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theshedding · 3 years

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Lil Nas X: Country Music, Christianity & Reclaiming HELL

I don’t typically bother myself to follow what Lil Nas X is doing from day to day, or even month to month but I do know that his “Old Town Road” hit became one of the biggest selling/streamed records in Country Music Business history (by a Black Country & Queer artist). “Black” is key because for 75+ years Country music has unsuspiciously evolved into a solidly White-identified genre (despite mixed and Indian & Black roots). Regrettably, Country music is also widely known for anti-black, misogynoir, reliably homophobic (Trans isn’t really a conversation yet), Christian and Hard Right sentiments on the political spectrum. Some other day I will venture into more; there is a whole analysis dying to be done on this exclusive practice in the music industry with its implications on ‘access’ to equity and opportunity for both Black/POC’s and Whites artists/songwriters alike. More commentary on this rigid homogeneous field is needed and how it prohibits certain talent(s) for the sake of perpetuating homogeneity (e.g. “social determinants” of diversity & viable artistic careers). I’ll refrain from discussing that fully here, though suffice it to say that for those reasons X’s “Old Town Road” was monumental and vindicating.

As for Lil Nas X, I’m not particularly a big fan of his music; but I see him, what he’s doing, his impact on music + culture and I celebrate him using these moments to affirm his Black, Queer self, and lifting up others. Believe it or not, even in the 2020′s, being “out” in the music business is still a costly choice. As an artist it remains much easier to just “play straight”. And despite appearances, the business (particularly Country) has been dragged kicking and screaming into developing, promoting and advancing openly-affirming LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 artists in the board room or on-stage. Though things are ‘better’ we have not yet arrived at a place of equity or opportunity for queer artists; for the road of music biz history is littered with stunted careers, bodies and limitations on artists who had no option but to follow conventional ways, fail or never be heard of in the first place. With few exceptions, record labels, radio and press/media have successfully used fear, intimidation, innuendo and coercion to dilute, downplay or erase any hint of queer identity from its performers. This was true even for obvious talents like Little Richard.

(Note: I’m particularly speaking of artists in this regard, not so much the hairstylists, make-up artists, PA’s, etc.)

_____

Which is why...in regard to Lil Nas X, whether you like, hate or love his music, the young brother is a trailblazer. His very existence protests (at least) decades of inequity, oppression and erasure. X aptly critiques a Neo-Christian Fascist Heteropatriarchy; not just in American society but throughout the Music Business and with Black people. That is no small deal. His unapologetic outness holds a mirror up to Christianity at-large, as an institution, theology and practice. The problem is they just don’t like what they see in that mirror.

In actuality, “Call Me By Your Name”, Lil Nas X’s new video, is a twist on classic mythology and religious memes that are less reprehensible or vulgar than the Biblical narratives most of us grew up on vís-a-vís indoctrinating smiles of Sunday school teachers and family prior to the “age of reason”. Think about the narratives blithely describing Satan’s friendly wager with God regarding Job (42:1-6); the horrific “prophecies” in St. John’s Book of Revelation (i.e. skies will rain fire, angels will spit swords, mankind will be forced to retreat into caves for shelter, and we will be harassed by at least three terrifying dragons and beasts. Angels will sound seven trumpets of warning, and later on, seven plagues will be dumped on the world), or Jesus’s own clarifying words of violent intent in Matthew (re: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” 10:34). Whether literal or metaphor, these age old stories pale in comparison to a three minute allegorical rap video. Conservatives: say what you will, I’m pretty confident X doesn’t take himself as seriously as “The true and living God” from the book of Job.

A little known fact as it is, people have debunked the story and evolution of Satan and already offered compelling research showing [he] is more of a literary device than an actual entity or “spirit” (Spoiler: In the Bible, Satan does not take shape as an actual “bad” person until the New Testament). In fact, modern Christianity’s impression of the “Devil” is shaped by conflating Hellenized mythology with a literary tradition rooted in Dante’s Inferno and accompanying spooks and superstitions going back thousands of years. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Scientologist, Atheist or Agnostic, we’ve spent a lifetime with these predominant icons and clichés. (Resource: Prof. Bart D. Erhman, “Heaven & Hell”).

So Here’s THE PROBLEM: The current level of fear and outrage is:

(1) Unjust, imposing and irrational.

(2) Disproportionate when taken into account a lifetime of harmful Christian propaganda, anti-gay preaching and political advocacy.

(3) Historically inaccurate concerning the existence of “Hell” and who should be scared of going there.

Think I’m overreacting?

Examples:

Institutionalized Homophobia (rhetoric + policy)

Anti-Gay Ministers In Life And Death: Bishop Eddie Long And Rev. Bernice King

Black, gay and Christian, Marylanders struggle with Conflicts

Harlem pastor: 'Obama has released the homo demons on the black man'

Joel Olsteen: Homosexuality is “Not God’s Best”

Bishop Brandon Porter: Gays “Perverted & Lost...The Church of God in Christ Convocation appears like a ‘coming out party’ for members of the gay community.”

Kim Burrell: “That perverted homosexual spirit is a spirit of delusion & confusion and has deceived many men & women, and it has caused a strain on the body of Christ”

Falwell Suggests Gays to Blame for 9-11 Attacks

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

Pope Francis: Gay People Not Welcome in Clergy

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

The Pope and Gay People: Nothing’s Changed

The Catholic church silently lobbied against a suicide prevention hotline in the US because it included LGBT resources

Mormon church prohibits Children of LGBT parents to be baptized

Catholic Charity Ends Adoptions Rather Than Place Kid With Same-Sex Couple

I Was a Religious Zealot That Hurt People-Coming Out as Gay: A Former Conversion Therapy Leader Is Apologizing to the LGBTQ Community

The above short list chronicles a consistent, literal, demonization of LGBTQ people, contempt for their gender presentation, objectification of their bodies/sexuality and a coordinated pollution of media and culture over the last 50+ years by clergy since integration and Civil Rights legislation. Basically terrorism. Popes, Bishops, Pastors, Evangelists, Politicians, Television hosts, US Presidents, Camp Leaders, Teachers, Singers & Entertainers, Coaches, Athletes and Christians of all types all around the world have confused and confounded these issues, suppressed dissent, and confidently lied about LGBT people-including fellow Queer Christians with impunity for generations (i.e. “thou shall not bear false witness against they neighbor” Ex. 23:1-3). Christian majority viewpoints about “laws” and “nature” have run the table in discussions about LGBTQ people in society-so much that we collectively must first consider their religious views in all discussions and the specter of Christian approval -at best or Christian condescension -at worst. That is Christian (and straight) privilege. People are tired of this undue deference to religious opinions.

That is what is so deliciously bothersome about Lil Nas X being loud, proud and “in your face” about his sexuality. If for just a moment, he not only disrupts the American hetero-patriarchy but specifically the Black hetero-patriarchy, the so-called “Black Church Industrial Complex”, Neo-Christian Fascism and a mostly uneducated (and/or miseducated) public concerning Ancient Near East and European history, superstitions-and (by extension) White Supremacy. To round up: people are losing their minds because the victim decided to speak out against his victimizer.

Additionally, on some level I believe people are mad at him being just twenty years old, out and FREE as a self-assured, affirming & affirmed QUEER Black male entertainer with money and fame in the PRIME of his life. We’ve never, or rarely, seen that before in a Black man in the music business and popular culture. But that’s just too bad for them. With my own eyes I’ve watched straight people, friends, Christians, enjoy their sexuality from their elementary youth to adolescence, up and through college and later marriages, often times independently of their spouses (repeatedly). Meanwhile Queer/Gay/SGL/LGBTQ people are expected to put their lives on hold while the ‘blessed’ straight people run around exploring premarital/post-marital/extra-marital sex, love and affection, unbound & un-convicted by their “sin” or God...only to proudly rebrand themselves later in life as a good, moral “wholesome Christian” via the ‘sacred’ institution of marriage with no questions asked.

Inequality defined.

For Lil Nas X, everything about the society we've created for him in the last 100+ years (re: links above) has explicitly been designed for his life not to be his own. According to these and other Christians (see above), his identity is essentially supposed to be an endless rat fuck of internal confusion, suicide-ideation, depression, long-suffering, faux masculinity, heterosexism, groveling towards heaven, respectability politics, failed prayer and supplication to a heteronormative earthly and celestial hierarchy unbothered in affording LGBT people like him a healthy, sane human development. It’s almost as if the Conservative establishment (Black included) needs Lil Nas X to be like others before him: “private”, mysteriously single, suicidal, suspiciously straight or worse, dead of HIV/AIDS ...anything but driving down the street enjoying his youth as a Black Queer artist and man. So they mad about that?

Well those days are over.

-Rogiérs is a writer, international recording artist, performer and indie label manager with 25+ years in the music industry. He also directs Black Nonbelievers of DC, a non-profit org affiliated with the AHA supporting Black skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics & Humanists. He holds a B.A. in Music Business & Mgmt and a M.A. in Global Entertainment & Music Business from Berklee College of Music and Berklee Valencia, Spain. www.FibbyMusic.net Twitter/IG: @Rogiers1

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Pinky and the Brain: Brain’s Song Review or Why You Hatin on Bruce Willis? (Comissioned by BlahDiddy)

Hello, Hello, Hello you wonderful people! It’s back to the Animaniacs Cinematic Unvierse for some more pinky, pinky and the brain brain brain brain brain, as I still have those two christmas reviews left in the queue. And since I went over the ins and outs of the characters history last time, we can just get right to it.

We open in Acme Labs, where Brain, tired of pinky’s antics is trying to a clockwork orange him into being emotionless by having him watch some emotional stuff. We also get some good gags but as usual for coveirng this show I can’t stop and cover every one, but this is a damn funny episode Point is Brain tries showing him things like evil kenivel and prscilla presley’s dear john letter to micheal jackson.. this episode has not aged well in places and we will get to that. Point is Pinky’s already tearing up when we get to a pastiche of the lion king but with tigers, which naturally opens the flood gates.. but in a nice twist it’s for BOTH of them. Brain despite himself can’t help sobbing and leaning into his buddy and the two hug. awwww. Pinky tells him there’s no shame in it as “No one can resist emotionally manipulative story telling with a sad score.. except maybe g gordon liddy”.. I don’t get that last part, but the rest is really funny and naturally gives brain an idea: to make his OWN emotionally manipulative film. to make people so depressed they can’t do anything and wil lhand him the world. Making a supercut of bojack horseman’s gutpunching moments would be faster but neither supercuts nor that show exist yet so he’s left to instead write a pastiche of the movie Brian’s Song. Brian’s Song is a tv movie about football players Brian Picollo and Gale Sayers, two star football players in college. According to tv tropes the two start out as rivals, become friends, Picollo helps Sayers recover from an injury.. then Sayers stays by Picolllo’s side as he slowly subcumbs to cancer. I only vaugely remembered it from I love the 80s and that it made people sad. Look i’ll go to the moon and back for comissions, even ones given out as a gift, but I draw the line at watching an entire 70′s tv movie, even with the unstoppably cool Billy Dee Williams starring in it as Sayers. I have limits.. and a best episodes of the year list to work on/watch the last few episodes for. I gotta draw a line somewhere. That said.. this team knows how to do GOOD parody: i.e. you shoudln’t have to know the thing being parodied to get it, it just makes it even funnier. So while the Brian’s Song parody is lost on me, it still works as schmaltzy sports movies captalizing on real life events never died. SOMEHOW. Please stop hollywood, please, I know i’m not a sports guy but even that aside we don’t need any more. Or if your not going to at least give us a revivial of friday night lights. That’s how you make me care about sports. SO it still works well. What dosen’t is most of the next bit, where our boys head off to hollywood. And look some bits are really funny: Brain having a rat tail and goatee

Don’t ask me why, pinky, who weirdly dosen’t have his own mechanical human suit, as his agent, it’s good. And what’s GREAT is the two pitching the film to tom hanks, the nicest guy in hollywood, only for him to throw a tantrum and demand they call him lord ruler. Given Hanks is STILL the nicest guy in hollywood to this day.. the joke is sitll hilarious, helped by the fact he’s one of my mom’s faviorite actors, so i’ve grown up with the guy my whole life. Love the guy genuinely great stuff, easily on par with that bit from the simpsons movie. But the issue is.. that’s the ONLY funny gag for the next three minutes, as Brain pitches it to bruce wilis, who is on board till demi reminds him he has to watch the kids and stuff. GET IT BECAUSE HE’S A FAMILY MAN... LAUGH, LAUGH AT HIM BEING A RESPONSIBLE AND LOVING PARENT LAUGGGHGHHH. Seriously Bruce Williams is awesome what the hell man. It gets no better as we get an unfunny montage of eveyrone turning down brain including Donny Most, as he just rose from the haze

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Sunday Monday, happy days. Point is that one bit was funnier than the handful of minutes of my life i’m not getting back. Seriously a fourth of the episode is wasted on thiis and the bruce willis bit combined. Why. The ONLY funny part is the ending where they get rejected by vanilla ice.. which is only funny now because he’s since made a small career in film showing up in Adam Sandler films, so his threshold for being in shit films is low. Then again his musical talent took a steep decline.. yes it somehow got worse.

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Just in case you think I was bullshitting you. Point is no one will star in Brain’s film or help fund it so he decides to go full wiseau and make it himself. So our heroes head home and we get some great bits in how they put it together. Brain INTENDS for Meadowlark Lemon, who I somehow knew was a Harlem Globetrotter, and who Brain taught to play his sidekick.. but he backs out so PInky gets the part afterall. Why? I don’t know.. seriously the joke dosen’t even remotely synch up. The only things he and bill dee share are being black and if that’s the reason they wanted to shove a globetrotter in this...

Yeah. Thankfully we’re past the poorly aged bits of this as the rest of the episode .. is just nonstop hilarity. There’s just too many jokes to go over, but some of hte best include: Brain’s hairpiece, mimicing Jame’s Caan, which is made of lint, Pinky having to wear stilts for one scene, using a treadmill to mimic walking, pinky finding great sets by raiding the garage finding a barbie playset for the hospital room and a game of electric football for the field. Huh I think ken burns made a documentary on that once.

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That’s also the only reason I know what Electric Football is.. also how did pinky carry all of that. Questions for later. Point is it’s just one clever gag after the next and you really DON’T need to know Brian’s Song to find this uproriously hilarious. Our heroes also flim it live, hyjacking the airwaves not to offer wishes but to air the film. Again the film is just one long string of great gags, no question so I’m not recapping it. But it works and the world leaders are too bummed out to do anything. Insert your own 2020 joke here. But in a nice chekovs callback Brain sustained injuries being on the electric football set, so he vibrates at inportune times, thus causing everyone to laugh, foiling his plan> It’s a great payoff and I do like how, as I mentioned in my last pinky and the brain review, it’s often Brain’s own fault and not ALWAYS just “pinky screws up” like I remembered. Here his insitance on doing the scene again and again depsite the risk and not acknowlding his pain screws him over.

Final Thoughts; This is a pretty good episode. Despite the down spot the last half of it is just so damn funny, again I coudln’t properly recap it because it was just one long string of great jokes and set pieces, and trasncends the film i’ts parodying. Worth a watch if you have hulu just fast forward a bit after the tom hanks bit. Also that was Dave Colier, aka terrible replacment venkman aka uncle joey aka that guy who somehow had sex with alanis morsette but is probably not the one that song is about. It was about Alf, wake up people. And for now I bid you all goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

#pinky and the brain #pinky #the brain #maurice lamarche #rob paulsen #brain's song #football #bruce willis #vanillia ice #tom hanks #brian's song

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rubysunnday · 4 years

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Would you ever write a part 3 to Runaways? Maybe where the shelbys find them in America?

Runaways, part 3

A/N: Ask and you shall receive (I sound like a genie)

The first few months were hell.

The only apartment you could afford was a dingy, dark, damp flat in Harlem that never saw the sun. Finn struggled to find a job and you struggled to keep the only job you’d found - cleaning the apartments of the rich uptown.

It’d all changed when, four months after you’d arrived, an envelope filled with cash landed on your door matt.

“Finn?” You called, reading the scrap of paper that’d been included with the envelope.

“Huh?”

You handed Finn the envelope and the scrap of paper, wrapping an arm around his waist. “She knows where we are.”

Finn smiled. “Good. We can find somewhere in Greenwich or Uptown, now.”

“Or we could go somewhere else?”

Finn looked down at you. “Would you want to leave New York?”

You shrugged. “Well, there is this one house...”

Finn chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Ah, that’s the reason you want to stay, is it?”

You smiled up at him. “New York’s alright, I suppose. It’s got charm.” You chuckled. “It reminds me of Birmingham - and when I say that I mean all the bad things about Birmingham. The smell, the smog, the shit everywhere -”

“The rats?”

You giggled. “The rats.”

Finn sighed. “Do you ever miss it?”

“All the time,” you replied quietly. “But we can’t go back, Finn. Even if we wanted to.”

Finn nodded sadly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I know. But, if she knows...do you think everyone else has come round?”

“Maybe.” You paused, thinking. “Would you want to tell them where we are?”

Finn shrugged. “Maybe later, once we’ve moved.”

“If we move.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay with the rats, sweetheart, but I would like to sleep somewhere that isn’t trying to kill me.”

~ 0 ~

The house you had your eye on was actually a small cottage on the outskirts of uptown. It was surrounded by beautiful fields filled with flowers and orchards and came with a stable.

You and Finn had bought the house and, with the left over money, bought two horses for the stables.

Two months after moving in, you discovered that you were pregnant.

Eight months later, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

“She’s gorgeous, y/n,” Finn said softly as your daughter gripped onto his pinky finger. “She’s so, so beautiful.”

You smiled at your husband as he stared down at your daughter. “What do you want to call her?”

Finn looked up at you. “You’re letting me chose her name?”

“If you're sensible,” you replied, smirking.

Finn looked down at his daughter again, gently stroking her nose. “Peggy.”

You nodded. “Peggy Esme Shelby?”

Finn looked up at you, eyes filled with tears. “Are you sure?”

“She was just as important to me as she was to you. If John could be a female name I’d have called her that, my love.”

