#guess who my favorite marshal is.... *drum rolls*

[kririawhahha]

traditional art doodle dump things idk what they're called just take them💔

Ok that's all BYE

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.  

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.  

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”  

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”

[erintoknow]

one by one

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Nights drinking with Dr. Mortum have become equal parts business and pleasure. You never know where you’ll find a new lead. [Fake]

[Read on AO3]

“Jane…?” Dr. Mortum’s voice is quiet compared to the noise of the bar. Busy night at Joes again.

“Mm?” Jane blinks, jerking her head up. “Sorry, sorry. I was a million miles away.” You need to stop thinking about Ortega. This is getting dangerous.

“Penny for your thoughts, mon amie?”

“Oh, uh…” She scans the floor, looking for something to sidetrack the conversation. “What do you make of that modded woman over there?” Jane nods her head in the direction of the game tables. A heavily scarred Latina woman with mods down the back of her head is in a heated argument with an Asian man with a crisp pressed suit. South-east Asian maybe? “Does she have any sense of self-preservation? That’s not the kind of guy I’d want to cross, personally.”

“Not the kind of person you would cross?” Mortum laughs, “What makes you say that?”

“Look at him.” Jane gestures in their direction, a quick motion. Hopefully not noticed by anyone but the doctor. “That suit? In this dive? Guy’s some kind of made-man.” She shakes her head. “Just asking for trouble.”

“You are not wrong.” Mortum nods her head in agreement. “I do believe that is one of Hollow Ground’s men.”

“Hollow Ground?” Jane frowns, drumming her fingers on the table. “Huh.”

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen him around here once or twice. Hollow Ground has a finger in just about every criminal enterprise in Los Diablos, so it’s to be expected, really.

“Do you think Hollow Ground is a real person, or is he like… some sort of shadow cabal?”

Mortum shrugs, suddenly interested in her drink. “I find it does not pay to ask that kind of question, mon amie.”

“Hrmmm…” Sooner or later, you’re going to end up crossing paths with Hollow Ground, whatever they are. In another life, you’d listen to Ortega talk about her theories, try to help her track down likely clues. Not once did either of you turn up anything material. Who or whatever they are, their grip was rock solid. Anyone that wanted to talk had a habit of catching a case of sudden death.

Ortega was convinced there was a singular person behind it. Someone that had murdered her mentor, Marshal Hood.

It was never your favorite subject. Something about the whole thing just… seemed off.

Funny to think you might stand a better chance of finding out the truth now, when you could never tell Ortega. “What are the odds you think it’ll escalate into a fight?”

Mortum doesn’t even look up. “Seventy-six precent.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“Of course, mon amie.” She winks at Jane. “Did you expect me to say something like, ‘somewhat likely’ like some kind of hack?”

“Ugh. Scientists.” Jane rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how much of your stuff is just bullshit.”

“Madam, you wound me.”

Jane doesn’t offer a retort, watching the argument slowly escalate in volume. Maybe you can get a sense of this guy’s abilities. Two-to-one he’s some kind of Enhanced. Rosie approaches the modded Latina, trying to talk her down.

To little success.

With a sigh, Jane pushes herself up from her seat. “Alright, I’m gonna go pull Rosie’s ass out of the fire.”

“I would have thought she could handle herself, but suit yourself mon amie.” Mortum eyes the scene, then flickers back to Jane with barely concealed curiosity.

“You know me.” Jane winks, a smile on her face.

Sauntering over to the table, Jane keeps her hands on hips as she surveys the scene. It’s a quantum roulette table. Numbers generated using quantum uncertainty to make an ‘uncheatable’ game. The wide variety of different boost abilities out there have forced gambling to take a few extra steps in order for casinos to stay on top.

The scarred Latina has left her seat to come around and prod Hollow Ground’s guy, who has in turn gotten out of his seat and is staring down at the shorter woman with an air of bored amusement.

Hrm. Doesn’t look like she had much money left. Good sign.

Rosie tries to reach for her friend’s shoulder, pull her back. “Mecha… please. Don’t start anything.”

“I don’t care! I’m sick of this cheater!”

Jane siddles up next to Rosie. No one else looks about to interview. The Croupier watches with a blank expression, as if expecting things to resolve themselves. The other players look to be quietly collecting their winnings. “Hey, Rosie.”

“–Jane?” Rosie glances to the side, face brightening up once catching sight of her friend. “Oh, hey Janey.”

“How’s the luck running?”

“Not bad – well, not as bad as…” Rosie makes a face, nodding towards Mecha.

“I heard. Along with the rest of the bar.” Jane eyes Mecha, who has not once stopped ranting at her supposed ‘cheater.’ “What’s the problem here anyway?”

Rosie drops her voice into a whisper, guarding her mouth with a hand. “Mecha thinks Jake here is cheating.” ‘Jake’ huh?

“Seriously?” Jane raises her voice. “She’s really going to accuse Joes of running a crooked game?”

That gets Mecha to turn, snarling. “No I’m not.” She jabs a finger at Jake’s chest. “I’m saying he is cheating!”

To your relief, Jake brushes the finger off, his expression unchanging.

“So… let me get this straight,” Jane frowns. “You’re saying–”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business!”

“You’re loud enough to make it my business.”

Rosie winces, “She’s not wrong.”

“Look.” You sigh, shoot a glance at Jake. “You really want to say someone that works for Hollow Ground has to stoop to cheating? Really?”

“I…” Mecha grinds her teeth, balling her hands into fists and then letting go. “I see your point.” Oh good, so she’s not suicidal. That’s nice. Mecha spares one last glance at Jake. “But…”

“It was a bad losing streak.” Rosie cuts in. “Legendary.”

“I… guess.” Mecha groans.

Jake shrugs, “Bad luck. It happens.”

“Whatever.” Mecha throws up her hands, stepping away from the table. “I’m out of here.” She doesn’t even stop to collect her meager winnings.

Rosie watches her leave with a sigh. “Well, that could have gone better.”

“Hey,” Jane winks. “It could have gone a lot worse too.”

Jake sits back down at the table, taking stock of his large pile of tokens. “You gonna play then?”

Would it be weirder to say yes or no? Jane glances at Rosie who shrugs, unhelpful. “Alright, well. There’s a free seat, so why not?” With a smile she takes the open seat and sits down. Guess maybe a round or two won’t hurt right?

It’s a weird sensation as Jane sits down. Like this has all happened before. Someone laughs as a new song comes on the radio. The numbers finish cycling, landing on red twelve.

