#grey mcmurray

[outofccontext]

source: Letterkenny. S2E1: "A Fuss at the AG Hall"

[poorly-written-fiction]

replay (logan howlett x oc) chapter 1 - what i want

A/N: hello! here's the actual beginning of the story! also i don't know if i explained this yet, but every chapter is inspired by a song i listened to on replay while writing. the prologue was "she wolf" by shakira, and this chapter is inspired by "what i want" by gregor mcmurray. it actually made a really good song to choreograph a fight scene to. this was the first fight scene i've written so it's short and probably not great, but next chapter should have more. i hope you all enjoy reading!

Summary: Inez helps Logan, but he's very annoyed by her.

word count: 1k

tags: canon x oc, logan howlett x oc, mutant! oc, slow burn, enemies/rivals to lovers, some swearing, combat violence, name-calling, spelling and grammar errors because i didn't proofread too hard, okay bye i hope you enjoy

After a year of living at X Mansion, Inez had never been happier. Charles was right, now that she had a place to be herself and surround herself with others who also felt like they didn’t fit in with others, she thrived. After learning that she wasn’t just weird or going through a phase she’d grow out of, she learned to have better control over herself. She even let the grey streaks grow back into her brown hair. She had a new-found confidence, which she hadn’t felt in years. Like anyone though, she never felt one hundred percent her best. Thankfully, when she needed some guidance, she could turn to Charles and his sage advice, as well as the other teachers at X Institute. Inez had decided that she wasn’t exactly cut out to teach the kids, but she would happily join in on training. She even had some good advice to offer sometimes. She enjoyed helping those she worked with, and most of them enjoyed her help in return - except for one of the professors.

Logan Howlett - who taught history and hand-to-hand combat - was almost always grumpy, but something about Inez seemed to really rub him the wrong way. He was especially irritated in the rare cases when he would need her help with something. He didn’t want her help, but when something - usually technology-related - went wrong, she would be the first person to volunteer to help him. Inez was more tech-savvy than most, not an expert by any means, but she knew her way around the basics. One Monday morning, before history class began, Logan was struggling to get his projector to work in his classroom. As Inez explained what to do, he felt belittled by every word she spoke.

“Logan, you turn this on,” Inez clicked the power button on the document camera, “then you turn on the overhead projector. If the camera isn’t on, nothing is going to come up on the screen.”

“I knew that, Inez,” the way he said her name was bitter, “the damn thing wasn’t turning on-”

She stopped him, “Because you didn’t have the camera on.” Inez had gotten used to his nonsense. As much as he irritated her right back, she would still help him today, and she’d probably help him tomorrow. She’d help him a million times, only because they were supposed to be a team, and she wanted to be someone the team could rely on. It was thankless work helping Logan, but she didn’t care. Once he was fed up with her knowledge of things he didn’t understand, she’d leave the room and let him begin teaching his lessons. 

Inez would shut the door, rolling her eyes. “Fuckin old man,” she thought. She walked away from this situation without getting chewed out by him, but there were many times over the last year that they knew each other when she wouldn’t have gotten away so easily. She was really just happy to be out of his hair, and ready to do her own training for the day.

================================================

Later that same week, Charles requested that Inez come and meet with him. He was at his desk, shuffling through some papers when Inez walked in. They exchanged smiles and hellos before Charles invited Inez to take a seat across from him.

“Inez, I would like you to assist Logan during his next combat class, giving a demonstration to the students,” Charles explained, his tone calm, as it usually was. Inez couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You’re giving Logan the permission to break my bones or tear me apart with his claws?” Inez asked, her amber eyes wide with concern.

“He won’t be doing any of that,” Charles started with a small chuckle, “you’re just giving a demonstration.”

“Sir, we’ve never even sparred with one another. Even if he goes easy on me, he doesn’t know how much he needs to hold back so that he doesn’t kill me.” Inez’s claws combed back the hair near her temples, pulling slightly at the strands

“There will be no actual fighting, Logan just needs someone to throw a good punch or kick at him, so he can teach the students the proper ways to block an attack.” Charles placed the papers he had been leafing through into a file and then placed the file into a drawer in his desk. “Inez, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

Charles was right, as he often was. Not always, but often. Inez smoothed her hair with her claws and nodded. “When does Logan need my help?”

================================================

On Friday morning, Logan and Inez stood in one of the open grass fields, waiting for the students to arrive for their combat lesson. Neither of them said anything to each other for close to 15 minutes, the tension in the air was heavy.

“I can’t believe Charles sent you to help me,” Logan finally scoffed, pinching his nose between his thumb and index finger. 

“I tried to get out of it,” Inez snarled, her hands flexing into fists for a moment, before releasing. She repeated the motion a few times, trying to find the most comfortable way to make a fist around her long claws. In real fights, and in her trainings, she wore gloves that protected her claws from digging into her palms, in turn keeping said claws from breaking.

“How are you even going to punch me with those things?” Logan’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Inez’s hands.

“You’re gonna find out,” she muttered under her breath. Before they could get too heated with one another, a mass of students jogged into the field, lining up in rows to get ready for class.

“Morning everyone,” Logan greeted the students, “today, I’m teaching you how to block an enemy attack. Inez is going to demonstrate different attacks, I’m gonna show you how to block them. Let’s start with how to block punches.” The instructors turned to face one another, and Inez wound her body up to throw the first punch. Logan first dodged the punch by moving his body sideways, then forced her arm to a stop by pushing her forearm down with his own. “Blocking a punch like this slows down your enemy, and leaves them in a vulnerable position. I could now hit my opponent in her face or body.” Inez braced herself, as Logan swung at her ribs, stopping just short of hitting her. He smirked, giving her a small jab in the side before he pulled back to face the class again. “Go ahead and practice with a partner.”

Inez began to devise an idea to see how good Logan really was at what he was teaching. She just needed to wait until she could catch him off guard. The lesson continued, Logan and Inez demonstrating how to block attacks as effectively as possible. The students were quickly getting the hang of things, and the lesson was beginning to wrap up.