Finn kissed you, smiling. “We’ll just have to have another baby.”

“Ah, fuck now, I don’t really want to be pushing another 8 pound human out my vagina.”

Finn laughed. “Alright, alright.” He smirked. “I’ll ask you again in a year.”

~ 0 ~

“I cannot believe you let this happen,” you muttered.

Finn chuckled as he gently rocked his son in his arms. “I told you.”

“You didn't have to carry him around for nine months and fucking push him out,” you grumbled, stroking your two year old daughter’s hair as she slept next to you.

“I've been thinking,” Finn said quietly, sitting down on the bed next to you.

“Oh, we know that’s not good for you,” you replied, smiling.

“Shush,” Finn said, gently nudging you. “Would you be ok with his name being John Arthur Shelby?”

You paused. “Are you sure?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah. If you’re alright with it?”

You reached up and put a hand on Finn’s cheek. “Finn, my love, it’s your decision. I love the name and if you’re alright with it, then that’s what we’ll call him.”

Finn smiled, leaning up and kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, kissing him back.

~ 0 ~

“If Tommy knew about this -”

“He’d either find it hilarious or be deeply insulted.”

You chuckled as Finn struggled to get the stallion you’d just bought into the field. “I cannot believe you’ve named the stallion, the most stubborn horse I’ve ever met, after your brother.”

Finn laughed. “It’s only suitable. A stubborn arsehole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“Tommy in a nutshell,” you summarised.

Finn finally managed to get the horse into the field and sighed happily as he shut the gate, walking over to you.

“Where’s Peggy and John?”

“In the field with the lambs,” you replied, nodding to where your five year old daughter and your two year old son were playing with the lambs. “Why?”

Finn sighed, his hand snaking around your waist. “I think we should go to Birmingham.”

You looked up at him. “Move or visit?”

Finn paused. “Visit. I love our life here, Y/N, I do but...I miss them.”

You nodded. “I know I didn’t know them for long but...I miss them too, Finn.” Your hand grasped his. “I think that Polly deserves to meet her grandniece and nephew too.”

“Are you sure?” Finn asked, resting his chin on your head.

“Yeah...it’s been almost six years, I’d hope they’ve moved on,” you replied. “And if it all works out, we can think about moving back. Because, despite what you say, Finn, my love, I know you hate America.”

“They’re so weird.”

“I know they are, Finn, I know.”

~ 0 ~

Birmingham hadn’t changed in the six years you’d been gone.

It was still as dirty, smoggy and as bleak as ever yet it still felt like home.

“Are you alright?” You asked, glancing at your husband as you walked down Watery Lane.

Finn nodded. “Fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“I agree with mummy,” Peggy piped up.

You chuckled at your daughter. “See, Peg’s agrees with me.”

Finn rolled his eyes at you and Peggy. “I’m just nervous, it’s been a while.”

“And we now have a son and a daughter and a farm.”

“When did our lives get so weird?” Finn asked, shaking his head.

Number 6 Watery Land came into view and Finn slowed down slightly.

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “We can do this, Finn,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I trust you.”

Finn nodded, squeezing your hand back. “Let’s do this.”

He stepped forward and knocked firmly on the black door. He stepped back and sighed nervously.

You glanced at Finn as the front door was unlocked and gave him a comforting smile.

Ada Thorne swung open the door and stare at you.

“Hi, Ada,” Finn said, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding his son’s.

“Holy shit,” Ada whispered, still staring. She took a step forward. “I...”

You smiled at her. “We were getting homesick and thought you deserved to meet your niece and nephew.”

Ada’s eyes turned to look at Peggy and John, moving back up to you and Finn. “Holy fucking hell,” she said again, stepping forward and hugging you and Finn tightly.

“We missed you too, Ada,” Finn muttered, resting his head on his sister’s shoulder as she hugged him.

Ada let go and crouched down, turning to face her niece and nephew. “And who’s this?”

You gently pulled Peggy forward. “This is Peggy Esme Shelby,” you said, your daughter hiding behind your legs slightly. “Peg’s, this is your Aunt Ada, the one we told you about.”

“Hi Auntie Ada,” Peggy said, smiling. She stepped forward and hugged Ada.

Ada looked up at you as she returned the hug and you chuckled quietly at the tears in her eyes. “Hi.”

“I’m John.”

You sighed. “Johnny, we’ve discussed this,” you said, glancing down at your son. “Wait your turn.”

Ada looked at John. “John what?”

“John Arthur Shelby,” your son said proudly, smiling as he hugged his aunt.

Ada glanced between you and Finn. “You named him after John and Arthur?”

“Finn’s idea,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “Felt like it was the best name for him.”

Ada smiled as she stood up. “I can’t believe you’re here. I...I just can’t.”

“Ada, what the fuck is taking so long?”

You laughed. “Arthur’s still here, then?”

“Can’t fucking get rid of him,” Ada muttered. “Do you want to come in?”

“We came all this way,” Finn replied, shrugging. “And I trust you.”

“I’ve got your back,” Ada told you, nodding.

She led you inside Number 6, shutting the door behind you.

“Finally!” Arthur exclaimed, his voice drifting to you from the shop. “Who the fuck was at the door?”

Ada stepped aside as you and Finn stood in the doorway, staring at the Shelby family.

Complete silence fell over the room.

“Holy shit,” Polly whispered, staring.

“I thought swearing was bad, mummy?” Peggy whispered, pulling on your skirt.

“Yeah, no, it is, Peggy,” you replied, crouching down. “But, Great Aunt Polly is a bit surprised...well, most of the people in the room are, probably.” You looked up at the surprised family. “Peggy, John, these are the Aunt’s and Uncle’s we’ve been telling you about.”

John stepped out from behind Finn. “Uncle Arthur?” He asked, pointing at Arthur. “The one who stole my name?”

Finn laughed. “We named you after him.”

John sulked. “Bit rude.”

Arthur blinked. “Fuck me,” he muttered, staring at your son. “Is he yours?”

“I fucking hope so,” you replied, standing up. “We were getting homesick and thought you all deserved the chance to meet the new Shelby's. I’m sorry about what happened and how we left things but we want to try and make amends.”

“You two didn’t do anything wrong,” Polly said, stepping forward and hugging you tightly. “We did.”

You hugged your Aunt - in - law tightly. “I missed you, Pol,” you whispered, resting your head against her.

“We missed you too, sweetheart,” Polly replied, letting go and kissing your forehead. “Finn, you look amazing.”

Finn laughed. “Thanks, Pol.”

Polly hugging you and Finn seemed to break the surprise and tension in the room and soon the rest of the family stepped forward.

“I’m sorry about before,” Arthur said, standing in front of you.

You grabbed his hand. “Arthur, it’s all in the past, love.” You stood on your tip - toes and hugged your brother - in - law tightly. “Besides, you’re the only family I’ve got left.”

Arthur hugged you back. “You were always a Shelby, sweetheart. Just took us a fucking long time to accept that.”

“What the fuck is happening?”

Arthur let go as Tommy’s booming voice echoed around the shop.

You didn’t miss the way Arthur stood slightly in front of you and Peggy, evidently wanting to shield you from Tommy if things went ugly.

“Hi, Tom,” Finn said, standing up straighter.

“Finn, Y/N, you’re back,” Tommy said, taking his coat off. “With children.”

You looked at Tommy. “Look, Tom, we wanted you all to have the chance to meet Peggy and John, your niece and nephew.”

Tommy stepped forward, cigarette between his fingers. “You named him after John?”

“And Arthur,” John piped up, emerging from behind Ada and walking up to Tommy and extending a hand. “Hi, Uncle Tom.”

You pressed your lips together as you struggled not to laugh.

Tommy raised an eyebrows as he crouched down in front of John. “Hello, John. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tommy said, shaking his nephew’s hand. He put his cigarette between his lips and lifted John up into his arms.

“So, you’re alright with me now?” You asked, watching him.

Tommy looked at you with a hint of a smile. “Y/N, I apologise for what happened in the past. But I want you to know that you’re welcome here whenever.”

You visibly relaxed, sighing quietly. “I’m glad.”

“I do have one complaint, however,” Tommy said, walking forward. “Why’s my respective child?”

You chuckled, glancing at Finn. “Ah, he’s back in America.”

Tommy frowned. “Oh, why?”

Finn snorted as you paused, trying to think of a way to explain it.

“Well,” Finn began, “we thought two were enough, so...”

“Your respective child is the new stallion we bought a month ago who’s a stubborn arsehole,” you finished, smiling. “Thought it was suitable.”

Tommy shook his head, smiling as the rest of the family burst out laughing. “A stubborn arsehole horse,” Tommy muttered, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “Seems perfect.”

You laughed. “We thought so too, Tommy.”

Peggy suddenly ran forward and hugged Tommy’s legs. “Hi Uncle Tommy.”

You sighed, despairingly. “Now she likes you.”

Arthur laughed, patting you on the back as he kissed your cheek. “Welcome home, y/n.”

You shook your head as Peggy and John began bombarding Tommy and Michael with questions, talking a million miles an hour.

“I really need a drink,” you muttered, dropping your head onto Arthur’s shoulder as Finn went to rescue his brother and cousin. “Preferably more than one.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #finn Shelby x reader #finn shelby

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Dust Volume 6, Number 13

Trees

It’s four in the afternoon and already getting dark, a foot of snow on the way. One year is nearly over — and yes, we’ve got some essays on that coming up after the holiday break — and another one is taking shape in our inboxes, mail chutes and hard drives. But for right now, let’s take another look at 2020, doubling back on the records that caught our ears without exactly fitting our schedules, the ones that almost got away. Here are the usual free improvisations and long drones, hip hop upstarts and cowpunk also-rans, a harpist, a cellist, a tabletop guitarist and at least one stellar punk record that has us hoping for sweaty live music again in 2021. Contributors this time included Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Andrew Forrell, Patrick Masterson, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Arthur Krumins, Ian Mathers and Ray Garraty, heck let’s call it a quorum, and see you again in the New Year.

Mac Blackout — Love Profess (Trouble In Mind)

Love Profess by Mac Blackout

Mac Blackout owes his surname to his membership in the Functional Blackouts. That’s a garage combo that was once the subject of an article about how they’d been banned from various venues on account of the destructive chaos of their live performances. But you can’t do that forever, and nowadays Mac’s a painter and solo recording artist. His latest sounds are unlikely to make anyone want to put a chair into the mirror behind the bar, but they might send you flipping through your record collection, looking for the sounds that you and he have in common. Love Profess opens with a burst of piano-pounding, sax-overblowing free jazz, but that lasts for about nine seconds before it gets swallowed by some John Bender-worthy synth throb. Give “Wandering Spheres” a couple more minutes, and Mr. Blackout goes full La Dusseldorf on us. By turns spacy, spooky and seriously compelled to vent nocturnal loneliness, this half-hour long LP is both as familiar and as unknown as a well-shuffled deck of cards.

Bill Meyer

Ross Birdwise — Perfect Failures (Never Anything)

Perfect Failures by Ross Birdwise

Vancouver-based electronic improviser Ross Birdwise rails against spatio-temporal norms. The concepts of tempo and rhythm are malleable in his universe. Architecturally, Birdwise is Antoni Gaudí, working in fluid lines to build incomprehensible structures. With Perfect Failures, he leaps even further away from the orthogonal grid of musical construction, dissolving beats into grains of sound. The warped rhythms found on Frame Drag are divested in favor of an approach that more resembles electroacoustic composition. As a matter of fact, the title track comes on like a digital recreation of a piece of classic musique concrète. Birdwise avoids venturing into purely ambient territory yet borrows some signifiers from the genre: keyboard melodies, elongated tones, washes of sound. He overlays these seemingly innocuous elements with crashes of noise, oblique jump cuts and hyperkinetic sequences, constantly forcing us to shift focus to make sense of his soundscapes. The febrile nature of the music is what intoxicates, but the discordant melodies are what enthrall.

Bryon Hayes

C_G — C_G (edelfaul recordings)

C_G by C_G

Belgium-based French electronic artist Eduardo Ribuyo (C_C) and Israeli drummer Ilia Gorovitz (Stumpf) join forces on C_G, a one-take collaboration of molecular machine noise and improvised percussion. It opens as a slow creep, Gorovitz playing minimal rhythms that sound like someone walking through the pre-dawn streets of an awakening city. Ribuyo accretes whirrs, cracks and electrical pops to evoke the dread of a night not over. On “Normalising Cruelty,” for instance, the discomfort builds, the drums tumble in flight, the noise intensifies. The relative conventionality of the percussion tracks seems intentional and serves to focus attention on the granular details Ribuyo conjures from his machines. Think the experiments of similarly minded Mille Plateaux and Raster Norton artists. When played through headphones at volume, its full queasy Room 101 buzz and grind squirms most effectively into the brain. Easy listening this is not, but if and when home gatherings resume this would be an ideal way to clear the house.

Andrew Forell

Che Noir — After 12 EP (TCF Music Group)

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If you’ve been paying attention to hip-hop in the last few years, Buffalo’s Griselda camp has dominated the “old heads” conversation away from whatever the kids are vibing to on TikTok. But there’s life away from an Eminem partnership, and not just in the form of Benny the Butcher: Witness Che Noir, who has been on fire throughout 2020. After starting off the year with the 38 Spesh-produced Juno and following it up with the Apollo Brown-produced As God Intended, Che’s closing things out with this self-produced seven-song EP that covers a wide range of territory without dipping into tales of street hustling, just the age old struggle to get some respect. “Hunger Games” is an early highlight that shows her chemistry with Ransom and 38 Spesh, while she completely takes over in speaking to the times on “Moment in the Sun,” which is the clear emotional highlight of the EP. Amber Simone’s pleading chorus on closer “Grace” is another stylistic turn and closes things on a high note. The last words you hear are Simone’s as she sings, “Imma go get it”; the lingering effect is that you know Che Noir is already showing you as much. Miss this one at your own risk.

Patrick Masterson

Cong Josie — “Leather Whip” b/w “Maxine” (It Records)

Leather Whip / Maxine (AA single) by Cong Josie

Frankie Teardrop rides again in this smoking synth punk single from Australia’s Cong Josie. “Leather Whip” is about as menacing and minimal as synthesizer music gets, braced by the hard slap of gate-reverbed drums and a claw-picked bass sound (maybe electronic?) and Cong Josie’s whispery insinuations. “Maxine” is just as stripped, with blotchy bass sound and swishing drum machine rhythms framing a haunted rockabilly love song. It’s very Suicide, but isn’t that a good thing?

Jennifer Kelly

Divine Horsemen — Live 1985-1987 (Feeding Tube)

Divine Horsemen “Live”1985-1987 by Divine Horsemen

With Divine Horsemen, Chris D of the Flesh Eaters had a brief but memorable run in vivid, gothic, country-tinged punk. This disc commemorates two red-hot live outings from 1985 and 1987, the first at Safari Sam’s in Huntington Beach, California, the second at Boston’s The Rat. A sharply realized recording shows how this band’s sound fit into the cowpunk parameters set by X, with strident guitar clangor and hard knocking rock rhythms (the ax-heavy line-up featured in this recording included Wayne James, Marshall Rohner and Peter Andrus on guitars, the Flesh Eater’s Robyn Jameson on bass). The secret weapon, though, was the ongoing and volatile vocal duel between the front man and his then-wife Julie Christensen, a classically trained soprano with an unholy vibrato-laced belt. You can hear how she transformed his art by comparing the Flesh Eater’s version of “Poison Arrow” with the one here. It’s as aggressive as ever, musically, and Chris D. is in full florid, echoey, goth-punk mode. Christensen, however, is molten fire, letting loose cascades and flurries of wild vibrating song. There’s a scorching, stomping romp through the vamping “Hell’s Belle,” and a lurid rendering of mad, howling “Frankie Silver,” and, towards the end, a muscular take on the Stones’ “Gimme Shelter.” Christensen later made a mark as one of Leonard Cohen’s favorite backup singers, and Chris D is still knocking around with a reunited, all-star Flesh Eaters, though there’s some talk of getting this band back together as well. I’d go.

Jennifer Kelly

Dezron Douglas & Brandee Younger — Force Majeure (International Anthem)

Force Majeure by Dezron Douglas & Brandee Younger

Harlem harpist Brandee Younger and bassist Dezron Douglas faced down New York’s early months of quarantine with a series of live broadcasts recorded in their apartment on a single microphone. This document of intimate resilience collects highlights of the Friday ritual. Younger and Douglas perform covers of spiritual Jazz, soul and pop songs as well as the delightfully titled original “Toilet Paper Romance.” The music is so close you feel the fingers on the strings and frets. Younger’s harp playing is a revelation, pianistic on John Coltrane’s “Equinox”, pointillist yet robust on his “Wise One” which they dedicate to Ahmaud Arbery. Douglas provides vigorous and sympathetic accompaniment and his solo rendition of Sting’s “Inshallah” is a tender tough exploration of his instrument. Along the way there are lovely versions of pieces by, amongst others, Alice Coltrane, Kate Bush and Clifton Davis. Douglas closes with the words “Black music cannot be recreated it can only be expressed” and Force Majeure demonstrates that the same goes for humanity and creativity.

Andrew Forell

Avalon Emerson — 040 12” (AD 93)

040 by Avalon Emerson

It’s been a big year for Avalon Emerson, who started 2020 prepping a move from Berlin to East Los Angeles and ends it back home stateside with an almost universally acclaimed DJ-Kicks entry to her credit. This three-song 12” for the label fka Whities is a nice way to close out a triumphant year, illustrating her penchant for bright melodies and percussive detail. “One Long Day Till I See You Again” is a welcoming slice of beatless percolation to close; “Winter and Water” leans heavily on rhythmic tricks in the middle. That makes A1 “Rotting Hills” the ideal lead as a balance between them. There may not be so obvious a gimmick as a Magnetic Fields cover, but that makes it no less valuable for showing what Emerson can do. Call it one more fluorescent rush.