Okay.

That was unsettling.

The croupier looks at Jane, blank faced. “Place your bet miss.”

Jane pulls a few bills out of her purse. As she does, someone laughs in the background, a new song cycling onto the radio. Okay. That’s weird.

A moment of hesitation and then –

Jane puts the fifty dollar bill on the table. “Put in on red twelve.” You did this before, didn’t you? Or were going to? Or was always going to have done? It doesn’t quite feel real.

“Jesus.” Rosie groans behind Jane, watching over her shoulder. “You don’t put that much on a single number, Janey.”

“Beginner’s luck.” Jane can’t stop the grin as she watches the numbers cycle. It’s all for show. The actual randomization takes an instant. But what is gambling without pagenty?

Hrm. No wonder so many villains gamble.

The croupier does not sound surprised as he speaks, but he looks in Jane’s direction, curious. “Red twelve, Miss Jane wins.”

Behind her, Rosie gasps, slaps Jane on the back. “Hot damn! I can’t believe it.”

“...neither can I.” Jane watches the small fortune shoved her way, wide-eyed. “I was just… the beginner’s luck thing was bravado.”

“Hey, guess drinks on you tonight, huh Janey?”

“...sure.” Sitting across from her, Jake watches Jane intently. He’s not the only one. Might have outstayed your welcome sooner than you expected. Robotically, she splits off a handful of bills and presses them into Rosie’s hands as she gets up from the table. “Have ten of them.”

“See, this is why we’re friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Swallow hard, throat dry. What the fuck was that?

Dr. Mortum is still waiting when Jane returns. Face a little more ashen then when she left. Purse significantly fuller.

Mortum raises her glass in greeting. “Still in one piece, I see?”

Jane’s smile as she sits back down is more brittle than you’d planned. “Disappointed?”

“Of course not, mon amie!” Dr. Mortum looks genuine enough as she says it. “I was mostly… curious what you were up to.”

“Worried?”

“More…” She takes a drink to stall for time. “Wondering why, I suppose.”

Jane shrugs. Would prefer to move on from this topic sooner rather than later. “I guess I wasn’t eager to see a friend of Rosie’s get put in an early grave.”

“Is that so?” Mortum raises eyebrows, not buying it. “That is a noble goal.”

“Probably futile, if we’re honest.”

“I was not going to say anything.”

Jane shrugs, keeps her back turned on the roulette table. Could swear you feel Jake’s eyes digging into Jane’s back. Without your telepathy, you can’t actually know that if that’s true or if you’re just being paranoid.

You’re not sure which answer you’d prefer.

“Do I really need a goal?” What Jane needs is a new drink. “It was fun, I guess. Nothing more to it.”

“Fun?” Dr. Mortum winks. “Perhaps you are in the wrong line of work, mon amie.”

“Oh don’t start with that again.” Jane scowls, “I felt like doing it, so I did.”

“Fair enough.” Mortum leans back in her chair. “I suppose that’s just life. Chaos and impulse until it all goes black.”

“Bleak.”

“But true.”

“I don’t know about that.” Jane’s smile is grim. “Nothing’s truly random.”

What was up with that table? How did you know that? Come to think of it, haven’t you felt that before? In the past. It was always easy to brush off before.

“There’s always a pattern,” Jane presses on. “Someone pulling the strings. If you know where to look.”

“And you do, mon amie?” Mortum smiles back.

It’s an open question how much the doctor knows. Enough, at least. More than you’d like, almost certainly. Concerns for the future. As long as her friendship with Jane keeps her on your side, you’ll make use of her skills. And there’s always a call for that. Each new day offers new opportunities. New strings to pull.

[sidneycrosbyisawitch]

what a bright time, it’s the right time.

a (sorta belated) christmas present for lina @betheproof. 

the sun has barely risen, gentle and pale through the bedroom windows, when tyler murmurs a grinning “good morning” into jamie’s jaw.

it takes jamie a moment to swim awake through layers of warm blankets and new light and tyler leaning over him.  

“you awake?” jamie mumbles, reflexively pressing a sleep clumsy kiss onto tyler’s cheekbone, lips brushing over the tickle of his beard. “riley awake?”

“yeah, we’re up,” tyler leans back, and even through his grogginess, jamie’s smile is immediate and uncontrollable. he pulls himself up on his elbow from beneath the covers.

riley’s mop of dark curls is accented with a tiny red bow and her onesie is covered in red and white reindeer print. tyler wiggles her gently, big hands spanning her ribs where she’s sitting between his crossed legs, and she giggles little chirps of happiness. he ducks down to her ear.

“say ‘merry christmas, daddy. time to wake up,’” tyler prompts, dimple deep and voice soft.

riley valiantly burbles in response, smacking her knees excitedly, and she even manages a few ‘duh, duh’ sounds, so she’s getting there.

“oh, is it christmas already?” jamie asks, pinching riley’s little toes between his fingers. “should we go see what santa brought for you?” he grins at tyler. “she looks amazing. did you take some pictures?”

“did i take some pictures,” tyler scoffs. “we’ve been up since 5:30, of course i took some pictures. and now that you’re up, we can take some more.”

tyler’s been on baby time for the past year, maybe because he’s naturally more of a morning person, but jamie’s positive that even if tyler wasn’t he’d still be up at dawn every morning as the first face riley sees when she blinks awake.

“that sounds good.” jamie smacks a kiss to riley’s nose -- and, god, it already looks so much like tyler’s -- as he sits up before heaving her into the air with a groan.

“i hope santa knows how big you got overnight or none of your presents will fit,” he tells her. she giggles in delight midair, little round face with tyler’s nose and hazel eyes lit up in a joyful half-toothed grin.

the telltale clack of of nails on the hallway floor announces the dogs’ arrival before they nose the bedroom door open. gerry’s first on the bed, as always, wriggling with happiness as the mattress bounces with the addition of his weight. his bandana has candy canes printed all over it. marshall and cash wait, tails wagging, beside the bed with santa and gingerbread men bandanas. the bandanas are actually pretty reserved by tyler’s standards.

“guess the boys are ready, too,” tyler says, scratching gerry’s neck. the rounds of his cheekbones are bright with a huge smile as gerry nuzzles him.

there are very few times that jamie’s seen tyler happier. when they had riley. when they made the playoffs. when jamie moved in, maybe, knowing that this house was intended to be tyler’s forever home in dallas. and right now, cross legged on their duvet on riley’s first christmas morning, wearing a rudolph t-shirt with christmas lights in his antlers spelling out “get lit.” jamie is so fucking in love with him.

jamie tucks riley into his side one-armed and uses the other to pull tyler close, hand cupped around the back of his neck. tyler catches his hands on jamie’s knees.