“Alright, before we finish up for today, take everything we’ve learned today, and put it together. One of you is going to attack, while the other must block without getting hit. It should look something like this,” Logan turned to Inez, prompting her to swing another punch at him. She obliged, not holding back - like he said - and he blocked her. Then she went for another punch, blocked. A kick, blocked. Not once did Inez get a proper hit on Logan. 

She smiled deviously, turning her attention to the students, “Now remember kids, your enemy may also take you by surprise.” Logan gave her a puzzled look before her fist came flying at him. He blocked the attack, smiling like he had her figured out until Inez’s knee made contact with his stomach. He felt the wind knocked out of him, glaring at her. She returned the look with a sly smile, which granted her Logan’s fist swinging towards her. She dodged, leaning to the side of his punch, and forced his forearm downwards with her own - just like he had taught the kids - before turning in front of him, and driving an elbow into his chest. The students gasped and grimaced, sympathizing with their teacher’s pain he was probably in now. Logan stumbled back a few paces, then he lunged at Inez, pushing her down to the ground with his body. He tried to cage her in with his arms and legs, but she managed to tuck her legs under him, and kick him off of her with both feet. The students erupted with laughter and cheers. Logan rolled when he made contact with the ground, before jumping to his feet. He was ready to start tearing her to pieces, before he took a beat, remembering that he was still teaching, and decided he’d deal with his assistant later. Inez stood in front of him, sporting a cocky smile, “Be ready at all times.”

================================================

“I can’t believe you tried to embarrass me in front of my students,” Logan growled at Inez, “you weren’t even teaching the class, you were just supposed to be there to help!”

“Clearly I did embarrass you,” Inez snapped back, “and for the record, I did help! Do you think the enemy is going to play fair when they’re on their missions?”

“That’s what they do training for, they didn’t need to see that!” Logan’s voice raised as he took a step closer to Inez.

“What, they didn’t need to see you get your ass beat?” Inez stepped up to Logan as well, staring up at him with her eyes ablaze. “If you want to fight me, you’re more than welcome to try!”

Logan scoffed, shaking his head and pushing past Inez and walking away, “You’re not worth my fuckin’ time.”

“Fucking pussy.” Inez spoke through gritted teeth. Before she could turn and walk away herself, Logan stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head to look at her.

“The hell did you just call me?” He turned fully towards her, eyes narrow and teeth gritted.

“I said you’re a fucking pussy,” Inez snarled, baring her own sharp teeth at him. Before the situation escalated, Charles and Hank came down the hallway, having heard the commotion.

“Good afternoon, Inez, Logan,” Charles smiled, his wheelchair rolling quickly towards them. Despite moving towards them quickly, he spoke very calmly, easing some of the tension. “I heard that your combat demonstration was a success! The students have all said great things about your instruction given today.” Logan and Inez glared at each other, both seething. “I’ve come to propose another opportunity to work together since you two make such a great team.”

“No, thank you,” Inez said, as neutrally as she could.

“Hell no,” Logan spoke at the same time she did, their voices overlapping, causing them to side-eye one another.

Charles sighed, “I was afraid you might say that, but I’ve already made arrangements for you both to train in the Danger Room tomorrow. I expect you both to be there and perhaps you’ll both see that you work exceptionally well together.”

“Stepanek said, ‘Unity is strength. When there is teamwork and collaboration, wonderful things can be achieved.’ You two can do wonderful things together, like preparing the future generation for greatness.” Hank nodded politely at the two, before walking away with Charles. As they left, Inez and Logan looked at each other once more, unsure of what to say to one another. With a quiet grunt, Logan walked in the direction he was going originally, leaving Inez to walk in the opposite direction with an irritated huff.

[sinfultray1408]

Scene Comparisons: -1-

My Life With Chaplin: An Intimate Memoir by Lita Grey Chaplin with Morton Cooper (pg. 5-7)

Wife of the Life of the Party: A Memoir by Lita Grey Chaplin and Jeffrey Vance (pg. 4-5)

I first saw Charlie Chaplin on April 15, 1914. It was my sixth birthday, and to celebrate my mother took me to Hollywood, a short trip by trolley from our home in downtown Los Angeles. With luck, she said, we'd have a chance to see some movie stars.

He was sitting at a back table with another man when we entered the restaurant. Mama spotted him immediately and asked the owner, "Do you think it would disturb Mr. Chaplin if my daughter were introduced to him? She loves him. She sees all his pictures." She turned to me and said, "You want to tell all your friends you've met Charlie Chaplin, don't you, Lillita?"

I squirmed. Grandma had taken me to see the funny man with the big shoes and the black moustache in one picture, Making a Living, but he wasn't a man at all-

He was something unreal, a picture you saw cavorting along the white wall of a dark room. Yet there he was now, eating lunch, wearing a shabby suit and the black moustache and some makeup on his face. He was there, which meant he was real after all. But he wasn't like anyone I had ever seen before, and I was terrifted at the thought of getting close to him.

"I'll check with him, but I'm sure it'll be all right," the owner said, showing us to a table near the front. "He's very flattered when the children want to meet him, but he's shy of grownups." He padded away and came back seconds later. "Come on, honey," he said, grinning and extending his hand to me.

I looked at Mama with an imploring "do I have to?” look. She nodded. Taking a deep breath, I got up and walked, hand in hand with the restaurant owner, to the rear table.

The man with the moustache and the makeup started to stretch out his arms and pick me up but stopped, seeming to sense that small children are scared of grown-up strangers who are too quick to make a fuss of greeting.

"Well now, what would your name be, young lady?" he asked.

"Lillita McMurray."

To his friend he said, "Hasn't she lovely dark eyes and hair?" and gently pantomimed for me to sit beside him.

I stood, ramrod straight. He chuckled and said, "I know a wonderful match trick. Would you like to see it?" He took some kitchen matches from his pocket and arranged them on the white tablecloth.

"Now this match goes here, and-“

I heard myself cry, "I want to go back to my mother!" and I ran to her, feeling embarrassed and miserable.

Mama had seen everything, and I could tell she was displeased by the way I'd behaved. The owner followed me and shrugged. "Oh, you know how kids are. What can they say to somebody like Charlie Chaplin? How can they act? She must have been scared of his makeup- you know, all that paint on his face, the tramp clothes and all…Yeah, that's what it was. Mr. Chaplin makes his pictures right around the corner from here, and he comes in like that for lunch."