Patrick Masterson

End Forest — Proroctwo (Self-released)

Proroctwo (The Prophecy) by End Forest

For some of us, the fusion of folk music forms with crust and metal mostly issues in obscenities like Finntroll (yep, a Finnish band that makes folk metal songs about…trolls) or in politically toxic, Völkisch nationalist fantasias. But some bands get it right; see Botanist’s remarkable work, and see also End Forest, an act just emerging from Poland’s punk underground. Singer Paula Pieczonka employs a traditional Slavic vocal technique that roughly translates to “white singing” — but before you get creeped out by any potential fascist vibes, please know that the “whiteness” at stake in the phrase is purely an aesthetic value. And her voice is really great, open and soaring. “Proroctwo (The Prophecy)” has the sweep and drama of a lot of contemporary crust, and all of the genre’s interest in symbolic violence. The lyrics envision a future wrought and wracked by social conflict, a coming conflagration of torn bodies and of piles of dislodged teeth housed in some horrific archive of viciousness (that’s quite an image). It’s harrowing stuff, big guitar chords accented by sitar and flute. The track is available on Bandcamp, along with several inventive remixes by Polish musicians and DJs, like Tomek Jedynak and Dawid Chrapla. End Forest indicates that a full record is forthcoming sometime in spring. Looking forward to it, y’all.

Jonathan Shaw

Lori Goldson — On a Moonlit Hill in Slovenia (Eiderdown Records)

On A Moonlit Hill In Slovenia by Lori Goldston

Goldson creates movement and tension in an arresting way with a rough-hewn approach to the cello. This could be a good entry point to her solo work, which is varied and bridges the gap between DIY attitude and elevated levels of musicianship and considered approach. The flow of her playing here evokes the almost brutal scrape of the strings, which gives a welcome texture to the melodic squiggles.

Arthur Krumins

Hot Chip — LateNightTales (LateNightTales)

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The LateNightTales series of artist-curated mixes has seen a fair bit of variation over the years since Fila Brazilia first took up the torch in 2001, which makes a certain amount of sense; how we spend our late nights can differ wildly, of course. Hot Chip’s instalment in the series hits some of the expected notes (at least one cover, in this case a deeply moving one of the Velvet Underground’s “Candy Says” they’ve been playing since Alexis Taylor and Joe Goddard were in high school together; a closing story track, in this case Taylor’s father reading a bit from Finnegan’s Wake) and otherwise depicts the kind of late night Dusted readers might be more familiar with than most; one where a clearly voracious and eclectic listener is keeping their own private party going just for another hour or so, but always keeping things just quiet and subtle enough to not wake up anyone upstairs. The three other, non-cover new Hot Chip tracks all make for standouts here but there’s plenty of room for accolades, whether it’s for the smoothly groovy (Pale Blue, Mike Saita, Beatrice Dillon), the more avant garde (Christina Vantzou, About Group, Nils Frahm) to just plain off-kilter pop (Fever Ray, PlanningToRock, Hot Chip themselves). The result works as both a wonderful playlist and a survey of the band’s sonic world; and it does work best when everyone else is in bed.

Ian Mathers

Annette Krebs Jean-Luc Guionnet — Pointe Sèche (Inexhaustible Editions)

pointe sèche by Jean-Luc Guionnet, Annette Krebs

Annette Krebs and Jean-Luc Guionnet recorded the three long, numbered tracks on Pointe Sèche (translation: Dry Point) over the course of three days at St. Peter’s Parish church in Bistrica ob Sotli, Slovenia. Location matters because this music couldn’t happen just anywhere; Guionnet plays church organ. Krebs was once part of the post-Keith Rowe generation of tabletop guitarists, but since 2014 she has abandoned strings and fretboards in favor of a series of hybrid instruments called konstruktions. Konstruktion #4, which appears on this record, includes suspended pieces of metal, a handful of toy animals, a wooden sounding board, vocal and contact microphones and a couple touch screens that manage computer programs. While both musicians have extensive backgrounds in improvisation, this recording sounds more like an audio transcription of a multi-media collage. Guionnet plays his large instrument quite softly, extracting machine-like hums, brief burps and dopplering tones that flicker around the periphery of Krebs’ fragments of speech, distant clangs and unidentifiable events. The resulting sounds resolutely defy decoding, which is its own reward in a time when so much music can be reduced to easily identifiable antecedents.

Bill Meyer

KMRU — ftpim (The Substation)

ftpim by KMRU

If you happened to catch Peel, Joseph Kamaru’s wonderful release on Editions Mego in late July, but haven’t paid attention before or since, early December’s half-hour two-tracker ftpim done for (and mastered by) Room40 leader Lawrence English is a Janus-faced example of the Nairobi-based ambient artist’s power. As Ian Forsythe put it in his BOGO review of both Peel and Opaquer, “Something that can define an effective ambient record is an ability to disintegrate the perimeter of the record itself and the outside world,” a line I think about every time I listen to KMRU now. “Figures Emerge” feels more immediately accessible to me as a relatable environment where the gentle, pulsing drone is occasionally greeted by sounds outside the studio, while “From the People I Met” is more difficult terrain, a distorted fog of post-shoegaze harmonic decay — no less interesting, but perhaps more metaphorical in its take on the outside world. (Or not, given how 2020 has gone.)

Patrick Masterson

Paul Lovens / Florian Stoffner—Tetratne (Ezz-thetics)

Enough years separate drummer Paul Lovens and guitarist Florian Stoffner that they could be father and son, and Lovens membership in the Schlippenbach Trio, and Lovens role as drummer in the legendarily long-running Schlippenbach Trio establishes him as an august elder of free improvisation. But the partnership they exhibit on this CD is one of equals committed to making music that is of one mind. Whether matching sparse string-tugging to purposefully collapsing batterie or burrowing sprung-spring wobbles to an immense cymbal wash, the duo plays without regard for showing us one guy or the other’s stuff. The point, it seems, is to how they imagine as one, and their combined craniums generate plenty of imagination. They operate in a realm close to that occupied by Derek Bailey and John Stevens, or Roger Smith and Louis Moholo-Moholo, but their patch of turf is entirely their own.

Bill Meyer

Mr. Teenage — Automatic Love (Self-Release)

Automatic Love by Mr. Teenage

Melbourne, Australia’s fertile garage punk scene has squeeze out another good one in Mr. Teenage, a Buzzcockian foursome prone to short, sharp riffs and sing-along choruses. A four-song EP starts with the title track, whose arch talk-sung verse erupts into rabid, rip-sawing guitar, like Devo meeting the Wipers. “Waste of Time” piles palm muted urgency with explosive release, with a good bit of the Clash in the crashing, clangor. “KIDS” struts and swaggers in a rough-edged way that’s close to the violence of early Reigning Sound or Texas’ Bad Sports. “Oh, the kids these days,” to borrow a phrase, they’re pretty good.

Jennifer Kelly

Nekra — Royal Disruptor (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Royal Disruptor by Nekra

Remember punk shows? Remember half-lit, dusty basements and fully lit, dirty kids? Remember your sneaker soles sticking to scuffed, gummy linoleum? Remember greasy denim battle jackets and hand-drawn Sharpie slogans? Remember warm beer (watery domestic suds in cans and cups) and cold stares (angsty bravado and bad attitude for its own sake)? Remember anarchists arguing with nihilists, and riot grrrls arguing with rocker boys? Remember people laughing and people smoking and people shouting and people spitting, all without masks? Remember the anticipation that crisps the air when the amps switch on? Feedback from the cheap-ass mic stabbing your ears? Beefy dudes elbowing through the press of flesh? That volatile, stomachy mix of happiness and truculence? Those warm-up thumps of the bass drum and the initial strums of crackling guitar? Remember all that? For the time being, in the United States of Dysfunction, here’s the closest thing you’ll get: an EP of feral, fast punk songs that sound like they’re happening live, right in front of your face. Thanks, Nekra — I really needed that.

Jonathan Shaw

Neuringer / Dulberger / Masri — Dromedaries II (Relative Pitch)

Dromedaries II by Keir Neuringer, Shayna Dulberger, Julius Masri

Yes, Dromedaries II is a sequel. It follows by three years a debut cassette which was sold in the sort of microquantities that 21st century cassettes are sold. So, it’s more likely that you have heard another of the bands that the trio’s alto saxophonist, Keir Neuringer, plays in — Irreversible Entanglements. While the two combos don’t sound that similar, they share a commitment to improvising propulsive, cohesive music that will put a boot up your butt if you get in the way. While IE focuses on supplying music that frames and exemplifies the stern proclamations of vocalist Camae Ayewa, the trio plays instrumental free jazz that balances individual expression with collective support. Neuringer, double bassist Shayna Dulberger and drummer Julius Masri play like their eyes are on the horizon, but each musician’s ears are tuned into what the other two are doing. The result is music that seems to move in concerted fashion, but usually has someone doing something that pulls against the prevailing thrust in ways that heighten tension, but never force the music off track.

Bill Meyer

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song (Smalltown Supersound)

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One of the distinctive things about Kelly Lee Owens’ marvellous debut LP a few years ago, as noted here, is that it felt so confident and distinct that it could have easily been the work of a much more seasoned producer. That impression, of a deftly skilled hand at the controls and a keen artistic sensibility and taste shaping it all, certainly doesn’t recede on Inner Song, whether it finds Owens homaging the grandmother who provided support and inspiration (“Jeanette”), gently but firmly rejecting unhealthy relationships (the utterly gorgeous “L.I.N.E.”) or teaming up with John Cale to make some bilingual, deep Welsh ambient dub (“Corner of My Sky”). And that’s one pretty randomly chosen three-song run! Owens continues to excel at both crafting gorgeous, lived-in productions and maybe especially with her handling of voices (her own and others), and she’s comfortable enough in her own skin that if she wants to open up the album with an instrumental Radiohead version (“Arpeggi”) she will, and she’ll make it feel natural, too.

Ian Mathers

San Kazakgascar — Emotional Crevasse (Lather Records)

Emotional Crevasse by San Kazakgascar

You won’t find San Kazakgascar on any map, but give a listen and you’ll know where this combo is coming from. Geographically, they hail from Sacramento CA, where they share personnel with Swimming In Bengal. But sonically, they are the product of a journey through music libraries that likely started out in a Savage Republic and sweated in the shadow of Sun City Girls. They likely spent time in the teetering stacks of music collections compiled in a time when the problematic aspects of the term world music were outweighed by the lure of sounds you hadn’t heard before. More important than where they’ve been, though, is the impulse to go someplace other than where they’re currently standing. To accomplish this, twangy guitars, rhythms that straighten your spine whilst swiveling your hips, bottom-dredging saxophone and a cameo appearance by a throat singer who understands that part of a shaman’s job is to scare you each take their turn stepping up and pointing your mind elsewhere. Where it goes after that is up to you.

Bill Meyer

John Sharkey III — “I Found Everyone This Way” (12XU)

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Has Sharkey mellowed? This early peek at the upcoming solo album from the Clockcleaner legend and Dark Blue proprietor suggests a pensive mood, with liquid jangle and surprisingly subdued and lyrical delivery (albeit in the man’s inimitable hollowed out and wounded snarl). But give the artist a power ballad if that’s what he wants. The song has a graceful arc to it, a doomed romanticism and not an ounce of cloying sentiment.

Jennifer Kelly

Sky Furrows — Sky Furrows (Tape Drift Records/Skell Records/Philthy Rex Records)

Sky Furrows by Sky Furrows

Sky Furrows don’t take long to match sound and message. As Karen Schoemer drops references to SST Records and Raymond Pettibone, bassist Eric Hardiman and drummer Philip Donnelly whip up a tense groove that could easily have been played by Mike Watt and George Hurley. Mike Griffin’s spidery, treble-rich guitar picking is a little less specifically referential, but does sound like it was fed through a signal chain of gear that would have been affordable back in the first Bush administration. The next track looks back a bit further; Schoemer’s voice aside, it sounds like Joy Division might have done if Tom Herman had turned up, pushed Martin Hannet out of the control room before he could ladle on the effects and instead laid down some space blues licks. Schoemer recites rather than sings in a cadence that recalls Lee Ranaldo’s; pre-internet underground rock is in this band’s DNA. The sounds themselves are persistently cool, but one drawback of having a poet instead of a singer up front is an apparent reluctance to vary the structure; it would not have hurt to break things up with some contrasting passages here or there.

Bill Meyer

Soft on Crime — “You’ve Already Made Up Your Mind” b/w “Rubyanne” (EatsIt)

7'' by Soft on Crime

These Dublin fuzz-punks kick up a guitar-chiming clangor in A-Side, “You’ve Already Made Up Your Mind,” which might have you reaching for your old Sugar records. Sharp but sweet, the cut is an unruly gem buoyed by melody but bristling with attitude. “Rubyanne” is slower, softer and more ingratiating, embellished with baroque pop elements like flute, saxophone and choral counterpoints. “Little 8 Track” fills out this brief disc, with crunching, buzz-hopped bass and a bit of guitar jangle under whisper-y romantic vocals. It’s a bit hard to get a handle on the band, based on such disparate samples, but intriguing enough to make you want to settle the matter whenever more material becomes available.

Jennifer Kelly

Theoxinia — See the Lapith King Burn (Bandcamp)

See the Lapith King Burn by Theoxenia

Students of Greek mythology will grasp it right away, but in the internet age, it doesn’t take anyone long to figure out that when you name your record See the Lapith King Burn, you’re casting your lot for better or worse with the party animals. The Lapiths were one side of a lineage that also involved the considerably less sober-sided Centaurs, and the two sides of the family had a bloody showdown at a wedding that has been taken to symbolize the war between civilization and wildness. Theoxinia is Dave Shuford (No-Neck Blues Band, Rhyton, D. Charles Speer & the Helix) and his small circle of stringed instruments and low-cost repeating devices. If you were to dig through his past discography, it most closely resembles the LP Arghiledes (Thrill Jockey) in its explicitly Hellenic-psychedelic vibe. But, like so many folks in recent times, Shuford has decided to bypass the expanse and aggravation of physical publication in favor of marketing this LP-sized recording on Bandcamp. If that fact really bugs you, I guess you could start a label and make the man an offer. But if fuzz-tone bouzouki, sped-up loops and unerringly traced dance steps that will look most convincing when executed with a knife between your teeth and the sheriff’s wallet poking mockingly out of the top of your breast pocket sounds like your jam, See the Lapith King Burn awaits you in the realm of digital insubstantiality.

Bill Meyer

Trees — 50th Anniversary Edition (Earth Recordings)

Trees (50th Anniversary Edition) by Trees

This boxed set presents the two original Trees albums from the early 1970s, The Garden of Jane Delawney and On the Shore, with the addition of demos and sundry recordings from the era. Here the band took the UK folk rock sound emergent at the time and drew it out into its jammy and somewhat arena rock guitar soloing conclusion. It’s good to have all of this in one place to document the myriad ways that Trees wrapped traditional material into new forms and with a bracing, druggy feel.

Arthur Krumins

Uncivilized — Garden (UNCIV MUSIC)

Garden by Uncivilized

Guitarist Tom Csatari presides over NYC-based large jazz ensemble known as Uncivilized, whose fusion-y discography stretches back a couple of years and prominently incorporates a cover of the Angelo Badalamenti theme from Twin Peaks. This 27-track album was recorded live at Brooklyn’s Pioneer Works space in 2018 with a nine-piece band, who navigate drones and dances and the multi-part Meltedy Candy STOMP, a sinuous exploration of space age keyboards and surging big band instruments. Jaimie Branch, who lives next door to Csatari and was invited on a whim at the last minute, joins in for the second half including a smoldering rendition of the Lynch theme. It’s damn fine (though not coffee). Later on, Stevie Wonder gets the Uncivilized treatment in a pensive cover of “Evil,” led by warm guitar, blowsy sax and a little bit of jazz flute.

Jennifer Kelly

Unwed Sailor — Look Alive (Old Bear Records)

Look Alive by Unwed Sailor

Johnathon Ford, who plays bass for Pedro the Lion, has been at the center of Unwed Sailor for two decades, gathering a changing cohort of players to realize his lucid instrumental compositions. Here, as on last year’s Heavy Age, Eric Swatzell adds guitars and Matthew Putnam drums to Ford’s essential bass and keyboard sounds. Yet while Heavy Age brooded, Look Alive grooves with bright clarity, riding insistent basslines through highly colored landscapes of synths and drums. The title track bounds with optimism, with big swirls of synth sound enveloping a rigorous cadence of bass and drums. “Camino Reel” is more guitar-centric but just as uplifting, opening out into squalling shoe-gaze-y walls of amplified sound. Ford, who usually leans on post-punk influences like New Order and the Cure, indulges an affinity for dance, here, especially audible on the trance-y “Gone Jungle” remix by GJ.

Jennifer Kelly

Your Old Droog — Dump YOD Krutoy Edition (Self-released)

Dump YOD: Krutoy Edition by YOD

American rapper Your Old Droog has been releasing solid music for years. He never had ups for the same reason he never had downs: he never left his comfort zone. Dump YOD Krutoy Edition (where “krutoy” stands for “rude boy” or “badass”) may be his breakthrough album. He always kept his Soviet origins in check, and here for the first time he draws his imagery from three different sources: New York urban present, Ukrainian folk and Soviet and post-Soviet past (even Boris Yeltsin makes an appearance). In this boiling pot, a new Your Old Droog is rising, among balalaikas and mean streets of NYC, matryoshkas and producers with boring beats, babushkas and graffiti writers.

Ray Garraty

9 notes · View notes

annebaneriddle · 4 years

Text

I’ve wrote a twins!AU on a post (Here is what I wrote. It is just a quick resume of how it could have been, but I liked it) and I found the idea really interesting, so I thought “I think I will write what would happen on CW if Steve had a twin, especially one with a personality similar to Ransom’s one. Dude, Ross would be so fucked up. The Accords would SURELLY be put down as soon as he bring it up”.

(Some dialogues are the same as in the movie)

(Also, Steve holds the title of Captain America and Andy holds the title of American Agent)

(And yes, the name “Andy” is because of Andy Barber)

(This is anti-sokovia accords. If you don’t like, just don’t read)

(I really loved writting it)

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack.” Ross positioned himself as if he was going to hit a golf ball “I dropped right in the middle of my backswing.