“merry christmas.” jamie kisses him, light and lingering. “i love you.”

tyler kisses back, and jamie savors the sugary sweetness in his mouth. sunlight falls in cool bright streaks as it rises above the eastern windows; the dogs are huffing and woofing, riley is babbling in jamie’s ear, but, for a moment, everything narrows down to the feeling of tyler’s curls under his hand and the give of his mouth. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, jamie thinks.

it’s cash who starts barking.

tyler pulls back with a laugh. “i hear you. we’ll get moving.”

riley reaches for him as he takes her back. jamie knows riley loves him, obviously, but there’s really no question as to who’s her favorite. nothing really compares to seeing tyler with their baby in his arms, anyways.

“c’mon, baby girl. c’mon, boys. christmas is waiting downstairs, and daddy hasn’t had breakfast yet.”

tyler slaps jamie’s knee before folding himself out of bed, gerry tumbling down after him. she’ll be a year old on valentine’s day, and maybe they’ll have to stop calling her their baby then, but jamie doubts either of them will be capable of that.

jamie pulls on the christmas pajama pants tyler set out for him, but forgoes a shirt in the 70 degree texas winter. maybe when riley’s older she can get a taste of a canadian christmas with snow and ice, but she was born in texas. dallas, and its sunny christmases, is their home.

tyler bounces riley on his hip as he starts down the stairs, the lights wrapped around the bannister twinkling and the dogs at his heels in a pack. the sound of their paws on the hardwood drum along to tyler’s off-key rendition of frosty the snowman that never fails to make riley laugh.

the kitchen smells of sugar and vanilla and coffee. tyler’s pretty much mastered jackie’s cinnamon roll recipe, and jamie inhales two while standing at the counter before they settle under the towering tree and the small mountain range of presents beneath it. the dogs find their favorite places on the couches as soon as tyler breaks the special bones out of their monogrammed stockings.

tyler takes a considering look at the haul of gifts as riley sticks a small present in her mouth. he scrunches up his nose. “did we go overboard?”

jamie shakes his head. “it’s her first christmas, tyler. santa’s allowed to go overboard.”

and it makes you happy. and she deserves it.

tyler grins and kisses the top of riley’s head. “let dada show you how to open a present, riley girl,” he coos, then looks to jamie. “santa might go overboard next year, too.”

the whole house is covered in glittering lights and garland and bells. jamie has probably never seen a christmas tree as tall as theirs, and tyler’s had a blast decorating ever since american thanksgiving. christmas music floats through the living room from the tv speakers in the background.

jamie knows how lucky he is, most of the time, but in that moment, it hits hard. this is his family, and his home, and they’re beautiful. tyler and riley look at him, their perfect noses scrunched up as they rip the wrapping paper. jamie can’t believe he gets to have all of this.

santa can go overboard every damn year.

and by next christmas, hopefully, jamie will ask the question and tyler will say yes.

now though, jamie grabs riley’s little foot, leans into the kiss tyler drops on his bare shoulder, and helps them unwrap one of the many gifts from her nana.

“love you,” tyler murmurs against his skin, eyes fond. messy long waves fall over his forehead, even as jamie brushes them back.

riley shrieks as she finally pulls the big red bow free of the paper. it’s an enormous version of the one in her hair, and it goes straight into her mouth.

“oh crap, rescue that,” jamie says in laughing surprise. “you should wear it in pictures so you’ll match.”

tyler’s indignant look is adorable, but he rescues it from riley’s slobbery fist. “you can wear it for pictures.”

they both wear it for a few, and jamie makes the one with matching tyler and riley his lockscreen. they each have another cinnamon roll because everyone knows christmas doesn’t count, and after they do all the facetime sessions with the grandparents, riley crashes for her morning nap, bow crooked in her curls.

sleep when the baby sleeps are the words of a genius, and tyler crashes almost as hard while they’re watching the grinch, tucked up against jamie’s chest on the couch.

as his chest rises and falls, jamie thinks thank you. thank you for coming into my life. thank you for riley. thank you loving me. thank you for letting me love you.

it’s a pretty fucking awesome baby’s first christmas.

[posterchildrenaudiobook-blog]

The Posterchildren Audiobook is reopening auditions for certain roles. Although we got a lot of amazing submissions, we want to do one more call for auditions.

In general we are looking for more adult voices. This has less to do with the voice actor’s age and more the tone of their voice. Although all characters listed below are reopened for auditions, Amira bint Balqis and Mercy Bliss are two in particular we are actively searching for more auditions for.

In addition to the adults, we are also looking for more auditions for Malek ‘Mal’ Underwood.

If you have auditioned for any of these characters, it does not mean you did not get the role. We are short more mature-sounding voices in general, hence the second call. If you have already auditioned but want to send in another audition for one of the roles below, you are more than welcome to.

We are also reopening auditions for The Narrator.

Full list of the characters reopened for auditions under the cut, as well as how to audition for them.

We are open for auditions for these characters until October 29.

In addition to your audio clip(s), please include the following information in your email. Please send all auditions to posterchildrenaudiobook@gmail.com.

Your Name: Pronouns: Ethnicity: Age: Are you okay with being cast in a smaller role? Y/N

You do not have to match the gender identity of the character you are auditioning for.

You are welcome to audition for multiple characters, and we may ask you to read for a character that you did not audition for.

Please note, this is not a paid project.

THE NARRATOR To audition for the Narrator, please record yourself reading 60 seconds or so of a book. It can be any book, although something that is YA fiction is preferred.

Please remember that being the narrator does require more of a time commitment than one of the character roles.

Malek ‘Mal’ Underwood 14 year old boy, Arab (raised in Oregon) Mal is extremely intelligent, driven, and focused on being the best. Sometimes seen as uncaring or cold, he actually just struggles to express himself. He makes friends with difficulty, but once he sees you as a friend he is absolutely loyal. The child of two of the most famous heroes of this world, he knows people are looking at him to show weakness or to reveal that he is destined for a fall, like his older brother. He will not let this happen.

Line 1: (factual, insensitive) “So. Sixty-seven. I was reviewing your scores. A two in strategy…a one in acting…you realize that you need to break one hundred if you want to join any law enforcement agency upon graduation, don’t you? And your combat score. Unfortunate.”

