating rather that you were more than happy to live in this moment.

You always shot Lev a loving glance or gave him a peck on the cheek to show that you weren't being cheesy, but genuinely meant it.

You were never slow to tell him how much you loved him, lamenting the fact that he made you feel safe, like you truly had a home. He took your words to heart, but never really understood what you were implying until that night on the phone with your dad.

Everything seemed to fall into place, puzzle pieces of your life up until now finally fitting together in his mind. The way you looked relieved when he told you that he loved you, brushing off talking about you family despite loving seeing Alisa and his parents, how you mentioned being independent at an early age.

The way you repeatedly apologize over every tiny mishap from bumping into him in the hallway or spilling a glass of water. How when you have an argument, you put space and preferably a piece of furniture between you two. The way you flinched when you heard a man yelling, retreating into Lev’s arms reflexively.

He didn’t realize what he was seeing were coping mechanisms from abuse. Overapologizing for existing, always being ready to run if needed, anxiety, and the pavlovian physical reaction you have to loud noises.

How did he not see this before? -------- It became Lev’s one true intention to help you. He tracked and noticed what triggered your anxiety so he could remove or reduce them in your daily life, always trying to stay seated and relaxed whenever an argument occurred knowing that his imposing 6’3 figure makes the problem worse, never raising his voice, even in glee, not when he was playing video games.

You noticed he was acting a little different, but weren’t exactly sure where it came from. You had still avoided his questions after the party a few months back just brushing your dad’s behavior as a one time thing. Lev made it clear that you didn’t need to go visit them if you didn’t want to do so, and if you did, that he would be going with you.  Not wanting you to face that alone.

Lev started going to therapy, wanting to make the idea normal. He talked about coping mechanisms he was learning to deal with stress, offering up these little nuggets of advice in a way that you could take them and avoid his questions until you were ready to talk.

It was almost 6 months after the night Lev talked to your dad on the phone that you broke down in his arms again.

----------- Your birthday was next week. When you got out of the shower after a double shift at the hospital, the first thing you saw on your revived phone was a voicemail from your dad. Lev already knew something was wrong by the whimper embedded in the way you called out to him from your bathroom.

You were never one to show emotions unless you wanted to express them, having learned that skill at a young age, but this time it broke through. The image of Lev opening the door with force that teetered between firm and tender, face contorted into concern, his body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat over his bare chest was the epitome of comfort.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your work out ses-”

“No. Y/N you do not need to apologize to me for existing, for feeling or for needing me. Ever. I love you so, so much and would do anything to make you realize that. To make you understand that.”

That confession is how you realized Lev already knew your secret. You didn’t have the ability to process that his past actions were intentional, trying to make you comfortable and grow as an individual. You can’t process that because the thought of someone knowing about your past brought you to tears.

You never wanted to seem broken, like damaged goods, someone with too much baggage to handle. It’s the whole reason you never told Lev even though you were planning on spending your life with him. You didn’t want to ruin that; to have him not pick up the pieces of your heart. Leaving you even more broken than you were before.

He knew that his love wouldn’t fix your heart in totality or immediately resolve bad habits, but he wanted to give you the support to get there. And right now, you needed him to hold you.

The warmth of his body encompassing yours as he moves you into a sitting position reduces the cold wave of worry that ran through your body. The coo of his gentle voice whispering words of adoration and pure unadulterated love into your ear brings you out of your head, grounding you in this moment.

To the only moment that matters. Moments with him, safe, tender, and full of support.  When you gather yourself, you quietly walk him through your childhood. He patiently waits, not interrupting you but assuring you to take your time when you get choked up.

“Y/N, I want to make sure that you never feel like that again. I want to help you move forward.”

And he does just that. He watches you go to therapy and come back a little lighter, even on the bad days. Lev brings you a cup of tea when your anxiety gets too bad, always fast to remove you from situations that might be triggering. He is a constant companion and cheerleader for your transformation.

------

You stand in the nursery for your soon to be child with Lev. Basking in what the future holds for the two, no, three of you. Lev notices the wistful expression on your face as you seem lost in thought. “Hey, we will be fantastic parents. Our kid is going to know what love is and see it exemplified every day.” He cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes trying to see if you not only understand, but believe him.

“I know. Sorry, I’m just, It’s just a concern I have. I don’t want to be like-”

“Y/N. You would never emulate your childhood. I’ve seen you grow so much and become the most resilient and compassionate woman I know. You will be able to teach those things to our child. I have no doubts about that.” He punctuated his proclamation with a sweet kiss on the lips and a soft hug, accommodating for your belly which holds the future, not a repeat of the past.

Tags @ceo-of-daichi​ @roandtheroses​ @sugawara-sweetheart​ @iguessimastannow​@laughingismorefun

[adevotedappraisal]

The Carter Trilogy, part two of five

Lemonade: Ten times out of nine I know you’re lying, but nine times out of ten I know you’re trying

When I last reviewed a Beyonce album it was 2011s 4 (reviewed here ) , which I then lamented as unfocused, seemingly sequenced by committee, and utterly dependent on production as opposed to proper song-craft. I concluded then that the limping hodge-podge of an album was going to be Beyonce’s last okay album, and from there on it was going to be a calculated subsuming into a digital and anonymous cloak of modern production, leaving true emotion and song-craft parched, attritioned and abandoned with each subsequent release. Now, with the album 4 I believe I was proven correct, as the album has aged badly, and other than “Love On Top,” left no indelible mark on the pop landscape. But that conclusion on her future? Man listen, I was way off base.

Turns out this black woman from Houston, Texas got on her grind. She still is observant of all prominent trends in black culture and production, but over the last two albums and their accompanying visual films, Beyonce begun to establish the major themes of who she is and, thanks to directors like Jonas Ackerlund and Khalil Joseph and writer Warsen Shire, has concretely fused herself and her struggles into the larger narrative of black women in America.

And so Lemonade, her second best album, along with the emotional Lemonade(Film), present her as an American wife, defiant against the current rigors of her country, and a past that mutilates and morphs the men in her life. This well-crafted view of her though, is a fabrication, one that many stars have tried to present to the public. It feels digestible and true coming from Beyonce though, given that this album roll out was predicated on a very public (and very real) fight involving her sister Solange and her husband Jay Z.

What this gave the project was a narrative flow and imbued a sense of rage, disappointment or sorrow to the songs set. Those feelings were sometimes derived not from the song itself, but from the news details and gossip that filled in between the lines, or hovered over the whole album. But when the lights turn off and the band packs up, how well did the songs themselves transmit this idea of Beyonce?

The guitar lays a base for the song in curt chucks, not scratchy and acerbic, but warm and echoed, like the lazy, beautiful guitar throughout Bob Marley and the Wailers “Stir it Up.” The bassline curls and growls around the verdant pylons of drum kicks like an affectionate panther, while Beyonce holds a call and response with a choral of Beys, skanking and in love in the middle of this kinky reggae of “All Night.”  “I’ve seen your scars and kissed your crime,” she says in a bold voice and melody, then later on she decides “give you some time to prove that I can trust you again,” before she relaxes into the joyous chorus.  Her voice here on the hook is clear and strong yet delicate and floating, like Misty Copeland’s legs, or Beres Hammond’s voice on 90s reggae classic “Come Back Home.” 

The album gets more interesting and tender like this as it goes along, like with the anthemic thump of “Freedom (featuring Kendrick Lamar),” a song with positive messages of black consciousness and self-determination that gets its blood pumping from the engaging drums, bass, Kendrick’s dexterous flows and the grooving organ.

Similar sturm und drang is found on first half highlight “Hurt Yourself (featuring Jack White)” where the drums and organ synth are agitated and staccato, while the guitars rage on unrestrained like white water rapids. “Who the fuck do you think I is? I smell that fragrance on your Louis V boy,” she demands, the static filter on her voice heightening the tension in her marital threats, and accosting the song.

Elsewhere, “Forward” with James Blake is a moody interlude, the voices and atmospherics setting the tone for the fog of emotional stasis that follows a crisis in relationships and the tentative steps out of it.  It is mysterious and melodic, reminiscent of some of those dense songs on the first half of her best album, 2013s Beyonce. 

These songs give true dimension to the album, and provide a strong enough thematic base for Lemonade to resolve itself with the Black pomp and majestic boom of lead single “Formation.”  That balance between strong lyrics and engaging music in service of those themes is not an easy one to get right on such a varied album, and the whole storyline of the tarnished marriage papers over its mis-steps at some points.

Take “Sandcastles” for instance, a somber ballad with great piano and vocal harmonies throughout, while Beyonce reveals the fragility of love.  Ballads like these usually accomplish this theme with a delicate poetry, but here the lyrics are wanting, hiding behind the singer’s dramatic rendering, at points wrenching the words out her throat. And on “Sorry,” the buzzed-about insults and vulgarity obfuscate the hollow production, which even now already sounds dated.

“6 inch” finds Beyonce in her f- me pumps, the woman undone, with The Weeknd narrating this lost weekend of bacchanalia with usual surface-level observations.  A booming, strutting song built around an Isaac Hayes sample, the synth work around it though is a bit too overproduced and showy, and the words and the weak chorus don’t truly match the unwieldy production.  At points in the song, while her harmonies descend with the grand, arranged music like Cinderella at the ball, none of this matters, but, in the clear light of the day after, the drawbacks remain.

Another factor that softens any drawbacks to the songs are their inclusion in her Lemonade(Film), released the same day as the album.  The images, directed by Khalil Joseph and Beyonce are arresting at points, dreamlike at others, emphasizing the connection between the Carter’s marriage and those of the Black community at large. 

Here, the image of Beyonce drowning in a room feels like an image any anguished woman might describe to you, and the images of older women in their chairs, the dancers popping and locking to “Formation” all seem like permutations of the same woman finding her way through a yet-to-be-broken cycle.

Many images, film shots and techniques here accompany the songs well, but some feel too weighty and derivative, reminding me too much of the works of Terrance Malick, the illusive director of classics like 1979s Days of Heaven starring Richard Gere, 1998s The Thin Red Line, starring Sean Penn, and 2005s The New World, an exploration of the Pocohontas story.  Beyonce’s off-camera narration is very similar to the narration of The New World, down to her prayers to the moon and her dearest mother, shit even the font used for the chapter headings look the same. By the end, the film feels self-important, a spectacle of anguish, as opposed to an exploration of the self or the characters involved.

And it is that self-exploration that usually led to the more nuanced lines and confessions in divorce albums of the past, while on a lot of Lemonade it’s either all invective or adoration. 