"Would you apologize for us, please?" Mama said evenly, frowning at me. I was distressed when I made Mama unhappy, and I made her unhappy that day because she'd been sure she and Grandpa had taught me better manners than I'd shown.

We ate without talking, and not once did I dare look in the direction of the back table. We were still eating when the man named Charlie Chaplin and his friend passed us on their way to the door. Charlie Chaplin simply walked out of the restaurant, talking to his friend. That had to mean he was mad at me.

Mama showed me some of the Hollywood sights, as she'd promised to do. But the day was already ruined.

On my eighth birthday (1), a warm day in the spring of 1916, my mother decided to take me to lunch in Hollywood and, perhaps, to see some movie stars. After a long ride on the trolley and a long walk to Hollywood Boulevard, my mother said she was tired and would be glad to sit down. We soon found a small tea shop where we could have lunch. We went in and sat down near a window where we could look out and see the people passing by on the boulevard. The proprietor of the shop came over to our table, greeted us, then handed my mother a menu. Mama told the proprietor this was my special birthday lunch.

"Before you order," he said, "Would you like me to take your little girl over to meet Charlie Chaplin?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful," said my mother. "That's why we came to Hollywood."

The proprietor took my hand and guided me through the tables over to where Charlie sat having lunch with a friend.

The proprietor introduced me. "This little girl wanted to meet you, Mr. Chaplin.”

Charlie drew some matches from his vest pocket. "Well, look what we have here," he said. "A pretty little girl who would probably like to see a magic trick." He winked at his friend.

"Pay attention now," warned Charlie's friend. "He's good at this. Bet you won't be able to figure it out."

I stood transfixed. Was this the same man I saw often with Grandma at the movie theater? He looked the same: the baggy trousers, the derby hat, the tattered vest and coat. But it could not be this was a real person; the one on the screen was not.

A bamboo cane hung on the clotheshorse next to the table, and this man had on his hat. I had been told that gentlemen always took off their hats when addressing people, or at least they tipped them. I was certain that a man should never wear his hat while eating. Who was this man with the fuzzy hair sticking out from under his hat?

I was not watching the magic trick but the strange man trying to entertain me. I had the sudden urge to run, and run I did. Breaking away from the proprietor's grasp, I ran back threading my way through the tables to my mother.

My mother was astonished.

"What's the matter, dear?" she said. "Didn't you like meeting Charlie Chaplin?"

The proprietor had followed me over. "You can never tell what kids will do or say," he explained to my mother, brushing the incident off with good humor. "Now what would you like for lunch?"

While we were waiting for lunch to be served, my mother questioned me. "Did you mind your manners with Mr. Chaplin? Why were you so frightened?"

"It was just spooky," I said.

"You're sure you weren't rude?" asked my mother.

"No, Mama, I wasn't rude. It was just spooky, that's all."

And with that remark the waiter arrived with lunch.

In several interviews, as well as in My Life with Chaplin, Lita claimed to have first met Charles Chaplin on 15 April 1914. She only discovered late in life that this was most unlikely, as Chaplin had made only nine one-reel films and was not commonly known by name at that time. It would appear more likely that she met Chaplin on 15 April 1916, when Chaplin was working at the Lone Star Studio on the corner of Lillian Way and Eleanor Avenue, making nearby Hollywood Boulevard a likely location for Chaplin to be having lunch while in costume and make-up.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“STUBBS HELD UP AS REBEL AND MARTYR,” Owen Sound Sun-Times. March 1, 1933. Page 5. ---- Did Duty at All Costs, His Counsel Asserts ---- Long Probe Into Conduct of Judge Comes to An End ---- WINNIPEG, March 1 - His eyes closed, head resting in his hand and manifesting little interest in proceedings, Judge Lewis St. George Stubbs sat quietly in court yesterday while counsel submitted their final arguments before a commission investigating his judicial conduct. 

The mild looking little grey-haired figure was described by his counsel, E. J. McMurray, K.C., as a fearless man who would fearlessly do his duty at any cost. He was charged with being extra-judicial for his conduct in the MacDonald will case, declared Mr. McMurray, but "no nobler or braver thing was ever done by the judiciary not only in this province but throughout the Dominion." 

The whole question of the enquiry, said Mr. McMurray, centred on the right of a judge to "give talks." 

Judge Stubbs had not gone into politics as suggested by commission counsel, Mr. McMurray continued. 

"Is the judge to be a legal monk." he asked, "and live a life of seclusion? Must he remain quiet when he sees a wrong being done or witnesses brutality?" 

Analyzing minutely each charge as he reviewed them from the evidence. Mr. Sullivan described the judge as a man "seeking popularity by his rebellious' attitude," which reflected "growing antagonism against all constituted authority."

[dustedmagazine]

Sō Percussion, MEDIAQUEER, Adam Tendler, Alex Sopp, Beth Meyers, Shelley Washington, Grey Mcmurray — Stay On It (So Percussion Editions)

Stay On It by Sō Percussion, MEDIAQUEER, Adam Tendler, Alex Sopp, Beth Meyers, Shelley Washington, Grey Mcmurray

Even if the music was only a fraction as interesting, the process by which this recording of composer Julius Eastman’s 1973 Stay On It was made would be compelling on its own. As the ensemble described it, the renewed interest in Eastman’s work prompted them to seek out one of his works; this particular recording was made by the quartet together, than bolstered by additional contributions recorded remotely by musicians like yMusic’s Alex Sopp and the flute/electronics duo MEDIAQUEER.

Talented artists, all. But what makes this recording of Stay On It click as well as it does is the extent to which it doesn’t feel like a work assembled piecemeal. Had the recording notes not mentioned the remote contributions, it would be easy to believe that this was recorded live, so well do the musicians mesh. To the extent that any one element feels disassociated from the rest, it’s the use of multiple vocalists singing the title of the composition — but given that the effect here evokes tape loops going slightly out of sync, that sense of distance works perfectly well in context.  