Line 2: (struggling to open up) “Allow me to be frank. My score has put me at a severe disadvantage. If Zipporah and I are to graduate into the capstone class, it is imperative that we pick up as many of those extra points as possible. And to that end, we may require your help.”

Line 3: (dangerous) “You have a habit of not listening, and I have a habit of losing my temper. One of us is going to have to break his habit. And I swear to you that it will not be me.”

Line 4: (genuine) “You’re not terrible, Zipporah Chance. Not all of the time, at least.”

John Wright adult, white Ernest’s father, one of the most well-known heroes in the world. Superman meets a golden retriever.

Line 1: (proud) “When’d you get so big, kiddo? Can’t really call you my li’lanything anymore, can I? Good God Almighty, I can hardly even call you my little man. Just look at you.”

Line 2: (angry and mourning) “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. A week ago, most of you were screaming for his blood. Well, you got it. You got him.”

Amira bint Balqis adult, Arab (Lebanese/Ethiopian) Malek’s mother, one of the most well-known heroes in the world. A master strategist, known for her poise and composure.

‘English is Amira's third language; she grew up speaking Arabic and French at home, although she has lived much of her life in English-speaking countries. When she was a young girl, she tried to hide her accent, but by the age of twelve she gave up trying to mask it, having realized that she would be viewed as Other regardless. The French influence is most readily apparent in her accent, which grows stronger when she is tired or emotional.’ - taken from Amira’s page on the Posterchildren Wiki (not spoiler free)

Line 1: (honest) “You say that you see flashes of something inspirational in him. Is it so difficult to imagine that he sees something in you that inspires him as well?”

Line 2: “If you think that you will get anything out of me without so much as a hug hello, you severely underestimate my ability to withhold information, my handsome son.”

Marshal Underwood adult, white One of the most famous rogue former heroes, the brother of Mal and Ellie, the son of Corbin and stepson of Amira. Has a temper, and once he gets his teeth in something he’ll die before he lets go. His charm often surprises people, and he’s not a bad guy, whatever the tabloids might say. He just doesn’t care about the rules.

Line 1: (furious) “You had three years with him. Me? I had sixteen. I was his partner. His son. You were a disappointing little surprise. So be a lamb and tell me what the hell it was you did that got him killed.”

Line 2: (apologetic) “I’m a fuckstick.”

Madam Ghostlight quite an old lady An actress and a former spy. Very wise, knows more about the history of the school than anyone. Professor Trelawny meets Peggy Carter, but Jewish

Line 1: “And that, my dears, is the power of the light touch. Ordinarily, mind control is an invasive and unpleasant affair. The usual methods are nothing short of rapacious, which I find—  Repulsive. In my experience, so much can be gained through a light touch. I received more information than I asked for, and I got it in a way that was kind to my target.”

Sofia Galan-Grant adult, Latina Tenacious and stubborn, a loving mother and wife. Very clever, often shows her affection with teasing.

Line 1: “And then you turned into Rambo, mi querida.“

Mercy Bliss adult, African-American The school nurse, and a luck manipulator, so a kind and caring lady who is very good at looking on the bright side.

Line 1: “Well, if it isn’t my favorite bucket of sunshine. I hope you haven’t gone and got yourself banged up again. Isn’t it a little early in the day for running your pretty little face into walls, Zipporah?”

Scott Carter adult, white A self-professed nerd. Awkward and enthusiastic. The history teacher.

Line 1: “So going into this merger of main characters, I want you to think about your histories. In an essay of five hundred words or more, give me your origin story. Who are you? How did you get here? What does being a posthuman mean to you?”

Cat Newmeyer adult, white Sports bubble-gum pink hair and a bunch of colourful tattoos, is also one of the toughest people around. Confident and bubbly with a very solid base of ‘could take pretty much anyone in a fight.’

Line 1: (pumping up a group) “The rules of Scavenge are easy-peesie-lemon-squeezie. This is what you’ll be looking for. We call them the glow jugs! My assistant, the lovely Kirrily Quinn, will demonste the proper carrying methods.”

Jasper James adult He’s scrappy in every sense of the word, and the youngest teacher on staff. Excited about combat, and can come on a little strong at times.

Line 1: “Dodging knives isn’t considered an athletic skill? Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not feeling the practical applications lesson. I can respect that, I guess. So how about we take this party outside and do a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors?”

Sal Santini adult, Italian-American Relaxed, patient, and very dangerous.

Line 1: “I also figured that you won’t let me die without hearing me out. So now that we’re both in danger of being dead men come dawn, I’ve got your full attention, don’t I?”

Kirrily Quinn adult, Australian

Line 1: “Strewth, give the woman a drum roll already! Give her a drum roll, or we’ll be here all night.”

[rockrevoltmagazine]

INTERVIEW: MYLES KENNEDY OF ALTER BRIDGE

Formed in the early part of this century Myles Kennedy (lead vocals, guitar), Mark Tremonti (lead guitar, vocals), Scott Phillips (drums) and Brian Marshall (bass) of Alter Bridge are making another major contribution to keeping rock and roll alive and well with their sixth studio release Walk The Sky. I had the opportunity to talk with Kennedy about the strong reception of Walk The Sky, the challenges that came with making their latest effort, his first encounter with Mark Tremonti, who he would like to collaborate with and the impact of fame on his personal life.

RockRevolt:  Congratulations on the number one rock album Walk The Sky, how does that sound?

Myles Kennedy:  Yeah, pretty awesome.  Surprising and cool.  Not complaining. 

RR:  And over the pond number four in the UK as well as top five in some other European countries.  The album is being well received what do you attribute that to? Feels like the fan base keeps growing.

MK:  Yeah I think that after 15 years of establishing the quote/unquote brand I guess that people have continued to not only support what we do and comeback and express interest but also it seems to be growing.  Seems like they’re telling friends and friends are telling friends.  That’s a great position to be in especially after doing this for over a decade and a half.  I wasn’t sure how this was going to roll-out and we were pretty blown away with the reception.

RR:  That brings me to my next question, Walk The Sky is a bit of a departure from past Alter Bridge albums.  Were you at all nervous whether the fans would accept it or not? It is a bit different.