On Marvin Gaye’s 1979 album Here My Dear, he tells his ex-wife on “Anna’s Song” “Annas here's your song, the one that i promised you all along/ I knew all the time that I’d find the rhyme/ Never have a fear, here it is my dear,” his voice a soft reveal, showing the tragedy of finally figuring out what to tell a woman when she’s on her way out the door.  And Lindsay Buckingham tells us on Fleetwood Mac’s “Never Going Back Again,” from Rumours, “she broke down and let me in/  made me see where I’ve been.” Shading in a portrait of a relationship with parts of oneself can lead to illuminating results, and this is seen in one of Beyonce’s best songs, “Love Drought.”

A slinky midnight love song that set up the conflicts and desires of this super-star marriage without being subsumed by the tabloid hurricane around them. “Ten times out of nine I know you’re lying, and nine times out of ten I know you’re trying,” she observes, resonant 808 booms and curling synth notes in the background.  The personal life of the singer provides some context, but the songwriting and melodies are strong enough to exist without it, telling a universal story of modern love. 

“I always paid attention, been devoted, tell me, what did I do wrong?” she confidently pleads, the film curiously overlaying her words with scenes from a baptism, Beyonce among the apostles of women wading into a body of water, raising their hands, yearning to be cleansed anew by the same tormenting earth. 

[chouetteffraie]

All Mine [Dazatsu Halloween Week, Day 6]

SO I had to post thsi one on mobile which means no read more until I can get on a laptop!! I also had to edit on mobile so I'll go through on desktop and edit again later :))))))

EDIT: got a read more!

WARNING: minor stalking, kidnapping, and abusive relationship dynamics. VERY mild but please be careful! This is reminiscent of...a murder-free yandere relationship? Just be warned and proceed with caution!

Also: demon!dazai

Day 6 - Demon // Ritual // "Everything you see in here is either haunted, cursed, or has been used in some kind of ritualistic practice." -The Conjuring, by James Wan

The city streets around him lay desolate and silent as clouds lazily drifted over the moon and shrouded Atsushi's path. He barely paid any mind to the darkness; this, he was accustomed to with his work in the detective agency. Instead Atsushi focused on the prickling at the back of his neck and the eerie sensation of eyes following him-

That, and the person-shaped shadow that lurked in the corner of his vision, only to flee when he turned his head.

Grimacing, Atsushi tucked his hands deeper into his pockets and continued his brisk walk, hoping to get home before the shadow had a chance to reveal itself. Briefly he wondered if he should try tricking it into thinking he lived somewhere else, but then he remembered seeing it rummaging through his things one night and decided that his efforts would be fruitless. He had internalized this defeat, this eternal hopelessness, ever since he was kicked out of the orphanage. If something was stalking him, fine. If they planned on killing him, who would miss him? All Atsushi could think to do was keep his hands clenched in his pockets, ready to fight if he needed to.

What he didn't know was that was exactly made him so enticing to his pursuer.

Every time Dazai followed the boy, a strange rush swept through his bloodstream and made every inch of his skin tingle. He saw how the world had crafted a hell just for him, only to throw him out to endure a different suffering until hunger ate his life away. Yet the world refused to be merciful, refused to give in and ease the boy's pain. Instead it gave him a dangerous job, and an infatuated demon on his tail. How deliciously cruel.

There was a light emanating from him, one Dazai wanted to pluck from this dirty world and admire on a pedestal. The flames he was forged from burned brightly, scorching his being until there was barely anything left, yet this person before him felt like the welcoming sunshine on a spring day.

He had to take it. That kind of warmth would make his existence just a hair more bearable, and everything was his for the taking.

If he had all of his powers, that is.

For a moment he considered cursing underneath his breath, lamenting his lost near-omnipotence. While his powers could be held from him as a weak punishment, though, his brain could not. As soon as Mori had told him about his probation, Dazai retreated to the books to find out how to do rituals. Through days of endless watching, rummaging and a few close calls, he had managed to collect enough of Atsushi's personal belongings to perform a ritual. To top it all off, Atsushi was only just beginning to catch on to it all - how endearing!

Dazai couldn't wait to welcome that doe-eyed innocence into his kingdom. He made arrangements, pissed off a few coworkers, and set strict rules to ensure his love's safety, and when he fell asleep, Dazai could finally stake his claim.

---

The first thing Atsushi noticed when he woke up was that it was unbearably hot. There was a thick blanket on top of him, one much heavier than he owned, and the light filtering through his eyelids seemed red. He debated letting the heat lull him back to sleep, but it proved too stifling to do that. Besides, there was a faint rustling beside him, as if someone were sitting next to him. Lazily opening one eye like a cat, he saw that was exactly the case.

A man with dark curls sat on a chair beside the bed he was on, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and fingers pressed to his lips. He was watching Atsushi with interest, stiff as if he hadn't moved for hours. There was a childish glee dancing in his eyes, one that Atsushi could tell was uncharacteristic despite knowing nothing about the man. He opened his eyes completely, allowing their gazes to truly meet. Than man's smile widened, and it only served to make him more chilling.

"Good morning," he greeted, finally leaning back. "I hope this bed is more comfortable."

Arsushi sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Than?" He asked groggily, taking in the room around him.

"Than your old bed, of course. I hope to give you the best while you're by my side."

The room around Atsushi was both familiar and not, an idea he had trouble wrapping his head around. It was much bigger and more ornate than any room he had ever been in, paintings hung up on the wall depicting grotesque scenes he didn't care to analyze. The entire area was tinted red, though not enough to warrant suspicion- it was as if a red-tinted spotlight was shining on the entire room. On shelves and scattered on various surfaces were small trinkets Atsushi remembered being given. A small glass cat figurine, a stuffed animal his coworkers won for him at a festival- all things he knew were his, and all that had disappeared after the night he caught that figure pawing through his things.

Eyes blown wide in realization, Atsushi twisted to face the man again. He was still smiling. "W-what is this?" Atsushi asked.

For a moment, the man chuckled, expression softening. The laugh Atsushi heard around charming but shallow, a sound thinly veiling a darker evil. "Why, it's my room for you. I wanted to make you feel at home."

Atsushi could only respond in stutters, watching as the man stood. He would tower above Atsushi if he were standing, but Atsushi felt especially vulnerable sitting in the plush bed. The man put two hands on either side of his hips, sinking the mattress down as he leaned closer.

"Everything you see in here is either haunted, cursed, or has been used in some kind of ritualistic practice," The man offered in an explanation Atsushi never asked for, eyes darting to the paintings and items that weren't Atsushis for emphasis. "I'm sorry for breaking into your home and taking your things, but I intended to give them back. I intend to give you everything."

Atsushi shivered at the warm breath fanning over his ear and neck, though he couldn't say it was from the thrill of an attractive man whispering in his ear. "What do you want?" He asked shakily. "How long do I have to be here?"

The man ducked his head, revealing to Arsushi two long, sharp black horns. "I've already performed the ritual- and it took so long, since I don't have full access to my powers right now," he added bitterly, turning away from Atsushi when his expression soured. The shadows crossing over his face made Atsushi tremble, and he was thankful the man spared him. When he had his attention again, his face was bright. "I've bound your soul to mine! I hope you don't mind. I'll take good care of you, honest."

"You did what?" Atsushi yelped, pushing the man away. "I don't even know your name, let alone where I am or anything about you! You can't just...force me to do this without asking me!" 

Atsushi didn't have a chance to see the expression of the man when he pushed him until he straightened out. His lips were drawn in a tight line, his eyes devoid of the cheer they had before.

"There's a lot you have to learn, Atsushi," He said sternly, voice devoid of emotion. "What's done is done. You are here now and you don't get a say. It's best you learn to like it now. I promise I'll be nice if you listen."

Dazai didn't need to get in Atsushi's face for him to start trembling, wishing he could cower in a corner and disappear. When he whimpered Dazai softened slightly, reaching out to him.

"Hey, hey," he said in a hushed voice. Atsushi feared the sudden switch in his demeanor more than his previous anger. "I know. It's natural to be worried and scared in a situation like this. But I'm on your side, okay?" When Atsushi didn't answer, Dazai sighed, trying not to let his frustration show. Instead, he cupped Atsushi's face."We'll take it slow, ok? You'll only have to learn one more thing."

Atsushi sniffled, wiping his eyes to distract himself from the urge to push him away again. "Yeah? And what's that?" He asked.

The man smirked- a perfectly normal smile, save for the mischief clear on his face. "My name. I'm Dazai Osamu. I'm thrilled to finally meet you."

[tillidontneedfantasy]

No. 6 Collaborations Project - Ed Sheeran: I’m not like a regular musician, I’m an Uncool™ musician.

When Ed Sheeran emerged onto the American pop scene in 2011 - 2012 as an understated solo act, he famously utilized the loop pedal in his live shows, creating the sound of a full production with just his voice and one little guitar. This is just one of the elements that made Ed Sheeran such a compelling rising star; one singer-songwriter could cast a very large shadow. 

Sheeran’s dominance over the pop scene since then and throughout the last decade is undeniable, and he really wants you to know it and acknowledge it on No. 6, as he (rightfully, but not so moderately) celebrates his musical achievements and endeavors over the years on tracks such as “Take Me Back to London” featuring Stormzy and “Remember the Name” featuring Eminem & 50 Cent. But he also doesn’t want you to forget that still, despite all of his success, *Amy Poehler from Mean Girls voice* he’s not like a regular musician, he’s an uncool musician. Travis Scott opens “Antisocial,” a well-produced but underwhelming song about Sheeran’s introversion and anxiety, by stating, “All you cool people, you better leave now,” which sounds silly coming from an artist as "in” right now as Travis Scott. This is a message Sheeran attempts to drive home even more so on the opening track “Beautiful People” featuring Khalid, where Sheeran explains how he does not quite fit in with the lifestyle of his industry. For someone who is so adamant that he remains uncool, he sure scored a heap of very cool artists to collaborate with him on this new record, even including a DJ, loop pedal be damned.

Funny enough, the song including DJ and producer Skrillex, titled “Way To Break My Heart” is one of the few that is reminiscent of Sheeran’s roots, both sonically and lyrically. While Sheeran’s singer-songwriter chops have not particularly diminished with success, they feel repetitive and at a stalemate on No. 6. Sheeran still holds his own on the strongest tracks, but the voices featured on this project are what hold them up the most.

BEST TRACK: “I Don’t Want Your Money” featuring H.E.R.