Steve and Andy looked at each other, asking without words if the other knew why the hell Ross was talking about it.

“Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and the triple bypass I found somethig forty years in the army never taught me: perspective.”

Steve heard Andy take a deep breath, trying to control himself to don’t say anything. He was really surprised that his brother hasn’t talked anything yet. Since Sharon took him out of cryo and he was allowed to fight too, instead of staying os a lab as the Army’s lab rat, following orders and being submissive, Andy has developed the tendency of being the most insubordinate and sassy between the two of them (what was a lot, since Steve was pretty much insubordinate himself), so he staying shut just wasn’t like him.

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives, but while many people see you as heros, there are some who would prefer the word ‘vigilant’.”

“And what word would you use, mr.Secretary?” Natasha asked with a false courtesy.

“What about ‘dangerous’?” Ross answered.

“Wait a minute!” Andy finally snapped “Are you, from all the people, calling us dangerous? Was this supposed to be a joke? Now, who was the one that spent years trying to catch Bruce? Wasn’t you the responsible for the creation of the Abomination and the destruction of half Harlem? Don’t you dare to call us dangerous, Secretary.” Andy said the title with sarcasm dripping from his voice “If you would use ‘dangerous’ to describe us, I would use ‘egocentrical and hypocritical’ to describe you.”

Andy’s voice was controlled and he was clearly holding back his temper, but yet Steve could see the anger burning on his eyes.

“Don’t you raise you voice to me, Agent.” Ross warned.

“Does the truth upsets you, mr.Secretary?” Steve asked calmly “My brother didn’t raise his voice at any moment. Eveything he did was tell you the truth.”

Ross frowned while looking Steve right in his eyes.

“I thought you was the most sensible from the two of you, Captain.” He said between his teeths.

“You don’t know neither me nor him enough to make assumptions like that.” Steve shrugged “But for that matter, both me and him are pretty sensible. That’s exactly why he called you out.

The other Avengers were looking surprised to Steve. Usually Andy was the more openly sassy one, but the yonger twin was clearly able to bring to the light the worse of Steve.

“You are a group of US based enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who frankly seem unconcerned about what you leave behind.” He stepped aside so the Avengers could see the holographic screen where scenes from their battles were playing “New York, Washington DC, Sokovia, Lagos.”

Steve saw that Wanda was getting anxious. She has looked away from the screen looking really disturbed and he could hear her breath getting sharp.

“Okay, that’s enough.” He interrupted before more scenes could be played.

Andy made a disdain sound, what attracted everyone’s attention.

“Really, mr.Secretary?” Andy leaned fowards on his chair “Are you really saying that you haven't done the very same thing on Brazil?” Andy’s face showed the most pure kind of innocence, but his words were almost dripping poison “Did you already forgot that you sent a special forces team to get Bruce inside the Rocinha? It’s so convenient that you forgot that your men followed Bruce, trying to get him by any way while he run between innocent people, isn’t it?”

Ross stood there, without knowing how to answer that. The other Avengers watched amazed and unbelieving that Andy and Steve were facing Ross like this. Andy was questioning him without any fear while Steve was by his side supporting him just as always. Now they were truly starting to understand what the Barnes family meant on their interviews back on the 40s when they said that Andy and Steve were like the same being on two different bodies.

“That was completely different, Agent.” Ross answered “People were in danger.”

“And they were in danger because of you.” Steve controverted “Your hunger for power made you try to catch Bruce by any way you could and that made him have to run away to keep himself and other people safe from you. That’s not advanced math, mr. Secretary. You were the reason he had to run away and you were the one who sent the special forces. That’s the exactly same thing you’re accusing us.”

For the second time in less than two minutes, the Rogers twins managed to let Ross speechless.

“Wow, mr. Secretary.” Andy smilled “Nothing to say about it?”

Ross took a deep breath and ignored the twins, continuing to speak.

“You’ve been working with an arragement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate, but I think we have a solution.” Ross reached the document a close agent handed him.

Ross handed it over to Wanda. Andy immediately held out his hand in a silent ask for her to give the document to him. Steve reading at least some articles while he distracted Ross would be way more useful and helpful than the others just looking at it’s cover and passing on.

Just one look between them was enough for Steve understand what his brother wanted him to do, so he opened the document and started reading as much articles as he could. He mentally thanked Erskine for the serum enhancing his memory and learning.

“The Sokovia Accords.” Ross explained “Approved by 117 countries. It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they will operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

“So, if we find out a terrorist will explod a bomb somewhere we will have to wait the United Nations panel decide if we will or not fight them?” Andy asked almost laughing.

By his side, Steve was ignoring the argument while reading what he could until Ross and Andy stopped arguing and the Secretary would have to leave. He wasn’t even on the fifth page yet and what he was reading was already really worrisome.

“Precisely.” Ross clearly was annoyed by the youngest Rogers.

“Do they know that time is a crucial thing when it comes to save someone?” Andy raised an eyebrow “What will they do if the members have divergent opinions about if we should go help or not and stay there arguing for a middle hour? Will we just watch as people die?”

“That’s not about it, Agent. That’s about compromisse, reassurance. That’s how the world works.”

The smile that appeared on Andy’s face was basically screaming “Got you. I won”.

“So are you admitting that the accords aren’t about saving people’s life, but about the most powerful governments having control upon us?”

“That’s not what I said.” Ross growled.

“Yep, Secretary.” The smile never let Andy’s face “That’s exactly what you just said.”

Ross’ face was red of anger. The man clearly wasn’t expecting that kind of argument, particularly not from the Rogers twins. He head stories about Captain America, the man was supposed to want to follow laws. He didn’t know this much about the yonger twin, since everyone used to believe he died when he got the serum, but everyone that have ever met them said their personalities were almost the same.

And, again, he decided to just ignore the American Agent.

“Three days from now the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” Ross informed.

“We have three days to read a document that will rule our lives?” Andy questioned “Are you kidding us?”

“It’s time enogh, Agent.” Ross countered.

“Of course.” Andy said sarcastically “Let me gess: you or other member from the UN will find something to keep us busy those three days so we won’t have time to read it and just sign blindly. The next thing we know we will be arrested without the right to a trial.”

“You gessed right. That’s exactly what would happen.” Steve handed the document to his brother “Page 12, last article on that page.”

Andy grabbed the document, opening on the page his brother said and reading out loud.

“ If an enhanced individual violates the Accords, or obstructs the actions of those enforcing the Accords, they may likewise be arrested and detained indefinitely without trial.” Andy’s eyes widened and he stared ar Ross “What the fuck is that?”

“Let me see if I got it right.” Sam said “If we do anything that goes against the Accords we will be arrested without a trial?”

Before Ross could even answer, Steve talked again.

“I just had time to read 20 pages, but I can guarantee it gets worse.” He said “Page 19, third article on that page.”

Andy passed the pages and stopped at page 19.

“ Any enhanced individuals who agree to sign must register with the United Nations and provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples.” Andy took a deep breath and if gazes could kill, Ross would be dead right there at that moment.

“Are you expecting that we will give samples of our DNA to people like you?” His face showed pure disbelief.

“Why do you want samples of our DNA?” Steve asked Ross, who was looking nervous.

He didn’t expect to discuss it now. The plan was to don’t give them time enough to read it.

“It will be discussed three days from now in Viena.” He answered hoping there was no more questions.

Ross started moving towards the door to leave, but of couse the excuse didn’t work.

“He don’t want to admit that the reason they want our DNA samples is so he can make the same thing he did with the Hulk.” Ross could feel Steve’s glare burning a hole on his back.

As Steve planned, the trap worked and Ross turned back to them.

“It’s a serious accusation, Captain.” Ross scolded “All we want is to stop you from disrespecting sovereign borders.”

“So why the Accords includes all the enhanced individuals, not just the Avengers?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

Ross had enough.

“It will be discussed in Viena.” He repeated, leaving the room.

After he left, the room was silent from some seconds before Tony talked:

“What the hell was that?” Tony questioned.

“That was me and Steve taking off the mask of fake concern from a hypocrite.” Andy answered “I thought you would know better than trust Ross. Governments, specially the most powerful ones which are in charge of UN, have agendas, Tony. They won’t think about what’s better for their citizens, they will think about what’s better for the ones in charge. Do you know how many people can die while they lose time arguing about where we can go and if we can go?” Andy put the document upon the table, pulling his chair closer to Steve’s “Steve and I will be here trying to read this before they find some excuse to keep us busy until the meet in Vienna. The ones who want to laugh and at the same time get horrified about what’s written there, stay.”

#mcu #marvel #steve rogers #captain america #american agent #andy barber #(Andy Rogers on this story)#rogers twins #twins au #ransom drysdale #chris evans #sam wilsom #falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #wanda maximoff #thunderbolt ross #anti sokovia accords

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ablogcalledrevenge · 4 years

Text

Never Really Over

(a Gabriel O’Malley x Reader Insert Multichapter Fic, Rated M)

Chapter One

There’s a knock on your door around 7pm on Friday night. You’re not expecting anyone and you freeze on the couch, knowing the episode of Wonder Woman is loud and clear. You grab your gun from the table and shove it in the back of your shorts, the metal cold against your skin. It might be nothing, but better to be safe than sorry. Los Angeles in 1978 was a seedy place and you weren’t an idiot. It’s also interesting to note because you live in a gated apartment complex; no one can get in without you letting them in first. So whoever’s at your door means business.

You unbolt and open the door, see who it is, and immediately slam the door in their face.

“Hey! Fuck (Y/N), let me in! I gotta talk to you. Open the damn door!” He yells through the wood, not doubt alerting your neighbors. Unfortunately it was now that you regretted living with so many secretive people; they knew not to call the cops. While most of the time that was a good thing, now you wish they would. He deserved a long stay in some holding cell after what he put you through. But you also knew he was stubborn and would probably stay there all night yelling if you let him. So with a sigh, you open the door and let him in.

Gabriel O’Malley steps over the threshold and back into your life like nothing ever happened. Like you’d never told him you loved him, and like he never left you without a word. Like a year hadn’t passed without so much as a phone call. You were a little surprised by how much it hurt to see him, how much you still weren’t over him. It was embarrassing.

He sits down at your kitchen table, quiet and waiting. There is a brief standoff where you just stare at each other. Throwing up your hands, you turn on the stove to boil water for tea. You grab mugs from the cabinet, unthinkingly taking his favorite- blue and green swirled porcelain- without even realizing.

“You know, you got a lotta of nerve coming back here. Everyone knows what you did to me, you’re not going to find many sympathetic friends.” You say as the tea brews. He doesn’t say anything, content to watch you. You’re annoyed that he caught you in your pajamas. It’s a cute set, a pink satin tank and shorts your sister gave you, but he doesn’t deserve to see it. You should plug him full of lead right now, the absolute nerve!

“Yeah well, I couldn’t stay in New York. Shit happened.” He finally says, as you give him his tea. You could doctor it up just the way he likes, you still remember, but instead you place milk and sugar on the table between you. He doesn’t look bad if you’re being truthful. He looks like he gained a little bit of weight, which was good since he was such a beanpole, but he’d lost a lot of the beautiful color he’d gotten working in LA. Everything else is the same. His hair, his stubble, his clothes, the mole on his cheek you used to kiss for luck. It’s all there and you can feel your heart shriveling in your chest.

“Oh I know. We all know what went down in New York. It’s a fucking mess, is what happened. I mean, I’m all for girl power but you completely dismantled Hell’s Kitchen. Apparently the broads you backed couldn’t even keep themselves together. You stole the Hasidim from the Italians, which was a risky move, and you’re gonna hear about it for sure. But then, the girls start to split; one of ‘em died and the other is trying for Harlem? Yeah, good luck with that.” You snort into your tea. He looks pained at the mention of Claire’s death but it’s true. If she were smart, she wouldn’t have died.

“And now you’ve come crawling back to us. You backed the wrong horse and you know if you show your face in Midtown, they’ll cut your throat. I don’t know what’s more stupid; that you came back at all, or that you thought this would work? Did you expect me to open the door and fall into your arms with gratitude? Think you could just walk into Zayde’s office and get your job back? Are you outta your fucking mind? They’ll kill you when they find out you’re back.” You promise, trying to keep your voice down. The walls between apartments were insulated and people minded their own business, but this was still a touchy subject.

“Look I know I messed up! I was trying to help. They’re my people, some of them family and they needed help. The guys in charge were running it into the ground. You should’ve seen the way they treated their wives, it was disgusting! Believe me, even with all the bullshit, the Kitchen is better with the women in charge. But I got too invested and Cathy told me to leave, so here I am. They’re not gonna kill me, I’m no rat. I just, you know, abandoned the family and broke your heart. Sorry by the way.” He shrugs, looking sheepish but not worried. You see red and stand up from the table.

“Sorry by the way? Sorry by the way! You fucking schmuck! You broke my heart! You left without a word, without a reason. I didn’t know what happened to you or where you were. I thought you’d been taken or killed! And then I hear that you’re in New York, helping the Irish and screwing some married bitch! The same one I’ve been in the shadow of since we met! You expect me to be okay with a sorry?” You accuse, the anger practically steaming off your body.

He sips his tea and you almost lunge across the table. Your cat tinkles in from the other room and meows at Gabriel, who peers down with a very soft look. Your heart cracks again.

“Since when do you have a cat? She’s cute.” He asks, picking up Magenta and letting her snuggle against his chest. You glare at the traitor, as if you didn’t cry into her fur about the man holding her.

“I got her about 6 months ago. It helped to have someone around, even if she couldn’t really talk back. I just got really lonely here.” You admit, finger running along the lip of your mug.

“What? You haven’t dated anyone since I left?” He asks, looking genuinely confused. Which surprises you considering he’s here to apologize and possibly worm his way into your heart. But his surprise that you weren’t seeing anyone didn’t add up with the other stuff. Why would he want you to date other people? Maybe to make him feel less guilty?

“No I did, but it was never that serious. I just didn’t feel like getting involved with anyone like that. It felt like I was betraying you, even though you would’ve deserved it.” You can hear the faint sounds of Lynda Carter stopping bullets from the other room. Then a beer commercial starts and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying. With him in the apartment, it’s like everything is reminding you of before. Before he left for New York and took your heart with him.

“Yeah well, looks like we’re both back to square fucking one.” Gabe scoffs, draining his cup and letting Magenta jump down from his lap. He glances around your apartment, though it hasn’t changed much in a year, before leaning back in his chair.

“So, where am I sleeping?” He asks and you pull the gun from your shorts and point it in his face. You’ve reached your tipping point with him, clearly.

“Un-fucking-believable. If you think you can just come back here and everything will go back to the way it was, you’ve got another thing coming. Now get outta my house.” Your gaze is deadly and your hand doesn’t shake. Gabe gets up slowly and walks towards the door, hands up in a placating gesture. The barrel follows him. He opens the door and steps out of your apartment and into the warm night air.