The overall mood here is one of buoyant minimalism, and for the first third of the piece, a steady rhythm with a few nimble permutations endures. At just over nine minutes in, the disparate instruments that have been playing along converge, and the effect is something that swings magnificently, with Sopp’s woodwind work making an especially forceful impact. From there, the composition takes on a more staggered approach, incorporating occasional breaks along with precise stops and starts that would make an average post-punk band blush — and it’s not long before the music turns more atonal and the blissed-out vocals take on a harsher quality.  

The final third of the piece takes on a sparser mood, with strings continuing the melody even as the percussion fades into the backdrop. The effect is sprawling, with moments echoing the more cosmic rock music emerging from recording studios and concert halls at the same time Eastman was composing this. Can a piece of music be both elegiac and ecstatic? This recording answers in the affirmative.  

Tobias Carroll

[sinceileftyoublog]

Michael Beharie Interview: Explicitly Optimistic

Photo by Clayton Harley

BY JORDAN MAINZER

With his upcoming album Promise, Michael Beharie has made his most accessible music to date, though his influences remain as wide-ranging as ever. In 2018, the improviser and composer (and current member of Zs) was in the middle of a swath of experimental, noise-based projects when he decided he wanted to also do something basic: write songs. What resulted was a song cycle broadly about ideas of place and memory, a collection of gentle tunes that contrast the harshness of what he’s known for. 

On Promise, Beharie imbues songs like “Red”, “Silo”, and “Eclipse” with circular guitar fingerpicking, resulting in lilting, expansive folk tunes. He brought on friends like drummers Greg Fox (also of Zs), Noah Hecht, and Matt Mehlan and bassist Gui Duvignau, but the most involved collaborators were vocalist Charlotte Mundy and flutist Laura Cocks. Mundy doesn’t sing any lyrics; in fact, her atmospheric melodies and harmonies are really only noticeable on "Red”. For the most part, she gives the songs an unheralded sense of warmth and depth. Cocks, meanwhile, plays flute on songs that couldn’t be more different, like heartland 808s jams “Ghost” and “For Days” and the Renaissance-era sounding “Thakur”. On all of these songs, Beharie references his lifelong affection for North Indian Bansuri flute playing, even on the two stadium-sized rockers. “The North Indian classical tradition is really rule-based,” he told me over the phone earlier this month. “I’m not implying the note to note techniques of that music. But I wanted to make parts that reminded me of the way those flute players play.” Whether meshing disparate genres or juxtaposing organic and digital sounds, Beharie thrives on contrast, the ultimate evidence of Promise’s appeal.

Promise comes out April 8th. Earlier this month at Union Pool in Brooklyn, Beharie played his first show of the album’s songs, with a quartet: Beharie on acoustic guitar and vocals, Fox on drums, Grey McMurray on electric guitar, and Jason McMahon on bass. Expect announcements of more shows throughout the year, and read our conversation below, edited for length in clarity.

Photo by Lauryn Siegel

Since I Left You: What inspired you to make a song cycle about place and memory?

Michael Beharie: In 2018, I was doing a lot of touring with more noise-based groups, playing mainly abstract, improvised music. Aside from those activities, I was just making songs as a counterbalance to all of the noise stuff. I had been working ever since 2017 on a collection of these songs that are more internally facing and delicate. That was the main reason that I wanted to hone in on and pursue the song cycle idea, just to do something radically different from what I was involved in in a somewhat public way.

SILY: How did you approach the sequencing of the songs?

MB: I had about 80 ideas in 2018. Then I laid them out and wanted to try to create a story with some hills and valleys in it. Most of the material is pretty restrained other than “Ghost” and “For Days”. I wanted to feature [Laura Cocks,] the flute player, and the woman who did additional vocals, Charlotte Mundy, in the middle of it, with “Thakur”. But I had the sequence set pretty early in the process when all of the songs were in demo forms.

SILY: On a couple of the songs, you combine natural noise and digital noise. Are you trying to point out the differences between those types of noise or posit that they’re one and the same and question the distinction between the two?

MB: I find it kind of psychedelic to be in a totally organic world and all of a sudden have a very distinct digital sound come through. I think it contextualizes the organic stuff in a new way, and it contextualizes the digital. I love radically electroacoustic music where folks do that. Because I was taking the time to record so many organic sounds for this, I thought it would be really special and important to carefully have some digital elements in there.

SILY: How did you go about balancing your voice with Charlotte’s?

MB: I definitely didn’t want to write her anything with words. That was a big thing. But I also didn’t want to set her voice in a backup vocal kind of way. I wanted it to be really special and dreamy. I took two weeks making MIDI parts in Ableton with fake voice sets and treating the vocal readings of her parts as almost a synth, if that makes sense, rather than a straight-up melodic countermelody. The approach made particular sense for her voice because she can really do the Morton Feldman-esque straight tone with no vibrato. It’s very Anglican church sounding, in a way.

I think the only actual melody that she sings is on the first track on the record, “Red”. Other than that, all of her parts are real versions of voice synth pads, like an 80s Fairlight [CMI] synth.

SILY: A couple of the songs on here you’ve called your rock songs, “Ghost” and “For Days”. Can you talk about them in context of the record and the music you make in general? How new of a thing is it for you?

MB: It’s not really new in terms of daily experience over the past 14 years. It’s new in terms of putting out music. More outward-facing songs like “Ghost” and “For Days” I had been playing out and releasing but in very electronic forms. This is definitely the first time there’s more folk rock instrumentation. “Ghost” is a funny one because it’s definitely the most nostalgic sounding on there. It’s very much inspired by alt pop radio that I would listen to growing up in D.C. I just thought it would be important to have that more outward-facing energy to make the inward, more folky stuff resonate. 

SILY: Then there’s a song like “Thakur” that’s almost Renaissance-era.

MB: [laughs] Totally.

SILY: It, equally, makes the folky tunes stand out.

MB: Awesome. I love that.

SILY: What’s the meaning to you of Promise as a title?

MB: I don’t have a super clear thought about it, but I love the idea of “promise” in its usage of “I promise I will such and such.” I also love it as in, “This thing has promise.” One of the ideas behind the record was that I’m not trying to do anything cutting edge or dark, which is so much different from what I had been releasing. I felt that word, optimistic but not in any specific way, was appropriate for the vibe.

SILY: What’s the story behind the cover art?