MK:  I think it was a needed change.  One thing we didn’t want to do was continue to make the same record.  So we chose to mix things up, even from the way we wrote the songs.  These tracks primarily Mark and I would demo the tracks separately whereas before we would do a lot more collaboration.  That was an interesting experience in of itself.  We’re happy with how that turned out.  We felt like the sonic hallmarks were still there, what we’re known for with our fans.  We didn’t want to necessarily alienate people and have them feel like what are they doing here.  We wanted to make the record that still injected the riffs and the melodies that the fans have come to expect.  It’s always a delicate dance when making a record you want to evolve and change things just enough to show that you’re not being complacent.  At the same time there’s going to be some risk there and you have to be cognizant of that.  I feel like we landed on our feet. 

RR:  Most fans know that between Mark and yourself you do a large majority, if not all the writing.  Where does Brian and Scott plug-in to the whole creative process?

MK:  To me they don’t get enough credit.  I feel like as a rhythm section they have something that is very unique that only they do which is the feel.  Really where they both feel the downbeat.  There’s a pocket when those two play together there is very unique and really helps define this band.  Mark and I bring in the songs but they provide a certain backbone that if it was any other rhythm section it would really shift the sound of this band dramatically in my opinion.

RR:  How about Michael “Elvis” Baskette, how much does his say influence the record.  And how far does his say go when making a record?

MK:  He’s our honorary fifth member, he’s our George Martin.  He’s the last filter.  So when we are trying to figure out which songs are going to make the cut.  When we are trying to figure out how the arrangement is going to be settled in the end he has the last word.  He’s able to have that thirty-thousand foot view of things.  A lot of times the band will be too close to the songs to be able to see the forest through the trees and he’s the perfect guy for that to help us navigate into the final phase.  He’s a tremendous asset to the band.

RR:  Prior to making this record did you listen to any particular bands or style of music that may have had some influence?

MK:  On this record nothing jumps out.  You go through phases as a writer that you might listen to something a little more than you normally would.  You know I learned something, it was a really profound statement that Jerry Harrison, he was the guitar player for the Talking Heads, he produced the very first Mayfield Four record back in ’97.  I remember OK Computer was just getting ready to drop by Radiohead and I was so excited, I couldn’t wait to get that record and he told me something that really stuck with me.  He said I want you to hold off on getting that record and listening to it until we’re done with this Mayfield Four record.  What will happen is it will really become such an influence if you’re not careful you’re not going to be your true self as an artist.  That really hit home for me.  That was probably the best advice anyone had ever gave me.  You want to go in with a clear palette and not be absorbing too much of any artist and be yourself.

RR:  Is there a song on Walk The Sky you are most proud of? A song that may have been challenging to create?

MK:  There are a few.  I think that “In The Deep” took a little while to get settled.  That’s like the second or third song on the record.  It was a little bit of a departure especially the verses.  There was a lot of experimenting that went on there.  I’m real happy with how that one turned out.  I feel like it has a real uplifting vibe to it.  It just makes me feel good when I hear it. 

RR:  How about a song from the new record that could be difficult to play live?

MK:  Yeah, I was just actually rehearsing “Native Son” the other day and to try and sing and play that will be a bit of a challenge.  I wrote the riffs I remember I didn’t have a melody yet so when I did the demo for the music I wasn’t thinking about how I was going to sing and play the verses.  So the other day I tried it for the first time and was like oh man what have I done.  Sing myself into a corner here.

RR:  So is there a chance we hear it live?

MK:  I think we’ll definitely do that one live, seems to be a fan favorite.  We’ll definitely get that one in the set.

RR:  Speaking of live you just wrapped this leg of the U.S. tour.  What’s next for the tour, how long do you plan to tour this record and will you be back stateside?

MK:  Yeah we’ll be out for at least the next year touring anywhere that will have us.  Coming to a birthday party near you (laughing).  We’ll definitely be back in the states at some point next year. 

RR:  I was a little disappointed to not see Alter Bridge announced as one of the headliners for the UK Download Festival.  What’s going on with that, I figured at some point you would be taking one of the headline slots.

MK:  (laughing) always a bridesmaid never a bride.  It’s actually fine with me.  I think I’m the only guy in the band that isn’t pushing to headline Download.  I like the slot just before the headliner goes on (which Alter Bridge have held on multiple occasions).  Then you can relax and have a gin and tonic while the headliner is on.

RR:  Are you doing the festival circuit overseas?

MK:  Yeah, that’s the plan.

RR:  Do you recall the first time you met Mark and were there creative sparks right away?

MK:  The funny thing is when we first met it was when the Mayfield Four was opening for Creed.  We met in the cafeteria.  I was leaving the cafeteria and Mark was walking in, in the basement of the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas.  It was like a real brief, hey and fist bump or something.  There was no real hanging out or anything.  I hung out more with Scott Phillips (Alter Bridge and at the time Creed drummer) then any of those guys.  So that was the only guy I got to know.

RR:  When you get the call from Mark that he’s putting this band together and we want you to be the singer what’s your initial thoughts?

MK:  I was pretty surprised because I didn’t even know I was on their radar.  I didn’t even know that they heard us even when we were opening for them.  I assumed we were the first band on the bill, just getting started, trying to make a name for ourselves.  I was really blown away that five years later they chose to give me a buzz.  I was pretty shocked.

RR:  Do you jump right at the opportunity?

MK:  Once they sent some demos and I heard those I thought this could be cool, a good fit.  We didn’t mess around, I got down there about a month after I got those demos, we started working on what would become One Day Remains, it was pretty quick.

RR:  How about with Slash, how did that all go down and what was it like first getting together with him?

MK:  Once again it was a really big surprise.  I think it’s because I live in Spokane, WA and I’m not really in the thick of it down in LA or New York so when a heavy hitter like Slash gets your number and calls you, you’re kind of scratching your head going how did this happen.  I was grateful non the less.  He asked if I would be interested in doing something on his first solo record, sent me a demo of some music and I put the melody and lyrics to what would end up being “Starlight.”  Flew down to LA a few weeks later and we cut the track.  It was a trip getting to hang in the studio and talk, watch how he worked.  It was a really cool experience. 

RR:  With Guns N Roses back together have you had the opportunity to meet Axl?

MK:  I haven’t.  I have not had the opportunity to do that at this point.  It would be really cool though.

RR:  Was curious if he might have had any feedback on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame performance.  What was that experience like being able to perform at the Rock Hall of Fame with some of the Guns N Roses guys?

MK:  I’ll tell you what that performance was probably the most nerve-racking experience of my life.  I honest didn’t think it would happen.  I thought that I would get there and at the last minute Axl might show up and they would all get on stage and do their thing.  I remember looking over at the stage door as they were doing their speeches, getting their award and I kept looking at the door thinking Axl is going to show up at any minute.  I really didn’t think that I was going to go out there.  Then all of a sudden I hear the crowd clap and see them go to grab their instruments and I remember thinking to myself this is actually going to happen (laughing).  It was a trip.

RR:  Anyone out there that you would love to collaborate with?

MK:  Oh man there’s so many guys out there that I respect.  I’m a massive Gary Clark Jr. fan, I think he’s incredible.  I love Rival Sons, Jay Buchanan is one of my favorite singers, love Jay.  I could just go on and on.  I’m such a fanboy.  I love the Gojira guys. 

RR:  Gojira, I recently read an interview with you and you stated Gojira is one of the most important metal bands right now.

MK:  Yeah, it’s subjective.  For me I’d say Gojira and I would say Mastodon as well are my two favorites.

RR:  I’m sure this won’t be easy but give me your top five records.

MK:  Top five records period, of all time for me?

RR:  Yes.

MK:  Grace by Jeff Buckley, Highway to Hell by AC/DC, What’s Going On by Marvin Gay, Ingenue by k.d. lang and lets throw in something heavy Van Halen I, not really heavy but it’s bad ass.

RR:  Has fame got to a point with you that it’s difficult to go out in public? Or are you relatively unnoticed?

MK:  I go absolutely unnoticed and I love it (laughing).  It’s great.  I can do whatever, it’s awesome.  My wife and I just went on a walk and we were talking about how we have a great wonderful existence because I can go out and tour and make music.  Then I can comeback home and have a very fulfilling regular life.  It’s awesome.

RR:  One last question, I’m curious every time I see you onstage, in interviews or in person you always seem to have this very upbeat, laid-back personality.  Do you ever get pissed off?

MK:  Oh sure, I’m human I’ve got plenty of flaws but I try to balance it with staying positive and being grateful.

RR:  Well I’d have to say you’re one of the nicest guys in rock and roll and fans appreciate that and we appreciate the latest record, Walk The Sky, another monster hit by Alter Bridge.  Any final words for the fans?

MK:  Just a sincere thank you for embracing the new record and have made it so we can continue to make music.  We are beyond lucky, we applaud you for it, thank you.

RR:  Thank you Myles and good luck with the tour and new album Walk The Sky.

MK:  Sounds great Brett thanks brother.

INTERVIEW: MYLES KENNEDY OF ALTER BRIDGE was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

[racingtoaredlight]

A Selection of Fender Tweed Amps

Every single one of you has heard a Fender Tweed amp before.  There’s no way that you haven’t.  I guarantee...guaran-damn-tee...that all of you have heard one of these five songs before.

The magic of the Fender Tweed amps (various models) is in how they break up.  It doesn’t matter if it’s the smallest model (5-watt, 1x8″ speaker Champ) or the biggest (80-watt, 2x12″ speaker High-Powered Twin), they all break up fast with this beautiful harmonic complexity.  All of them had different circuits which made the controls act in different ways, but if there was a defining feature amongst all of them, the early break up would be it.  I guess other defining features would be the “briefcase tweed” used to cover the amps, and all the cabinets are made out of pine...

Anyways, today we’re going to focus on five of the tweed amps...the Champ, Deluxe, Bandmaster, Bassman and High-Powered Twin.  

***

THE CHAMP

Where Tweeds made their hay was in the studio.  The smallest of the tweed amps, the Champ, is one of the most valuable.  Featuring nothing more than a volume (and later tone) control, this amp did one thing, and one thing only.  And it did it so well that it’s almost ubiquitous in classic rock recordings.  Here’s a great example, both Clapton and Duane Allman used Champs...but if you want some other good ones off the top of my head, think ZZ Top’s “La Grange” or Joe Walsh’s “Funk #49.”

At 5-watts, with an 8″ speaker, the Champ was overdriven simply by turning it on.  It was designed to be an at-home practice amp, and it’ll get completely eaten up in a band situation...but for recording?  It’s almost impossible to beat.

***

THE DELUXE

My favorite of the Tweeds that we’re talking about today (my personal favorite is the unsung Fender Tweed Pro, a 35-watt, 1x15″ speaker amp that has a little more juice so it can stay clean when playing at band volumes).

There were amps between the size of the Champ and Deluxe, but the Deluxe became the king because of it’s versatility.  At a crazy-loud 15-watts with a 12″ speaker, a Deluxe can hang in a band situation and not get overwhelmed while still cranking out that beautiful overdrive at reasonable volumes.

The best known user of the Deluxe is session god Larry Carlton.  Carlton was called to play on Donald Fagen’s (of Steely Dan) solo album, which was recording in New York City.  When Carlton arrived from LA, he figured that he’d just rent an amp from one of the hundreds of available places...but when Fagen saw him walk into the studio with just his ES-335, he asked Carlton “why didn’t you bring your amp?”  Fagen sent out to have Carlton’s 1955 Deluxe overnighted that same day.

The MOST well known user is Neil Young.  Anything electric you’ve heard by Neil Young...live or recorded...was likely done on Whizzer feeding into his Tweed Deluxe.

***

THE BANDMASTER

Out of all the Tweeds, the Bandmaster is the most rare, and the most expensive.

3x10″ speakers is a somewhat odd configuration...offering what would seemingly be the worst of both worlds...narrow dispersion and lack of defined bass EQ.  This wasn’t the case at all, somehow.  I don’t know how, but they’re universally lauded and seemingly offer all of the great qualities of tweed amps without any downsides.

Pete Townshend got his Bandmaster (and Gretsch Country Gentleman) as a gift from Joe Walsh right before this album was recorded.  Townshend used both extensively on the album.

***

THE BASSMAN

Hendrix might have been famous for using Marshall amps...

But those Marshall amps he was using?  They’re essentially the Fender Bassman copied by a British guy who used el34 power tubes because 6v6′s and 6L6′s weren’t available in the UK.  And Jimi was anything but loyal to equipment anyways...he used any guitar he could grab, any amp he could plug into and then just destroyed them.

And, in the studio, Hendrix used a Fender Bassman to record the Voodoo’s.  If you want some other examples...anything Buddy Guy, anything Brian Setzer, anything off SRV’s In Step, anything Robbie Robertson played on The Last Waltz, or any Merle Haggard.