“You look real beautiful (Y/N), fuck it’s good to see you.” He says wistfully before you slam the door in his face again. What an asshole. Still, you can’t help but smile at his boldness. Gabriel O’Malley wasn’t a loud man, didn’t care about being in the spotlight, but he was always bold. It was nice to see some things hadn’t changed.

~~~~~~~~

He ends up taking a bus to Tony’s house, happy to still remember where everything is. The house looks the same, pale green siding with blooming flower boxes under the window. It looks like the hydrangeas finally grew, that was nice.

Taking a deep breath, Gabe knocks on the door as the fireflies buzz around him. Shit, it was late, wasn’t it? He should’ve come at a different time. But before he could flee, the door opens.

“Gabey! Oh Gabey, it’s so good to see you! Come inside and eat something, I made stuffed shells. Here, I’ll get you a plate.” Mrs. Petrillo says, ushering him into the house. Even if he wanted to argue, he wouldn’t. You didn’t argue with Mrs. Petrillo. She was 5 feet of pure Italian dynamite and he loved the old broad to pieces.

A huge plate of food is set in front of him, along with wine and bread, and he eats happily as Mrs Petrillo putters around her kitchen. Her house slippers make scuffing noises on the laminate floor and the sound is comforting to him.

“Gabey patatino, how are you? What are you doing back? How was New York?” She asks, sitting next to him at the old diner style table and patting his hand.

“I’m good Mrs. P, I’m good. New York was… well some good things happened and some bad things happened but I’m doing okay.” He explains in between bites. She makes a sympathetic noise and gives him another slice of bread.

“Hey Ma, who was at the door? Was it… Gabriel O’Malley, you sonuvabitch! You know, you gotta lot of nerve coming back here.” Tony says, entering the kitchen with a grimace. Gabe gives a tight smile in response.

“Anthony Michael, is that any way to talk to your friend? Let him eat before you start yelling in my kitchen.” Mrs. P shoots back. Her son looks abashed for all of a moment before rounding back to Gabe, his gold cornicello swinging on his neck.

“Friend? This chooch fucks off for New York without a word and breaks (Y/N)’s heart with it and we’re supposed to let him back like it’s nothing? Ma, he doesn’t deserve the stuffed shells.” He yells, rightfully so; Gabe thinks as he wipes his mouth.

Tony’s mother starts yelling about language and hospitality but the sound of Gabe pushing his chair back makes them quiet.

“He’s right Mrs. Petrillo. I’m a real jerk. I did a lot of things wrong. I was trying to help who I thought was my family and I ended up hurting the real one I had here. I made a lotta mistakes, the biggest one being how I treated her. But that’s why I’m back. I want to say I’m sorry, sorry to everyone, and fix things with her. I know it’s a mess, I don’t even have a place to stay or money.” Gabe sighs, rubbing at his forehead.

Mrs. P makes a soft sound of commiseration and hugs him.

“Don’t worry patatino, everything’s gonna be fine. You can stay here until you get back on your feet. Right Anthony?” She offers, shooting a glare at her son. He glares at Gabe before nodding in concession.

“I can’t stay mad at you, you leprechaun. Stay here and work on getting your life together.” Tony says, joining his mother to wrap Gabe in a hug.

For the first time in months, Gabriel feels safe, he feels comforted. In New York, despite the power he had and Claire in his bed, he always felt so antsy. Like he was just waiting for everything to fall out from under him. When it did, well, it was probably a good thing that no one was in the train compartment with him on his way back to California.

“So what do I do Tony? Got any jobs for me? You know I’m good for it.” He finally says when he sits back down at the table to eat and his throat doesn’t feel so tight.

“Well, there is a wedding next week.” Tony says and he grins over his wine glass and Gabriel can’t help but laugh and raise his own glass in agreement.

Chapter Two Coming Soon...

Tagging: @babbushka, @theold-ultraviolence

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

#never really over #the kitchen #gabriel o'malley x reader #gabriel o'malley #reader insert fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #gabriel o'malley imagines #fanfiction #my writing

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areiton · 5 years

Text

broken open shell

Written for @badthingshappenbingo, for the Reopening an Old Wound square.

Warning: unhealthy mental state, brief suicidal ideation. Also, because I’m horrible, I reopened physical and mental wounds. Sorry, Sam.

Read on AO3 | Follow the Series

~*~

When the Winter Soldier rips him from the sky, it rips open something in him.

He doesn’t realize it, not then, not for weeks, months, later, when he’s shaking on a balcony in Minsk, bile bitter on his tongue and screams echoing in his ears.

He feels like he’s falling, still.

He feels like he’s been falling, since Riley died and he screamed and did nothing to stop it.

He shakes and smokes, and can feel eyes on him, in the darkness.

Sam flicks the cigarette into the empty dark, and flips the Winter Soldier the bird and goes back to his cold empty bed to wait until morning.

~*~

The truth that Sam doesn’t like to think about, that he avoids except when the silence is too loud to ignore--is he’s broken.

He does the peer counseling that the VA expects of him, talks a damn good game--but watching Riley die shattered him, scooped out the best parts of him and left him a broken open shell. He can’t help people, not really--can only talk a damn good game and hope that no one is hurt in the process.

Steve doesn’t see through him--he thinks maybe because Steve is the best man he knows, will ever know. He doesn’t think to look for the cracks in Sam.

Maybe, though, it’s because Steve is so busy hiding the shattered webbing of his own self together.

Either way--he doesn’t see.

He sees the VA counselor, the war hero, the friend who lived and picked up the baggage, who came through the other side.

Sam thinks--that’s not what happened.

What happened is--he went through something.

He’s still going through it. There is no getting over something, someone, like Riley. There is only learning to live with what happened.

He thinks, sometimes, Barnes maybe understands that.

~*~

He chases the Soldier.

He chases the Ghost

He tells himself, he’s chasing Steve’s past and not running from his own.

~*~

In Bangkok, he catches sight of a metal arm, gleaming in the neon bright darkness.

In Tokyo, he screams himself awake three nights straight.

In Helsinki, he finds chocolates on the pillow next to his.

In Rio, he finds a note when he comes back from running along the water for hours, when he’s run so long and far that he can’t hear anything but the thud of his own heart--not his wings shredding or Riley’s or the screams that never quite go silent.

~*~

Sam doesn’t tell Steve about the Soldier’s little gifts, the way he can count on the warm weight of his gaze on nights when sleep won’t come and concerned, rude notes telling him to fucking eat because he ain’t actually a bird.

He doesn’t tell him about the nightmares, either, about the way he feels raw and exposed and one bad night away from imploding, a dangerous vulnerability he hasn’t felt since he first got home, when his baby sister sat in his bedroom every night for a month before she trusted him alone.

He doesn’t tell Steve anything.

It’s easier, he thinks.

~*~

“I’m not special,” he tells the night, the Soldier, where he waits in the silence, “All of us from the Sandbox--we’re walking wounded, and no one sees it. I ain’t special--I should be able to live with this.”

He doesn’t say that he isn’t.

He doesn’t have to.

~*~

The thing is.

The thing is--everyone sees the smile and they believe it. They see Steve’s strength and believe it. They see Nat’s cool calm and believe it.

They see the surface and it’s so damn easy to believe--and anything else, it’s hard.

Sam cleans his gun and wonders what he’d do, if someone saw him.

~*~

It goes to hell in Tripoli. He’s exhausted, and probably had too much to drink, and has no actual idea where the fuck the Soldier is, and less desire to find out. He’s chasing a lead from Nat that he doesn’t think will turn up shit. Winter went to ground back in Oran and Sam doesn’t have much faith that he’s going to turn up this close to the last Hydra base he burnt out.

Then he gets shot.

As he goes down in a rush of burning metal and spinning blue sky and scarlet blood, he thinks--this isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

~*~

He wakes up in pain, screaming, and a leather clad hand is pressed against his mouth, silencing him. It’s bloody and Sam would gag, if he weren’t in so much fucking pain. He can see the cloud spotted sky above and shaggy hair and eyes.

It’s the first time he’s seen Winter close enough to see the exact shade of his eyes, and he’s absurdly glad that if he’s going to die, he got to see those ice storm gray eyes first.

“You’re not gonna die,” Winter says, and Sam almost laughs at how petulant he sounds, before the pain rips through him again and he blacks out.

~*~

The bed is hard.

It’s lumpy and smells like mold and vomit, and it’s disturbing just how reassuring the discomfort is.

He squirms and a metal hand clamps down on his hip, holding him still. “You’ll rip your stitches,” Winter rumbles.

“Gonna get an infection from this damn bed,” Sam says, and Winter huffs. He watches the Soldier move through the room, cleaning up the bandages and blood soaked towels, shoving them in a bag. He moves with a brisk efficiency, but Sam gets the feeling that even when the Soldier isn’t focused on him--his attention never does leave Sam.

It’s disconcerting and reassuring, all at once, and he feels like they’re in a nameless city, separated by darkness, Sam on the balcony smoking, Winter watching through his scope.

It’s a familiar feeling.

“What happened?” Sam asks, eventually.

“You were shot,” Winter says. “Through and through, shoulder. I cleaned and stitched you up.”

“Who shot me?”

“Hydra,” Winter says, simply. Then, “They’re dead now.”

Sam blinks.

Blinks again.

“You killed them?”

Winter gives him a curious, almost blank stare. “Yes. They shot you.”

“Bucky--” Sam starts and Winter skitters back a step. Wary distrust crosses his face, and he dumps a bag on the nasty bed next to Sam.

Then, without a word, he’s gone.

~*~

The flop house Winter was using as a safe house is infested with roaches and rats, and Sam is close enough to suicidal to be worried about himself--but not so close he’ll stay. He calls Natasha for an extract and gets ready to deal with Steve’s worried questions.

~*~

He can always tell when he’s close to Winter, because the air feels thicker--heavier, occupied, like they’re sharing space even when they aren’t together.

He misses that feeling, in DC, in his little house that never felt like home, and he misses it when he lets his demons chase him from there to his Mama’s in Harlem.

It’s safer there, and she feeds him up real good too, and he feels as close to whole as he has since before Riley fell, when he finally gets word that the Soldier raided a Hydra safe house in Paris, and he hops on a plane to France.

~*~

He doesn’t scream, on the passenger jet filled with newlyweds and tourists.

He does go to the bathroom and have a panic attack so bad he loses a little bit of time, somewhere over the Atlantic, wrapped up in the fear of falling, and the fear that maybe this time, he won’t fall.

~*~

He chases the Soldier.

He chases the Ghost.

He chases BarnesJamesBucky.

He chases because he doesn’t know how to stop or what he’ll do when he does.

~*~

In Capetown, he gets into a scuffle with Crossbones and his crew, and it rips open the still healing bullet. Not so bad that it takes Sam out of the fight, but enough that Rumlow punches him twice and is going for a third when a metal hand clamps down on his wrist.

Winter shoots Crossbones’ men without ever looking at Sam or Rumlow, then drags his gaze, cold and remote behind his mask, to Rumlow.

“Don’t,” Sam chokes, when the muzzle, hot enough that Rumlow flinches back, presses against his temple.

Ice storm eyes tip toward him, and he huffs.

He shoots out Rumlow’s knees, and then hefts Sam to his feet, dragging him god knows where.

“I got a hotel,” Sam interjects.

Winter hesitates, and Sam huffs. “You aren’t takin’ me to one of your crack house flops, Barnes, I will bleed out in the street first.”

Winter growls, but obediently turns them toward the hotel Sam’s been staying in.

~*~

Winter is surprisingly gentle as he strips Sam out of his shirt and prods the bullet hole that’s bleeding, a sluggish ooze.

“Man, that’s gross,” Sam grumbles. “Wash your damn hands.”

He does, obediently, and then comes back, almost straddling Sam as he readies a needle and thread to stitch him closed.

Sam tips his head back, not willing to watch. The sick stab and tug is bad enough, watching would make him puke all over Winter’s tac gear.

“Why’d you step in?” Sam asks, because he can’t handle the sensation of Winter warm in his lap and the stomach turning nausea of the needle in his skin, and he’s tired enough that it slips out.

Things like this are saved for the silent empty spaces of night and never answered.

“They hurt you,” Winter says, and his eyes flick to Sam’s for a moment. “I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

Sam turns that in his head and Winter finishes stitching him up.

~*~

He puts his hands on Winter’s waist, when he finishes. Holds him there, and Winter--he lets him.

“Am I yours?” Sam asks.

The thing is--

He’s broken.

A shattered thing scraped raw by war and death and almost dying.

He isn’t safe for anyone, not even himself.

And no one, no one sees the walking wounded, no one sees the ripped up parts of him, no one sees him bleeding out.

Winter--Winter sees him.

Maybe because Winter is just as shattered, just as broken, just as damaged and dangerous. More so, after the shit he’s lived through.

They aren’t good for each other, aren’t healthy or whole .

But Winter is warm and solid and he licks Sam's cock and groans when Sam tugs on his hair, he’s gentle when he fingers Sam open, and smiles when Sam snarls and fucks down on his fingers, and when Sam rides him, his hands are big and hot and protective on his skin.

He sees himself, all the fractured sharp edges and bleeding wounds, reflected in Winter’s eyes, and he sobs, a little, when he comes, and Winter licks away his tears.

~*~

He wakes up screaming, caught in blankets and falling from the sky and Riley shattered on the desert floor.

He wakes up alone, screaming, in sheets that smell like sex, and come sticky on his ass and thighs.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

Steps out on the balcony, into the sights of an assassin, a cigarette dangling from his lips and smokes, and wonders how broken it makes him, that he feels safe in Winter’s crosshairs.

#sambucky #moth prompt #badthingshappenbingo #winterfalcon #falcon & winter solider #sambucky fic #this is sad i sorry

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route22ny · 5 years

Photo

Exterior view, Martinique Hotel, circa 1989 as it was ending its 16 years as a notorious “welfare hotel” prior to its sale and (eventual) renovation. To my surprise my ancient New York Times password worked, and I was able to view two articles about this phase of the hotel’s history which are copied below. Image above is a reworking of a scan of my original photo.

***

Leaving a Welfare Hotel, Reluctantly

By Suzanne Daley, September 14, 1988

New York City's decision to empty a large and notorious welfare hotel has, paradoxically, brought as much fear as joy to the families who live there. No matter how bad the Martinique Hotel is, many are afraid to leave it.

To be sure, there are women like Vera Coley, who, after more than a year in the hotel, is looking forward to cooking a turkey and making banana pudding in her own home.

But there are others who are not eligible for an apartment. For many of them, the prospect of another unfamiliar shelter, even one less squalid than the Martinique, is frightening.

There are also women who have lived in the hotel for so long, advocates say, that, like prison inmates, they can barely imagine independent lives, with bills to pay and appointments to keep. ''Our immediate reaction to the city's decision was jubilation,'' said Robert M. Hayes, a prominent advocate for the homeless. ''But you go in there now and you see fear and trembling on the part of the mothers.

''If you go a little bit deeper, you realize that for them, hell has become a familiar cocoon. It's a subtle, more insidious harm that has been done than just living with rats and broken pipes.''

Last week, as the city began to empty the hotel - a battered 16-story building still bearing hints of a more elegant past - many aspects of life there went on as before. Mothers cooked on hot plates. Children chased one another in the dimly lighted hallways, the walls stained with urine and marred by graffiti.

But outside the building, on 32d Street near Broadway, where city-run vans taking families to look for apartments used to appear no more than once or twice a week, there was a traffic jam of sorts. Now the vans had shown up with a new urgency to help usher the tenants out.

Under the city's plan to stop using the privately owned hotel, families in the Martinique who have been homeless for more than a year are to be given priority for placement in vacant Housing Authority apartments and renovated city-owned apartments. In the past, such families, although eligible for apartments after a year, often did not get them because there were not enough to go around. For that reason, little pressure was put on families to board a van for an apartment-hunting trip if they chose not to.

But now, city officials said, families that do not take one of three apartments offered to them from a still-limited supply of units will be denied further hotel allowances, forcing them to move to large, city-run dormitories.

City officials said that about half of the families in the hotel, most of them headed by women, had lived there between one and two years. Seventeen had been there for three years. Another seven had lived there for more than four years. The cost of a room is about $1,600 a month, 50 percent of which is paid by the Federal government, 25 percent by the state and 25 percent by the city.

The city, facing the possibility of losing $70 million in Federal aid for homeless families, announced last month it would empty the Martinique as the first step in ending the use of welfare hotels by 1990. About 3,500 families live in welfare hotels in New York City.

'I'm Going to Kiss the Floor'