MB: The cover art was made from an imaging of nematic crystals. It’s a riff off of the way liquid crystals look. They have this characteristic of being translucent and reflecting light the way crystals do when you look at them from certain angles. It just seemed like a nice bright and multi-hued paring with the music.

SILY: How was the show you just played? Was it your first time playing these songs live?

MB: Yeah, it was our first show. We had so much fun. We had rehearsed 5 or 6 times and had been going pretty hard trying to reimagine the songs in a slightly more rock way and giving time for intros and outros to bloom. We’re planning on doing more shows and bringing in different woodwind players and singers, but at the moment, we just have the core of the band really strong. It felt great to play live again. I hadn’t played a show since before the pandemic, so it was nice to come back to life a little bit.

SILY: How was adapting the songs to this set of musicians and instruments?

MB: Extremely easy and fun. I made pretty detailed charts of every part in the songs in score fashion, but as soon as we started playing, the riffs we needed to have from the record were so easy, everyone picked them up by ear. These musicians are used to playing much more complex music, and this is really basic for them, so it ended up being a really natural process to set them for a rock band. I’m really looking forward to recording the live versions. I want to do a live EP of at least 5 of the songs with the new arrangements.

SILY: What else is next for you?

MB: I wanna do a follow up to the record I made with the cellist [Teddy Rankin-Parker], A Heart From Your Shadow, which was released in 2018.

SILY: I was just listening to that before we started talking!

MB: Oh, nice. I wanna do a follow up to that record, and I want to do another song cycle with drum machine instead of acoustic drumming and oboe and bassoon and bass clarinet instead of flutes. I’m working on that right now.

SILY: Anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading lately that’s caught your attention?

MB: Such a good question. It’s strange, but I’ve been listening to mostly Greek bouzouki music. I’m obsessed with this one song “Oles Oi Daphnes” by Evgenia Verra. I kind of want to cover it with the band. I've been trying to learn how to play these bouzouki parts on the guitar.

I’ve been really into the writer Carlo Rovelli, who writes about the illusion of time. He’s a physics writer who makes these high particle physics concepts digestible for us laymen. [laughs] Grey is also reading all of his books, so we geek out over his stuff.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Body Meπa - The Work Is Slow

This one fell through the cracks last year, but I've been enjoying it quite a bit in the past few weeks. You could probably call what Body Meπa does "post-rock" but I always shudder a little at that genre tag. What we've got here is an imaginative two-guitar, bass and drums band taking some expansive trips together. Jams, yes, but jams with a purpose and direction. The group can groove like TNT-era Tortoise but they're also capable of supreme heaviness, too — after all, bassist Melvin Gibbs' long pedigree includes stints with Sonny Sharrock, one of the heaviest dudes of all. Gibbs and drummer Greg Fox are a killer rhythmic team, with Sasha Frere-Jones and Grey McMurray providing tense, wiry guitar over the top (occasionally punctuated by glorious fuzz). There's no "lead voice" on The Work Is Slow — just a quartet finding collective ecstasy ...

[burlveneer-music]

Body Meπa - The Work Is Slow - a dual-guitar showcase that is about texture and interplay rather than pyrotechnics

Greg Fox: drums Sasha Frere-Jones: right guitar, bass on "Rice Tea" Melvin Gibbs: bass Grey McMurray: left guitar Cover art by Birch Cooper  

[nascarwallpapers]

Monster Energy Series: Jamie McMurray, #1 2017 Cessna / Beechcraft Chevrolet, Chip Ganassi Racing.

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: Dave McMurray - Grateful Deadication

The melodies are familiar. But the arrangements are not.

Detroit-based saxophonist Dave McMurray takes his own long strange trip down the golden road with Grateful Deadication, a jazz- and soul-infused collection comprising nine of the San Francisco band’s compositions. Mostly instrumental, the LP features vocalist Herschel Boone on a slow-jam “Touch of Grey” - it also appears in an instrumental reprise - that does not get by and Betteye LaVette, who mics “Loser” in front of McMurray with Bob Weir and Wolf Bros.

Given he was the composer who worked sax into the Dead’s studio work, it’s appropriate Weir’s “Estimated Prophet” and “The Music Never Stopped” appear alongside a trove of Jerry Garcia/Robert Hunter co-writes.

McMurray does not take a lazy approach and simply mimic the songs’ lyrical melodies. “Fire on the Mountain” finds the saxophonist improvising over the three-chord melody, while “Eyes of the World,” obviously inspired by Branford Marsalis’ famous 1990 sit-in with the Dead, envelops the stop-start playing of “Foolish Heart.”

And when McMurray does play vocal lines - as on “Dark Star” and “The Eleven” - he frees his bandmates (bassist Ibrahim Jones, drummer Jeff Canady, guitarist Wayne Gerard and keyboardist Maurice O’Neal) to jam in Grateful style.

Grade card: Dave McMurray - Grateful Deadication - B-

7/21/21

[hhsaryrud]