No. 6 is thematically heavy on Sheeran’s relationships with fame and with his wife, Cherry. Sheeran is generally most triumphant when he focuses on the latter, a love song master as displayed by the overwhelming success of the overly cliched “Thinking Out Loud” and “Perfect” (from x and ÷  respectively), but is most effective on this album when he integrates it with the former. On “I Don’t Want Your Money,” Sheeran outlines the strains that celebrity life put on a relationship in a way that is universally relatable, whether you’re a pop mega-superstar or an average Joe from Chicago who’s had one viral tweet. In the 2nd verse, he sings: 

“Baby I’m doing it for us, so why you taking that tone like I’m the bad guy? / I thought it would have made me better in your dad’s eyes / I’m busy stacking up the paper for the bad times / ‘cause baby, you never know / I’m popping right now, but there will come a day when I won’t.” 

No matter the lifestyle or job, anyone who has ever been a working individual in a relationship knows the struggle of a work-life balance, and the pressure when things are going well to do all you can to maintain that lucrativeness in case it all falls apart in the future; it’s a sacrifice for the sake of security. Sheeran’s awareness that his height of fame for any musician is not built to last forever is also a refreshing note of modesty. H.E.R. graciously lends her magically soothing vocals as the voice of Sheeran’s wife, assuring him that his time is much more valuable to her than his money, beautifully supported by a very sweet guitar riff. There’s a lot of horns in this song as well, which don’t necessarily fit with the theme or vibe but somehow work anyway, because horn instruments can improve almost any pop song exponentially.

WEAKEST TRACK: “1000 Nights” featuring Meek Mill & A Boogie Wit da Hoodie 

Directly following the relatability of “I Don’t Want Your Money,” Sheeran reminds us that, despite the trick he might have just played on us, we, in fact, cannot relate. Sheeran chronicles his “faded” tour ventures as he casually hops through continents on “1000 nights.” Following a recent trend of artists dismissing any criticism or opinions that are not glowing, Sheeran proclaims in the 2nd verse, “I don’t need to read reviews if you can’t do the things I do.” Although Ed Sheeran will most definitely not need to read this blog post, I hope he and his peers remember that ubiquitous success does not make anyone impervious to imperfection, and that consumers are allowed to and should continue to think critically about art. Maybe that sentiment will mean more coming from me once I tour multiple continents.

THE IN-BETWEENS

One of the strongest tracks, “Best Part of Me” featuring YEBBA, showcases Sheeran’s longstanding ability to churn out a heartfelt ballad, musically stripped back with the simplicity of his earlier work and his staple romantic prose. “Feels” featuring Young Thug and J Hus is short, sweet, and catchy, yet feels easily lost in the fray. A bit too often, Sheeran sounds out of place on his own album. On “South of the Border,” a fun track that feels slightly derivative of the mega-smash lead single “Shape of You” from ÷, Camila Cabello and Cardi B steal the show. And on the jarring yet intriguing closer, “BLOW” featuring Chris Stapleton and Bruno Mars, Sheeran’s first verse is quickly dulled by Mars’s shine. Kudos to Sheeran for gathering such talent, but when it works best, Sheeran’s in the passenger’s seat while his contemporaries are driving, making you forget who even owns the car.

BEST PROSPECTIVE SINGLE: “Put It All On Me” featuring Ella Mai.

Ella Mai is the true star of “Put It All On Me,” and the slight growl in her voice when she sings the line, “grab my waist,” is a pure knock-out. Riding off the magical spell she cast on us all with “Boo’d Up,” she can help Sheeran keep the momentum of his Cool Uncool Guy image. It’s got the perfect tempo for the radio and has “make me into a club remix” wisely written all over its DNA. 

***

As Sheeran has released his past 3 solo major studio albums, + (2011), x (2014), and  ÷ (2017) (seemingly having a thing for math), he has evolved yet always stuck to his strengths. All artists should experiment, bend genre boundaries, collaborate, and step out of their comfort zones. But No. 6 mostly makes the listener feel like Sheeran is trying to prove that hip-hop is his comfort zone and strength, as he laments “I wanna try new things, they just want me to sing / Because nobody thinks I write rhymes” on “Take Me Back to London,” apparently backtracking from the x deluxe track “Take It Back” opening assertion, “I’m not a rapper / I’m a singer with a flow.” Well, it turns out 2014 Ed was correct. Ed sounds great when he sings with a quick “flow” and sticks to what he knows. The most effective way for any artist to successively evolve is by utilizing their strengths to create something different. In the few moments on No. 6 when Sheeran does so, his spark glimmers through and we’re reminded of why all these artists jumped at the chance to work with him, though he should feel just as (if not even more) lucky. Hopefully, his next release will leave behind the numbers by subtracting a bit and return to the basic equations. Grade: 2/5

DISCLAIMER - REVIEWER’S BIAS: I have been an Ed Sheeran fan since his debut release in 2011; I remember watching a video livestream for the American release of + that only 12 other people joined. I love all of +, a majority of x (which hold, in my opinion, his 2 best songs, “I’m A Mess” and “Nina”), and very little of ÷. I was very disappointed by ÷, but still consider myself a fan. I really wanted to love No. 6 and went in with an open mind and heart, but it just felt like a conglomerate of failed crossover attempts that just didn’t do it for me. I truly believe Ed is talented and has the potential to make an album in the future that I can proudly call myself a fan of, but No. 6 doesn’t quite qualify.

[atopearth]

Hakuoki: Edo Blossoms Part 2 - Toudou Heisuke Route

It’s kinda ironic that a part of the reason why Nagakura and Harada left in Saito’s route was because Kondou kept partying and drinking sake to get new recruits without focusing on the goal of the Shinsengumi, and yet now in Heisuke’s route, they’re doing the same thing as Kondou in order to try and save the Shinsengumi from the lack of members….

Lmao at Heisuke having checked out Chizuru’s house in Edo already and she’s concerned whether he went into her room and he’s like, he wouldn’t go into a girl’s room🤣 They’re so silly hahaha. Chizuru always thinks that she’s not useful, but I can really see how important she is from Heisuke’s perspective, really, her words, her presence is just so important to him because she understands him so well and can help him stop trying so hard to keep up a tough front when he doesn’t need to. She really helps him let out all his feelings and thoughts and keeps him sane, and you can really see that. I think it’s so important to have someone like that support you from behind, sometimes even more so than someone that can physically fight beside you. Whenever I see Heisuke’s new look though, ughh, he looks like such a little boy! He looked much better with the long hair and everything, sighhh. He’s still cute though I guess lol. I love how depending on Chizuru’s reaction to his new clothes and hair, Heisuke’s attitude towards it changes, he was so much more accepting of it after she called him handsome🤣

The Shinsengumi moving to Edo only served to allow the Furies to go on a rampage there instead! It’s disgusting that they’ve lost all sense of humanity and reached such depravity to kill townspeople for blood! There’s no point of keeping up the Shinsengumi if they just allow these guys to rampage at night! They’re there to protect people, not allow such senseless killing! The poor people! No one deserves to be so mutilated and killed beyond recognition just because these guys desire blood! I don’t like Kazama but it’s good that he and Amagiri are going around at night checking up on these deaths, because the Shinsengumi needs to control the Furies and really not create any more! It’s quite saddening to see how everyone handles being a Fury. For Saito, it was so difficult for him to accept having to drink blood and rely on such a fake power, whereas for Heisuke, not being able to hang with Chizuru in the daylight to simple outings such as looking at flowers torments him, the fact that he’s alive but also not alive hurts him….

Despite everything though, it seems that Nagakura and Harada will still leave because they question Kondou’s ability to lead when during the time they needed to capture the castle, he spent too much time in his hometown for no apparent reason and refused to retreat leading many men to their deaths.. I always find it saddening to see Nagakura and Harada leave the Shinsengumi, but I think it’s even more so this time since they asked Heisuke to leave with them, and when he couldn’t bear to do it considering how much the Shinsengumi had done for him after he got a second chance at life and how much he would be worried about leaving Chizuru here and leaving, the three of them could only drink until morning reminiscing of the past instead. The thought of that scene was just so heartbreaking but also beautiful. Since I do think about the little scenes of the past they shared in Kyoto. I guess this shows that although they’ve all changed and are going to go on different paths, there are still things that haven’t changed, regardless of whatever is happening, Nagakura, Harada and Heisuke would still share drinks together. The only depressing thing is that this could be the last time they can do that anymore…

When Heisuke avoided Ryunosuke (former Shinsengumi member back when Serizawa was the chief), it was so difficult to watch that Heisuke has to hide away from everything and everyone he knows and can only show himself to few people. But I guess he also hid away because he didn’t want to remind Ryunosuke of those days since Serizawa (previous chief of the Shinsengumi) would always beat him up, especially since he seemed rather satisfied with his life now. Back then, Heisuke was worried about him, but now, it seems like things have turned around, Heisuke is the one with all the worries now. Maybe in the end, things would have been much better if he left the Shinsengumi back then too… Then Heisuke would have been able to experience a normal life, he wouldn’t have to think about how unpredictable his life would be, whether he would succumb to the lost of his mind from bloodlust, whether he would continue to be a monster constantly drinking Chizuru’s blood or whether he’d just up and die tomorrow without having achieved anything… There are just so many fears oppressing him, it feels so terrible…

I can’t believe Sanan’s aim is to make a Fury kingdom and prove their worth as the strongest beings! To think he even made Sen drink his blood through a kiss when she was distracted so that he could control her because his blood has such capabilities… He wants her as the Queen of the kingdom since she’s a pure blood Demon but omg, Sanan has really been working behind the scenes, he’s already started his whole kingdom by hiding all these Furies, which are actually innocent people he killed in Edo! How dare he… How could he do something so disgusting… I’m even more disappointed in him this time around! I agree with Heisuke, he can’t be forgiven, he’s lost all his previous purposes and humanity, he’s lost everything that made him who he once was, he’s nothing but a monster living to bring chaos to humans and Demons. It’s so terrible that Heisuke had to be the one to kill all these innocent people that had been driven mad from turning into a Fury, but I guess now they can rest in peace that they’re not killing other people…. But, Sen has been captured…. Seeing Heisuke so desperate to save her but being blocked by so many Furies was just so disheartening to see….