Mrs. Coley, a mother of five who has always wanted to get on a van, now expects to move into a Housing Authority apartment by the end of the year.

''When I get there, I'm going to kiss the floor,'' she said, sitting in the hotel's makeshift cafeteria, where free lunches are handed out. ''I swear I'll die before I come back to a place like this again.''

But others are reluctant to move. In most cases, these women say, the apartments that the city offers them are in distant neighborhoods and in poor condition. They say they have learned how to get by in the hotel and do not trust the city as a landlord.

''I got friends in some of those apartments,'' Janette Holland said, explaining why, after four years in the Martinique, she had never tried to get on a van. ''They're still living on hot plates, in terrible places. The city don't do right. Anything goes wrong they don't fix it.''

Acclimated to Squalor

But city officials and advocates for the homeless say that the reluctance of many women is more than a reaction to the apartments. They say that the women have become acclimated to life in a welfare hotel and used to receiving the special services provided there.

For instance, women in the hotel need only go downstairs to meet with city social workers, who will help make sure they get all the benefits they are entitled to. Twice a week, a medical van comes by offering free care for children. Charities arrange for Christmas presents and other holiday activities. And, day care is available.

''The longer people are in this situation, the harder it is to get them out,'' said William J. Grinker, the head of the city's Human Resources Administration. ''They get comfortable in a situation even though, to an outsider, where they are would seem terrible.''

Burnell Lopez and Yvonne McCullens, who were looking at apartments recently, both said they were not eager to take the city-owned apartments they were being shown. They described life in the Martinique as ''O.K.''

One Towel to a Person

Life there has little to do with what most people think of as hotel living. Most rooms have been converted into small, cramped units. There are no phones in the rooms and no cleaning services. New arrivals are issued sheets, towels - one to a person - and a mop and a bucket.

Usually, three or four people live in a room, in many cases sharing an adjoining bathroom with a family next door. The rooms are too small for a table, and meals are usually eaten on the edge of the bed.

Security guards, swinging billy clubs, patrol the building and cluster around bulletproof booths in the lobby. Residents must show identification cards to get in.

But Ms. Lopez and Ms. McCullens said they had learned how to get by.

'It Ain't So Bad'

''You mind your business and it ain't so bad,'' said Ms. McCullens, who has been homeless for five years. Ms. Lopez, who has been homeless for more than two years, agreed, though when questioned, both women talked of being scared in a hotel where robberies are frequent, drug deals are made, and a handful of killings have occurred.

Property has been stolen from both women's rooms, and Ms. Lopez said her children have been beaten up.

Still, neither woman has jumped at the apartments they have been shown. Ms. Lopez lingered recently in an apartment on West 140th Street in Harlem, unable to make up her mind whether to move there.

The windows offered a straight-on view into an abandoned building next door. There was no hot water; the floors were unfinished, and the appliances had not been installed.

Memories of 2-Family Houses

Even though she was assured that more work would be done on the apartment, Ms. Lopez kept shaking her head.

''I ain't never lived in a place like this,'' she said several times, noting she was raised in Brooklyn. ''I always had a place in a house, a two-family house.'' Finally, however, she accepted it. Those not eligible for apartments are to be sent to shelters offering private quarters and, in many cases, cooking equipment, which is not available at the Martinique.

For the most part, this will mean better living conditions, Mr. Grinker said. But few of the women believe that, and some who have moved from shelter to shelter say they would rather stay at the Martinique than move again.

After four months of homelessness and stays in six different shelters and hotels, Donna Luck sighed at the prospect of a new shelter.

''I'm stationed here,'' she said, ''and now I've got to leave again. What's it going to be like this time?''

https://www.nytimes.com/1988/09/14/nyregion/leaving-a-welfare-hotel-reluctantly.html

***

As a Hotel Is Emptied, The Poor Move On

By Josh Barbanel, December 27, 1988

As a gentle rain washed the dusty marquee of the Martinique Hotel in Herald Square the other day, Madeline Ventura, her five children and two cats scampered up the back of a yellow moving van for a ride to their new home in Brooklyn.

The Venturas are among scores of families who have been hurriedly moved out of the Martinique in the last few days as the Koch administration rushes to empty one of the largest and most troubled welfare hotels in the city by the end of the year.

The Venturas' meager possessions, accumulated during more than two years of homelessness, were sprawled around them in the back of the van.

Bags of Dirty Laundry

There were two dolls, still wrapped in plastic, and a blackened hot plate that served as the family's kitchen. Plastic bags bulged with dirty laundry. A plastic Christmas tree protruded from a box.

The night before, a city worker had knocked on a steel door spray-painted with the number 801, the entrance to a two-room suite at the Martinique, and told the Ventura family to get ready to move the next day.

''I didn't even have a chance to do the wash,'' Mrs. Ventura said.

Last summer, long after New York City's welfare hotels had become a national scandal, and after the city had been threatened with an imminent cutoff of Federal funds to pay the hotel bills, Mayor Koch pledged to empty the 46 hotels it used to house the homeless by July 1990.

The Martinique was chosen to be first, city officials said, because it was one of the biggest hotels, because it was the target of a barrage of complaints in the neighborhood and because it had become a symbol of the horrors of a system that paid exorbitant sums to warehouse families, many already troubled, in shabby, crowded hotels. To rent one room for a family of four costs $1,800 a month.

13 Families Remain

Only last March, 462 families - about 500 adults and 1,500 children - lived along the Martinique's long and noisy corridors.

When the moving was halted for the weekend, only 13 families remained, city officials said, along with a half-dozen long-term tenants and a few squatters.

About half of those who have left have moved to renovated apartments in city-owned buildings or projects.

The others - those who have been homeless for less than a year - have been sent to family shelters run by not-for-profit groups under contract to the city.

The speed with which the city is emptying the hotel, at 32d Street and Broadway, has raised questions about why such steps could not have been taken sooner and what will happen to the once-grand hotel after the last residents move.

Under a law intended to protect single-room occupancy hotels, the owners of the Martinique are barred from demolishing it or converting it. They have begun lobbying to win an exemption, and have warned that without relief they may lease it to a drug or prison program.

''It is for everyone's advantage to come up with a solution,'' said Howard J. Rubenstein, the public-relations executive who is representing the owners of the Martinique as well as a community group trying to shut welfare hotels in the area.

The Martinique, built at the turn of the century by William R. H. Martin in what was then one of the city's finest neighborhoods, has been used as a welfare hotel since 1973.

In its last days as a welfare hotel, moving vans lined the hotel entrance beneath the French Renaissance facade. The dimly lighted lobby, once alive with the sounds of children, has grown quiet.

Packing Up the Toys

The 18 public agencies, social service contractors and volunteer groups that provided food, medical care, counseling and other services in the hotel's old ballroom have begun to shut down and move out. As Mrs. Ventura walked down eight flights of stairs for the last time, the staff of a day-care center run by the Association to Benefit Children was packing up toys and child-size tables for storage.

''I'm happy this hotel is closing,'' said Lourdes Rivera, the director of the center. ''I wish they were all going to good homes,''

For the Venturas, the closing of the hotel has meant a bumpy ride in the back of the van to a spacious, freshly painted apartment in a housing project at 86 Carlton Avenue in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn.

The family - including Mrs. Ventura's husband, Peter, who missed the movers because of an appointment at a Methadone clinic - will pay $161 a month to rent a four-bedroom apartment, equipped with a new refrigerator and stove, in a project named after Walt Whitman. The welfare system will pay the rent and give the family $590 in cash each month.

Flypaper and a Sour Smell

The Venturas lived in two squalid rooms for most of the last two and a half years. Before then they had been evicted from their apartment in Far Rockaway while Mrs. Ventura and Peter - her boyfriend at the time -were addicted to cocaine. Neighbors had complained.

Mrs. Ventura's journey toward homelessness began much earlier. She dropped out of high school when she was 16, married, gave birth to a son and divorced a year later.

She later settled down with another man, had four more children, including twin daughters, Angela and Carmen Sanchez, now 9 years old. That relationship faltered and Mrs. Ventura turned to drugs after the death of another child, who was born prematurely.

Suffering from depression, she turned to a psychiatrist for help, and received a string of prescriptions for mood-altering drugs, without much counseling to go with it, she said. From there she moved to other pills bought on the street, and to cocaine.

When the family was finally evicted two and a half years ago, they were placed in the Forbell Street Shelter in Brooklyn, a city-run shelter, and Mrs. Ventura got some help. A city case worker noted the needle marks on Mrs. Ventura's arm and referred her to a detoxification center at Kings County Hospital. The Venturas, both now enrolled in a Methadone program, were married in April.

At the Martinique, Mrs. Ventura was stunned by the widespread availability and use of drugs, particularly crack.

''I've seen kids as young as my son here selling,'' she said, pointing at her son, Rafael Sanchez, 11.

Keeping to Themselves

The family survived in the forbidding environment, she said, by staying out of the hallway and keeping mostly to themselves, Her sons became altar boys at St. John's Roman Catholic Church, a few blocks away.

During their stay in the hotel, the oldest son, James, was left back in the 7th grade. His mother said the stress of living in the Martinique may have been a factor. On moving day, as a photographer recorded the packing, James stayed out of the pictures.

New York City has put up families evicted from their homes or burned out in fires for decades. This system, developed for temporary emergencies, faltered in the early 1980's, when a shortage of low-income housing began turning homelessness into a permanent emergency.

Families, many of them headed by single parents from the least stable neighborhoods and ravaged by poverty and drugs, were crowded in tiny rooms along long corridors. In some hotels they shared communal bathrooms with pimps and prostitutes.

Last July, when Patricia Stanley moved with her 12 children from the Martinique to a city-owned building, she said she saw the impact of hotel life on her children.

Learning About Sinks and Tables

When they moved, her son took his plate and sat on the floor to eat, even though they now had a table. Her daughter, she said, ''put the dirty dishes in the bathtub because that was the way we washed the dishes in the hotel.''

Miss Stanley told her story at a Congressional hearing in Manhattan last week called by Representative Charles E. Schumer of Brooklyn. She identified herself as the character known as ''Kim,'' in ''Rachel and her Children,'' a book about life in the Martinique, by Jonathan Kozol.

Mr. Schumer, observed that the hotel system appeared to have been designed ''to allow everybody to avoid responsibility'' for it. The city filled entire hotels with welfare families, but maintained that it was only renting one room at a time and that it had little control over hotel owners.

3,600 Apartments Allocated

For years advocates for the homeless have pressed the city to get out of welfare hotels, and for years the city said that it lacked the resources to do more than make a dent in the problem - without increased Federal aid.

But after the threat of losing more than $70 million in emergency Federal aid to pay the hotel bills, the city reassessed the problem and decided to allocate 3,600 housing authority apartments to the homeless as they become vacant over a two-year period.

The administration has also developed plans in the last two years to renovate every vacant building shell owned by the city.

But advocates for the homeless remain skeptical over the plans. Even after the city gets out of hotels, they noted, there will still be hundreds of men, women and children in barracks-style shelters. The city does not plan to close the last shelter until 1991.

Series of Crises

The rush to close the Martinique has created large and small crises.

The New York Children's Health Project, a group that provided medical care to children out of a van parked in front of the Martinique, complained that the move was so rushed that for weeks it was unable to arrange follow-up care for hundreds of children.

For Noris and Luis Espinosa, who are still living in the Martinique, the problems were even more complicated. Last October, after their son, Samuel, 5, was injured in a bathroom fall, their four children were placed in foster care.

Because their children are in foster care and the welfare case closed, they are not being relocated to permanent housing. And they say that without permanent housing, they cannot get their children out of foster care.

The case is complicated because Mrs. Espinosa, a native of the Dominican Republic, is not eligible for welfare, and her husband, who is from Puerto Rico, was never listed on the welfare case record. Ann Ormsby, a spokesman for the Human Resources Administration, said the city was looking into the case.

For the Venturas, despite some confusion, the move out of the hotel was a promising start. While the cats cowered in the new living room, the children rushed through the empty rooms, picking out bedrooms, opening closets.

''There is a playground right outside the window,'' Angela exclaimed.

And James, who hid from the photographer in the Martinique, now nudged the photographer's elbow. ''It's O.K. to take my picture now,'' he said.

https://www.nytimes.com/1988/12/27/nyregion/as-a-hotel-is-emptied-the-poor-move-on.html

#1980s #NYC #homelessness #bad old days #original photography

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prehistoricsounds · 4 years

Text

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Sam Martin - Dangerous (Remixes EP) [12"], EP - $16.50 Dead Farmers - Wasteland [LP] - $18.00 Dead Fucking Last - Proud To Be [LP], RE, Gre - $20.00 Dead Hookers - The Burial/The Rebirth [LP] - $18.00 Deaf Wish - Deaf Wish [LP], Ltd, RE, Gre - $22.00 Deap Vally - Femejism [LP], Ltd, Mar - $40.00 Deftones - Covers [LP], Comp, Ltd - $22.00 Dexter Romweber - Carrboro [LP], 180 - $25.00 Diablo Blvd - Follow The Deadlights [LP] - $20.00 Die Kreuzen - October File [LP], RE - $20.00 Diskaholics Anonymous Trio - Live In Japan Vol. 1 [LP] - $22.00 Dixie Witch - Let It Roll [LP] - $20.00 Doctor Midnight & The Mercy Cult - I Declare: Treason [LP], Ltd, Glo - $16.00 Dor Koren - Bigfoot [LP], (Purple) - $22.00 Drakkar Sauna - 20009 [LP] - $12.00 Dreadnaught - Caught The Vultures Sleeping [LP] - $25.00 Drnwyn - Gypsies In The Mist [LP], RE - $20.00 Dub Narcotic Sound System - Boot Party [LP] - $22.00 Duran Duran - Budokan [LP], Ltd - $36.00 Dwarves - Invented Rock & Roll [LP] - $20.00 Earthless - Sonic Prayer Jam [12"], Gre - $26.00 Eat Skull - III [LP] - $16.00 Els Masturbadors Mongolics - Els Masturbadors Mongolics [LP] - $22.00 Empire Of The Sun - Two Vines [LP], Gat - $26.00 Ennio Morricone - Butterfly (Original Soundtrack) [LP], RE - $20.00 Esben And The Witch - Wash The Sins Not Only The Face [LP] + 7" + CD + Ltd - $22.00 Every Time I Die - Low Teens [LP] - $20.00 Exene Cervenka - The Excitement Of Maybe [LP], Ltd - $16.00 Exhaustion - Biker [LP] - $25.00 Exhaustion - Phased Out [12"], EP - $14.00 Exhumed - Garbage Daze Re-Regurgitated [LP] - $24.00 Exploded View - Exploded View [LP] - $30.00 Eyes Ninety - Eyes Ninety [LP] - $18.00 Fear Like Us - Succour [LP] - $18.00 Finch - What It Is To Burn X Live [2LP], (White) - $32.00 Finntroll – Bloodsvept [LP] - $26.00 Flat Duo Jets - Go Go Harlem Baby [LP], RE - $22.00 Footy - Record [LP] - $15.00 Gerald V. Casale w/ Italy's Phunk Investigation - It's All Devo [LP], Ltd - $22.00 Germs - Germicide [LP], RE, 180 - $32.00 Get The Hater - Get The Hater [12"] - $12.50 GG King - Unending Darkness [LP] - $20.00 Giuda - Racey Roller [LP], RE - $28.00 Godflesh - Decline & Fall [12"], EP - $20.00 Gone Is Gone - Gone Is Gone [12"], EP, Ltd, (Clear) - $24.00 GravelRoad - Psychedelta [LP], (Yellow) - $20.00 Grim Tower - Anarchic Breezes [LP], (White) - $18.00 Guided By Voices - Let's Go Eat The Factory [LP] - $24.00 Guided By Voices - The Bears For Lunch [LP] - $20.00 Handguns - Disenchanted [LP], Hal - $18.00 Hanni El Khatib - Moonlight [LP] - $20.00 Heads. - Heads. [LP], Ltd, 180 - $20.00 Heavy Times - Fix It Alone [LP] - $18.00 Heavy Trash - Midnight Soul Serenade [LP] - $22.00 High Priest Of Saturn - High Priest Of Saturn - $22.00 Holy Balm - It's You [LP] - $16.00 Home Blitz - Frozen Track [12"], EP, Ltd - $10.00 Honey Hahs - Dear Someone, Happy Something [LP] - $28.00 Howard Eynon - So What If Im Standing In Apricot Jam [LP], RE + Flexi, 7", Ltd - $20.00 Howl At The Moon - A Slave To The Ghost [2LP], Dlx, Bla - $30.00 Howlin Rain - Mansion Songs [LP] - $20.00 Hudson Mohawke - Ded5ec - Watch Dogs 2 O5T [2LP], Ltd - $26.00 I Am Duckeye - Songs From The Gunt [LP], Ltd, Gre - $20.00 Iggy Azalea - Reclassified [2LP] - $30.00 Indica - Stone Future Hymns [LP], Ltd - $30.00 Jaala - Joonya Spirit [LP] - $26.00 Jad Fair & Norman Blake - Yes [LP], (Red) - $22.00 Jaga Jazzist - Starfire [LP] - $20.00 Jail Weddings - Four Future Standards [12"], EP, Ltd, (Red) - $16.00 Jail Weddings - Love Is Lawless [LP] - $18.00 