I ran and turned into another street

It would have been interesting to peep into nike air max thea atomic pink that little pondering head and to see the mixture there of quite childish images and fancies with serious ideas and notions gained from experience of life (for Katya really had lived), and at the same time with ideas of which she had no real knowledge or experience, abstract theories she had got out of books, though she probably mistook them for generalizations gained by her own experience. “My queen,” growled Skahaz mo Kandaq, of the shaven head. I was afraid to. Her quiet, good-natured face encouraged me. But all was still, and there was no sound of footsteps. No lions would walk with her today. The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting. His opening arrays were different every time, yet all the same—conservative, defensive, passive. I like cruise control, but unfortunately, the system on the RV gave me fits, as it wouldn't hold speeds downhill I often caught the speed creeping over 80 mph. Your Grace will need to go to them yourself. My papuci de casa din pasla eyes burned, I could feel my heart ache, my throat swelled and my head filled with two simple words, eight lettersand they seemed inadequate. Second, prudently investing in parts of our business and product lines that exhibit sales and profit growth opportunities. I ran and turned into another street and went to the shop a different way; but I suddenly came across him again, and was so frightened that I stood quite still and couldn’t move. Not because I ever want to marry you, but because you’re afraid of that document. 20 and Nov. The official explanation for this is a bizarre "polar vortex" that's causing arctic temperatures to be pushed south.. Arya. Natasha, let me go straight to my father. The same goes for the top deck lights, kitchen timer, flushing toilet, and shower stall which allows Barbie to "sing" whenever she's taking a bath! A Personal Elevator Goes Up And Down All Three Floors: Barbie can go up and down all three levels of her dream townhouse without using the stairs. (Her next record her take on classic country songs, called Detour is out on May 6.) By her side, all those years, was Agresta. Listen, the coat may be $1,600, but you will hand it down to your daughter someday if she's lucky.. Should I attempt it, I should feel that the angel of the Lord, with his flaming sword, was pursuing me wherever I went. Family structures in China, Japan and other Asian countries differ greatly from those in many other countries. After a meet and greet with the death row exonerees Clarence Brandley, but I don't know what to do about it. For a thousand years or more, that duci alkalmi ruha sound had meant rangers coming home. Cobblestones gave way to devilgrass beneath their horse’s hooves, then to soft wet mud the color of a baby’s nightsoil. A third of Balaq’s men used crossbows, another third the double-curved horn-and-sinew bows of the east. Coffee: Grounds pick up moisture easily, making them a magnet for sucking up odors and flavors of other foods, whether stored in the fridge or freezer. Jon Snow. Not as treacherous as men, thought Davos. The writer has received an account of the way in which dogs are trained for this business. Perhaps what kept them together zattini promoção de botas especially was their design for Katya,, which must have owed its initiative to the prince. Main St. Trial continues for Sumner County man accused of killing daughterTrial continues for Sumner County man accused of killing daughterUpdated: Wednesday, July 19 2017 10:03 AM EDT2017 07 19 14:03:22 GMTA new report released by a group duci alkalmi ruha of Tennessee educator preparation programs focuses on eliminating the barriers preventing diverse candidates from choosing teaching as a career.A new report released by a group of Tennessee educator preparation programs focuses on eliminating the barriers preventing diverse candidates from choosing teaching as a career. The building in this example is a single purpose government building on government land. All the best'," recalls Kamath. It was a neat experience learning how the beer was brewed and just to honor Chris and Jerry in our own little way.". When we find them, we review them to be sure they are a safe place for people to live.". “Salladhor the Smashed. They live the nearest to the Gift and have always been good friends to the Watch. We'll know for sure once we get the processors in house for testing, which won't be long now, so stay tuned.. I feel that it could even be a blessing in disguise. He makes the same request at every speaking engagement now, from college commencements (he has more than 32 honorary degrees) to TV interviews to White House conferences. "This floor is a lot harder than what we're used to running on at the Sportsplex," said Barrick, referring to the Prince George's Sports Learning Complex in Landover. "There were lots of tears, and it felt so good to help them. From the moment that the Wright Brothers made the first ever powered flight in маратонки puma mercedes amg 1903, aircraft design developed at an astonishing pace. I was looking for a while and I travelled from Manchester to buy the car after she passed away, I've then owned the car since April 2014 until today.. That should have been enough to challenge the play. S. Bonnie Landry of Ochsner Fitness Center joins Workout Wednesday with exciting Zumba moves. They adidas mariposas had come a long way since. My people have lost all hope and turned against the gods themselves, giving over their nights to drunkenness and fornication.”. He never had, but nike sb prod x he had come close. She used to show these papers, and people used to give her money for that. “What good would coin do me here? What would I buy with it, some snow?” She laughed. Col. “Damn you damn you damn you.” He sucked her nipples till she cried out half in pain and half in pleasure. This is free and hence is a great value to pre paid customers. And perhaps it will be settled of itself in the best possible way without violence and artificial interference, mustang női cipő árgép such as a duel, for instance. La route 881 tait bonde, car les gens voulaient s'loigner le plus rapidement possible du feu qui fait toujours fekete táska női rage Fort McMurray. “Well!” he brought out suddenly, as though irritated by our silence, “the quicker the better! They won’t make a scoundrel of me, even if they do decide I must pay. The Spartans tightened up the defense and stoned Susquehanna last week, limiting it to 38 total yards.. Usually, air near the surface of the Earth is warmer than the airabove it, largely because the atmosphere is heated from below as solarradiation warms the Earth's surface, which, in turn, warms the layerof the atmosphere directly above it. “If you were not my brother’s daughters, I would send the three of you back to your cells and keep you there until your bones were grey. And, therefore, I desire and intend their marriage to take place as soon as possible. I saw that only now she realized all the awfulness of what she was doing.

[riderdrauggrim]

Day Unknown. Sat, Sep 26, 2020.

Nervous about randomly hiding in 4G Motorsports parking lot, I'm awake a few short hours later around 6:30. I have the tent packed by 8:30, and huddle beside the bike, waiting for staff.

9:00 rolls around and I approach the doors, making my way back to the Parts/Service desk. A young woman who's family shifts her between Alberta and Toronto seems thrilled to meet someone else from Ontario. We check if they have a replacement battery in stock. They do not. And their mechanics are not in on the weekends.

But!

There's a MAGNACHARGE Battery megaemporium RIGHT across the street!

Heartened my luck might be improving, I trot over.

Nope.

They're closed on weekends.

I trot back to 4G, on the way calling Riverside Honda in St. Albert, the blokes who'd changed my tires. They sold their last YTZ14S on Friday. BUT they'd ordered more and they should arrive at the start of this coming week.

I run over my problems with their parts guy. He suggests I remove the battery and try starting the bike with another random battery attached; That might be able to isolate if it is my battery or my starter system/charging stator/rectifier/words.

Sounds good.

Back at 4G I ask if they have a charger or a booster. The parts girl knows where a tender is, but not how to use it. It's okay, I do. They graciously let me push the bike inside their service bay so I can tinker on it, good thing too as it starts to drizzle outside.

So! My battery: Out and Charging.

My bike: New battery hooked up to test the ignition.

My key: In the ignition, turning to activate the bike-*Crack*.