To think that Sanan ran off and got the trust of the Sendai Domain that are all trying to band together with other people and domains to overthrow the Empire of Japan… It’s true that since the Shinsengumi is under the Aizu Domain now, they can’t so blatantly go to Sendai, but since Heisuke is supposed to be “dead”, he can go and deal with Sanan. It’s true and it’s cruel that Heisuke has to be the one to deal with this alone but there’s no other choice and I’m sure Heisuke doesn’t want to leave Sanan like that as well. Sometimes, you’ve gotta slap your love interest to show him how much you care🤣 Chizuru’s right though, he’s not a monster and she will not abandon him. It’s kinda cool to see Heisuke, Kazama and Kimigiku ally together to destroy the Furies and save Sen. Their motivations may be different but the goals and results they want are pretty much the same, so I thought it’d be cool if Kazama joined them, but to see it really happening is nice. Seeing Heisuke mature, grow and acknowledge his weaknesses and the detriments of their situation was really, I don’t want to say nice but he’s really grown, even though he laments the situation, he also acknowledges that he needs to handle it and will do so, he’s very strong, that’s for sure. It was pretty funny when Kazama and Heisuke started arguing like little kids hahaha.

I feel like the thing I love about Heisuke’s route is that it has a great balance between story and romance. You can really feel the love between Chizuru and Heisuke and you can really see how precious they are to the other and how well they support each other, and the story is engaging as well! I mean, going to defeat evil Sanan is very interesting! I’m sure Kimigiku wouldn’t mind sacrificing her life to save Chizuru and Sen since Chizuru was Sen’s first true friend and so she would never want the mind controlled Sen to do such a thing. At least Sen woke up from that I guess, and she won’t necessarily die since she’s a Demon! But yeah, when Heisuke successfully killed Sanan, it was impossible to feel happy. In the end, Sanan was a comrade, he was a friend and whether they’ve gone down the wrong path or not, that fact will never change, so seeing it have to end like this is just so difficult to stomach. It’s so touching that because Chizuru was there, Heisuke could realise that there’s so much more to life than to dedicate it to the sword and to fight, he’s got a second chance at life, so no reason to give it up like that again! It was sad to see even Heisuke leave Hijikata and the Shinsengumi but I do want Heisuke to enjoy a better life no matter what, so I guess my feelings are similar to Hijikata’s. Sad but happy for them.

As usual, the bad endings are pretty meh, besides the unrequited love one where the love interest dies. I mean, seeing Kazama step out alone acknowledging Heisuke as a warrior but only to tell Chizuru that he had turned into ashes after exerting everything was just too cruel….

Overall, I loved Heisuke’s route. I loved it so much because I love how supportive Chizuru was to Heisuke throughout all the pain whether it be physical or emotional. They both tried their best together, talked to each other and communicated their love for each other. It was pretty depressing since Heisuke always feels like he’ll break apart, but with Chizuru there, it gave him hope and made their life a bit more happier haha. I think their relationship was portrayed really well and Heisuke is such a great guy. Initially very happy and optimistic turned serious and carrying burdens out of his control, but nevertheless he is who he is and I loved every bit of his route. I can see why so many people love Chizuru with Heisuke haha.

[musicthatmadeus]

Some Nights by fun.: An Album Review

by: (Younger) Justine Choy

If someone asked me to describe my taste in music with records, Some Nights by fun. is definitely on the top of that list. I listened to this album on repeat on my battered SanDisk mp3 player in elementary school almost every single day. The production on this record has had a big impact on both my music taste and my outlook on life, and it made me appreciate the range and dynamism of the other records I listen to. 

The album opens with Some Nights (Intro), a short and kitschy piece that introduces many of the themes present in the record. The song starts quietly with a simple piano riff playing over Nate Ruess’s reticent vocals, then builds tension with grandiose strings and dramatic operatic runs. Contemplative lyrics such as “Waiting for catastrophes, imagine when they scare me/Into changing whatever it is I am changing into” foreshadow the scenes in the rest of the tracks. This, along with the theatrical musical production, establishes the atmosphere of isolation, transformation, and melodrama that is present in the overall narrative of the record. 

Some Nights, the title track, is often referred to as the piece de resistance of the album. It feels and sounds like a contained rock opera. The song is broken up into distinct sections that each have a different style of production, with recurring musical motifs that recall the narratives of earlier lyrics. Layers of vocals are stacked to make the lyrics sound like mantras being chanted. A repeated sonorous guitar riff backs the melody between mournful piano chords and throbbing drum beats. Ruess sings, “What do I stand for?/Most nights, I don't know anymore,” lamenting on questions of identity and sacrifice. This track introduces many of the stories and themes that will be reiterated in most of the other songs on this record.

We Are Young is the third track and lead single of the record. It tells the story of a group of friends living it up at a wild party. Rolling drum beats pulse through high-pitched piano fifths as Ruess’ vocals reverb through the lively lyrics. The song also features Janelle Monae, who lends her ethereal vocals in the bridge as she sings for someone to “Carry me home tonight/Just carry me home tonight.” We Are Young is one of the more lighthearted songs on the album, but it still carries some of the pensiveness present in the other tracks.

The next track, Carry On, is a contemplative ballad that slows things down with limited instrumentation and uplifting lyrics. Acoustic guitars and full piano chords open the song as Ruess sorrowfully laments, “And I found you with a bottle of wine/Your head in the curtains/And heart like the fourth of July.” The production builds to sound more stirring and confident as the song goes on, reflecting the progressively encouraging tone of the lyrics: “I was found and now I don't roam these streets/I am not the ghost you want of me.” The paired combination of both the lines and the music perfectly conveys the narrative of the track and leaves a feeling of hope to even its most callous listeners.

It Gets Better tells the story of the loss of youth and the consequences of making mistakes. Heavily autotuned vocals sit on top of playful drum machines as Ruess sings “Like starlight crashing through the room, we'll lose our feathers/Yes, I know it hurts at first but it gets better.” The celebrative production and catchy lyrics make for an anthem that is extremely hard not to sing along to.

A forlorn guitar riff opens Why Am I The One, a song that tells the story of a broken relationship. I love the musical choices that the producers made on this track. The song’s tempo on the chorus is relatively quicker to that of the other verses, which emphasizes the impact of the lines “If you were thinking that the worst is yet to come/Why am I the one always packing up my stuff?” This is one of my favorite songs on the record, and it perfectly balances the tragic mood of the narrative with an understated feeling of hopefulness.

The seventh track, All Alone, describes a relationship using the metaphor of a wind-up souvenir. The production takes advantage of this narrative and incorporates aspects of the story into its soundscape. Music box-like sounds and artificial tones create an atmosphere saturated with feelings of mock earnestness. Paired with lyrics such as “How do you cry with inanimate eyes?/You're never gonna smile with the way that you're wired,” the overall song creates an impression of confrontation and loneliness.

All Alright almost sounds like a song I could hear in a Hi-5 episode. This is a reprieve from the teenage melodrama of the previous songs. It is a melancholic track that talks about coming to terms with the tragedies of growing up, with lines such as “I got nothing left inside of my chest/But it's all alright.” Ruess sings with a chorus of children backing his vocals, as mournful brass and resonant drum beats play in the background. Despite its grim tone, this song always makes me feel hopeful whenever I listen to it.

One Foot is an anthem about moving forward despite difficult circumstances. It is a lively and blaring track, with rolling drum beats and brass harmonies reminiscent to that of a marching band. The production, combined with lines such as “I put one foot in front of the other one/I don’t need a new love or a new life just a better place to die,” capture a sense of determination and purpose.

Stars is my favorite track on the record and the song that I personally relate to the most. It is the last song of the album, and it ties up all the narratives in the previous tracks nicely. Atmospheric synths and echoing drum beats create a soundscape that sounds potent yet somber. The production is extremely dynamic, with distinct musical sections that correspond to the parts of the story. Themes of transformation and melodrama are reiterated in the lyrics, with Ruess singing lines such as “Don't you wish on me/Why can't you see that no one's gonna save us?” The song ends with heavily-autotuned vocals repeatedly screaming “You're always holding on to stars,” and this impactful line always leaves me feeling melancholic and wistful after listening to the whole album.

Overall, Some Nights is a record that is diversely dynamic and cohesively connected at the same time. Listening to the entire album from start to finish always makes me feel the entire spectrum of emotions I can possibly experience. It is a nostalgic and cathartic record that I always come back to whenever I feel lost in the world.

[shankarjaikishanfansassnintl]

INFINITE SHADES OF GREY :  A tribute to Hemant Kumar on his 100th birthday

Monday, June 15, 2020

Flashback of my long meeting with Hemant Kumar 34 years ago

by

Raju Korti

After years of longing, I finally managed to catch up with legendary composer, singer and producer Hemant Kumar in 1984, just five years before he passed to leave an unfilled vacuum. He was well past his prime then but his composing and singing instincts were as impeccable. As a keen devotee of film music, thanks to those golden fifties, sixties and early seventies, I nursed an abiding regret of not being able to meet the man about whom I had read and heard so much. As I write this blog, there is a tangential satisfaction to that anguish that it is better late than never. I have no answer to why I didn't write about the intensive interaction I had with him all these years but as an apology of a consolation, I am happy that this blog coincides with his 100th birthday today (June 16).