James Mccann And The New Vindictives - James Mccann And The New Vindictives [LP] - $22.00 James McCann's Dirty Skirt Band - Lost Property [12"], MiniAlbum, Ltd, Num - $18.00 Jay Reatard - Blood Visions [LP] - $20.00 Jayne Mansfield - Jayne Mansfield In Las Vegas [LP], RE, Unofficial, Pin - $15.00 Jeff Grace - The House Of The Devil [LP] - $32.00 Jeff The Brotherhood - Wasted On The Dream [LP] - $25.00 Jerry Lee Lewis - Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On [LP], Comp, RE, 180 - $25.00 Joe Delia - Ms.45 - OST [LP], Ltd, RM, (Clear) - $26.00 Joe Satriani - Joe Satriani [12"], EP, Ltd, Num, RE, RM, 180 - $25.00 Joe Strummer - Gangsterville [12"], EP - $18.00 John Sangster - Ahead Of Hair [LP], Ltd, RE - $26.00 John Sangster - The Joker Is Wild [LP], Ltd, RE - $26.00 John Wesley Coleman - The Last Donkey Show [LP] - $18.00 Junior Kimbrough + Daft Punk - I Gotta Try You Girl (Daft Punk Edit) [12"], S/Sided, Etch, Ltd - $15.00 Justin Greaves - The Devil's Business [LP] - $24.00 Kalevala - People No Names [LP], Ltd, RE, RM - $55.00 Katastrophy Wife - All Kneel [LP], S/Edition, (Blue) - $30.00 Keith Hudson - Entering The Dragon [LP], RE - $25.00 Kelley Stoltz - Double Exposure [LP] - $24.00 Kid Creole And The Coconuts - I Wake Up Screaming [2LP], Gat - $22.00 Kid Rock - Cocky [2LP], RE, Tur - $36.00 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - 12 Bar Bruise (Green) [LP] - $32.00 King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard - Gumboot Soup (Baby Blue) - $32.00 Kitty, Daisy & Lewis - Superscope [LP] - $24.00 KLOZAPIN - Klozapin [LP] - $16.50 Kurt Cobain - Montage Of Heck: The Home Recordings [2LP], Dlx, 180 - $45.00 Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein - Stranger Things 2 OST [2LP] - $25.00 Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein - Stranger Things: Halloween Sounds From The Upside Down (Pic Disc) [LP] - $18.00 L.A. Takedown - II [LP], 180 - $34.00 L7 - The Best Of The Slash Years (Green) [LP] - $50.00 Lacksley Castell - Princess Lady [LP], RE - $50.00 Leadfinger - Friday Night Heroes [LP], Num + CD - $32.00 Lee Perry - Holiness Righteousness [LP], Ltd, 180 - $22.00 Les Baxter - Les Baxter's Barbarian [LP], RE, 180 - $26.00 Little Cub - Still Life [LP], 180 - $24.00 Long John Baldry - Long John's Blues [LP], Mono, Ltd - $25.00 Lorelle Meets The Obsolete - On Welfare [LP] - $20.00 Lower Plenty - Life/Thrills [LP] - $15.00 Lower Plenty - Sister Sister [LP] - $20.00 Lymbyc Systym - Shutter Release [LP], (White) - $24.00 Lyres - A Promise Is A Promise [LP], RE, Gat - $22.00 Lyres - Lyres Lyres [LP], RE, 180 - $28.00 Lyres - On Fyre [LP], RE, 180 - $28.00 Machine Gun Fellatio - Paging Mr. Strike [2LP] - $45.00 Mad River - Mad River [LP], RE - $25.00 Madball - Hardcore Lives [LP] - $34.00 Man Man - Six Demon Bag [LP], Ltd, RE, 180 - $32.00 Man Or Astro-Man? - Your Weight On The Moon [LP], Comp, Pic - $30.00 Mark Lanegan - Scraps At Midnight [LP], RE, 180 - $28.00 Mark Lanegan Band - A Thousand Miles Of Midnight (Phantom Radio Remixes) [2LP] - $32.00 Mark Lanegan Band - Phantom Radio [LP], 180 - $35.00 Marty Friedman - Inferno [LP], Ltd - $20.00 Marvelous Darlings - Single Life [LP], Comp - $18.00 Marvin Gaye - I Heard It Through The Grapevine (Purple) [LP] - $20.00 Mastodon - The Motherload [12"], Single, Ltd, Pic - $25.00 Matthew E. White, Flo Morrissey - Gentlewoman, Ruby Man [LP] - $20.00 MDC - Elvis - In The Rheinland (Live In Berlin) [LP], RE - $32.00 MDC - Shades Of Brown [LP], RE, (Blue) - $32.00 MDC - This (Blood Red)od's For You [LP], RE, (Clear) - $22.00 Meat Loaf - Welcome To The Neighbourhood [LP] - $45.00 Meat Puppets - Monsters [LP], RE, RM - $22.00 Megadeth - The Threat Is Real [12"], Ltd, (White) - $18.00 Melbourne Ska Orchestra - Sierra Kilo Alpha [LP], 3D - $36.00 Men With Chips - Attention Spent [12"], Ltd - $25.00 Mike & Rich - Expert Knob Twiddlers [3LP], RE, RM - $49.50 Mike Adams At His Honest Weight - Casino Drone [LP] - $22.00 Mike Patton - Mondo Cane [LP], RE - $40.00 Miles Tackett - The Fool Who Wonders [LP] - $18.00 Minkions - Distorted Pictures From Distorted Reality [LP], Ltd, (Yellow) - $16.00 Miriam Linna - Nobody's Baby [LP] - $20.00 Mississippi Sheiks - Complete Recorded Works Presented In Chronological Order Volume 4 [LP], Comp, 180 - $25.00 Mississippi Sheiks - Complete Recorded Works Presented In Chronological Order Volume 5 [LP], Comp, 180 - $25.00 Mississippi Sheiks - Complete Recorded Works Presented In Chronological Order, Volume 1 [LP], Comp - $25.00 Mississippi Sheiks - Complete Recorded Works Presented In Chronological Order, Volume 2 [LP], Comp - $25.00 Mississippi Sheiks - Complete Recorded Works Presented In Chronological Order, Volume 3 [LP], Comp - $25.00 Missy Higgins - On A Clear Night (Clear) [LP] - $24.00 Missy Higgins - The Sound Of White (White) [LP] - $24.00 Mmoss - I [LP] - $20.00 Modest Mouse - Building Nothing Out Of Something [LP], Comp, RE, 180 - $25.00 Moon Duo - Escape [LP] - $24.00 Mordbrand - Imago [LP] - $22.00 Mother Earth - Stoned Woman [LP], Ltd, RE, 180 - $30.00 Movie Star Junkies - Son Of The Dust [LP] + CD - $20.00 MS MR - How Does It Feel [LP], (Red) - $30.00 Mudhoney - My Brother The Cow [LP], RE, 180 + 7", Promo, RE - $35.00 Mudhoney - Since We've Become Translucent [LP], RE - $26.00 Nachtmystium - Addicts - Black Meddle Pt. II [2LP], Ltd, Gre - $26.00 Nathan Bowles - Whole & Cloven [LP] - $25.00 Necronomicon Beast - Sowers Of Discord [LP] - $18.00 Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Colorado [2LP+7"] - $55.00 New Memphis Legs - Aaaa The New Memphis Legs [12"] - $20.00 Nickelback - The State [LP], RE - $24.00 Nico Fidenco - Emanuelle Perche' Violenza Alle Donne? - The Degradation Of Emanuelle [LP], Ltd, RE, (White) - $30.00 Night Horse - Perdition Hymns [2LP], (Red) - $20.00 Nü Sensae - Sundowning [LP], (Blue) - $18.00 OBN III's - Third Time To Harm [12"] - $20.00 Obnox - The Juke That Sat By The Door [12"], EP, (Clear) - $20.00 Of Montreal - Snare Lustrous Doomings [2LP], (Orange) + LP, (Yellow) + Album, Dlx, Ltd, 180 - $26.00 Old 97's - They Made A Monster: The Too Far To Care Demos [LP], Comp, Ltd, (Yellow) - $26.00 Omar Rodriguez-Lopez - Octopus Kool Aid [LP], Tra - $45.00 Oneohtrix Point Never - Commissions II [12"], EP, Ltd - $15.00 Opeth - Watershed (Gold) [2LP] - $28.00 Oren Ambarchi, Jim O'Rourke - Behold [LP] - $24.00 Otis Clay - I Can't Take It [LP], RE - $20.00 P.O.D. - The Awakening [LP] - $22.00 P'Taah - Staring At The Sun [2LP] - $24.00 Painted Wives - Obsessed With The End [LP] - $22.00 Palace Of The King - Valles Marineris [LP], Ltd, (Orange) - $26.00 Palma Violets - Danger In The Club [LP] - $22.00 Pascal Comelade + The Limiñanas - The Nothing-Twist [LP], Ltd, RE, (Yellow) - $24.00 Paul McCartney - Egypt Station [2LP] - $18.00 Peace - The World Is Too Much With Us [LP] - $18.00 Pere Ubu - Lady From Shanghai [2LP] - $26.00 Pererin - Tirion Dir [LP], Ltd, RE - $20.00 Perfect Pussy - Say Yes To Love [LP] - $22.00 Peter Buck - Peter Buck [LP], Ltd - $20.00 Philm - Fire From The Evening Sun [2LP], Ltd - $24.00 Pissed Jeans - The Best Of Sub Pop 2009-2013: "Live" At The BBC [12"], EP - $16.00 Powerwolf - Blessed & Possessed [LP], Ltd - $32.00 Prince Fatty Meets Mutant Hi-Fi - In Return Of Gringo! [LP] - $20.00 Purling Hiss - High Bias [LP] - $22.00 Purling Hiss - Weirdon [LP] - $20.00 Puscifer - Donkey Punch The Night [12"] - $15.00 Quatrain - Quatrain [LP], RE, (Red) + LP, (Orange) + Album - $25.00 Queen - A Day At The Races [LP] - $32.00 R.L. Burnside - An Ass Pocket Of Whiskey [LP] - $25.00 Ralph Jones - The Slumber Party Massacre [LP], Ltd, RE, (Clear) - $32.00 Rammstein - Rammstein [2LP] - $25.00 Rat Vs Possum - Let Music And Bodies Unite [LP] - $16.00 Rattus - Turta [LP] - $25.00 Raw Power – Tired And Furious [LP], Ltd, Gre - $32.00 Ray Campi - Rockabilly [LP], Mono, Ltd, RE - $20.00 Red Krayola - Amor And Language [12"], RE - $22.00 Red Krayola With Art & Language - Black Snakes [LP], RE - $20.00 Reggie And The Full Effect - No Country For Old Musicians [LP], Ltd, (Orange) - $18.00 Regurgitator - Mish Mash! [LP], RE, RM - $32.00 Retox - Beneath California [LP] - $20.00 Rimauri - D.O.C. [LP] - $10.00 Roger McGuinn - Cardiff Rose [LP], RE, 180 - $30.00 Rozwell Kid - Precious Art [LP], (Orange) - $24.00 Russell St Bombings - Russell St Bombings [LP] - $20.00 Samiam - Astray [LP], Ltd, Sil - $32.00 Sarofeen And Smoke - Sarofeen And Smoke [LP], RE - $40.00 Sea Bastard - Scabrous [2LP] - $30.00 Seaweed - Actions And Indications [LP], RE, RM - $26.00 Sewers - Hoisted [LP], Ltd - $15.00 Sewers - Weight [LP], Ltd - $18.00 Shawn Lee & Clutchy Hopkins - Fascinating Fingers [2LP] - $35.00 Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra - Moods And Grooves [2LP] - $28.00 Shihad - The General Electric [2LP] - $50.00 Shovels - Shovels [LP], Ltd - $20.00 Silver Apples - The Garden [LP], RE - $26.00 Silverchair - Diorama (White) [LP] - $24.00 Silverchair - Young Modern (Blue) [LP] - $24.00 Silverstein - This Is How The Wind Shifts [LP], RP, Hal - $22.00 Sixtyniners - Too Drunk To Truck [LP] - $20.00 Sky Needle - Rave Cave [LP] - $16.00 Sleaford Mods - Fizzy [12"], S/Sided, Etch - $22.00 Sleaford Mods - Live At SO36 [LP] - $25.00 Sleaford Mods - Tiswas EP [12"], EP, Ltd, (Orange) - $25.00 Soma Coma - Dust [12"] - $15.00 Some Jerks - Strange Ways [LP], Ltd, Num - $30.00 Sonic Youth - Slaapkamers Met Slagroom [12"], EP, RE - $25.00 Sonny And The Sunsets - Talent Night At The Ashram [LP], (Red) - $22.00 Sonny Vincent - Cyanide Consommé [LP] - $22.00 Sons Of Otis - Seismic [LP], Ltd - $24.00 Space God Ritual - Eldritch Tales [LP], Ltd, Num, (Clear) - $28.00 Spacejunk - Bite Your Tongue [LP] - $30.00 Speedy Ortiz - Major Arcana [LP] - $20.00 Spider Fever - Spider Fever [LP] - $18.00 Spock's Beard - The Oblivion Parti(Clear) [2LP], 180 + CD - $30.00 Spray Paint - Dopers [LP] - $20.00 Spray Paint - Punters On A Barge [LP] - $22.00 Stark Reality - Roller Coaster Ride [2LP], RE, RM - $28.00 Stereo Total - Les Hormones [LP], (Blue) + CD - $30.00 Steve Earle - Copperhead Road [LP] - $25.00 Steven Wilson - Transience [2LP] - $25.00 Stickmen - Man Made Stars [LP], Ltd, RE, RM, (Blue) - $26.00 Stickmen - The Stickmen [LP], Ltd, RE, RM, Tip - $25.00 Straight Arrows - Rising [LP], Bla - $22.00 Strand Of Oaks - Hard Love [LP], Ltd, Gre - $28.00 Strawberry Alarm Clock - Best Of The Strawberry Alarm Clock [LP], Comp, RE, 180 - $26.00 Stray Trolleys - Barricades And Angels [LP], RE - $28.00 Subtle Turnhips – Redhair With Some [LP], Ltd, (Orange) - $24.00 Summer Blood - Comet [12"], MiniAlbum, Num, (Red) - $15.00 Sun Dial - Sun Dial [LP], Ltd - $24.00 Superchunk - I Hate Music [LP] - $24.00 Superchunk - No Pocky For Kitty [LP], RE, 180 - $25.00 Surfer Blood - Astro Coast [LP], Ltd, RP, (Red) - $26.00 Sweet Apple - The Golden Age Of Glitter [LP], (Blue) - $22.00 Sylvie Simmons - Sylvie [LP] - $18.00 Tad - Infra(Red) Riding Hood [LP], RE, 180 - $28.00 Tapiman - The Singles [LP], MiniAlbum, Comp, RM - $25.00 Teramaze - Her Halo [2LP] - $25.00 Terveet Kädet - Musta Jumala [LP], Comp, RE - $32.00 Tess Parks & Anton Newcombe - Cocaine Cat - $19.50 Tex Napalm & Dimi Déro - Sticky Singers [LP] - $16.00 The Acacia Strain – Gravebloom [2LP], (Clear) - $34.00 The Afghan Whigs - Do To The Beast [2LP], 180 - $24.00 The Ancients - Night Bus [LP] - $17.50 The Black Keys - Thickfreakness [LP] - $25.00 The Cairo Gang - Goes Missing [LP] - $20.00 The Casualties - Under Attack [LP], Ltd, RE, (Red) - $26.00 The Clang Group - The Clang Group - $22.00 The Comfort - What it is to Be [LP], Sea - $40.00 The Dacios - Monkey's (Blood Red)od [LP], Ltd, Num, RM - $20.00 The Daisy Chain - Straight Or Lame [LP], Mono, Ltd, RE - $26.00 The Deathtrip - Deep Drone Master [LP], Ltd - $28.00 The Devil Wears Prada - 8:18 [LP], Gat - $30.00 The Devil Wears Prada - Transit Blues [LP], Ele - $20.00 The Easybeats - Absolute Anthology 1965-1969 [2LP] - $40.00 The Flesh Eaters - No Questions Asked [LP], RE - $20.00 The Fleshtones Featuring Lenny Kaye - Brooklyn Sound Solution [LP] - $17.50 The Future Primitives - Into The Primitive [LP], Spl + CD - $22.00 The Hecks - The Hecks [LP] - $24.00 The Hives - Barely Legal (Bronze) [LP] - $36.00 The Ides Of March - Ideology 1965-1968 [LP], Comp, Mono - $25.00 The John Steel Singers - Midnight At The Plutonium [LP] - $26.00 The Junior Raymen - Rumble '66 [12"], MiniAlbum - $14.00 The Kills - Ash & Ice [2LP] - $32.00 The King Khan & BBQ Show - Bad News Boys [LP] - $25.00 The Krewmen - Klassic Tracks [LP], Comp - $24.00 The Lions - Soul Riot [2LP] - $25.00 The Love Language - Libraries [LP] - $20.00 The Loved Ones - Magic Box (Pink) [LP] - $22.00 The Mekons - Ancient & Modern 1911-2011 [LP] - $20.00 The Men - Tomorrow's Hits [LP] - $22.00 The Midwest Beat - Singles 2005 - 2011 [LP], Comp - $20.00 The Monochrome Set - Cosmonaut [LP] + CD - $24.00 The Murlocs - Old Locomotive (Blk/Silver) [LP] - $32.00 The Murlocs - Young Blindness (Neon Pink) [LP] - $32.00 The New Pornographers - Brill Bruisers [LP], Gat - $25.00 The Ocean Party - Restless [LP] - $30.00 The Order Of Apollyon - The Sword And The Dagger [LP], (Red) - $25.00 The Pandoras - It's About Time [LP], RE - $20.00 The People's Temple - More For The Masses [LP], Bla - $20.00 The Phenomenal Handclap Band & Peaches - Walk The Night [12"] - $12.00 The Psyched - The Psyched [LP] - $15.00 The Psychic Paramount - II [LP] - $22.00 The Raveonettes - Pe'ahi [LP] - $19.50 The Reach Around Rodeo Clowns - Rockabilly Deluxe [LP], (Gold) - $20.00 The Red Paintings - The Revolution Is Never Coming [2LP], Num - $34.00 The Residents - Intermission [12"], EP, Ltd, Num, RE - $25.00 The Revelators - We Told You Not To Cross Us... [LP] - $20.00 The Ronettes - Volume 2 [LP], Comp - $25.00 The Scrapes - The Songs Of Baron Samedi [LP], Ltd - $26.00 The Spinning Rooms - Complicating Things [LP], Ltd, GAT - $16.00 The Spoils - The Spoils [LP], Comp - $18.00 The Staple Singers - Freedom Highway [2LP], RE - $40.00 The Stevens - A History Of Hygiene [LP] - $22.00 The Still - The Still [LP] - $30.00 The Strollers - Waiting Is . . . [LP], Gat - $22.00 The Third Power - Believe [LP], RE, (Red) - $32.00 The Treble Spankers - Hasheeda [LP], RE, 180 - $25.00 The Tree People - Human Voices [LP], RE - $18.00 The Tree People - It's My Story [LP] - $18.00 The Tunas - The Tunas [LP] - $18.00 The White Stripes - Get Behind Me Satan [2LP] - $32.00 The White Stripes - Icky Thump [2LP] - $25.00 The Youngbloods - Earth Music [LP], Mono, RE - $20.00 The Yum Yums - ...Play Good Music [LP] - $18.00 The Zingers - The Zingers [LP], Ltd - $12.00 Thee Mighty Fevers - Fuckin' Great R'N'R [LP], Bla - $22.00 Therapy? - Nurse [LP], RE - $36.00 Thom Yorke - Tomorrow's Modern Boxes [LP], RE, (White) - $34.00 Tim Hart - The Narrow Corner [LP] - $25.00 Titus Andronicus - S+@dium Rock: Five Nights at the Opera [LP] - $22.00 Tombstoned - Tombstoned [LP] - $22.00 Torres - Sprinter [LP], Club, 180 - $24.00 Totally Mild - Down Time [LP], Ltd, RP, Fou - $28.00 Totally Unicorn - Sorry [LP] - $25.00 Tracer - El Pistolero [LP], (Red) - $20.00 Tracer - Water For Thirsty Dogs [LP], (Yellow) - $28.00 Trap Them - Blissfucker [LP], 180 - $22.00 Tricky Featuring Milo Johnson & Luke Harris - Skilled Mechanics [LP] + CD - $22.00 Turbonegro - Sexual Harassment [LP], Pin - $40.00 Turbowolf - Two Hands [LP] + CD - $24.00 TV Haze - Scrap Museum [LP] - $20.00 Twitch - Dark Years [LP], Mono, Num, RM - $32.00 Tyrannamen - Tyrannamen [LP] - $28.00 Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats - Wasteland [LP], (Orange) - $40.00 Unity Floors - Life Admin [LP] - $32.00 upsidedownhead - complex [12"], EP - $30.00 UV Race - Made In China [LP] - $22.00 Vader - Live In Decay [12"], RE, (White) - $25.00 Various - "Doused In Mud, Soaked In Bleach" [LP], Comp, Ltd, Sil - $30.00 Various - 20 Big Ones 1992-2012 [2LP], Pin + LP, Gre + Comp - $24.00 Various - Absolute Belter [2LP], Comp - $32.00 Various - Axels & Sockets (The Jeffrey Lee Pierce Sessions Project) [2LP], 180 + CD - $40.00 Various - Bill Brewster After Dark (Nocturne) [2LP], Comp, Ltd - $35.00 Various - Bonehead Freaks [LP], Comp, Ltd - $30.00 Various - Epitaph For A Legend [2LP], Comp, RE - $32.00 Various - Generations: A Hardcore Compilation [LP], Comp, RP, Gre - $20.00 Various - Greased Buckskin Belters [LP], Comp, Ltd - $30.00 Various - Head Start To Purgatory [LP], Comp - $15.00 Various - Hot Wacks [LP], Comp - $10.00 Various - Just A Little Bit Of The Jumpin' Bean [2LP], Comp - $30.00 Various - Kanine Records Presents Non Violent Femmes [LP], Comp, Ltd, Pin - $18.00 Various - Kaptain Kavemen From Brisbane [LP], Mono - $28.00 Various - Land Of Nod: An Atlanta Punk And Hardcore Omnibus [LP] - $16.50 Various - Like Nashville In Naija [2LP], Comp, Ltd - $34.00 Various - Live At The Bootleggers: Featuring Lattie Murrell And William Floyd Davis [LP] - $22.00 Various - Live From High Fidelity: The Best Of The Podcast Performances [LP], Ltd, Tra - $24.00 Various - Los Alamos Grind! [LP], Comp, Ltd, (Blue) - $24.00 Various - Monster Skies [LP], Comp - $25.00 Various - Normalised : The Detonic Collection [LP], Comp, (Clear) - $18.00 Various - Recutting The Crap, Volume One [LP], Comp, Ltd, Num - $20.00 Various - Reverend Beatman's Dusty Record Cabinet Vol. 2 [LP], Comp - $24.00 Various - She Bop [LP], Comp + CD - $22.00 Various - Sub Pop 1000 [LP], Comp, (Blue) - $18.00 Various - Sugar Lumps 3 [LP], Comp - $26.00 Various - Suicide Squeeze Records Presents:Forever Singles [LP], Comp, Ltd, Num, Gre - $16.50 Various - Sunday Nights: The Songs Of Junior Kimbrough [2LP], Comp, Ltd, (Blue) - $32.00 Various - Texas Flashbacks Vol. 1 Dallas [LP], Comp - $22.00 Various - The Rough Guide To South African Jazz [LP], Comp - $25.00 Various - This Is Fort Apache [LP], Comp - $25.00 Various - Todo Muere Volume 4 [LP], Smplr - $20.00 Various - Todo Muere Volume 5 [LP], Comp, Ltd - $24.00 Various - Yesterdays Universe [2LP], Comp - $20.00 Various – Bored Teenagers Vol.8: 19 Great British Punk Originals '77-'82 [LP], Comp - $25.00 Velvet Illusions - The Velvet Illusions [LP], Comp - $22.00 Voïvod - Target Earth [2LP], Ltd, (Purple) - $32.00 Weezer - Everything Will Be Alright In The End [LP] - $22.00 White Kaps - Cannonball Man [LP] - $16.00 Wil Malone - Wil Malone [LP], RE, (Blue) - $28.00 Willie Nelson - Summertime: Willie Nelson Sings Gershwin [LP] - $26.00 Winters - Winters [12"], EP - $12.00 Witch Hats - Deliverance [LP] - $20.00 With The Dead - With The Dead [LP], Sol - $35.00 Wooden Shjips - Vol. 1 [LP], Comp - $20.00 Wymyns Prysyn - Head In A Vise [LP] - $18.00 Yes I'm Leaving - Mission Bulb [LP] - $15.00 Yes I'm Leaving - Slow Release [LP] - $19.50 Yo La Tengo - Here To Fall Remixes [12"] - $16.00 Yonatan Gat - Iberian Passage [12"], EP - $18.00 Zodiac - Grain Of Soul [LP], Ltd - $25.00 Zombiefication - Procession Through Infestation [LP] - $18.00

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cactigratitudelove · 5 years

Text

Empire State of Mind