One of the few flaws I've found with the NC750 design is the key is needed in a secondary lock. Turn one way to unlock the frunk (front trunk) where the gas tank USUALLY sits on a motorcycle. Turn the other way to unlock the latch securing the passenger seat, this allowing you to lift it up to reveal the gas cap to fill the tank, which sits under the rider. The problem with this lock is the key does not fully insert. It's about 3/4 depth to the ignition proper.

Over time, this has created something of a weak point on the key itself, occasionally twisting ever so slightly if too much pressure is applied, if the latches are sticky, or the frunk is overfull and a bit jammed. This was usually corrected by sticking the key in and turning it the other way, straightening the blade out again. For this trip, due to the tail luggage making lifting the passenger seat incredibly difficult at best, I had opted to outright remove the pillion cover, leaving the gas cap exposed for easy access. All I needed the secondary lock for was to get in and out of the frunk, which I was doing several times a day to fetch out Goose and Hat, or store drinks, or change power banks.

Perhaps it was this excess of one direction twisting that finally did the blade in.

Perhaps it was just six years of use and wear.

Perhaps life just wanted to take the difficulty level up a notch.

In any event.

I was left holding the top quarter of my key. The remainder still inside the ignition. Even if I can get a new battery, I can now no longer turn on the bike.

My coworker who helped fund this adventure texts me to see how things are going. I tell him my key just snapped in half. He says if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. We discuss options. I'm 3,505 km from home. I'm 427 km from the nearest Honda dealership. I just want to Abandon Quest and Hearthstone out of here, but that's not an option. So I work through various plans.

I call Riverside back and get the Service department. Nick remembers me. I fill him in on the last twelve hours. "Wow." Indeed. He puts me on hold and consults his coworkers. If I can get it there, they'll try and squeeze me in and get this sorted. Some people have good luck using super glue to get broken keys out and then jury rigged back together. With my luck, I'll make a mess and fuse the tumblers and need an entirely new ignition system. The key is also a newer blade style, not a normal tooth house lock key. It's supposed to be stronger, amusingly enough. But it's not the sort of thing local locksmiths should be able to replicate, it needs a Dealership. So even if I got a Fort McMurray locksmith to fish the main part out, if he can't make a new one, I still can't Go.

AND there's the pressing matter of the battery.

During all this my battery on the tender has completed charging. I restore it into the bike, or try to, as the damn nut in the contact for the red lead slips out of the holder and falls precisely through the ONE (1) hole at the bottom of the compartment and somewhere onto the engine block. I don't hear it hit the belly pan, and wedging my fingers into every nook, curve and cranny yields nothing but grimy hands.

I call CAA anew. I get the same woman as the night before, so that helped since she already knew the first part of this story. I now have Multiple Problems that can not be fixed locally. St. Albert is outside the Alberta tow range of 350km. But my membership is from Niagara, and I'm covered for 500km. She calls them to approve it. They say 'of course'. One hurdle down.

She contacts the tow company. New hurdle.

Due to the nine hour round-trip commute, they don't run every single broken vehicle south to Edmonton every time someone breaks down. They wait for multiple items, load them all on a long truck, and do a couple runs a week. So. Yes, they can get my bike to St. Albert. Eventuallllyyyyy.

I get it; from a logistics and efficiency and financial perspective it makes perfect sense.

From a "but... my bike..." and waiting for a nebulous amount of time in a hotel somewhere just for it to get TO the mechanics, nevermind the unknown timeframe of the shop having time to look at it, figure out what's wrong, order new parts if needed, and install them.... Hrrrggggnnnnn.

So EMI came with the short bed and picked up the bike from 4G. The logic being, now it's in their secure compound, ready to go, and when they have a load ready, they'll shove it on and take it south for me. Solid.

How do -I- get back to Edmonton.

Well, there's several buses that run the corridor, presumably for the mine workers to get up and back around their shift days. Awesome!

Oh but they don't run again until Monday. Less awesome!

But what can you do.

My bike won't leave until monday at the /earliest/ anyway, so me being there any sooner really makes no difference.

I book a ticket - cheap at 65$! For a nearly five hour trip? I paid 85$ plus tip for the 20 minute taxi ride from Supertest Hill to Fort McMurray the night prior.

Leaving Monday at 8:30am, arrive near downtown Edmonton. Found a hotel for 80$ within a block of Riverside Honda, not as cheap as my beloved Whitemud, but Whitemud Inn being at the south center of the Edmonton bubble, I'd be paying more than the 15$ a night difference in a cab to get up to St. Albert region. So I'll be right nearby the bike if we can get it going, or I need something from my bags.

In the meantime.

I found an RV campsite literally next door to the bus stop. I called the owner and explained my experiances, and my need for somewhere to simply hide in a tent until Monday morning. Sure, I could try and hide -anywhere-, but for my own safety, and nerves, if I can do this cheap and legal, the better for it. She says she can help me out. She offers a site for a price considerably cheaper than the nearby hotels, which I of course agree to. It's a twenty minute walk from 4G, made longer by hauling two drybags of tent/sleeping bag and essentials, and a third partial of food. Plus wearing my gear. And being somewhat small and scrawny. I take several rests. I drink my Gatorades. I make it. She has the sweetest tabby cat with white socks, no tail, and the SOFTEST fur. Name 'Trouble'. Awwww.

Transaction complete, I set up my tent, kindly serenaded by a curious magpie.

I hear a nearby RV owner pull up, truck doors closing, and then I see a giant white monster making a beeline straight for me. My best guess would be Lab/Samoyed. The head was very much the rectangle block and jowls of a lab, but the pelt was definitely a living cloud. It gives an very quick sniff at my tent, and promptly accepts me petting it. I realize I've been pet-starved during my journey. All my stress is put on pause as I scruffle the heck out of this random dog's sides. In fact, twice I tried to move one hand to teach for my phone for a photo, and he turned in annoyance to see why I'd partially stopped. I hear a woman calling, and ask if he needs to go. He makes no move. In fact he tries to push backwards closer. On a whim, I drop to my rear and make a bowl with my legs. He promptly fills said bowl with his rump. Me on my butt and him on his haunches, I came up to his shoulders.

Good dog.

A woman shouts again, more insistent. I give him a bump with my leg. He resigns himself to getting up and heading home. I realize the owner can't see us, so I pop up and apologize for stealing her dog. She realizes he hadn't just ran off for no reason, and laughs, saying he loves people. Yes, I had learned this.