I will never forget the long, searching look Hemant Da gave me when we met. Dressed in white pyjamas and a long kurta, his six-plus feet lanky frame towered above my diminutive 5-plus feet. Having recovered from an acute heart condition, he looked pale, drawn and weak. Apparently, he was incredulous that someone who had just stepped into his thirties could even think of talking to a veteran who was been-there-done-that. I had to pull myself together before I lent credence to his apparent misgivings. He was accompanied by playback singer Aarti Mukherjee (of 'Saara mora kajra chhudaya tune' fame) who did not take any part in the three-hour conversation except occasional nods and smiles. "Hemant Da, they always talk about the two faculties that you straddled so brilliantly -- as a composer and a singer. So who's better between the two?" I asked him. "I can't put my finger on any one of them. Both are an inseparable parts of my musical instincts. Although, I began as a short story writer, my mind was into music. So I quit Engineering despite vehement opposition from my father. Mind you, one of my short stories won critical literary acclaim when I was barely sixteen but I was prepared to chuck that talent for Rabindra Sangeet." Hemant Da's predilection towards his passion was right on target as within a year he became a singer for All India Radio, his deeply baritone vocals tailor-made to take on the depth of Tagore's compositions. "In those days, my singing hero was Pankaj Mullick and I use to ape him so well that I was nicknamed Chhota Pankaj. But beyond this hero worship, I regret I could not get my teeth into rigorous classical music. It is a regret I will carry to my grave," he said. Having followed Hemant Da's career closely, I could see that the lack of adequate classical music -- by his own admission -- was no handicap, especially in films. In the early forties, his contemporary was King Talat Mehmood whose chaste Urdu diction and rendition of ghazals had made him a darling of the masses. Mohammed Rafi, who later went on to become the premier singer of the industry, was just struggling to gain a toehold while Mukesh had just got going. Kishore Kumar was nowhere on the scene. As someone carrying the stamp and legacy of Rabindra Sangeet, Hemant Da found himself at variance with the genre of film songs. That, however, wasn't a handicap as he had the prime examples of Sachin Dev Burman and Salil Choudhury, both Dadas in every sense of the word. Another Dada was in the making to join this exalted company. "It was in the early forties that I hitched onto the Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA), a Left-leaning  body which had composer and song writer Salil Da as one of its mainstays. I was in the midst of some musical greats and it was particularly satisfying that Rabindra Sangeet was a common chord that ran through us," Hemant Da recalled. "I wasn't doing badly at all, composing for Bengali films, but when Filmistan made Anandmath in 1951 and I was asked to compose its music, I decided to explore Mumbai, the Mecca of film music. The film was a moderate success but a then raw Lata's Vande Mataram struck perfect patriotic notes and made people sit up and take notice. Then came Shart where I did my own bidding with Na ye chaand hoga." "But wasn't this a turning point for you? Dev Anand happened," I asked him. "Na ye chaand hoga was just the platform. Ye raat ye chaandni (Jaal), Chup hai dharti chup hai chaand sitaare and Teri duniya mein jeene se  (House No 44), Hai apna dil to awaara (Solva Saal) and Na tum hame jaano (Baat Ek Raat Ki) happened because Burman Dada was convinced I could fit on Dev Anand's lips," Hemant Da reminisced, pointing out that in the years to come, he steered himself with his own talent through Naagin, Duniya Jhukti Hai, Bees Saal Baad, Bin Badal Barsaat, Kohra and Anupama. The interesting aside here is this was the same Burman Dada who before being a guide to Hemant Da was contemplating to quit and go back to Calcutta because the scene in Mumbai didn't appeal to his Bengali ethos. Such was Hemant Da's unflinching belief in the potential of Rabindra Sangeet that in those days he was considered as only next to Mullick in the intricacies of that genre ahead of seniors like Burman Dada and Salil Da. This hierarchy was also with its anomalies. Burman Da understood little or nothing of Hindi. He needed to understand the mood of the song and its words written in Bengali before he could employ his compositional genius. Hemant Da was in comparison much more comfortable, having come from the Hindi hinterland of Benares. He was also very much in tune with the musical philosophy of Salil Da and although it didn't show much in his (Hemant Da's) compositions, he had as much flair and understanding of the symphonies, notably among them being Bach. Naagin made Hemant Da a household name. For many, that was no big surprise as composer Ravi who he assisted for many years, told him that given his talent, it was time he started going his own way. The film's feet-tapping music with a string of Lata hits as also his solos and duets, was a revelation as against the three-hour visual atrocity on the viewers. People rather went to 'hear' the movie than 'see' it. The film won him a Filmfare Award. But Hemant Da preferred to dwell on mid-1955 when he sang four solos for the legendary Uttam Kumar. It was the beginning of an enduring friendship and their chemistry showed they were the most poplar singer-actor combination holding an unchallenged sway for almost a decade. Hemant Da lapsed into nostalgia as I mentioned to him that period when he was composing for a lot of Bengali and Hindi films while jealously guarding his roots in Rabindra music. "I was at the peak of my career then as a composer and singer. The best was I was singing for maestros like Nachiket Ghosh, Robin Chatterjee and Salil Choudhury. Some of my songs were remakes or improvisations of the Bengali original. I also hobnobbed with production. Bees Saal Baad, Kohra and Khamoshi were produced by me. Neel Akasher Neeche was directed by Mrinal Sen and went on to bag the President's Gold Medal after an unsavoury controversy." Bees Saal Baad and Kohra forged a wonderful relationship with Biswajeet. After almost an hour, Hemant Da was coming to the perception that for a youngster, I had done my home work fairly well as I mentioned his one song after the other in the course of the meeting. A faint smile creased his face when I mentioned to him that in the bevy of beauties that he sang, my favourites happened to be the 1955 Sardar Malik beauty filmed on Prem Nath 'Mai garibo ka dil hoon watan ki zubaan' (Aab-e Hayat) and a duet with Geeta Dutt from Detective (1958) 'Mujh ko tum jo mile ye jahaan mil gaya' (Fabulous use of Hawaii guitar). He had a word of lament for Mukul Roy, Geeta's brother and the composer of that dulcet duet. "He was such a talented music director and understood the nuances of film music so well but it beats me why his career didn't pick up." In an era when he rubbed shoulders with the likes of Shankar Jaikishen, OP Nayyar, C Ramchandra, Naushad, Madan Mohan, Roshan, Hemant Da did not even once go in for lavish orchestrations. His accompaniments were minimal and the song carried itself on the weight of its sweetness. Hemant Da was particularly delighted when I pointed out how sublime Lata sounded in 'Chhup gaya koi re door se pukar ke' in that obscure film Champakali (1960). He seemed touched when I said it could give Madan Mohan's 'Chaand maddham hai' (Railway Platform/1957) a stiff competition. "I think Burman Dada's influence rubbed off on me. Even when it came to the choice of singers. I remember how he had singled me out to sing for Dev Anand when everyone else felt that my voice wouldn't suit his persona. See how Burman Da stood vindicated. In my career as composer, my choices have been guided by the demands of the song per se rather than factors like who was lip-synching the song and how many instruments I must employ to embellish it." "You tuned so well with Burman Dada and sang 12-13 songs for Dev Anand. What happened thereafter? I asked him. Hemant Da paused a little but the gentleman in him came to the fore. "I don't know what happened after Baat Ek Raat Ki. He never called and I didn't ask. I didn't think too much about it and got busy with my own work." Was it that on Burman Dada's exacting scale Hemant Da's voice had lost its baritone edge? Unlikely, as you know that the quality of his voice was still replete with the same refined sensitivity. I can vouch as I heard him in flesh and blood. "I used Mohammed Rafi and Kishore Kumar sparingly even at the peak of their careers. For that matter, I sang my own song only when it was absolutely called for. I shared a great working rapport with them and I was devastated when I lost two dear younger brothers -- Rafi and Uttam Kumar -- in a span of just one week. They were giants. Why didn't I work with them more? I loved Rafi's Dil ki aawaaz bhi sun (Humsaaya), Manna's Piya maine kya kiya (Us Paar), Mukesh's Woh tere pyaar ka gham. Even an otherwise exuberant Kishore was polite when he teamed up with me. He knew exactly what I wanted to deliver in Kashti ka khamosh safar hai (Girl Friend). I have memories of Rafi walking up to me and wanting to know the pronunciation of some Bengali words before he sang those songs. He was one singer who knew how to use the mike well -- like when to sing from the throat and when to sing from his navel." For all his modesty, Hemant Da could run a quick temper at times and did not hesitate to mince words. He revealed how he had warned Guru Dutt against the latter's penchant for changing his singers and composers at the last minute, citing the example of the 1962 classic Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam that had adultery as its theme. "I agreed only after Guru gave me an undertaking saying that only I was equipped to handle the music since it was set in the backdrop of Bengal." History was made before it was written. For a man on whom the Government of India issued a stamp posthumously in 2016 and had won a spate of awards and recognition, including two national Awards, Hemant Da didn't make much of this memorabilia. He never mentioned any of his songs when asked about his favourites. Having refused Padmashri in the 1970s, he also shunned Padma Bushman which was three years after I met him. More than three decades after his death music companies keep releasing his albums, repackaging his old songs. There are dime a dozen who copy Rafi, Kishore, Mukesh and don't admit so but I personally know many who take a great delight in unabashedly conceding that they love to imitate Hemant Da's style but are nowhere near. Close your eyes and hear the Kishore Kumar composed 1964 beauty from Door Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein: 'Raahi tu mat ruk jaana, toofan se mat ghabrana Kabhi to milegi teri manzil Kahin door gagan ki chhaon mein..' It may have been incommoded by KK's own 'Jin raaton ki bhor nahi hai' but has in sharp contrast hope and tranquility that make the song a quintessential Hemant Kumar from a school of music that qualifies to be a university of its own. PS: It needed a Hemant Kumar song for a film to be qualified as 'haunting'. And since the man was too modest to speak about his own songs, I will labour over my favourite HK solos and duets which I am sure might raise eyebrows for skipping songs which have hit higher popularity charts. Partly, my choices are influenced because you don't get to hear them much. So here I go. 1) Mai garibo ka dil hoon watan ki zubaan (Aab-e-Hayat/1955/Solo) 2) Mujh ko tum jo mile, ye jahaan mil gaya (Detective/1958/With Geeta Dutt) 3) Aa neele gagan tale pyaar hum kare (Baadshah/1954/With Lata) 4) Baharo se pucho nazaaro se pucho dil kyo deewana mera ho gaya (Fashion/1959/With Lata) 5) Nai manzil nayi raahen naya hai karvaan apna (Hill Station/1957/With Lata) 6) Raahi tu mat ruk jaana (Door Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein/1964/Solo) 7) Dekho wo chaand chup ke karta hai kya ishaare (Shart/1954/With Lata) 8) Zindagi kitni khubsoorat hai (Bin Badal Barsaat/1963/Solo HK version) 9) Jab jaag uthe armaan to kaise neend aaye (Bin Badal Barsaat/1963/Solo) 10) Ye nayan dare dare, ye jaam bhare bhare (Kohra/1964/Solo)

[skaye33]

Flicker in Review

Niall Horan. The adorable little blonde leprechaun of One Direction fame has gone dark - both with hair choices and his lyricism. Since Flicker’s release on October 20rd, I’ve listened to it from start to finish at least twice. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I am obsessed. Niall’s vocal performance and his honesty shine through this album. So here we go!

On the Loose - This is a grand song. Please Niall tell me, will it be a single at some point?? I need this on the radio waves ASAP Rocky. Despite being nothing like the girl depicted in the song (she seems like a reincarnation of Hall and Oates’s infamous “Maneater”), I still enjoy it’s playfulness. It’s upbeat and poppy, different than so many of the other songs on the album, and yet still maintains the core of Niall’s honest songwriting.