The Bassman was the big brother of the Tweeds in spirit (not in size).  While it couldn’t match either of the Twins (Low- and High-Powered) in terms of raw beef, it made up for with smarts.  The second cleanest of the Tweeds (2x10″ Vibrolux is the only one that truly stays at least relatively clean)...and the only one with a mid EQ control...the Bassman, an amp originally designed for bassists, turned out to be the most versatile by far.

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THE HI-POWERED TWIN

If you’ve heard the Rolling Stones, you’ve heard a Fender High-Powered Tweed Twin.

This was the amp designed for musicians on tour, back in the days where there weren’t great PA systems and guitarists needed sheer muscle to project sound.  If you needed muscle, there was almost no better amp at the time (until Marshalls really started cranking out giant amps).  And as we’ve caught up in technology, the High-Powered Twin remains a fantastic, versatile amp that has a place in modern music...where I’m not sure we can say the same thing about giant Marshall stacks.

Pumping out 80-watts through 2x12″ speakers, the High-Powered Twin still managed to break up relatively quickly, at volumes that didn’t blow up ear drums.  All those characteristics of Tweed amps was still there...just BIGGER.

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CONCLUSION

Fender Tweed amps are the fucking shit.

They don’t have a lot of bells and whistles, rarely have anything more than a few EQ knobs and volume, but what you get out of them is nothing short of perfection.  Anything they’re missing can be made up with pedals, a testament to how forward thinking Leo Fender’s designs were, given that the circuitry he pioneered in the early 1950′s is so able to serve as a platform for modern technologies.

And while they might seem quirky, or antiquated, or a relic of days past...the truth is they’re better than just about 95% of the amps designed after.  When you listen to some of the greatest music recorded from the early 50′s onward, a lot of what you’re listening to is coming out of a Fender Tweed.

This was just a few examples of Tweeds.  Getting into the circuits themselves, and how they work in practical situations, might take weeks to get through.

[ulyssessklein]

Brotherhood of the Guitar: Jacob Reese Thornton

Interview by: Rick Landers

Jacob Thornton Reese: Image courtesy of Robert M. Knight.

With hot young talent waiting in the wings, like Jacob Reese Thornton, it won’t be long before a new generation of guitarists will rearrange the musical landscape from theatrics and synthetic musical hype, and take it back to gut level guitar work grounded in traditional roots, but with a willingness and a drive to explore more than the pentatonic scale.

With a nod to tradition and a bent toward split second riffs, Thornton reworked some Chuck Berry terraforms into a heavy fueled Christmas romp of his own making, “Run, Rudolph, Run” (Marks & Brodie).  And even that’s a grab at tradition that was explored by the likes of The Beach Boys, The Beatles and others who couldn’t resist Chuck’s foundational licks.

Jacob Reese Thornton is a 15 year old songwriter and guitar prodigy based in South Florida. Jacob writes and plays rock and blues with precision, depth and a passion that belies his age. Jacob first picked up the guitar at age 9, and has hardly put it down since. Check out Thornton’s track, “Bombs Away” to get a fix on the lad’s guitar skills and talents, as well as his ability to capture center stage as well as many well-known front men.

Thanks to a number of outstanding musical mentors, Jacob quickly developed a reputation as a gifted up and coming young artist. Jacob has traded licks onstage with blues legend Buddy Guy, and his remarkable live videos have collectively received nearly 1 million views on social media.

Jacob’s varied influences include Stevie Ray Vaughan, Elmore James, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Chuck Berry, Dire Straits, Neil Young, Foo Fighters, Cheap Trick, Joan Jett, the Ramones, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, the Allman Brothers Band, the Clash and Miles Davis, among many others.

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Rick Landers: Well, here comes Christmas and I see you’ve covered those snowy tracks with a Chuck Berry laden romp, “Run, Rudolph, Run”.  I dug the spirit of your song and your break crunched along with great angst, but really mostly a fun romp. What brought that on and were you able to pull that lead In during the session or did you have it in your hip pocket already?

Jacob Reese Thornton: Thanks! I’m a big Chuck Berry fan and Rudolph is a fun song I used to throw into my live set around the holidays.  It was a blast to make. My friend Bryce Kretz did an amazing job on the drums, and I pretty much did everything else.  The solo was mapped on the fly. I just went with what felt right. What I like most about the track are the rhythm parts. The main riff is two guitars blended and panned, one of which is in an open tuning.  It gives it a chainsaw sound, which I love. I’m stoked it’s gotten a good reception and even some radio airplay.

Rick: Learning guitar has come a long way from dropping the needle on a 45 over and over again until you figured out the licks to today, where there’s Youtube, in-person lessons, figuring out licks with friends and more. What and who were you able you able to draw from to figured out how to run up and down the neck?

Jacob Reese Thornton: Yeah, there are lots of options for learning.  When I started, I would play along with my favorite songs and first try to figure it out myself. It was a challenge.  If I couldn’t, then I would go to YouTube. I listened to lot of different stuff like Green Day, Lindsey Buckingham, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, etcetera.  

Billie Joe Armstrong is a great place to start with guitar because a lot of his songs are just three power chords and the truth! I also began playing live at a young age, with older musicians who taught me a lot.  I learned that what not to play is just as important, and to seek tone before speed. I see a lot of young players hide behind distortion or expression pedals. My teacher, Fritz Dorigo, always emphasized tone and precision. If the note sounds great let it hang a little longer, you know?

Jason Reese Thornton – Image courtesy of Robert M. Knight.

Rick: Were any members of your family inspirational or helping you follow your dream to make a hobby a profession?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  My parents have a massive music collection. I went deep into that at a young age. My great grandmother owned a recording studio and small indie label in Nashville in the late ’60s, and my great aunt was a Nashville based musician in her day.  So, I guess it’s running around in my DNA somewhere. My family are all extremely supportive.

Rick: There’s a whole world of music out there to draw from, as well as music from the past hundred years. African, Ukraine, Navajo…all kinds of music, and then there’s classic rock. Have you explored or considered where you might find inspiration, in places that are culturally different from your own roots?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  I like accessible classic jazz, like Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue and John Coltrane’s stuff.  I’m not a big fan of experimental jazz or fusion. Basically, I love rock and roll music. Big drums, guitars, and sweeping melodies. That’s what appeals to me. I’m into open tunings these days and discovering those possibilities.

I’m also a blues fan.  I am always searching for a song that grabs me right away and makes the hair on my arms stand up. Noel Gallagher does that for me. He is my favorite songwriter right now, especially his recent High Flying Birds stuff. Lindsey Buckingham does that for me too with his guitar playing. He’s from another planet.

Rick: How did “Bombs Away” come about and how did you meet Bob Kulick and Bobby Ferrari – What have they been like to work with? And how’s the song doing – getting a good reception and good air play?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  “Bombs Away” is the oldest song on the record, and one of the first tunes I ever wrote. Stylistically, it is kind of a nod to Joan Jett, who I also love. That’s the “in your face” cut on the record. It’s about being brave enough to suffer the consequences of sharing hard truths. Sometimes things need to be said.  

I met Bob and Bobby through rock photographer Robert M. Knight. They were both so supportive of my writing and took off the kid gloves. It was hard work but I learned a ton from them. Even though I’m a lead player, one big take away from my time with Bob was rhythm guitar dynamics. He taught me a lot about that, and it changed the way I approach things. I will always be grateful for that experience.  

Rick: Let’s talk a little about gear. What’s your “go to” guitar at home and what are you using on stage? Amps? Effects? Cowbell?

Jacob Reese Thornton: Cowbell is obviously my go to instrument! [Laughs].  My main guitar for writing is a 2012 Martin EC28 acoustic, which I modified with a Fishman pickup.  I do all my writing with that guitar, and use it live and in the studio. That guitar is rarely out of reach and will be with me for life.  Almost lost it recently though. Someone broke into our car on the way to a Nashville gig. They stole an iPad, but overlooked the Martin, thank God!  

In terms of electric, I have several main ones set up for different songs. Most of the Different Times LP was cut with an Ernie Ball Music Man Cutlass HSS.  I am also a big fan of P90 pickups and have a few Les Paul, Jr.’s. I’ll reach for those when I want something that roars, and sometimes will use those for slide.  I like the Telecasters for open tunings or a bit of twang.

As far as amps, it depends. I actually love the Kemper Profiling Amp. My live set requires a number of different tones, which I profiled through the Kemper.  It makes it easy to quickly shift between them. If I am pushing air, I’ll use either a Marshall Jubilee reissue or an old Fender Deluxe blackface. As for pedals, I mostly get by with a Boss Blues Driver overdrive, a Boss delay and an MXR flanger. Acoustically, I am a big fan of the Fishman TonedEQ.

Rick: How did you wind up working with rock photographer and co-founder of the Brotherhood of the Guitar, Robert M. Knight?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  Robert is the dude.  He reached out to my Dad when I was 13, after he put up a video of me playing a Stevie Ray Vaughan instrumental. The clip got some attention from the social media rock magazines, which is how he found us.  Robert is an amazing person and, of course, a legendary rock photographer. And the stories! He has had a front row seat to so much music history. He continues to help so many young musicians like me.

Robert recently introduced me to Slash and Steve Lukather, and it was obvious how much both of those guys like and respect him. He has opened doors for so many players.  If you have not yet read it, get Robert’s latest photography book, Rock Gods, Vol. 2, which just came out. It’s incredible.

Rick: The music business is a lot about connections and Robert has those, but I found if you don’t have the talent, you need to up your game to become a “Brother”, or “Sister” of The Brotherhood. How did you prove yourself to Robert to get on board?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  I guess you would have to ask him that. I keep trying to do what I do to the best of my ability.  The level of talent in the Brotherhood roster is humbling, to say the least. I’m just grateful to be a part of it. It provides a way for younger more players around the world to find each other and even collaborate, which is really important.

  Jason Reese Thornton – Image courtesy of Robert M. Knight.

Rick: Did he pull you out of oblivion or were you already working on some kind of heavy fueled ambition and strategy that was working for you?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  Well, Robert has obviously opened some doors.  He also introduced me to my amazing manager, Michelle Bakker, who is super connected herself.  I’m super grateful for both of them, and for all of the mentors I was blessed to have an early age who helped and encouraged me.  I knew early that playing guitar and writing songs inspired me more than anything else. I do this first because it’s what I love to do.  As long as it comes across as honest and authentic – even if it’s not for them – then I’ve succeeded.

Rick: Your career seems to be moving at a solid fast pace, have you been surprised at anything about the industry that you’ve found very surprising or interesting?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  Well, I think everyone knows there is a tidal wave of B.S. to navigate, even at a local level.  I saw that early on. There are people with agendas who tell you what you want to hear, then twist a knife when you aren’t looking.  So many people are struggling to be seen and heard in this business; to be recognized. I’m not always comfortable with the self-promotional stuff you have to do either.

But, musicians live and die by social media these days. The most disappointing thing is that the industry doesn’t seem to invest in developing new talent. And it abandoned guitar based music in favor of music made by computers. I never understood how a DJ could make 10,000 people scream with a laptop. I believe art must be made by human hands. Its okay if it is not perfect, because people aren’t perfect.

Rick: I suspect it’s easy to let one’s ego get ahead of you when others are telling you you’re phenomenal. Do you believe them straight away or are you cautious to keep things grounded, and real? Tough to do?

Jacob Reese Thornton: I definitely wouldn’t believe anything like that at all.  It’s easy for me to stay grounded, because I know what my strengths and weaknesses are.  I have a solid team, a great family and friends who keep me smart and push me to strive for the next level.  

Rick: From what I can tell you’re getting some experience-based mentoring from top performers, producers, and a solid management team. Do they ever suggest you take a breather or go slow sometimes to let some things grow organically or are you wanting to be on a fast track?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  I’ve been lucky that way and am thankful for them.  I’m just doing what makes me happy and inspires me. We are not trying to chase anything too much.  What’s meant to happen will happen in its own time. Of course, I would love nothing more than a life of creating music that people relate to.  To make a decent living doing that would be such a blessing. That’s a dream that I share with a million other young musicians [Laughs]. It’s pretty crowded down here!

Rick: Okay, you’ve gotta tell us what it was like hanging with the legendary Buddy Guy, assuming you two had the chance to trade licks or just chat and chew a bit.

Jacob Reese Thornton: When I was 12, I went to a concert of his.  During a quiet moment from the front row I asked if I could play.  He stared at me for a second and said “Come on up here young man.” A crew member handed me a spare Strat. The next thing I knew I was on stage trading licks with him. It was a intimidating because I had only been playing for a few years at that point. But, it was an awesome moment I will never forget.  

Buddy split pretty quickly after the show, but he chatted with us briefly and was very kind and encouraging. I wish I could do it again now!