Sometimes darkness comes in the form of exhaustion, insomnia and small spaces with low lighting. It comes with being surrounded by thousands daily on your commute and feeling the most alone you've felt in such a long time.

And by you, I mean, me.

Small amounts of darkness that trickle through mostly well lit areas. Causing the fear that past depression experiences will take over the transition I am currently in.

Patience.

I wait. I am strong. I have family, friends, and support. I am loved, missed and wanted. I am appreciated. I am grateful. I am humbled.

Anxiety, depression, and darkness does not care for gratitude. It thrives on those little chemical thoughts of fear and the lowest part of the struggle. It is the back and forth of guilt and shame. It’s the back and forth of figuring out the difference between the two and thinking I ‘should’ know.

It’s the knowing that I ‘shouldn't’ use the word ‘should.’

It’s the comparison that kills the creative sparks and joy in being a creative. It’s the realization that I am a cliché. It’s the realization that my lovely little cacti city and home did not prepare me for the culture shock of areas in my own country. It’s trying not to be #yesallmen over #metoo. I love you B.

“Woke” on the West Coast is certainly different from “woke” on the East Coast. Race. Religion. Gender. Sex. Diversity. I have so much more to learn.

Mindful.

Thoughts upon thoughts. Written down on morning pages. The guilt for not doing my morning pages everyday. Satisfaction for when they do get done. The shame over not using the tools I know that I know how to utilize. Gratefulness for when I do use them.

Not good enough. Not authentic enough. Not talented enough. Not woke enough. Not Eco-Friendly enough. Not Mexican enough. Not white enough. Not Political enough. Not active enough.

Enough.

Morningside in West Harlem is a gorgeous place to live. Lower East Side is a fun ass place to work. Trains ‘D’ & ‘A’ are the quickest. The ‘1′ train is safer after 2am but takes longer. Did you know pepper spray can only be bought in the city with a license? You can not ship mace to NYC.

I’m currently on that New York Diet: A third floor walk up, walking commutes, bagel & Lox... oh and coffee. Lots of coffee. No one said it was a healthy diet.

Pizza rat. It’s a thing. Summer in the subway is truly hell but City Mappers is a god send. Reading on the train helps avoid eye contact with unwanted interactions while also giving time to finally finishing a book for once. “Fuck Politeness!”-MFM.

Sharing a Lyft with a stranger saves you money and can be the most quiet commute of your life. Brooklyn is the hip and artsy place to be. Gentrification. It’s a thing-Harlem is “Up and Coming.” Astoria is the safest. Chelsea for the galleries. High Art vs. Low Art. Avoid Time Square in every way possible. A jog in central park. Thoughts of Korey Wise, Kevin Richardson, Antron McCray, Yusef Salaam, and Raymond Santana. Thoughts of Trisha Meili. Thoughts of those who've jogged these paths before me and the history I have yet to know.

New York based sitcoms and shows are relatable AF but will never truly capture the heart and soul of the city. AND, one hundred percent, won't tell you the truth about New York apartments and boroughs... Hannah Horvath lied to us all millennial non-New Yorkers. Hashtag white privilege.

I think Abbi and Ilana speak the closest truth. Maybe. Yass Kweeeen!

I’d be down for a more diverse New Yorker show... Just sayin.’

I’d be down for more diverse shows in general... Also, just sayin’

Beauty. Essex. Delancey. F,M, and J Trains. Champagne brunch. Live saxophones. Go-go dancers. “Any Allergies or any dietary restrictions?” Darwinism? L.E.S. (That's short for Lower East Side-New Yorkers love their acronyms.) “Put a pep in your fucking step!” Being in the weeds at a top restaurant in NYC is no where near being in the weeds at a mom and pop. Family meal is questionable today. And tomorrow.

“Ryan, are you like my ‘Simone?’” The book Sweet Bitter is relatable in more ways than one. I love my day job. Grateful for sobriety. Grateful for Sobriety in L.E.S. My younger self in NYC would have been a shit show. I was a shit show. There are other people in NYC that are sober! Who’d-a thought! P.S. Sobriety doesn't mean greens are off the table. Why isn't it legal here yet? Progressive much, New York? I love sleep.

Dog walkers are honestly, truly the best sight to see. My heart. It grows. Every time.

“You work hard for the American dream?”

Far Rockaway Beach isn’t really that far. Take the ‘A’ for a quick getaway. "You’re from Jersey City?” Googles: “Where is Jersey City?” Amtrak gets you to New Hampshire in five hours. A five hour work day on the train is sometimes better than two hours in some coffee shops in Manhattan. NH is beautiful in the summer. Cooler. In-person friendship is beautiful for the soul. Ponds are the size of lakes. I’m from the desert, how am I suppose to know the difference? New England is patriotic As Fuck. Can’t wait to see the fall foliage. Apparently it is definitely a thing.

Rejuvenation.

Note to self: A quick trip out of the city is required for mental hygiene. A dose of nature, occasional hugs, and laughter is highly recommended for future survival in the concrete jungle.

Hopeful.

My ducks are in a row. My planner is filling up with hope. My hustle is real. Society of Illustrators hasn't changed since my visit in 2015. My personal projects are visualizing, slowly but surely. Asana and Ink & Volt keep me organized. Being vulnerable has helped me start connecting. Connections help motivate. Motivation keeps me creating. But, like, also... Sometimes you just gotta fucking do it.

Belonging.

Naive at thirty-three. The city has made me see how young I must seem to others. My reactions and the way I think. The experiences I thought gave me a proper age have proven that I still have more to explore. I feel nerdy. I feel out of place. I feel like an outsider. I feel young. I feel like I don’t belong. Sometimes. And then I do. Then I feel at home.

“Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.” -Brené Brown

In the moment of loss, I found the way to find self-acceptance, again. It’s a journey. Didn’t they tell you? Transitions are funny that way. They question who you are and why this change was so important even when you thought you already knew all the answers.

Cacti, Love and Gratitude.

Therapy. “Scheduling before shit hits the fan?” Woah, that sounds way too healthy. “But, you’re right. Wednesday session, three weeks from now?”

I have a day job. I have a roof over my head. I have reactivated the reason I travelled across country to be in a city that tells it like it is and has a lot of rats to race. It’s gonna be almost three months. Apparently, I am right on schedule.

I am the cliché.

The little light I do have that seeps through the one window in my closet sized room that faces another wall, surprisingly, now gives me hope. This first New Yorker’s apartment with four other roommates has finally shown it’s charm. Or maybe I have lightened up to see what charm it had all along.

-A

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.” -Brené Brown

#desertrat #cityrat #nyclife #nyctransit #brene brown #vulnerability

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younglarva · 6 years

Audio

Pintor - Pharos • Border Town - Eddie & The Showmen • Zapata - John Barry • For A Few Dollars More::Ringo Rides Again - Ennio Morricone • [clip: A Fistful of Dollars (1964)] • Mustang - The Shadows • Guitarville - Roland Janes • Twangin' Cheek - John Barry Seven & Orchestra • [clip: hotrods] • Ballad of Thunder Road - Robert Mitchum [clip: Ford Thunderbird (1964)] • Ghost Train - Electro-Tones • Rubber Room - Porter Waggoner • Boppin' To Grandfather's Clock - Sidney Jo Lewis • Night Beat - The Phantoms • Night Scene - The Rumblers • [clip: Nightmare (1964)] • Genocide - Link Wray • The Rat - The Ventures • Satan's Holiday - The Lancasters (feat.Ritchie Blackmore 1965) • Skull & Crossbones - Sparkle Moore • Gang War - Gene Maltais • [clip: Triple Feature] • Bucktown: End Theme - Johnny Pate • Silver Thrust - Peter Reno • Ride or Die - The Budos Band • Bootie Cooler - Shuggie Otis • Freedom Jazz Dance - Dr. Lonnie Smith • Prayer - Yusef Lateef • [clip: That Man Bolt (1973)] • Hi-Jack - Herbie Mann • The Message From The Soul Sisters (Parts 1 & 2) - Myra Barnes • A Different Feeling - The Avalanches • [clip: Hell Up In Harlem (1973)] • Hot Pants - Bobby Byrd • [clip: Chinese Connection (1972)] • Give It Up Or Turn it Loose - Lyn Collins • [clip: Black Eye (1974)] • Hang Out And Hustle - Sweet Charles • Blow Your Head - Fred Wesley & The J.B.'s • Mr. Hot Pants a.k.a. Across The Track (Parts 1 & 2) - The Believers • [clip: Homicidal (1961)] • Soul Power'74 - Maceo & The Macks • You Can Have Watergate But Gimme Some Bucks And I'll Be Straight (Parts 1 & 2) - Fred Wesley & The JB’s • [download]

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declaredmissing · 3 years

Text

[Ted Chiang’s “The Great Silence”: Interspecies Communication] contact call / the language of birds

I keep thinking about a short story I read, “The Great Silence” written by Ted Chiang. In this story, he discards the standard human narrator, trades it in for the perspective of a parrot, and suggests they might have something to say. In science, there is usually a strong taboo of projecting the inner worlds in animals–but writing from a parrot’s perspective suggests possibilities for scientific ways of working with nonhumans. By attending to the inner world of parrots, Chiang opens possibilities for a contact call.

I grew up in the suburbs, which meant that sometimes, I could recognize the names of birds. It was jarring to move to New York City, where my encounters to nature became limited to urban fauna, and even those interactions were diminished. Pigeons on the windowsill of my dorm, the rat on the A train, the raccoons pawing through trash cans while I jog through riverside park in the evenings. Even back home in Kansas, I always think of the fox family living on our streets that the neighborhood was trying to exterminate. I wonder, if these animals had a voice like the parrot in Chiang’s story, what they might say to us.

Biologist Lynda Birke wrote about how her scientific training instilled a taboo against empathizing with animals. She was taught to repress feeling and view animals as only representations of processes, rather than agents with their own needs and desires. But the danger is that such a cold-blooded pursuit of discovery so easily enables us to sacrifice other creatures in the name of progress. Laika, the dog sent out to space in the name of science, was one of these casualties. Why do we consider ourselves with needs and desires, but not other creatures?

In the book’s afterword, Chiang tells us his story was originally written to be accompanying text for a multiscreen video installation about the connection between the human and nonhuman worlds. It’s difficult to think about interspecies communication in a concrete jungle, even though I feel like that’s where they matter most; where we’re so removed from our ecosystem and the knowledge of other beings in our everyday life. Where we spend our days in square cubicles under fluorescent lights, next to artificial potted plants. Everything we are is caught between the reflections of cellphone screens, store windows, concrete and litter caught in the gutters. Where ordinary people want to keep ‘the outside’ from coming in.

I frequently have these dreams of walls closing in on me, how there’s no safe place for me to retreat to. When I’m awake, I always notice wings. Birds circling against skyscrapers. Crumpled feathers and smashed talons against a sidewalk grate. I’m was always searching for something outside of this city. A second route, alternate tunnels. Always needing some kind of wilderness for my heart to beat, something warm and living to fill this present urban void. A part of me feeling less than human, and more pigeon and rat.

I once explored an abandoned church in Harlem, that seemed more like a pigeon graveyard and hatchery than anything else. Headless pigeon carcasses littered the stairwell to the second floor, smushed and bruised and decaying. Folding damp bibles on church pews. Rot from the ceiling had fallen to the ground, and we picked our way carefully to avoid it. There were holes everywhere patchworking the second floor. We heard rats skittering around somewhere, hiding from our flashlight beams. All I can remember are the legs of the pigeon carcasses. The tiny bones. The gentle cooing from higher floors. I remember thinking, “so that’s where they keep their babies in this hell-city.” I felt wonder and admiration for these strange lives of pigeons, how they’ve adapted to this unwelcoming metropolis. We shut them out from our world, but they’re our kindreds and co-inhabitants, even if we don’t notice them. These encounters with ecosystem pockets in such an urban landscape unsettled me, disturbed the illusion that this wasteland dystopia of a city was separate from nature. I can’t perceive the inner worlds of pigeons, but that doesn’t mean they’re absent. We share so much more with these other species than we believe. The world’s story isn’t experienced or told through just humans, even if we don’t know how to listen to other voices yet.

The golden record show how willing we are to find potential shared capacities with intelligent life, but even as we send broadcasts to space, we’re still trying to figure out how to communicate with parrots. In his short story, Chiang lingers on our shared physiology, reminding us that they’re able to speak too. This physical act of speaking, using breath in our lungs to give form to our thoughts, the same breath that gives us life and reveals intention, are shared with parrots. If we share physiological components with other animals, if they share the capacity to feel as we do, maybe imagining their inner worlds isn’t an invalid scientific method for them.

Despite our ambitions for interstellar research, our science is still so limited when it comes to the ability to communicate with those who already share this earth with us. Parrots might actually in fact be the extra-terrestrial intelligence we’re looking for. Whether their voices matters to us, whether we consider that a loss, is up to us. Biology is only just beginning to frame questions about how “communication” can make sense in interspecies relationships. Even if we can’t ever fully understand the inner worlds of other beings, we can still search for some form of connection with their presence.

I’m always experiencing New York City in retrospect, far away in space and time. As a wasteland first, then hurtling back to the present, like a satellite zooming from the blue globe of Earth to aerial views of a single tree. But to look at myself from the outside like that, a pinpoint pixel to indifferent, mechatronic eyes gazing down on us, is nauseating. It’s a form of awareness I want to run from. Maybe that’s why I searched out those portals to the post-apocalypse, schools and hospitals and churches that are now left to decay. Crashing uninvited into these sites of ruin, encountering the rats and pigeons and foxes guarding the fallen steel beams and emerging from clouds of asbestos. It’s somehow reassuring to see that these shuttered and neglected buildings have been claimed by ivy and bat colonies. When I stand in the industrial ruins, there is a quiet, sacred peace. Stumbling onto these sites I feel like an archaeologist looking at the now irrelevant history of her people. These monuments we’ve built will someday be obsolete. Nothing will remember us but the satellites we send to outer space.

I’m afraid of a someday future where rainforests are as silent as the universe. By the time alien intelligence discovers us, what will they see? What will be left of our world? I’m all for sending starships to outer space and making contact with other forms of intelligent life, but if we ever do, I can’t help but wonder what they would think of us, to see the way we treat the existing intelligent life on our own earth.

While we look ahead to our fever dreams of progress, we’re simultaneously cynical when it comes to salvaging what we have here on this earth. Most stories about the disappearance of species are warnings that accuse us, generating guilt even when our generation already knows what we stand to lose. But Chiang gently redirects this paralyzing sadness we feel, and towards a desire for reconnection instead. Instead of stirring alarm, his story leaves me with a sense of longing, an extension and desire to feel for and understand the language of birds. It’s in this feeling, rather than in shame of being part of the human race, that I feel it might be worth something to act. That even if it’s too late to go back to how we were before, maybe all we can do is try to pay more attention to our immediate now. I don’t know how to imagine the future, but while we’re here, we’re still entirely capable of listening to the beings we inhabit this earth with.

Sometimes Manhattan becomes too much, and I need to head to the wilds and become uncivilized again. In August, I follow an impulse and take the A train at five in the morning to the end of the line, to Jamaica Bay’s wildlife refuge. As I’m walking there from the station, someone stops me and asks if I’m looking for the falcons. I don’t know what he means, so I shake my head. But later, when I’m standing alone in the middle of the refuge, in the echoing expanse of marsh and silver water, I realize it’s the season for falcon watching. I like that idea, of a pilgrimage to a marsh bordering the edges of a city, to search for raptors blading across the sky. That maybe, in looking up, we feel that sharp tugging in our hearts mirrored and confirmed in the deep blue. In strange affinity, witnesses of the here and now. And I wonder what I look like to the aerial view of these birds; infinitely small, but the distance isn’t impossible to close.

When I stop looking forward, ahead of time, I start seeing what’s here. Pigeons, shuffling in church altars. Falcons in a blue sky. So maybe far enough in space all that sees us are bodies of wire and metal. From above we’re invisible. And far away enough in time, we can’t be seen anymore. A thousand years from now, New York City will be a little lost trashed Atlantis in the watery grave of earth, clouded in debris, and and every one of our mechatronic inventions will be eroded into irretrievable information. We can send our satellites into space to document the evidence of us, but it doesn’t matter. On earth, all we can see is each other, and all that’s left to discover are encounters with each other. We’ll be forgotten, but there remains the fact of our bodies. Winged, atomed in the wind.

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