This Town - This song was released over a year before the album. Can we just process that for a minute? Niall, fresh off the heartbreaking One Direction breakup hiatus, became the first of the remaining four 1Ders to release a single, and it broke hearts across the world, setting us up for the heartbreak of his eventual album. ONE YEAR LATER, and we were still hearing “This Town” all over. It was a plaintive song about an old love, and people across the world (including myself) could connect with the lyrics: “And I wanna tell you everything, the words I never got to say the first time around. And I remember everything, from when we were the children playing in this fairground. Wish I was there with you now.” We all have the “lost love”, the one that got away, the reason we avoid the local grocery store when we’re home for the holidays, for fear that we’ll run into them again. The universality of this song made it an instant hit, and Niall really set the bar high for his fellow 1D brethren.

Seeing Blind - Look at little Niall breaking into the US country scene! I LOVE this song. And this song re-introduced me to Maren Morris, which has been a beautiful thing this fall (if you haven’t already, listen to her album HERO while driving down a backroad lined with fall leaves - specifically “Bummin’ Cigarettes”, “Space”, and “80’s Mercedes”. Okay, shameless plug for Maren over). “Seeing Blind” is a love song, but a unique love song. It avoids the cliches and overused lyrics typically reserved for romantic duets, and the country vibes bring a new dimension to Niall that we haven’t seen. Personally, I am counting down the days to the Country Music Awards when I can see these two perform together live. AND I’m praying that Niall is inspired by the CMAs and decides to grant us with another country song in the future (who knows, maybe Niall will be the next Keith Urban??).

Slow Hands - SONG OF THE YEAR 2017. This song took everyone by surprise, even the sweet cherub that is Niall Horan. My sister is still at college (oh, to be young again), and claims that this gets played at every single party with everyone screaming all the words at the top of their lungs. It’s a banger that no one expected, especially from the ballad-y vibes Niall was putting off. Despite the line “sweat dripping off my dirty laundry” seriously affecting my OCD (seriously, how dirty are your clothes is sweat is literally dripping off them?), the song is amazingly fun. The summer was filled with electronic dance tunes and massive collaborations, but Slow Hands stood out like a breath of fresh air (just don’t inhale too much, you might get a whiff of the dirty laundry).

Too Much To Ask - RIP MY HEART. This song cuts deep, and after the success of “Slow Hands”, it was smart of Niall to release it as a single. It reminded listeners of the essence of the album, of the overall ~aesthetic~ Niall was going for. While still being massively popular, it brought fans down from the hype of “Slow Hands” and prepared them mentally for the vulnerability of Flicker. The song itself is really well done, with the only stumbling point being that Niall rhymes “asking” with “ask”. But we’ll forgive him, because he’s so charming.

Paper Houses - My second favorite song on the album (keep reading to find out my first favorite!). Paper is a big recurring theme on Flicker. Not sure if Niall just loves a good old 8.5x11 OR if he’s implying the fragility of paper (especially when held to a flickering flame - idk, but I think I’m going to go with the latter). Either way, I love the lyricism in this song. It cuts deep. Halfway through the album, Niall just continues to rip my heart in two. He cruelly reminds us of all of the weak foundations we’ve built relationships on, hitting a little too close to home for many a listener. But the ballad is beautiful, and he does kind of encourage us with this line: “We held our cards, built them high. But way too close to the light. So turn your head and let us go. I learned to breathe on my own.” If Niall can learn to breathe on his own, so can I (I repeat to myself aggressively as I’m lying in bed at night thinking of all my paper houses).

Since We’re Alone - This song is very reminiscent of John Mayer. From the lyric content to the wavering guitar sound, I feel like Niall was inspired by Continuum-era John and I am hear for it.

Flicker - RIP MY HEART TAKE TWO. Oh God why??? I was just doing my normal nightly scroll through Twitter when lo and behold, I stumbled upon a video of Niall singing hauntingly in an echo chamber. And my heart exploded. It was my first introduction to “Flicker” and I was not emotionally prepared. When the album came out, I had convinced at least six people to listen to it from start to finish throughout the workday. All came back to me saying “Flicker” was the saddest/best song on the album. My best friend that she had to run to the bathroom at work after it came on to avoid crying in front of her coworkers. It conjures up something special for each person who listens to it, something haunting and personal and nostalgic. It’s quite possibly a perfect song, and it makes total sense why Niall named his album after the track. I get emotional every time I listen to it, and I’ve listened to it twice while writing this, so I’m going to stop now and eat some leftover Halloween candy.

Fire Away - Niall, have you heard “Fire Away” by Chris Stapleton? 10/10 recommend. Okay, I’ll proceed. @ALL MEN listen to this song when your girl is going through a rough patch. Niall’s jazz-inspired crooning has ruined me for all other men. All I want in life is for Niall Horan to ask me what’s wrong. But alas, it’s not meant to be. So leave me alone with my thoughts while I listen to this song again.

You And Me - Another one with John Mayer vibes. I like to imagine Niall singing this to me as we embark on a roadtrip together. I really like this one, because it’s honest. It embraces the messiness of relationships, and the difficult balance between relational success and personal success. It’s a thin line, but Niall toes it well.

On My Own - This song is my absolute favorite on the album. When listening to promos and sound bites on Niall’s Twitter ahead of the album release (very obsessively, I admit), I was convinced that the titular track “Flicker” or the slower “Paper Houses” were going to take the number one spot in my mind. I’m a sucker for sad, slow ballads about painful relationships. However, I was taken by surprise when I heard “On My Own”. Maybe it’s the nod to Irish trad music that reminds me of my vacation to Galway. Maybe it’s the exciting possibility of marrying my bed, a thought I have way too often. In reality, I know why I love this song - up to this point in my life, I have been perpetually single. I’ve spent years lamenting this relationship status. However, fairly recently, I have been embracing it. I may be single, but I’m also having the time of my life at the ripe young age of 23. I am understanding that there may indeed be a cosmic meaning behind my perpetual singleness, and who am I to argue with the universe? Niall’s album solidified this notion in my brain - he made it okay to be single, to embrace the alone times, to own up to just being on my own. Thanks, mate!

Mirrors - I feel… I feel like Niall was writing about me when he sang this??? And I feel like a majority of his fans can relate to these lyrics, and that again just proves the power behind his writing. I think one of my biggest surprises on this album was how powerful and touching Niall’s lyrics are. I expected strong songwriting from other members of 1D; I never counted Niall out, I just never really had any expectations. But Flicker has really solidified his skill with the quill, and I found myself connecting with his lyrics again and again.

The Tide - A perfect ending to an amazing album. Ending on an upbeat, yet still wistful note, Niall talks about avoiding the tide pulling him away from his love. But in my mind, the receding tide is really representing the finale of the album. Niall is singing about how he wants to stay, he doesn’t want the tide to take him away from his 13 perfectly crafted songs, from his two years dedicated to this album. As the song fades out, I imagine a beach with the tide rolling out, a peaceful scene after a heartbreaking 47 minutes.

But here’s hoping the tide is rolling back in soon. I’m already counting down the days to Niall’s sophomore album.

[optiprimus]

lost light #7, or: i’m suing for whiplash because that’s the fastest i’ve ever gone from loving an issue to...NOT

All of the spoilers under the cut.

Breakin’ in the sideblog with a reaction to lost light 7! It’s a shame I fucking hated it. 

I liked the first...fifteen pages--I liked everything Rodimus did, I liked Magnus’s actually really tragic not-breakup with Megatron-who-is-no-longer-around. I liked Tailgate’s teen drama reaction to Whirl’s news! It’s exactly the kind of silly, over-the-top solution I’d expect from him (and, let’s be honest, most of the rest of the crew.)

The ending? Did not like that. For anyone who’s interested, here’s why. TL;DR at the end.

COMPARABLE DEATHS OVER THE COURSE OF THE TRANSFORMERS: MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE (i.e., deaths of one half of a romantic relationship where the other half is left alive to mourn)

REWIND AND CHROMEDOME. This is the O.G. Dead Gay Robot Tragedy; I wasn’t around when it happened, but I hear the outcry was so great that we, uh, got Rewind back. Because killing off one of your two canon gay men at the time is not a particularly progressive storytelling choice. And I’m glad James has no problem fixing his mistakes--hell, in this issue we get another reference to the whole “estriol positive” gendered sparktypes situation, specifically to hammer it into the ground that just kidding, that was a poor decision on my part and I apologize for it. But I digress.

Rewind’s death was INCREDIBLY fucking sad. I cried. My high school friend who knows absolutely nothing about trans formers cried. But narratively, it was satisfying. Rewind dies as a heroic sacrifice; he dies saving all his friends and the person he loves, and while that is tragic, it makes you feel proud of him. His last act is selfless, which is, in my opinion, the best note to end on.

The romantic nature of his sacrifice (romantic in the “idealized view of reality” sense as well as “expression of love”) is somewhat undercut by the apparent brutal nature of his death--if we’re to believe Overlord, he got, uh, ripped to pieces and cried for help the whole time. Which, to be fair, is what I would be doing too.

From a metafictional point of view, Rewind’s suffering is a consequence of his choice to be a hero. While this isn’t fair, it’s an established convention, and it’s what makes “making the right choice” difficult. That’s why it carries the weight it does.

Also, he, uh, comes back to life. Although the “alternate universe version of my lover returns to replace the one that died” plotline is its own can of worms, the fact remains that at the end of the day, both living members of the couple are happy again. As happy as you can be in this sort of comic.

Carrying on.

SKIDS AND NAUTICA. Hoo, boy, this one makes me cry. I will be honest: I did not realize this was meant to be a romance until issue...fifty-two? Maybe? And then I went back and looked at the panels where they’re there in the background but don’t speak, and I was so impressed by the visual storytelling that I forgot to be sad for a few minutes.

But then I was sad again. I liked Skids. I really like Nautica. I want them both to be happy. I think they made a cute couple--but Skids’s death served as a necessary part of the story in so many ways. He gets a heroic sacrifice that allows his friends to stand firm in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds (although you could argue that their powerups were pointless; they are set to lose anyway until Megatron shows up, because it’s always about Megatron. Just kidding; I like that guy.) 

It’s a natural conclusion to his character arc, and although it’s a tragic one, it’s one I really liked, in the same way I liked Sunstreaker’s death in All Hail Megatron. It’s sad, but it’s narratively satisfying (there’s that word again), because at least when they’re dead, they’re at peace.

It serves Nautica’s development, in a way that’s incredibly reminiscent of the countless dead-girlfriend-in-fridge narratives we’ve seen since time immemorial. Skids’s death pushes her towards violence in an actually really sad nod to her ongoing desire to learn more “practical” skills. When they’re up against the personality ticks, she laments her lack of combat ability, and then outsmarts the enemy instead of punching it. With Skids, there’s nothing she can fight or outsmart--but at least she can get some revenge, and put his sacrifice to good use.

Skids gets the death of a romantic hero, and for what it’s worth, I doubt he’s gone forever. I doubt any of these guys are gone forever, given what little we know of the Big Plot of the comic so far. But we can’t assume, so for now, he’s dead; he just died well.

LUG AND ANODE. Who are confirmed girlfriends, to the surprise of hopefully no one. This one feels almost like it shouldn’t count, because we see Lug in almost every issue (even if she’s a brain ghost for a lot of those) but it fits the pattern.

Lug’s death and reincarnation are one hundred percent fodder for Anode’s character arc. Let’s get that out of the way now. She dies because of Anode’s reckless adventuring ways, Anode hallucinates her presence, Anode overcomes her fear of blacksmithing to resurrect her, and Anode’s grief is resolved. In this arc, she is a storytelling tool that serves to introduce Anode and what she’s like as a person.

I don’t think this is necessarily bad. Lug has a character of her own, even if she has no agency in this arc, and from now on she gets a chance to have her own angsty plotlines. I’d be on edge of Anode were, you know, a dude, but she’s not, so this is something I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt...on. about. I don’t think that works

Lug doesn’t die a hero’s death. Her death is an accident, resulting from someone else’s carelessness; it’s not a conscious choice on her part, which means it’s also not her fault. The story doesn’t blame her for her own death. It’s not the inspiring sacrifice we get from Rewind or Skids, but that’s okay; not every death is like that, even in fiction.

And again, she comes back. Which we sort of knew would happen, given what Anode used to do for a living. In the end, everyone who’s, you know, alive doesn’t have to be alone. It’s perhaps a bittersweet ending, but it’s a happy one.

And now the main event.

TAILGATE AND CYCLONUS.

Here’s a fun fact: I don’t think Tailgate is actually dead. I think he’s going to make it out, one way or another. I don’t know how long he’s going to be gone. We lost Rewind for upwards of a year; I don’t want to do that again. Either way, this is written with the assumption that he’s perma-dead, because as of right now that’s what we’re being led to believe.

Here’s a fun fact: if one of these two had to die, I would have preferred Cyclonus. In a heroic sacrifice. Yes, I know he wasn’t the one scripted to die way before this. No, I don’t want either of them dead. But if any character would be one hundred percent satisfied and at peace dying to save someone he loved, it’s that guy.

But instead we got this.

Tailgate dies a horrible death as a result of being a dick (apparently due to powers that...make him lash out at people and be a dick. If I’m reading that right.) You can argue that Fangry (who had such a good name, man, why did he have to be a throwaway villain. Assuming he is one) was justified in what he did; personally, I don’t think he did his due investigative diligence. Also if he was helping Kaput with this project wouldn’t he have heard him mention that Tailgate’s aggression is due to his magical girl powerup? Digression.

Here’s what the order of story events is. Tailgate breaks up with Cyclonus in a teen drama esque scene complete with a very sad visual callback to issue whatever is the one where he does bomb disposal. Cyclonus leaves and is sad. Whirl comforts him. Tailgate says “please Doc remove my dangerous superpowers so I can not die and also finally get together with the boy I like.” Doc says okay I’m going to irradiate the fuck out of you. We bury Tailgate in what is transparently a coffin a BIG BOX and then Fangry shows up and says “enjoy death fucker.” Some flowers grow. The end.

Tailgate gets revenge-killed...because he wanted to be alive and happy with the person he loved. Within the story, that’s of course not how it went down, but narratively, his death is a consequence of wanting a happy ending.

If he hadn’t had the audacity to want that, he wouldn’t have been in a position to be murdered. From a meta point of view, he is responsible for the situation and for the motivation of his killer, because he had weird superpowers and liked a boy. And he had weird superpowers because...oh. Because he liked a boy.

Maybe he’s not really dead. Maybe he escaped the death box! Maybe he’ll come back like so many others have. But even if that’s the case, I don’t understand the point of this fakeout. I don’t get it! What emotion is this supposed to engender in me besides disappointment? I’m not concerned for Tailgate because I have no way of knowing if he’s survived and I doubt I’ll find out either way for a while. I’m sad for Cyclonus, because uhh yeah I’m sad for Cyclonus, but I’ve been sad for Cyclonus since like the first issue! This isn’t new!! Anyway.

TL;DR: Every other couple split up by death has had the death be a heroic sacrifice, or not a direct result of the dead person’s mistakes, and most of them came back. Tailgate died because he beat up a dude (bad) maybe because of his magic powers (not his fault)--and because he asked Kaput to fix him so he wouldn’t die or kill anyone else and he could stay with his not-boyfriend. He died because he asked for a happy ending. Even if he’s not dead, I don’t see the point of the cliffhanger; if he’s dead, he’s dead, and we’ll be wondering indefinitely if he’s going to come back. If he’s alive, we spent [x] issues being needlessly anxious about him. That’s not a fun cliffhanger.

Drama thrives on conflict. Them’s facts. But some conflict feels good to read, and some just makes you feel sick, because it’s scary or unfair or hits a little too close to home, and I don’t know about you, but I read this comic about space robots that turn into cars for fun. Not because I want another story about “life isn’t fair” where good people die in horrible ways and bad guys get away with being bad. And if you dare to ask for a happy ending, with the person you’ve been fighting to be with for sixty issues, you suffer for it.

It’s pain for the sake of pain. It’s pointless. God knows we have enough of that already, thanks.

P.S. holy shit sorry to all the people who were invested in megs/mags that SUCKS and I feel for you

[tumbleon]

Go well, Celia

The first time I saw Celia Mancini was on celluloid. 

Three years ago, my flatmates and I headed out in the rain to catch a screening of Margaret Gordon’s documentary about the Christchurch band Into the Void at Alice’s, a theatre in the centre of town that holds about 30 people. 

Most of the documentary consisted of the band laughing about how they drank together far more often than they made music. 

But the atmosphere changed when a clip from King Loser’s ’76 Come Back Special video jumped off the screen. A presence appeared: a femme fatale with jet black hair and red lips. She sprinted in short heels through the streets of Auckland, picking off men with whatever she had lying around: a car, a rifle, a karate chop. 

King Loser, ‘76 Come Back Special 

“Wow,” I breathed. 

Onto the next one... Still from the ‘76 Come Back Special video. Get it, Celia. 

One of the people she murdered in the video was her bandmate Chris Heazlewood. Their personalities sparked when they met in Auckland in 1992. Celia spit venom, and Chris liked it. Celia liked him, too. King Loser was born shortly afterwards. 

King Loser press shot for Flying Nun Records. Left to right: Celia Mancini, Lance Strickland, Chris Heazlewood. Not pictured: Sean O’Reilly

“That whole video was all her idea!” he cried. “She’s got a real good eye for iconography. She was like, ‘I need to be in a black vinyl catsuit, and I need to be killing everybody, and I need to die at the end.’” 

Celia was larger than life. She was also still very much alive. Unlike the actual members of Into the Void, who were somewhat useless at remembering the finer details of their history, Celia had scrapbooks full of newspaper clippings. More than 20 years after the fact, she still had everything saved, as if she always knew that someone would need it one day. She was a rock star and an archivist. My heart glowed. As disparate as our lives seemed, I could relate to her in that one small way. 

Media is often talked about as if it is some evil, homogenous lump of globalised ephemera with no real connection to anything or anyone other than capitalism and corporate profits. But in New Zealand, people step out of celluloid and cross over from the screen into everyday life all the time. You just have to know where to look, and who to find.  

At one point in the documentary, Into the Void played in a gravel lot on High Street where their practise room used to be. One kid watched from the sidewalk, his hair bouncing. An hour after the screening, Mary and I were at the darkroom, and so was he. 

“We just saw your movie,” we crooned. “Loved your scene.” 

Though Celia first became known for her presence in Christchurch bands like The Stepford 5 and The Axel Grinders in the 80s, she didn’t live in Christchurch anymore. 

(You can hear one of The Stepford 5′s songs here). 

Although King Loser was born in Auckland, the band also lived in Dunedin for a bit. Part of that history included joining Peter Gutteridge in a reformed line-up of Snapper. The New Zealand poet David Merritt referred to their triumvirate as “an axis of good and evil”.

Self-portrait of Snapper, c. 1992 by Chris Heazlewood. Left to right: Peter Gutteridge, Celia Mancini, Chris Heazlewood. Not pictured: Mike Dooley. 

Though their relationship didn’t last, they remained close friends. 

Celia always used to introduce Chris to people with the line, “And this is my guitarist, Chris Heazlewood.” Photo courtesy of Chris Heazlewood, who said: “Note proprietary position of hand on shoulder.”

Celia’s and my paths first crossed two years ago in a bar on Karangahape Road in Auckland. Though I had killed a lot of time on K Road – I had written a novel there in another life, years before moving to the South Island – I had never seen Celia before. This time around, I was doing an oral history project on Peter Gutteridge. This time, I knew who I was looking for. 

Chris Heazlewood was playing at the Audio Foundation, though I missed it (what gig finishes by ten?). Apparently, Celia appeared with a drummer and demanded that they play. Chris conceded. They smashed it. 

After the show I ended up at Verona, and Celia was there too, in a black silk dress. Her arm was in a cast. One of her front teeth was chipped. The bar was loud and crowded. She talked with a drawl, and a bit under her breath. Her words rolled together like liquid and I couldn’t make out a thing she said. After a few moments she held up her cigarette and announced: “I’ll leave you for more conversation with this one.” She nodded to me. “Scintillating.” That I understood. I broke into a smile. I had just been insulted, but I didn’t care. She was funny. 

Later that night a boy at the bar leaned in my face when he heard I was writing about Peter Gutteridge. 

“Who?” the boy spat. 

“He’s a musician,” I replied. 

“Who?” he asked again, louder.

“Uh…” I tried to think of which band to mention first.  

“I know who he is,” the boy seethed. “He was a friend of mine. Do you think he would have wanted you to write about him?” 

He hit a nerve. I almost cried. 

Celia wasn’t like that at all upon learning I wanted to write about Peter.  

“I have no questions to ask you,” she said. “I’m just grateful.” She championed the project to several of their mutual friends, and put me in touch with all of them. 

We did her oral history on a sunny winter day in Auckland in 2015. Celia didn’t have a permanent address, so we met at her friend’s flat in Grey Lynn. 

Celia wanted food: she requested a pizza with anchovies, capers, and olives. I had a rockmelon. “Bring both if you can,” Celia said. Before I left, she doubled down. “I’m not joking about the rockmelon. I am half Indian, you know.” 

When I arrived, Celia was waiting in the backyard. 

“Hi!” I said as I approached. “I’m Hannah.” 

She smiled slow. “I know.” 

I had brought along the rockmelon, but by that point it had been long forgotten. 

Oral histories ought to be recorded somewhere quiet, but Celia wanted to go find some sun. 

“Lindsay, we need your keys,” Celia announced to her friend. “Hannah’s going to borrow your car.” It came off a bit abrupt, but Lindsay didn’t seem to mind. He tossed me his keys. I also needed power; he handed me eight rechargeable batteries and told me to keep them. 

Boxes of Celia’s archives formed towers around Lindsay’s toilet. Even though she didn’t have a home, she hadn’t lost them. Her friends seemed unusually patient and generous.  

As I drove, Celia drank. 

“I'm a bit confused lately because I don’t live in Auckland,” Celia said. “I really want to be going home. I’ve been trying for two years.”

“Where’s home?” I asked.

She looked as me as if I was blind. “Dunedin!” she cried. “Always.”

We ended up on a park bench near the lake in Western Springs, where ducks were basking in the late afternoon sun. 

Celia poured whiskey into a mug from her flask. “Would you like a drink, darling?” She doled out the word darling like candy. 

“I would, but I can’t,” I protested. “I drove us here. I need to drive us home!” 

Celia’s mind moved a mile a minute. As she talked, her words started to blur again, and I struggled to separate them, just like at the bar. My replies were flat. Most of the time I managed only a generic response once she had finished. “Oh. Hm.” I wondered if she was making any sense. 

Later, when I listened back and slowed down the recording, Celia was totally lucid, and I sounded like an idiot. She would go off on three separate tangents in the middle of a sentence – but at the end of every sentence, she offered up about seven ideas. 

Much of what Celia said blasted apart the two-dimensional statements that have been repeated so many times about rock music in New Zealand, they are often passed off as truisms. One is that the scene is full of amateurs who learned by the seat of their pants. 

Celia didn’t ascribe to any of that bullshit. She loved classical music, played ragtime and honky-tonk on the piano from the age of five, and was a brass player in several orchestras as a kid. 

And then she fucking rocked.

Another one of the two-dimensional truisms was that being on stage came with no pretence. Everyone wore street clothes. 

Celia didn’t give a fuck about precedents. The world was her stage, and she was going to own it.  

Celia and her band Mother Trucker performing ‘Eric Estrada’ in 1998. 

“People turned their back on the audience,” Roy Colbert told me over coffee. “Then, here comes Celia walking the stage like it’s a runway in a nightie. People had never seen anything like it before. Jaws were on the floor.” Roy laughed.

Celia and I reminisced about Peter and purred.

“I miss his tone of voice,” she said.

“So gentle,” I agreed.

She smiled. “So sweet.”

Although our first encounter was a bit acerbic, Celia treated me like gold ever since I wrote about Peter. She said my dissertation rendered her speechless. A rarity, one of her friends mused. Don’t worry, another chimed in. I’m sure it’ll wear off soon. Her reputation remained contentious, but she also remembered my birthday. 

About a year later, word spread that King Loser had started to play together again. Shows were scheduled across the islands for September. As the dates neared, rumours rumbled through Dunedin that communication in the band had started to break down. There was talk the band might not make it.

But they did—curiosity regarding their arrival turned into cries of lament from Port Chalmers that Celia had demanded the entire stage be moved at the last minute.

Danny and Nikolai of Elan Vital had been drinking at Mou to mourn its last day before being sold; a brief sojourn to pick them along the way turned into a two-hour detour.

“Have shots with us,” they pressed.

“I’ll have a beer; I can’t have shots though,” I said. “I really want us to make this show.”

That night outside the Tunnel Hotel, the atmosphere was giddy. Nikolai leapt at Danny and pulled down his pants. Renee was draped over the fence outside the hotel in a fur coat, eyes glistening and grin demented. King Loser was back.

Chris Heazlewood passed us on the street on the way in.

I lit up. “You made it!”

“Agh,” he muttered. “Dragged that bitch all the way from the top of the North Island to the bottom of the South...”

I smiled. “Well, we’re glad you did.”

The bar was packed. There were black leather miniskirts that looked like they had been dusted off from 20 years back.

There was no sign of Celia. Sometime after midnight, the band started to play without her. Eventually Celia stalked in an oversized fur coat from stage right. Her hair was teased and piled up a mile high over a white collared shirt buttoned up her neck and a black silk tie. 

If looks could kill... Celia at The Tunnel Hotel in Port Chalmers, September 2016. Photo by Esta de Jong

Celia threw her coat behind her over a lamp. Their drummer—Lance Strickland, aka Tribal Thunder—carefully removed it.

Once they started playing, it all came together. Chris and Celia taunted one another. Lance was on point. At one point Celia almost knocked the keyboard into the audience, but Lance leapt out and caught it. Elan Vital and Death and the Maiden threw themselves into each other in front of the band, manic.

“I love you Celia!” Renee crowed. 

“Another whiskey, please, somebody?” Celia posited to the audience.  

“Somebody get her a whiskey!” Renee hollered, carrying the decibel of the request over to the bar.

“Thought she wasn’t going to make it for a minute there,” I mused to Roy Colbert, who happened to be standing in front of me.

“Don’t be fooled,” he said. “Celia wanted all eyes on her. She loved it.”

Word of King Loser quieted down a bit again after the shows.  

The following summer I moved to North East Valley, and not long after that cycled past Chris Heazlewood walking a dog along North Road.

“King Loser is playing at the Crown this Sunday afternoon,” Chris said. “So, Celia’s down obviously.”

The cover charge was only five dollars. My whole flat came; those with a bit of extra money covered for the ones who couldn’t afford it.

By the time I arrived, Connie Benson was on her last song. Afterwards, King Loser were even tighter than before. There was no false starts, no long wait. The first song came like a bullet train. Wham! Celia introduced another. Wham! Then another came straight after, without any introduction. Wham!

King Loser kill it at The Crown Hotel in Dunedin, March 5, 2017. 

“Shall we have Connie Benson come up and play our last song with us?” Celia asked before the set ended.

The crowd cheered. Connie’s eyes widened.

“Come on, Connie.” Celia started a chant. “Connie! Connie!”

Connie slowly took her guitar out of the case.

Connie glanced between Celia and Chris as the band launched into a riff. She watched Chris’ fingers and slowly started to imitate them. Lance lifted his chin at Connie, encouraging her to go faster.

Celia stopped the song after about 30 seconds. ““All right, Connie,” Celia insisted until the beast ground to a halt, it’s E, F#, A...” Celia rattled off the notes they were playing.

I melted for the girl for being put on the spot to play a song that she didn’t know. Connie didn’t seem to mind, though.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Celia asked the audience at the end. “Connie Benson!” I couldn't tell whether Celia had been trying to humiliate her, or not. Celia ran over to Connie after the set.

Celia Mancini performing a matinee King Loser show at The Crown Hotel in Dunedin, New Zealand, March 2017. Photo by Jacque Ruston. 

“Man,” my flatmate Caitlin marvelled. “What do you think she is like in person?”

“I’ve met her a few times,” I said. “I think what you see is what you get.”

Caitlin wouldn’t have to wonder for long. That weekend, Celia turned up at our flatwarming in the valley with a small entourage round midnight.

Marcus apologised on her behalf. “You know Celia,” he said. “She wanted to make an entrance.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I smiled. “Come as you are, whenever you like.”

It was a great night. Celia insulted the music, the lighting, and everyone at the party straightaway. 

“What is this?” Celia’s head swiveled. “You’re living in some student flat?”

Yes. But it has a band room... 

Caitlin tried to tell her a joke. Celia didn’t let her finish. “I’ve got a joke!” she declared. Then she forgot the ending, and cracked herself up anyway.  

Caitlin stared. “I’m laughing. Your joke is really funny.”

“Cunt!” Celia crowed. 

Caitlin put an arm on her shoulder. “Celia. I’m glad you’re here. But this is my house…”

Celia had already moved onto the record player. I tried to apologise for Celia, but Caitlin didn’t care. “Oh, I think she decided I was all right in the end.”  

“What is this music?” Celia cried. My flatmates had put on something... electronic. “Change it!” she hollered. 

I was more hesitant. “Someone wanted to hear this...”

“Put something that you like on,” Celia insisted. “You have good taste.” 

She had no knowledge of my taste, but was charming enough to get people to go along in spite of how little what was said stacked up against facts. 

At one point she sallied up next to me as I messed around on the organ in our hall. “That’s really good,” she encouraged, her eyes locked onto mine. 

Immediately after I put on some rock and roll, a boy started dancing in our lounge with a broom. 

Celia smiled. “See?” She cranked up the volume. 

“We have to keep it down,” my flatmate Icky insisted. “Noise control already came. I don’t want my stereo taken away.”

“The neighbours only called noise control because of that shithouse music you were playing before,” Celia insisted. “They didn’t like the BASS. It has to do with FREQUENCY. This is a higher frequency, it’s fine.” She cranked the volume back up on her way out to the backyard. 

Icky stared after her. “I think I’m in love.” He turned it back down once she had left. 

“This lighting is awful,” Celia mused. “Lighting can make or break a party.” We turned a few lights off. “Better,” she insisted. 

“She wasn’t that bad,” my flatmate Jenny said later on. “She wasn’t causing drama for the sake of it. Everything she was saying was about trying to make the party better.” 

Celia was still putting records on when I slithered off to bed around two in the morning. The next day my flatmates told me that she was one of the last to leave. 

Our time together was so short when compared with those who loved her and spent decades by her side. Yet as her spirit drifts from the bottom of the South Island to the top of the North Island and flies out over Cape Reinga, it feels still like I ought to share the little that I knew. If there was a legacy to carry forwards from the short time I spent with Celia, it was to engage. Celia can be channeled anytime someone moves with a certain modus operandi: Pay no mind to precedents. Focus on making the music good. Improve the party. 

I have been lucky enough to find something in New Zealand, though I can’t quite yet describe it. If all of the people who had an impact on each other’s lives all over these islands could be seen at once, it would light up the night like rich constellations in a cloudless winter sky. But as time passes, clouds are forming. The brightest lights are slowly fading, and some are disappearing altogether from sight. 

Yesterday, another soft glowing star faded from the constellations that tell the story of a time and a place. 

Go well, Celia.

Celia Mancini by Brigid Grigg-Eyley