I needed that.

There's a valley beside the camp ground.

The trees are spent matchsticks, grey and charred and empty against the sky. New growth slowly fills in around the dead wood. I don't know if this is a remainder of the BIG fire of 2016, or another more recent event. It's a staggering amount of devastation, and only a small fragment of the damage done.

The clouds out here... I love skyscapes.

Beautiful.

[wolveswolves]

Too cold to howl? Turns out wolves take snow days, too

January 20, 2019 - When snow falls, wolves chill out, according to a recent study from the University of Alberta.

Over two winters, researchers looked at the movements of grey wolves near Fort McMurray, Alta. in conjunction with data on snowfall in the area.

“We think that it might be something about actively falling snow,” said Droghini.

Snow, like rain, clears the air of scent molecules, she said. Wolves rely heavily on their sense of smell to hunt, especially at night. Most of the wolves studied do their hunting after dark.

Another possible explanation, said Droghini, is that the wolves’ prey move less in falling snow.

“We unfortunately don’t have the data to test this,” she said, but if other animals are hunkered down, waiting for the snow to stop, there is no incentive for the wolves to go out hunting.

The researchers used data from remote cameras that monitored snowfalls, and collars on 17 wolves. These wolves were also part of a separate study that looked at the movement of wolves and moose near Fort McMurray.

It’s hard to say right now how climate change might affect the behaviour of wolves in snow, said Droghini.

Information about snow conditions is scarce, particularly in the North where there aren’t many weather stations.

Droghini said more freeze and thaw cycles could make movement difficult for animals in winter.

Rain after snow can create an icy crust over the snowpack, and this kind of snow is the most challenging for animals to walk through, she said.

“It costs them a lot of energy.”

The concern, said Droghini, is that it might be more difficult for animals to maintain the energy levels they need for the reproductive season.

Source

[lemondeabicyclette]

Le maire de Ghent (Gand) en Flandres (Belgique) a reçu des menaces de mort et les médias se sont pour la plupart ligués contre son plan de réaménagement axé sur les humains et non les godchars : "les visiteurs ne viendront plus", "c’est suicidaire", "les boutiques vont fermer, les commerces vont se vider", et shitera.

Mais dès son inauguration en avril 2017, les bénéfices sont apparus : hausse de fréquentation des transports publics et des cyclistes, baisse des chars et de la pollution de l’air.

Presque 7 ans plus tard, tout le monde semble satisfait, la ville est redevenue agréable. Durant ce temps à Mort Réal, c’est le calme plat : le bruit des godchars, l’agression des policiers contre les piétons et les cyclistes, les gens âgés qui étouffent dans la pollution des godchars, la mort invisible qui augmente sans arrêt, les transports publics qui stagnent, le budget mobilité qui n’a pas bougé d’une cenne depuis plus de 5 ans ...

... et le blabla de boulechite des lobbyistes pétroliers auquel Valérie Plate de Mort Réal est abonnée continue de lui voiler la vue et lui boucher les oreilles.

Pôv p'tite mairesse pod’couilles de ploucville : si, comme beaucoup le souhaitent, elle démissionne, elle aura qqes options pour ré-orienter sa "carrière". Combattre le projet de tramway du substitut de Réjean Labeaume , animer une émission avec André Arthur, faire les relations publiques de ExxonMobil hummer fourni, travailler au grand air à Fort McMurray ou encore gopher de Julius Grey (voile intégral fourni) et son projet de loi pour faire des VUS un droit humain essentiel, comme l’air et l’eau.

Pôv p'tite madame, indeed.

[dustedmagazine]

Body Meπa — The Work Is Slow (Hausu Mountain)

Photos by Heidi DeRuiter, Ebru Yildiz, Kirk Edwards, Shervin Lainez

The Work Is Slow by Body Meπa

Body Meπa brings together New York musicians Sasha Frere-Jones and Grey McMurray on guitars, bassist Melvin Gibbs and drummer Greg Fox on an album that weaves together various strands of downtown experimentation into a tapestry that explores the avant-rock textures and improvisational dynamics for which the four are known. Frere-Jones is best known as co-founder of dub/funk influenced post-rock trio Ui, McMurray’s CV includes work with John Cale and Colin Stetson, Briggs has played with Defunkt, The Rollins Band and Sonny Sharrock, and Fox is a go-to drummer on the contemporary music scene. All of which is to say there are serious chops involved here and each shines individually leaving their egos at the door to create a series of soundscapes that encapsulate the spirit of the creative environment in which they are involved.

Opener "Horse Flower Storm/Fabuloso" sounds on the face of it like a repetitive lysergic jam, a kind of decelerated Television like extrapolation of surf rock under which Gibbs’ bass bubbles like a hot mud pool. Frere-Jones’ circular jazz influenced vamps and flanged twang carry the main theme as McMurray interpolates pointillist notes and smears of distortion that echo and emphasize. Fox provides both foundation and detail, his drumming relying on rhythmic subtlety rather than bombast. Body Meπa are all about finding a groove and exploring every nuance of its possibility, it’s all about feel rather than flash. Even when the riffage comes the quartet seek not to beat you about the head but get inside it. “Bullitt” evokes another erstwhile downtown mainstay in Bill Laswell and Fred Frith’s noise monster Massacre with squalls of feedback and nervous scratchy chords, Gibb’s dub core bass and Fox’s roiling percussion. It hits like a tsunami but somehow with a space to breathe, the mix separates the guitars, which ring distinct from right and left channels. On “Rice Tea” jazz chords ride a deep funk groove before building into a maelstrom of reverb and delay with the logic of free jazz rather than rockist hubris. 

As Body Meπa, Frere-Jones, McMurray, Gibbs and Fox use the structure of jazz, the space of dub, the circularity of minimalism and the repetition of trance to free up the classic rock guitar, guitar, bass, drums configuration. They are not the first to do it but the caliber of the musicians, individually and as a collective, the wealth of ideas and the generosity of the music make The Work Is Slow a compelling listen. 

Andrew Forell

[statesofexception]

Sō Percussion — ‘Where (we) Live’ (2012)

Performed at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis