#he’s distinguishing their relationships from the others… they are a duo set apart…

[galadrielspeaks]

legolas and gimli the true drinker vs smoker couple 🫶

[criminalsdefenselawyer]

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[kouomi]

Family Secrets

Summary: How long would you be able to keep your relationship with your brothers’ best friend a secret? (F!reader x Suna Rintarō)

Warnings: slight jealously (basically none!)

Word Count: 3,813

A/N: the beginning of this is a little rocky sorry about that(it’s explaining a lil background I didn’t know where to put it)! This is also my first fic for Haikyuu and on this account so sorry if anything is off!

Posted: March 3rd, 2021 6:26 am EST

Having two older brothers isn’t easy for any girl. Especially if those older brothers are twins and especially if you were all in the same year at school.

Everyone at your school knew you as the Miya twins little sister and while you hated the title it was one that you’d had since you were born so overtime you grew used to it. You constantly lived in their shadow, especially when they started playing volleyball so in an attempt to gain your own title you started playing as well. You’re a setter for the girls team at Inarizaki, set to take the position of captain next year once your current third year captain is out of high school.

Your practice had just ended and after taking a quick shower in the locker room you headed to the other gym where the boys team was still practicing, silently slipping in the door and sitting on the bench.

“Little Miya is here!” Akagi exclaims, a few heads turning to face you. You give a small wave without looking up from your phone, rolling your eyes at the familiar sound of your brothers starting a fight.

“Why are you here?” Osamu asks on one of their water breaks, staring down at you from where he stood.

“Mom won’t let me walk home alone after practice and Yaku wasn’t here today.” You explain with a sigh, “So I have to wait for you two.”

“I forgot we’re going home today.” Atsumu groans, “She’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?”

“He failed the maths test.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles past your lips, Atsumu glaring at you and your other brother as you laugh at his expense. He starts going on about how it wasn’t his fault but you don’t pay much attention, instead your gaze meeting another a few meters behind him. Almost as soon as you lock eyes they look away and you do the same, resisting the blush that tries to rise up your face.

After another thirty minutes of their practice they’re finally let go, everyone else on the team heading towards the dorms while you, Atsumu, and Osamu make your way towards the front gate.

“There’s at least two girls on my team that have a crush on you guys.” You add to their conversation after listening in on them talking about their fan girls for the past ten minutes.

“Eh? Why would someone like ‘Samu?” Atsumu asks.

“You literally have the same face.” You blink, watching as he goes to argue but can’t seem to find any words that work in his favor.

While the twins on either side of you kept talking you pulled out your phone, a small smile crossing your face as your fingers danced across the screen to reply to a text. You’d turned down your brightness and tilted your phone closer to your face so your brothers wouldn’t be able to read anything but they still eyed you suspiciously, silently sharing their questions with each other over your head.

“Y/n? What’re ya doin?” Atsumu asks, making you turn off your phone and shove it in your pocket.

“Texting my team.” You answer coolly, “Some of us actually have to put work in outside of practice.”

“Oi it’s not my fault yer a vice captain and we’re not!”

“What about organizing makes you smile like that?” Osamu asks. You cringe at his words; of course he’d be the one to pick up on that.

“When did this turn into twenty questions?” You ask, voice slight squeaking as you spoke.

“Does our baby sister have a boyfriend?” Atsumu grins, resting his arm on your shoulder.

“No, and don’t call me that! You’re not even a year older than me!” You exclaim, shoving his arm off and picking up your pace so you walked ahead of them instead of between.

“Hey, get back here!”

After dinner with your family you sat in your room, repeatedly setting a volleyball into the air above you and occasionally groaning as you hear your brothers through the thin walls of your home. While you were practicing your mind wandered to how close you’d come to being found out by the duo all because of a stupid smile. You’d managed to hide your relationship for nearly five months now but it was getting harder and harder, especially considering your boyfriend was one of your brothers close friends and teammate. You’d wanted to tell them before but it would just cause unnecessary awkwardness and maybe even distrust among the four of you so you decided to keep it secret. It did make things more interesting sometimes but also immensely difficult to find places you could go on dates without risk of being caught, as things as simple as texting nearly exposed your relationship.

Your train of thought is interrupted by a knock on your window, the volleyball above you coming crashing down on to your face when you turn to look at the source of the noise. Rubbing your nose you stood up and crossed the room, gasping lightly when you see the main topic of your thoughts standing on the branch of the tree outside your window.

“Rin?!” You whisper yell after pushing open the glass, sticking your head outside.

He flashes you a small smile as you reach out to help him inside, leaving the window open behind him in case he needed to use it as a quick escape route.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by.” He responds, reaching out and pulling you towards him with one of your hands before his arms snake around your waist, “We haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Ya could’ve just waited til tomorrow.” You say though find yourself melting into him, “‘Tsumu and ‘Samu are literally on the other side of that wall.”

“Well I was on my way to the store and thought I’d stop by.”

You shake your head with a sigh as your arms move around his back, one of your hands between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his neck. He leans down, face hovering in front of yours for a moment before you close the space between you and press your lips to his.

“You really can’t stay.” You mumble, pulling apart momentarily to talk.

“Just for a little bit.” He says, pecking your lips again before lowering his head to the crook of your neck.

“Rin.” You warn though your words lose any authority when he presses a delicate kiss to your jaw making you subconsciously lean closer into his grasp with a slight intake of breath.

“Okay, maybe just a bit.”

You feel him smile before he peppers your neck in kisses, one of his hands moving up to lightly hold the side as his thumb gently pushes up your chin. You turn and press a kiss to his temple before you angle your head up and to the side, giving him more access as you both take a few unstable steps back until the back of your legs hit your bed. Slowly you fall back on to the mattress, Suna following and hovering over you with one of his hands hooked under your lower back.

“Hey Y/n?” He asks quietly, thin eyes baring into your own.

You hum, eyes flickering away for a moment to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Can we take a nap?”

Your face falls at his question before a small laugh bubbles past your lips, “We can’t, my brothers might walk in.”

The middle blocker gives a disappointed groan before he lays down on top of you, his head resting on your chest as his arms encircle your waist.

“Just five minutes.” He mumbles.

Before you could respond you heard a loud crash from the wall next to you followed by shouting and a yell of your name. The color drained from your face as footsteps approached your room, Suna quickly jumping up and scanning the room for some where to hide. You jester towards the window and he narrows his eyes before climbing out, nearly slipping as he steps on the branches of the tree.

“Y/n!” Atsumu yells as he throws open your door, “Help!”

“What do you-“ Before you could finish your sentence the boy in front of you is tackled to the ground by a flash of grey hair, the two rolling around on the ground of your room.

“Give it back ya asshole!”

“I can’t! I already ate it!”

“What?!”

You watch with wide eyes as they fight, neither paying much attention to you as they carry whatever they’d started on in your room. Even being their sister you had a hard time distinguishing between them with how fast they were moving around, flashes of grey and blonde the only indicator of who was who.

“Stop! You’re gonna knock me over-!” Your words are cut off by the heavy sound of you being sent to the floor, yelling as you’re unwillingly dragged into their fight.

“What is wrong with you two?!”

“He ate my Onigiri!” Osamu exclaims, narrowly missing a punch to the gut, “I spent two hours making that!”

“It’s not my fault ya left it out!” His twin yells back, using his knee to keep down one of his opponent’s legs.

“You’re fighting over food?” You ask exasperatedly, hissing when your hair is violently yanked to the side. As you tried to pull yourself free from their tangle of limbs a swift fist swings into your eye, a yelp of pain leaving you as you reach up to cradle your face.

“Look what ya did now!” Osamu says, reluctantly pulling away from your brother and kneeling in front of you.

“Yer both stupid ya know that?” You hiss, cowering away when a hand reaches out towards you.

“Shit- Y/n I’m sorry, are you okay?” Atsumu asks, any previous fight now long forgotten as they both crouch in front of you with concerned looks.

“Is it bad?” You question, lowering your hand and cringing when you notice their eyes widen.

“Ya think you could pull off purple eyeshadow?”

You groan before taking his hand and letting him pull you up, walking towards the small mirror on your desk and withering at the sight. The area around your right eye was already red and starting to turn purple and swell, reminding all three of you of the strength the brothers had that they often forgot about.

“‘Tsumu, stop eating everything you see, ‘Samu it’s kind of your fault for leaving it out.” You sigh, watching them both deflate and go to argue with you before looking back at your eye, “Now get out.”

“Are you sure? I can getchya an ice pack or somethin?” Atsumu asks but you shake your head.

“Just go, I’ll be fine.”

They reluctantly walk out of your room, flashing you an apologetic look as you trail behind them and close the door with a heavy sigh.

After inspecting your eye a little while longer you pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts for a moment before finding Sunas.

You roll your eyes but still do so, cringing at the sight of the ugly purple that’d started to develop before you hit send.

-

The next day you after you’d gone back to campus you’d gotten a lot of questions about your eye, especially once you went to your morning classes. You’d started to grow annoyed with the persistent, never ending same question over and over and by the time your free period rolled around you were ready to spend the rest of your day in your dorm. On your way to the front of the building you stopped at your locker, unable to resist the smile that pulled at the corners of your lips when you saw your favorite food sitting in a bag next to your books, a small note attached to the top.

Hope you can see this with one eye

-Rintarō

You tuck the note in your pocket before pulling the food out of your locker, making your way towards where you and your friends always met up for lunch. They seemed surprised about your black eye and thankfully didn’t bring up the topic after you explained the story behind the ugly mark.

“You know, some of the boys on the boys volleyball team are pretty cute.” You hear one of the girls say, effectively gaining your attention.

“Especially the second years.” The girl next to you say, “No wonder the twins have so many fan girls.”

“You guys are gonna make me throw up.” You groan, wrinkling your nose at the thought of seeing your brothers in that light.

“Hey, you can’t deny that they’re cute!” She giggles, shoulder bumping into yours as she does so, “Maybe you could set me up with one of them.”

“In your dreams.” You scoff and she frowns.

“What about Suna?” Your other teammates speaks up. You have to resist the urge to shut down the conversation, not wanting to hear other girls talk about how attractive they found your boyfriend.

“Hm, now that you mention it he is pretty handsome.” Another girl weighs in, “His eyes are kind of hypnotizing.”

“What do you think Y/n?”

“I guess he’s cute.” You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant as you refused to make eye contact.

“We should go to the boy’s practice after ours.” Your friend suggests, “We can just watch for pointers.”

“Kori is trying to pick up a new boyfriend!”

As the rest of your team continues laughing and talking about the boys team you find yourself pulled into your own thoughts, worries and insecurities already working their way into the confidence you had in your relationship. What if one of the other girls made a move on Suna? Would he play along with it just to keep the guise of being single? How far would he let her go? Would he realize that he wants to be with someone other than you? Perhaps someone prettier?

By the time you were brought back to reality everyone else was already packing up their things, forcing you to shove the thoughts in the back of your mind though they whispered to you through out the rest of your classes.

-

“Alright you girls can pack up, we’re done for the day!” Your coach announces. You walk with the rest of your team towards the locker rooms with a towel wrapped loosely around your neck, your breathing heavy from the effort from practice. You were excited for it to finally be over and be able to spend the rest of the night with your boyfriend, though your plans are quickly thrown off when someone calls your name from the other side of the gym.

“Y/n, I need you to stay behind with the third years.” Your coach says making you inwardly groan though you still nod and jog towards the small group.

“You know where we’ll be Y/n!” Your friends call out, waving as they close the door to the gym behind them.

The extra practice goes by painstakingly slow, another half hour passing before you were allowed to shower and leave. You practically ran to the other gym, internally panicking at the thought of what you might walk into when you pushed open the doors.

Finally you made it, wasting no time in stepping into the familiar room and quickly scanning the people littered through out. You notice a few groups split off talking to each other, rolling your eyes as you see Atsumu flirting with the girls around him while Osamu stood next to him with an unamused expression. Moving on from them you looked on the other side of the gym, finding your boyfriend standing on the corner of the court.

Relief floods you as you begin to approach him though it’s short lived when you see the girl standing a little too close for comfort. Suna had his signature neutral expression as he spoke to her, not even flinching when she lays a hand on his bicep and steps closer, looking up at him with a coy grin. A sick feeling makes it’s home in your stomach as you watch them and how unbothered he seemed by it all, even giving her one of his rare smiles. You find it harder to believe it’s all an act, that his actions weren’t genuine and he wasn’t actually entertaining her advances. Maybe he was thinking about other options; he had to be tired of how secretive and sneaky he had to be with you and was looking for someone else, someone he could be public with. Maybe you were losing him.

The final straw for you is when you see her hand trail up to hold his face, the action chilling you to the bone and sending you across the room. You’re quickly within range of the two as you approached from behind the girl, Sunas eyes meeting yours and lighting up slightly.

“Oh hey Y/n, I didn’t know if you were going to make it.” Your teammate smiles, her hand still resting on Sunas arm as she turned around to talk to you.

“Yeah. So, what’s going on?” You respond, getting straight to the point as you shift your weight uncomfortably.

“Just having a little chat with Suna here.” She responds, turning towards the man in question so she was practically shoved against him now. You not so subtly cringed at the action which he took notice to, finally taking the opportunity to throw the girl off.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Suna says, peeling himself away from your teammate and stepping closer to you, “Ready to go?”

He tightly loops an arm around your waist, his thumb running up and down on your uniform clad hip. You’re caught off guard by his sudden public display but quickly cover it with a smile, feeling relief flow through you as he distances himself from the girl.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.” You say as your arm goes behind his back, “Coach had me do extra practice with the third years.”

“It’s fine, Kori was here to keep me company.” He responds, both of your gazes flickering to the girl who stood almost dumbfounded next to you.

“Wait are you two...?” She asks, neither of you quite answering though the answer was heavily implied, “Miya? With someone like you as a boyfriend? Either you’re lying or-“

You notice Suna roll his eyes before he pulls you flush against himself, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in one swift motion. You melt into him as your hand reaches up to cup his face, pulling away with an ethereal smile.

“Or you’re really good at lying.” Kori finishes, blinking at you both as if she’s trying to catch up to the sequence of events. After a few moments of the three of you intensely staring at each other she gives a smile and walks off to your other teammates by the door, a rapid conversation bursting out amongst them complete with constant glances and gasps.

“Y/n?!”

You cringe at the sudden, all too familiar yell of your brothers as they quickly push through the girls around them and rush over to where you stood. Suna tenses slightly and turns towards them, his arm loosening so you could stand beside him though it still stays comfortably wrapped around your body.

“What was that?!” Atsumu exclaims, eyes dancing back and forth between you and his friend, “The two of you just...”

“Are you... dating?” Osamu asks, narrowing his eyes slightly as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Suna answers, watching as their expressions fall and they look at each other before back at you.

“How long?” The blonde questions.

“Five months.” You respond this time.

“What?!”

“Well it was great talking to you but we better get going.” You say, gently pushing Suna towards the door in an attempt to escape your brothers.

“Hold on a minute,” Osamu says, as they work their way between you and your boyfriend, “Suna, do ya really think ya can get off that easy datin our precious little sister?”

“Didn’t you give her a black eye?”

“That’s besides the point! Ya know if ya do anythin to hurt her I’m gonna-“

“Why would I hurt her?” Suna interrupts, the three Miyas turning to face him, “She’s my girlfriend, I care about her.”

It’s silent for a moment as your brothers stare in surprise, their minds finally catching up as they search for something else to say.

“Tsumu if you keep this up I’m gonna tell em about your little crush.” You say before they can start again, watching as his face loses color and his expression falls, “And ‘Samu I’ll take all of your cookbooks.”

“... Yer safe for now Suna.” Atsumu says quietly, giving his friend a soft glare.

You take this as an opportunity to escape the twins, wasting no time in quickly making your way across the gym and out the double doors. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding finally leaves your lungs, Suna looking down at you and noticing how exhausted physically and mentally you seemed. Silently he laces your fingers together and gives your hand a gentle squeeze in an effort to help you relax even if it were only slightly.

“We don’t have to hide anymore.” You say quietly though it’s loud in both of your ears, the sentence one you’ve been wanting to say for a long time. Suna responds by pulling your hand up to his face and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting your interlaced hands dangle between you. It was a luxury you hadn’t yet been able to experience, holding his hand out in public. Something about the simple action made your heart flutter, your eyes flickering towards Suna momentarily before back towards the path. It was as if you were confirming your relationship, announcing to the world and more importantly your brothers that Suna was your boyfriend.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Suna asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Just admiring.” You answer, smiling as he gives you a weird look before squeezing your hand.

“I think I’m gonna like this.” He mumbles, abruptly pulling you into himself by your hand.

You stumble for a moment before relaxing against him, your arms finding their place wrapped loosely around his neck while his hold you firmly in place by your waist. Your hand cups his cheek as you lean closer, stopped centimeters away close enough for his breath to dance on your face and lips to barely graze your own.

“Me too.”

[izzyfandoms]

Intrulogical (platonic or romantic) : Forest!God Remus (moss, decay, insects, underbrush darkness, mold, slime ect) meeting Sky!God Logan (Stars, constellations, clean rain, thunderstorm fury, knowledge divined from clouds) and having a complementary relationship with his foil. (It shouldn’t surprise Logan as much as it does. The forest needs rain to grow and flourish- just as the heavens needs the earth to shine. The sky needs the trees to breathe. The plants need the air to live. As is nature)

(Okay, so, this prompt is fucking amazing. I spent much longer working on it that I usually do with prompts and I would absolutely LOVE to write more things in this au (whether it’s intrulogical or another ship). Therefore I’m gonna tag this as ‘clouds and moss au’ which i’ll tag anything else i write in this au as. Also, i only just remembered i have a taglist so i’ll start adding it to my short prompt things from now on. Also this mentions all the other sides once.)

General Taglist - @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game

Intrulogical - Clouds and Moss

Masterpost

Clouds and Moss AU Masterpost

Remus and Logan never really had a first meeting. None of the gods did.

At first, they didn’t exist, and then, one day, they did.

And when they did, they knew their purposes immediately. They knew of the other gods, and they knew, well, everything.

They didn’t need to meet, they interacted with each other through the interactions of their creations.

Humans cooked and danced with fire, and, through them, Patton felt Roman’s warmth.

Janus collected the numerous souls of the drowned, and, through them, he felt Virgil’s waves in his own lungs.

Plants flourished and grew as every drop of rain gave them life. Through them, Remus felt Logan’s gentle touch, like fingertips brushing against his skin. He never knew how much they paled in comparison to the real thing.

“I didn’t know you ever left the clouds.”

Logan glanced up from the tree he was studying, startled. He looked over Remus: the forest god leaning against a mossy tree trunk. It was hard to tell where the moss ended and Remus begun. There wasn’t a difference, really.

The sky god bowed, respectful, before straightening up and adjusting his glasses. Remus wondered why he needed them.

“Good morning, Remus,” He greeted. “I trust you’re having a pleasant day?”

Remus shrugged, wriggling his toes as a beetle crawled over his foot. He watched a butterfly land on a nearby branch. It didn’t know it was in the presence of two gods, and there was something nice about that.

Logan watched it, too. He didn’t seem to mind the silence.

“There will be a thunderstorm in exactly thirty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds. I hope it doesn’t disturb any of your plans,” Logan said eventually, and that was that.

He disappeared, and a sillouette-shaped cloud lingered for a moment or two, before it, too, disappeared.

Remus sunk into the mud, until he became the mud, and took a nap.

He didn’t know how long it took until he saw Logan again. Gods lived longer than mortals, so most had a rather crooked sense of time. Some moments lasted years; some years lasted moments.

Logan seemed to be an exception to that rule.

“Good morning, Remus.”

Remus sat up. He hit the side of his head a few times, and a few bugs fell out the opposite ear. They hit the ground and scattered. Remus watched them run, and wondered how long it would take for something bigger to come along and squash them.

He didn’t speak for almost a minute, before he finally glanced up at his guest.

Logan was sitting cross-legged, floating a few feet above the ground. He, too, was watching the insects, with an odd look of fascination on his face.

“Why are you floating?” Remus asked, after a minute of watching the other god. “Afraid of a little mud?”

Logan looked up from the ground, meeting Remus’s eyes.

Blue. Logan’s eyes were blue.

Fitting.

“I do not want to get dirty.”

Remus stared at him for a few moments, and then slowly and deliberately - without losing eye contact - picked up a handful of mud. He then threw it at Logan, hitting him in the centre of the chest.

If he was honest, he’d expected the sky god to leave after that - maybe reciting the exact time of the next storm, beforehand, if he wasn’t too irritated at the forest god, but leaving nonetheless.

Instead, the corners of his lips twitched upwards, and he slowly lowered himself onto the ground, until he was sitting in the mud opposite Remus. He placed his hand close to the forest god’s, feeling the mud ooze between his fingers, and gave him a small nod.

Remus, a little perplexed, nodded back.

They sat there in silence for some time, until there was a rumble of thunder overhead, and Logan disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.

It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Remus began counting the days after that. He had no interest in keeping track of the time. However, he had been watching the sky more, unintentionally keeping track of the days and nights through that.

It took fifty-seven days for Logan to come visit after that.

“Hey, Logan, how are the clouds?”

Logan gave him an amused look, adjusting the glasses that he absolutely didn’t need.

“They are adequate. There shall be some light precipitation in four hours, twelve minutes and three seconds.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Remus waved his hand. “Why do you wear glasses? You don’t need them.”

Logan blinked a few times, before glancing away, a light blush dusting his cheeks. The red was a stark contrast to the cool blue colours that decorated the rest of his body.

Remus tilted his head, and decided that that colour suited him.

“I, uh… I just like them.”

He said that as if it was a crime, something to be ashamed of, and Remus paused for a moment, watching the flustered sky god, before reaching out and plucking the glasses right off his nose. He then placed them on his own face.

Remus looked around at their surroundings. They looked the same; the glasses altered nothing.

“Hmm,” Remus blinked owlishly at Logan. “I don’t get it.”

The corners of Logan’s lips twitched upwards, and he leant forwards, his face impossibly close to Remus’s. He carefully took his glasses back.

“They’re upside down.” He righted them, and then slid them back onto the forest god’s face. “Here.”

Logan’s fingertips brushed against Remus’s cheeks. They were soft, so soft, as gentle as the raindrops that landed on leaves and stayed there for hours. But Logan’s touch didn’t stay there for hours, no, it was gone within moments, and Remus found himself desperate for more, more, as the sky god pulled away and looked at him expectantly.

“It’s, uh… it’s the same,” Remus said awkwardly. “You really don’t need these, do you?”

Logan shook his head. Little droplets of water fell from his hair and landed on the ground. Remus felt them as if they’d landed on his own skin.

And his hair, oh, his hair. It was as black as night and looked as soft as clouds and Remus wanted desperately to hold him close and run his fingers through it.

Remus took off the glasses, and then carefully - more carefully than he did anything else - pushed them back onto Logan’s face. He let his touch linger, before pulling away.

There was mud on the sky god’s face now, and his glasses were lopsided.

Logan took a moment to correct them, but he made no move to get rid of the mud. The two stared at each other for an unknown amount of time, before Logan’s eyes drifted elsewhere, landing somewhere behind Remus.

The forest god didn’t even need to turn around. He had eyes everywhere, so he knew Logan was admiring a patch of flowers beside a tree.

Remus’s moustache twitched, and the prettiest blue flower appeared in his hand. He reached out and tucked it behind Logan’s ear. His fingertips brushed against a lock of hair; it was exactly as soft as it looked.

Logan’s lips parted slightly in surprise, and he reached up to touch the flower, his hand coming in contact with Remus’s, sending a shiver up his arm and down his spine.

There were a few moments of silence, before Logan suddenly disappeared, and then the rain began. Had it really already been four hours?

Remus turned his face to the sky, feeling the rain hit his skin and run down his body. If he closed his eyes, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that it was Logan’s hands on him instead.

The next time he saw Logan was much sooner than the last.

“Good evening, Remus,” Logan said, appearing behind the other god and peering curiously over his shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“This tree is dying,” He answered, laying his hand on the mossy trunk, feeling the life drain out of it like blood dripping from an open wound.

“Oh.”

Logan placed his hand on Remus’s shoulder. The forest god turned around, opening his mouth to speak again, but the words slipped back down his throat when he saw the other god’s face.

Oh, what a fool he’d been, when he’d called Logan’s eyes blue.

Logan’s eyes were the sky.

They weren’t just like the sky, they were the sky.

They were soft blue during the daytime, sure, but a harsh grey during storms. At night, the irises were dark blue - barely distinguishable from the black of his pupils - speckled with numerous bright white stars. Remus was sure that if you were close enough, you would be able to make out the constellations in his eyes.

And, right now, as the sun began to set over the horizon, his eyes were filled with the soft pinks and oranges of sunset.

Consciously or subconsciously - neither could tell - Remus began to lean closer to Logan, their faces only inches apart.

And then, Logan crossed the gap, and kissed him.

As soon as their lips met, rain began to pour from the clouds. The sky met the forest and it was impossible to tell where they ended and the gods began, but the duo didn’t seem to care.

Remus wrapped his arms around Logan, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss. Time either flew by or crawled at a snail’s pace, neither god felt the need to keep track.

When Logan eventually pulled away, Remus let out an involuntary whine, and the sky god’s eyes - his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes - were wide, his lips parted in surprise at his own actions.

Remus glanced up at the sky, at the passionate storm that raged above them, and then back at Logan.

“Was that planned?” He asked, soft and breathless, and even he didn’t know if he was referring to the storm or the kiss.

Logan looked up, too, as if he’d only just noticed the rain, and then laughed. It rang through the air like bells and Remus silently declared it his new favourite sound. He looked back at the forest god, looking happier than he’d ever seemed before.

“No, it wasn’t.”

The other gods soon learned of the lovers, of course; rumours spread like wildfire. They talked and they talked and they especially loved to say that every drop of rain that hit the forest was a kiss shared between Logan and Remus.

When asked, Logan called the idea prepostorous - basing something as constant as the weather cycle on something as fickle as kisses would be foolish.

But, privately, he knew that they weren’t that far off.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 9

New Bomb Turks

Late summer in the oddest year in memory, and we are still, improbably, deluged by music. The world, it seems, will go out with a bang and a whimper and a steady four-on-the-floor, and we at Dusted expect to have headphones on when it all blows to smithereens. This month’s Dust covers the usual gamut, from milestone ambient reissues to several varieties of improvised jazz, from eerie folk to honest punk rock, from surprising debuts to unlooked for but welcome re-emergences. Two hurricanes, a hinged and unhinged convention, wildfires, confusing hybrid school plans and scorching days won’t stop us, and they shouldn’t stop you either. Some days music is the only thing that makes sense. Listen along with Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, Ray Garraty, Nate Knaebel, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Forsythe and Patrick Masterson.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm (Kranky)

Aix Em Klemm by Aix Em Klemm

If there’s one word that probably applies to most fans of Stars of the Lid and its many peers and offshoots, it might just be “patient.” Which means the fact that Aix Em Klemm, the so-far one-off duo between SotL’s Adam Wiltzie and Labradford/Anjou’s Robert Donne, put out this stunning record just under 20 years ago and haven’t followed it up yet is probably regarded more as unfortunate than maddening. With Kranky issuing Aix Em Klemm on vinyl for the first time, though, and even saying of the duo “they still collaborate musically so new Aix Em Klemm recordings remain a possibility,” it’s a perfect time to both appreciate what they did actually give us and maybe just gently lament that there hasn’t been any follow up (yet?). From the reserved vocals that introduce “The Girl With the Flesh Colored Crayon” before it ebbs into beautifully reassuring drones, to the closing, improv-ed highlight “Sparkwood and Twentyone” (written and recorded on the day, after a year or more of trading tapes and mulling a collaboration), Aix Em Klemm stakes out its own unique place in the oeuvres of its creators and its transporting enough that a little over 40 minutes never feels like enough. Still, we can wait for more.

Ian Mathers

 Lina Allemano’s Ohrenschmaus — Rats and Mice (Lumo)

Rats and Mice by Lina Allemano's Ohrenschmaus

Pop the word Ohrenschmaus into a translator program and you’ll find that it’s German for “ear candy.” The choice of language makes sense, since the name applies to Canadian trumpeter Lina Allemano’s Berlin-based trio. But the imagery breaks down, since the music that she, electric bassist Dan Peter Sundland and drummer Michael Griener play isn’t sweet and easy. Allemano’s compositions are concentrated, full of events that are involving to follow and demanding to negotiate. One might expect the group’s configuration to leave plenty of room, but between the contrasting written events and the enthusiastic elaborations that the players work upon them, this music does not feel spacious at all. Griener shifts between skin and metal surfaces, and Sundland detonates flurries of activity, but the busyness of their activity never seems gratuitous. No, it’s just the thing to amplify the eventfulness of their leader’s fluent and wide-ranging playing.

Bill Meyer

 Jaye Bartell — Kokomo (Radiator Music)

Kokomo by Jaye Bartell

2016 Light Enough introduced me to Jaye Bartell’s pleasingly deep and measured vocal delivery and his elegant way with a tune, reminiscent of Leonard Cohen or M. Ward. There and on this new album, his words have the precision and droll humor of a writer sharply aware of the impact of a well-turned phrase. Kokomo takes its title from the faintly ridiculous and pathologically catchy Beach Boys song featured in the soundtrack to Cocktail. Bartell posits here that too often we live trying to bridge the gulf between our dreams and reality — and how tragi-comic this can be. Tellingly, Bartell’s music is sober and deftly played, but with a lightness to its step and a glint in its eye. (Look no further than the lovely, lilting “Sky Diver,” with its brushed drums and harpsichord.) He’s a smart, reassuring companion, someone who has gone the extra mile for his craft and doesn’t see the need to jump through hoops to catch your attention.

Tim Clarke

 Kath Bloom—Bye Bye These Are the Days (Dear Life Records)

Bye Bye These Are The Days by Kath Bloom

You might know Kath Bloom from her 1980s work with Loren Mazzacane Connors or from her spectral “Come Here” featured prominently in the 1995 film “Before Sunrise.” Her high flickering soprano, fluted with vibrato, is instantly recognizable, grounded in down-to-earth folk music, but tinged with otherworldly spiritual resonance. And oddly, her voice hasn’t changed much over the years. Up to last year (before the world fell apart), she was still performing periodically in Connecticut and Western Massachusetts, and now we have a new record from her, some 40 years past her Daggett Records debut. Here, her songs are gently shaped around her distinctive voice and twining dual guitars (she plays with fellow Connecticut musician Dave Shapiro of Alexander), yet not soft. They have a wiry idiosyncracy and a resistance to cliché, and the way the guitars work together is rather lovely. I like “When Your House Is Burning,” a song where the central metaphor—a burning house—is so precisely described that it may not be a metaphor at all, not a stand-in for musings on the value of connection, the fleetingness of stuff, but the thing itself. Bloom adds harmonica for the pensive “How Do You Survive,” a song about aging with grace and humor, and in her worn-in voices, the melody stretches out like spider web, transparent but nonetheless very strong.

Jennifer Kelly

 Catholic Guilt — This Is What Honesty Sounds Like (Wiretap)

Catholic Guilt really want us to get their honesty (there's no irony in the new EP's title This Is What Honesty Sounds Like). Authenticity has long been a vaunted (or derided) element of pop music, but the Melbourne-based quintet aren't posturing. They deliver straightforward rock with straightforward thinking, but that doesn't mean the music's easy. The group looks at the world with a mix of dismay and hope, as if they recognize that life is difficult but we don't have to let it kill us. The new EP leans into pop-punk, letting the upbeat approach direct the energy of the two standout tracks. “A Boutique Affair” looks at the challenges of increasing isolation as we age: “It's hard to make friends in your 20s / It's even harder to make 'em in your 30s / At this point I'm really dreading / The thought of making it to my 40s.” Vocalist Brenton Harris might wonder why we should bother growing, but he's determined to age loudly. Single “The Awful Truth” turns its pop guitars into rage as it looks at the sex abuse scandal in the Catholic church. By the time Harris says, “I can't wait to watch you burn,” it's clear that the truth may be awful, but at least it's honest.

Justin Cober-Lake  

 Cutout — Cutout (Driff)

Cutout by Jorrit Dijkstra, Jeb Bishop, Pandelis Karayorgis, Nate McBride, Luther Gray

The name Cutout implies removal, but that won’t get you very far in understanding this Boston-based jazz quintet’s music. Quite the contrary, Cutout’s performance dynamic involves judicious addition by a group of musicians who have made a long-term commitment to playing together. Alto and soprano saxophonist Jorrit Dijkstra and pianist Pandelis Karayorgis have been business and creative partners for years. They are the co-operators of Driff Records, all of whose releases feature one or both musicians, and they have shared several ensembles, including the large band Bathysphere, the Steve Lacy-themed Whammies, and Cutout. Trombonist Jeb Bishop, bassist Nate McBride, and Luther Gray often show up in these groups, and their smooth execution of sharp corners and sudden turnarounds reflects their shared understanding. What distinguishes Cutout from their other bands is the way they bring material by all five members into the set. Some of this album’s six tracks are single compositions, but others are sequential suites joined by improvisations. There’s plenty of dynamite soloing at work here, but the most intriguing turns come when one of the players elegantly links a couple of his bandmates’ compositions.

Bill Meyer

 Tim Daisy & Ken Vandermark — Consequent Duos: series 2a (Audiographic)

Consequent Duos: series 2a by Tim Daisy & Ken Vandermark

Ken Vandermark is a notoriously busy guy; in any ordinary year, the multi-reedist logs an extraordinary number of miles traveled, gigs played, records released and musical partners engaged. This 75-minute long recording braids together three threads of inquiry. It inaugurates the second volume of Consequent Duos, a shelf-full of improvised duos played in North America, mostly with Americans. And as with the other volumes of series 2a, it is a download-only release, part of a sequence of album-length recordings that may not be deemed to be major efforts, but that nonetheless don’t deserve to be filed away forever on some hard drive. Finally, it shares one night in Vandermark’s two decades and counting relationship with drummer Tim Daisy. It takes about ten seconds of any random selection from this concert recording, which preserves what went down one Sunday night in August 2011, to hear why these guys keep working together. The trust and empathy forged by playing literally hundreds of concerts together manifests in music that feels effortless, no matter how technically demanding it actually is. Whether it is the sound of drums being played at a galloping pace with the lightness of knitting needles while the baritone sax pops and roars eruptive masses of sound, or the bass clarinet leaping and trilling with joyous abandon while the percussion swings with dance beats that could get you arrested in certain countries, these guys know just how to make each other sound really good.

Bill Meyer

 The Dillards — Old Road New Again (Pinecastle)

The Dillards' influence on popular music outstrips their own fame (they might even be as well remembered for appearing on The Andy Griffith Show as they are for their proper recordings). The group became an important part of the development of country-rock, especially as they expanded the possible sounds of bluegrass. Nearly 60 years after their first release, they return with Old Road New Again. Only Rodney Dillard (sounding younger than his age) remains from the initial lineup, but he brings along a number of guests to fill out his act. Don Henley appears, and if “My Last Sunset” drifts into Eagles territory, that's no surprise, but Ricky Skaggs, Sam Bush, and others prove the act has plenty of flexibility left in it, whether cutting an original or reworking a classic like “Save the Last Dance.” The album winds down with “This Old Road” and a recounting of some musical history through playful allusion. Even as Dillard looks back, though, he thinks about new ways to push forward. Although the record could work just as reminiscence, the artists show more interest in what comes next.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Fire! Orchestra / Krzysztof Penderecki — Actions (Rune Grammofon)

Rune Grammofon · Fire! Orchestra - Actions (excerpt)

The Fire! Orchestra is not so much Swedish saxophonist Mats Gustafsson’s big band as his big house, the place where he can bring his myriad interests together and invite them to interact. They have already taken on free jazz, krautrock and abstracted songcraft, so why not one of the earliest documents of post-third stream classical-jazz interaction? Polish composer Krzysztof Penderecki originally composed Actions for Free Jazz Orchestra after hearing the Globe Unity Orchestra and handed it off to trumpeter Don Cherry to realize its first performance in 1971. Cherry’s imprint upon Gustafsson is deep; where do you think his long-running trio, The Thing, got its name? But this is no mere recreation. Some of Fire! Orchestra’s members weren’t even alive when the first version was performed, so the task is to find a way of playing the piece that makes sense now. So, they stretch things out, letting passages evolve organically. Special credit is due to the three-piece, whose contributions melt and glow.

Bill Meyer

 Ganser — Just Look At That Sky (felte)

Chicago quartet Ganser explores the bewilderment, claustrophobia and anxiety induced paranoia of the times on their latest album Just Look At That Sky. Brian Cundiff’s lockstep drumming anchors the record as Charlie Landsman whips out driving chords and intricate riffs that summon touchstones like Ian MacKaye, Thurston Moore and Rowland S Howard and push the songs to the edge of control. Spiky, equally detached and declamatory, Alicia Gaines (bass) and Nadia Garofalo (keyboards) share vocal duties working inside the kinetic rhythms to explore an interior world reactive to circumstance but seeking paths forward.  

Centerpiece “Emergency Equipment and Exits” demonstrates what the band can do when they stretch out and build layers of dread; Cundiff and Gaines drop into a propulsive groove as Gaines sings of parties past and now lost to the new reality: “Swallowing negative space/Like DB Cooper falling/Until I too am nothing/And it all seemed so big.” The tempo drops, a lonely keyboard riff, the song builds as Gaines intones “It’s a long way down” and Landsman’s guitar howls into the ether. The combination of exhilaration and enervation encapsulates the power that makes Ganser stand out amongst their peers working at similar intersections of post punk and art noise.

Andrew Forell  

 Godcaster — Long Haired Locusts (Ramp Local)

Long Haired Locusts by Godcaster

Possibly it’s the pandemic, though the trend seems to predate early 2020, but we have not heard a lot of over-stuffed, over-instrumented, over-the-top art-prog ensemblery lately. Godcaster, from Philly, busts the one-guitarist-on-the-couch paradigm wide open in this manic, Zappa-esque adventure. First of all, there are half a dozen musicians, augmenting the usual bass/drums/guitar with outre axes like flute, trombone and a variety of synthesized keyboards. All six of them lock into wiggy, hyper funky overdrive in opening salvo “Even Your Blood is Electric.” It’s a righteous groove, a tight and feisty disco extravanganza that mutated in the lab, but that sells it short and blurs the complications. Other cuts take the temperature down, but not the oddity. “Apparition of Mother Mary in My Neighborhood” feels like an almost pop song, though conceptualized by a 12-tone composer and interpreted in odd-numbered time signatures. Long Haired Locusts is too precise and earnest to be a gag, but an anarchist sense of humor pops up, as in the single “Don’t Make Stevie Wonder Wonder,” a Curlew-ish irregular jam punctuated with jump-rope chants. All these cuts have a lot of moving parts, a sense of play and a manic attention to detail, and if you’re sick of sad folksinger live streams, Godcaster could be just what you’re looking for.

Jennifer Kelly  

 Haptic — Uncollected Works (2005-2010) (Haptic)

Uncollected Works (2005-2010) by Haptic

Haptic is best characterized as a Chicago combo. Even though one or another of its members has lived out of town for roughly a third of their existence, the influence that such a situation has on their work’s pace only confirms that they are a band that needs to share space to get much done. The recordings on this DL-only collection of compilation contributions and curios dates from the first third of their existence, when Steven Hess, Joseph Clayton Mills, and Adam Sonderberg got together on a weekly basis. Heard end to end, these tracks don’t sound much alike. But whether the project at hand is framing a few piano noises with collected sounds, stretching out a bell’s toll, or patiently exploring the potential of signal corps training jazz, it sounds like the work of a common understanding about how sound can be molded and reframed.

Bill Meyer

 Boldy James — The Versace Tape (Griselda Records)

On his third album this year, Boldy James pairs up with Jay Versace, but despite a change in producers, there is little to distinguish the three tapes. After a long hiatus Boldy churns out music to flood the market, and every new tape causes head-scratching. Was it necessary to release this? As a stone cold pro, Boldy never repeats himself. He also never says anything new. His blueprint is all business talk with designer names splashed here and there: “First come, first serve, first through the third, no dealings \ Mama, I apologize, ain't mean to hurt your feelings.” When he steers towards Mafia references in his songs he sounds a bit archaic (but he already sounded retro when he first started in early 2010s). On The Versace Tape, as always, he raps like he’s not giving us the whole picture. He’s holding back, but maybe what’s left unsaid is the best part.

Ray Garraty  

 Madeline Kenney — Sucker’s Lunch (Carpark)

How big can a pop song go? This Oakland songwriter’s third full-length is boundlessly expansive without being particularly loud, the choruses swelling effortlessly, like a soap bubble blown to the size of your head. Kenney worked with Wye Oak’s Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack to produce Sucker’s Lunch and taps Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner, Boy Scout’s Taylor Vick and film composer Stephen Steinbrink for vocals. “Tell You Everything” is translucently gorgeous, layers of guitars, drum, percussion and saxophone shifting in iridescent patterns that never overwhelm its sleepy vocals. “Jenny” increases the friction, with a hard beat, surging synths and shoe-gazey gloss on the guitars, but sweetness in the vocals. Kenney’s subject matter is love and its complications, but she ends the disc in “Sweet Coffee” with a lucid purity. “I’m making coffee,” she croons in a breathy voice out of dreams, “Won’t you sit with me?” Sure, let me pull up a chair.

Jennifer Kelly

 Josh Kimbrough — Slither, Soar and Disappear (Tompkins Square)

Slither, Soar & Disappear by Josh Kimbrough

Writing an album in the spaces around an infant’s schedule is a delicate business, but Josh Kimbrough managed it quite well on this lovely album. His finger-picked rambles unfold like the slip-sliding time in a baby’s first year, a tumble of frantic activity interspersed with quiet, contemplative intervals. Kimbrough, a veteran of the North Carolina-based Trekky Collective, plays softly but with precision on acoustic solo pieces like “Sunbathing Water Snake” and “Giant Leopard Moth,” but his work really takes on warmth and resonance when he invites collaborators into his quiet, sunlit world. Blues-flecked “Two-thirds of a Snowman” gains an eerie glow from Andrew Marlin’s mandolin, which echoes Kimbrough’s licks in an upper register like the light hitting a shadowy corner. A sustained synth note in “Glowing Treetops” glitters like the surface of a pond—that’s Jeff Crawford of the Dead Tongues, who also play some bass—while gentle bent guitar notes zing like mosquitoes off its clear, cool liquid surface. Bobby Britt loops lush fiddle flourishes around this and other Kimbrough melodies; a rich, subtle blend of string timbres enlivens many of these tracks. The natural world also makes its appearance as well, most prominently in weather-haunted “The Shape of the Wind Is a Tree,” though the album’s light, clean tone throughout is like an open window. And yet despite multiple intermeshing elements, the album works very gently, light and soft enough not to wake a sleeping little one. “Simon’s Lullaby,” near the end, is beautifully communal, supporting Kimbrough’s clear, pensive guitar with the reassuring throb of cello, the bright promise of flute. Much of child raising is a solitary process, but Kimbrough’s meditation on it is not.

Jennifer Kelly

 Kimmig-Studer-Zimmerlin And George Lewis— Kimmig-Studer-Zimmerlin And George Lewis (Ezz-thetics)

Violinist Harald Kimmig, cellist Alfed Zimmerlin and double bassist Daniel Studer have been mapping out the possibilities of extra-idiomatic improvisation since 2009. They favor juxtapositions of raw and refined timbre, and in their roiling web of activity, the quicker a gesture passes, the more impact it seems to have. The Middle European trio matches up well with American trombonist/electronicist George Lewis, who is likewise devoted to making music spontaneously and unbounded by genre prescriptions or proscriptions. There are passages where it sounds like the four musicians have transcribed muttering and stifled laughter into musical activity. This incomprehensible vocal quality proves magnetic, drawing the listener ever deeper into the fray. While some might object to “chatty” improvisation, in this company, it’s a virtue.

Bill Meyer

Matmos — The Consuming Flame: Open Exercises in Group Form (Thrill Jockey)

The Consuming Flame: Open Exercises in Group Form by Matmos

Given the vigor with which Drew Daniel and MC Schmidt approach all of their work, it’s surprising to find Matmos’s new album, The Consuming Flame, to be somewhat lacking in cohesion. Like many of their previous releases there is a unifying concept — in this case, they corralled musical contributions recorded at 99bpm from 99 contributors — but it feels like the creative limitations they imposed on this project weren’t quite stringent enough. Inevitably, given the wide range of contributors (including Oneohtrix Point Never, Yo La Tengo and Mouse On Mars) and Matmos’s formidable technical virtuosity, there are plenty of satisfying passages that feature inventive vocal cut-ups, ear-catching beats and playful juxtapositions, but the presentation of these ideas within three continuous hour-long collages makes it hard to sift the gold as the music flows past. Bizarrely, the album’s presentation on Spotify is more listener-friendly, with each of the three discs broken down into digestible tracks that can be easily trimmed from the bigger picture to assemble your own collage of favorites.

Tim Clarke  

 Meridian Brothers — Cumbia Siglo XXI (Bongo Joe)

Cumbia Siglo XXI by Meridian Brothers

Eblis Alvarez, the sole musician behind the long-running Colombian space roots experiment known as Meridian Brothers, takes inspiration from like-minded predecessors in Cumbia Siglo XX for this electro-shocked take on coastal cumbia. Eerie blasts of jet-set synthesizer, buzzing funk bass and video game bleeps and bloops haunt the clip-clopping rhythms of these mad ditties. It’s like a Star Wars space port built on the verge of primitive villages, donkey tails swatting flies while lazer beams zip by. “Cumbia de la fuente” gene-splices syncopated hand-drum beats and traditional-sounding choruses with the splintered buzz of synth bass and glittery spurts of MIDI-generated arpeggios. It’s a hot tropical celebration lit by UFO glow. “Puya del Empresario” nudges a hip swaying cumbia rhythm to the foreground, but blares a rough-edged synth riff over it. “Cumbia del Pichaman” transforms Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacherman” into a surreal technological marvel, buzzes and squeaks punctuating the offbeats like a DIY version of Zaxxon gone soft in the equatorial heat.

Jennifer Kelly

 Nas — King’s Disease (Mass Appeal)

Like all of Nas’s output in this century, King’s Disease, his 13th album, is pretty much unlistenable. King from the title here has two meanings. Every black man is a king (every woman is a queen) or should be. And second, it reminds that Nas is a king of rap, even though his royal days are long over. But even kings had to live on crumbs of their fame. With regard to the current moment in history, the album compels the listeners to unite and wear their blackness proud. Nas’ idea for achieving that? Just listen to his truisms and patronizing rants. On “Ultra Black” it’s “We goin' ultra black, I gotta toast to that”. On ‘Til the War is Won”, dedicated to women, it’s “May God gives strength to women who lost their sons \ I give all I have 'til the war is won.” All Nas gives to a black community is his bad music and maybe some charity. Every track here is to some degree about empowering black people, yet the only person Nas ends up empowering is himself. Every line on King’s Disease is disguised as virtue signaling, and the last thing we all need now is patronizing advices from rap millionaires.

Ray Garraty

The New Bomb Turks — Nightmare Scenario: Diamond Edition (Self-released)

Nightmare Scenario - Diamond Edition by New Bomb Turks

It would be understandable if, upon hearing the New Bomb Turks 1993 debut full-length, Destroy-Oh-Boy!, you thought to yourself, "They'll never top this." You wouldn't necessarily be wrong, but you'd be neglecting a much larger story and a key release in their catalog, 2000's Nightmare Scenario. With their debut, the Ohio quartet built a distinct machine out of familiar parts: cheap-lager-fueled thrash, butterflyin'-around rock 'n' roll swagger and barstool-philosopher lyrics. And with the possible exception of fellow buckeyes Gaunt, no other band at the time combined those attributes in quite the same way. It was as if America finally had its own Saints. The Turks would go on to make five more LPs over the next decade. Though lost in the shuffle a bit after jumping to Epitaph in 1996, the band were never going to become darlings of that label's skater boi base anyway. You certainly can't blame them for trying to reach a new audience nor should you overlook the output from that era. 2000's Nightmare Scenario, their third for Epitaph, is gritty, witty, and so full of Midwest blastitude you'd think it was year zero at Datapanik (or at least 1991). Yet to hear the album in its original mixes by Detroit studio guru Jim Diamond, newly issued for the 20th anniversary of its release, is all the more gratifying. It's stripped of that extra coat of paint found on the original, and it reveals what a decade's-worth of relentlessly plying one's trade in the punk rock free market will get you. The Turks were an absolute musical force by this point: they could still hit warp speed but could also swing with the best of them. And frontman Eric Davidson is in full possession of his vocal gifts (always a key aspect of the band's sound), nestling into the groove like a Funhouse-era Iggy or leading the charge as needed. The 20th anniversary Diamond Edition of the album is a nice reminder of just how consistently good the New Bomb Turks were and a nice splash of Pabst in the face for anyone who slept on that reality the first time around.

NOTE: Never above a little frat boy humor, the Turks were always much more about mocking those particular attitudes than ever truly embracing them. With that in mind 100 percent of the digital will be donated to Black Queer & Intersectional Collective bqic.net and Columbus Freedom Fund www.instagram.com/columbusfreedomfund www.instagram.com/columbusfreedomfund.

Nate Knaebel

 Siege Column — Darkside Legions (Nuclear War Now!)

Darkside Legions by Siege Column

Some thoughts that occurred on first listening to Darkside Legions, the new LP from Siege Column: Track one, “Devil’s Knights of Hell”: “Whoa, this is pretty nuts. Exciting — raw and barely coherent, but exciting.” Track three, “Snakeskin Mask”: “Okay, I get it. All this stupidity is just too frigging stupid. Enough, already…” Track five, “Funeral Fiend”: “Holy shit! I think this may be genius-level stupid!” And so on. The record keeps on doing that, and the listener (this one, anyways) keeps on generating phrases like “genius-level stupid” in an attempt to cope with the experience. Siege Column is constituted of two shadowy figures from somewhere deep in the chemically treated wilds of New Jersey, and for sure, this is music that could only come from New Jersey. I still can’t figure out if Darkside Legions is too moronic for words, or if that projection beyond words is the mark of some sort of greatness. Meanwhile, the next song is peeling out like a 1969 Chevelle that needs some serious muffler work, trailing empty cans of cheap domestic, wads of bloody paper towel and the smell of burnt hair. Yikes. Feel like I better catch up…

Jonathan Shaw  

 Smokescreens — “Fork in the Road” (Slumberland)

A Strange Dream by Smokescreens

A new single from LA’s Smokescreens is notably partly because David Kilgour took a hand in it, distilling the band’s jangly sweet sound in a Clean-like way, where the guitar comes coated in liquid clarity and everything else is drenched in beautiful fuzz. Even if you’ve been liking Smokescreens for a while, “Fork in the Road,” is something special, the thump of bass glowing quietly, the guitars cavorting, a synthesizer building dense shimmery textures, the chorus softly harmonized around a koan-ish verse. (How do you go straight at the fork in the road? ) The guitar solo two minutes in is worth the trip all by itself. If the upcoming album is anything like this tune, I’m in.

Jennifer Kelly

Matt Sowell — Organize Or Die (Feeding Tube)

Organize Or Die by Matt Sowell

Too often, the words “sounds like John Fahey” denote either laziness or a sparse descriptive vocabulary on the part of the people who utter them. But it cannot be denied, Matt Sowell sounds like he’s closely studied Fahey’s records, especially the less experimental ones of his Takoma/Vanguard period. There’s a similar melding of bluesy styling, compositional elegance, and emotional evocation. But Sowell’s motives are different. Where Fahey’s music looked at the snarl of personal memory and the blacker, deeper pit of his tangled subconscious, Sowell’s looks outward. Fahey tried to subdue demons within; Sowell calls out the devils of capitalism, and honors the purity of respect untainted by dollars or oil. Of course, since his music is purely instrumental, you can project whatever you want onto it. But in times like these, we need all the resistance and resonance we can get.

Bill Meyer

  Treasury of Puppies — S/t (Förlag För Fri Musik)

Treasury of Puppies by Treasury of Puppies

The Gothenburg duo of Charlott Malmenholt and Joakim Karlsson’s debut release as the Treasury of Puppies is lo-fi depressive but charming pop, recorded at the beginning of 2020. A Fairly short release, barely pushing past an EP length, it's in the vein of other Swedish underground releases of the past few years. The two trade chilly, spoken-sung vocals over a set of eight tracks, either buoyed by repeating, fuzzy guitars alongside field recordings, sauntering looped drums and hand-tampered tape sounds, or a layer of delayed static and fuzz churning under over drifting bells and slowly rotating keys.

Ian Forsythe

Trio No Mas — A Tragedy Of Fermented Undulation (Mars Williams) 

A Tragedy Of Fermented Undulation by TRIO NO MAS

Chicago has saxophonic tradition, and part of that convention is the expectation that the city’s saxophonists work hard. However you look at it, Mars Williams holds up his end. He’s busy on both local and world stages. In recent years you can hear him melding Albert Ayler and Xmas carols on a couple of continents, freely improvising with the Extraordinary Popular Delusions and playing not-just-old-memories rock and roll with the Psychedelic Furs. But it would seem that he has room for another band, if the situation is right, and that’s the genesis of this trio. Williams sat in with brothers Stefan and Aaron Gonzalez when the Texan rhythm section came through Chicago and then made a couple quick passes through their neck of the woods. This live recording, which is being sold as a download as Williams figures how to make up for not going on the road with the Furs this year, brings us to the other way that Chicago saxophonists work hard. Switching between several horns, he plays them all with a mix of vein-popping force and pyrotechnic fluency. The freres Gonzalez toggle between heavy lurching and molten streaming, pulling back every now and then to create quiet spaces in which Williams can tap into yet another Chicago tradition — the evocative chatter of little toy instruments. If you can handle the unbearable lightness of the no-physical format, this music brings plenty of satisfying heaviness to the sonic realm.  

Bill Meyer

 Various Artists — Total 20 (Kompakt)

Total 20 by Various Artists

Since 1999, each summer Cologne’s Kompakt label has compiled recent and new tracks from their roster. For fans of the label’s distinctive musical aesthetic — a shuffling, playful, pop-facing, experimental minimalist form of techno — the Total series seems a must-have, but the series has also served as an entrée into Kompakt’s world for curious newcomers, casual listeners and cash-strapped collectors. Total 20 maintains the high standards of its predecessors. Coming in at two plus hours and 22 tracks from stalwarts Michael Mayer, Voigt und Voigt and Jörg Burger share space with newcomers like Kiwi and David Douglas. This edition works as a soundtrack for in home dance sessions, concentrated listening and background for escaping the mope and drag of enforced isolation. The music itself is uniformly of high quality, but the sequencing is key here. Moments of elegantly constructed ambient minimalism (Soela’s “White Becomes Black”), euphoric vocal house (Kiwi’s “Hello Echo”) and high concept psy-trance (ANNA & KITTEN’s “Forever Ravers”) are interwoven with the familiar midtempo Kompakt sound. While it’s a lot to digest at first and may to some ears merge into an amorphous mass, Total 20 will lift your mood, shift your body and shake off your funk. Have a taste, you may find yourself grazing if not gorging.

Andrew Forell 

 Verikyyneleet — Ilman Kuolemaa (I, Voidhanger)

Ilman Kuolemaa by VERIKYYNELEET

 This new LP from Finland’s Verikyyneleet hits a bunch of the essential marks for hyper-obscure, one-man black metal: Difficult to pronounce and vaguely creepy name? Yep (translated from Finnish, Verikyyneleet means something like “tears of blood). Primitivist, kvlt-ish album art with lots of spindly, symmetrical, necromantical forms? Yep (pretty cool, too). Ghastly, croaked, semi-strangulated vocals and sweeping, epical song structures that likely attempt to represent the frozen forests of the Laplander landscape? Yep (see especially “Yhta Luonnon Kansaa,” which empties into another song called “The Great Scream in Nature”). But in spite of the degrees of familiarity struck by those various notes, there’s a compelling idiosyncrasy to Ilman Kuolemaa. And although Finnish weirdo Isla Valve — sole creator of the sounds — has been releasing music under the Verikyyneleet name since 2006, he hasn’t exactly been prolific: two demos in 2006, an EP last year, and now this LP. It’s all rather mysterious. But whatever the back story, the songs are really good. There’s a slightly smeared, off-kilter sound that adds to the strangeness. Is it 4 am and suddenly really, really quiet, wherever you are? Here’s your soundtrack. Light up some candles, turn it up loud and freak out the neighbors.  

Jonathan Shaw

 Young Dolph — Rich Slave (Paper Route Empire)

It’s not a little ironic that Adolph Thornton, Jr., 35 years old and some seven records into his career (not counting the endless mixtapes floating around), has peaked both in hard numbers — Rich Slave hit #4 on the Billboard 200 — and stylistically with an album that arrives after the Memphis rapper was supposed to retire from the game. When GQ interviewed him in May, Dolph was locked in and hanging out with his kids, marinating on his next move; with Rich Slave, he’s unlocked a socially conscious side of himself that, admittedly, was always bubbling below the usual braggadocio. Alongside guest spots from Megan Thee Stallion, established sidekick Key Glock and Chicago staple G Herbo, Dolph tweaks his usual template to speak to the moment in what is his most effective full-length deployment yet. There are a trillion rappers who work this hustle, but no one’s done it better this year.

Patrick Masterson

[bigskydreaming]

AU where Dick and Jason realized early on that their differences were actually all due to the same problem, one they had in common: Bruce is an ass. And so instead of continually butting heads, they agreed to call a truce and not let Bruce’s continued status as an Ass come between them. Allied against the Ass.

And thus they actually had a good sibling relationship, with Jason going to Dick when Bruce’s Asininery grew to unbearable levels, because GOD could Dick relate, and no way would he betray his little bro by letting Bruce know where he is or let him see Jason before Jason was good and ready. Because if Dick had had a Dick-like buffer when HE was a teenager butting heads with Bruce in very similar ways, their own conflicts would likely never have grown to the point that they did in canon, and cause a split as deep and long-lasting as the one between Dick and Bruce in canon was.

And maybe when Jason was grown enough that it was time for him to step out of Bruce’s shadow and adopt his own new identity, make room for a new Robin, he and Dick become partners. 

Only Jason being Jason, flat out REFUSES to be the Flamebird to Dick’s Nightwing, the natural other half of that duo, because Flamebird is a terrible name Dick, fuck you, that’s why. It’s LAME. 

Except Dick being Dick, flat out REFUSES to be something other than Nightwing, because he already picked it and is established and he LIKES it and everyone who knows anything about that name (even if its just other heroes who know Clark or Kara well) knows that Nightwing’s partner is supposed to be Flamebird, anything else will be WRONG, god, Jason, you’re the English lit snob, WHY DO YOU HATE SYMBOLISM??

And so finally they settle on a compromise that works for both of them: they’ll BOTH be Nightwing and Flamebird. They’ll take turns, switch off roles. 

Dick’s pleased because a) he gets his way and he’s a shit like that and b) aww his little brother really DOES love him, he’s willing to be Flamebird even some of the time so they can be a proper team, because they’re family, they’re brothers, and that’s more important than pride to both Dick and Jason even if they’re both so obviously prideful that this isn’t always evident. 

And Jason’s less obviously but still equally pleased because a) he didn’t totally cave, he resisted the power of Dick’s unapologetic guilt trips which is no easy feat and really it’s just the principle of the matter, principles are very important to Jason except when they’re not, he’s a shit like that, and b) aww his big brother really DOES love him, its so obviously important to him that he invite Jason into this identity that matters so much to him as a symbol of his independence, him being his own man separate and apart from Bruce, its a family thing, a brother thing.

And then they’re both pleased for an entirely different reason, the reason being that they’re both little shits who fucking love mischief and chaos in counter to Bruce and Batman’s rigid order and control. Oh, the glee once they realize the havoc that their constant switching has on villains and criminals. 

Because see, its not that hard to tell that they do it. Jason’s much bigger and broader than his acrobat older brother by this point, they have entirely different manners of movement even though they know all the same fighting styles, all the same gymnastics tricks. Their differences in size and center of gravity and muscle mass make it impossible to do everything the same, even if the moves are identical. Not to mention Dick physically can’t NOT run his mouth incessantly, whereas Jason’s quite content to stick to some well-timed cursing and catchy threats as punctuation for his beat-downs.

So its common knowledge that sometimes Nightwing is Nightwing and Flamebird is Flamebird and sometimes Nightwing is Flamebird and Flamebird is Nightwing except really doesn’t that still mean Nightwing is Nightwing and Flamebird is Flamebird even when Flamebird is Nightwing and Nightwing is Flamebird?

You see where this might begin to become confusing for their foes and hard to keep track of.

Especially since the Brothers Batty have gotten GOOD at compensating for their obvious differences, they crouch wherever possible in order to mask the difference in heights, they use shadows to obscure muscles and proportions, and they know each other well enough to mimic each other’s patterns and type of speech and banter when its for a good enough reason, like say, fucking with their bad guys’ heads. Like the order of prioritization goes Pride -> The Principle of the Matter -> Standing Firm Against Bruce’s Asininery -> Brothers -> Mischief and Mayhem.

See, its not that they don’t have clear priorities, its that their priorities aren’t immediately obvious to normal people aka non raised by the Goddamn Batman, that Emotional Toddler That We Nevertheless Desperately Seek Approval From, Ugh, Why Are We Like This, Why is HE Like This, Oh Right, We’re Like This Because HE’S Like This, Ugh FUCK BATMAN.

Point being, its not always easy to tell them apart in combat, let alone distinguish which one you’re talking about. 

And sometimes after a long week of patrolling Dick and Jason just kick back at home and replay the audio from their stakeout and resulting beatdown of the latest cabal of supervillains to try and set up shop in Bludhaven, cackling with glee as they listen to their targets ranting about those two damn Birds breathing down their necks.

See apparently, the Boss is really mad about an op Nightwing busted up the other night and one of his suck-up subordinates was like ‘Ugh yeah, me too, Boss man, he totally ruined that meet I was trying to set up with a couple of Gotham Rogues for you’, and then someone else is like no you nitwit, not THAT Nightwing, the OTHER Nightwing, the big one, the first one! You’re talking about Flamebird! 

And then someone else would be like shut up you dumbass, the first Nightwing is the SMALLER one, the one always running his mouth, everyone knows that! The big one is Flamebird! Y’know. Except for when he’s Nightwing.

And then someone else is like, that doesn’t even make sense, why would the first Nightwing be the smaller one, he was FIRST, obviously he’s the older and bigger Nightwing and what are you talking about anyway, the smaller Nightwing isn’t the one always running his mouth, he’s the angry one who says the really fucked up shit that makes you wanna crap your pants cuz like I fucking kill people but that shit is DARK

And then the Boss is like “EVERYONE SHUT UP! Alright. Look. There’s an easy way to settle this: Are we all talking about the Nightwing that hits harder than he kicks or the Nightwing that kicks harder than he hits?”

Which is when someone’s like “Well Flamebird’s definitely the only who hits harder - “ and it all starts up all over again.

Meanwhile, at home, Jason and Dick are on their sides, trying not to bust stitches they’re both laughing so hard.

And don’t even start with the times people hire Deathstroke to kill Nightwing. Because first Slade has to clarify. He’s like: “WAIT. Which Nightwing? Cuz I’ll only kill one of them, the one that’s really - usually - UGH FUCKING HELL - Look I’ll kill one of them but the other one’s off limits. So it depends on which one you want killed.” 

“And they’re like, well which Nightwing is off limits?”

And Dick and Jason REALLY get a kick out of the audio of what THAT devolves into. (They’re in the rafters of the warehouse the meet is happening in the whole time. This is just too fucking good to bust up any sooner than they have to. Slade looks hilarious when he’s frustrated).

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, a highly confused Bruce is listening to the same audio, Barbara having sent it to him in order to keep him from doing something dumb like storming off to Bludhaven the second he heard Deathstroke was in town and pissing off both his eldest two because CLEARLY, they do not need his help. 

Tim and Damian have no idea whether to sympathize with Bruce over their brothers’ refusal to take this situation as seriously as they obviously should be, or to just find it fucking hilarious. 

Cass and Duke aren’t hindered by the same need to be Team Bruce ever or by weird and arbitrary standards of professionalism, so they just find it fucking hilarious. Their older brothers are the best.

[douxreviews]

Gotham - ‘I Am Bane’ Review

Eduardo: "Eduardo is dead, Jim. There is only Bane!"

How fitting that the title of this week's episode is 'I Am Bane' – because this episode also turned out to be the bane of my week.

To understand where I'm coming from, I need to preface this review briefly with my take on the character itself of Bane. First introduced into DC Comics in 1993, Bane's origin is wonderfully rich and distinguished as elaborated upon in Batman: Knightfall. Fans of Batman that aren't immensely familiar with the comics who dismiss Bane as a one-note villain whose only defining trait is his super-strength can be forgiven, because every live-action adaptation of this character simply fails to live up to the layered, dark-parallel of Batman that's featured in the comics. And a big reason for this is due to the major retoolings of Bane's origin with each adaptation. To put in other words, I don't mind that Gotham wants to shake up Bane's uprising, I just mind very much so that he's actually really boring by the end of it all. He doesn't feel much like somebody who is nuanced or unique when compared to other gunslinger characters, and at the end of the day, all Gotham has given us is a brooding hulk with a stick-up-his-rear who's put briefly at the mercy of Hollywood Healing to get his powers.

Not-Amanda-Waller (Jaime Murray) squirrels Eduardo away and has Hugo Strange, who's essentially Gotham's walking deus ex machina now when it comes to surgeries and resurrections, grant Eduardo his signature super-strength. Eduardo goes on to lead an arsenal of goons to interrupt a gathering between Gordon and the U.S. military, quite easily wiping the floor with trained policemen and soldiers all just to get to Gordon and Bruce. As far as suspensions of disbelief go, Gotham's finally gotten me to draw a doggone line in the sand and say "You know Gotham, I like spending time with you and all, but you really didn't think you could just show essentially Bob Parr in a Cruella de Vil coat tossing a few gas canisters, and effectively subduing at least a dozen serviceman who possess firearms and the training to respond rapidly to calamities like this, and not think I wouldn't raise questions?"

Yes, as it turns out, Eduardo is but another cog in the grand scheme of Not-Amanda-Waller's plot to plunge Gotham City into absolute destruction and ruin, relying on the aid of her mysterious organization that supposedly has eyes and ears everywhere, and...oh for goodness' sake Gotham, I get that you so badly want to be The Dark Knight Rises, but couldn't you at least be a little bit more subtle about it? I've seen disguises sported by Count Olaf that were more low-key than this episode's allusions.

Not-Amanda-Waller reveals herself here as Nyssa Al Ghul, the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul. From there on, any remaining trace of threat Nyssa exuded was eradicated. To begin with, I don't really care how much Nyssa wants to babble about how the League of Assassins or Shadows (or whatever they're calling themselves in Gotham) is on a mission to actually protect the world by destroying Gotham City, because once she reveals that she has a vendetta against Bruce and Barbara, this is all her entire undertaking ever seems to feel about: she hates Bruce and Barbara because they are directly responsible for the death of her father. Which only compounds my issues with this episode even further; wasn't it explicitly stated over and over in Season 4 that Ra's wanted to die? It was the whole reason he needed that unique dagger Barbara and Bruce were competing to obtain, wasn't it? Secondly, if I'm expected to at least get a sense of understanding for Nyssa's motives and anger, I don't, simply because Gotham never took the time to ever explore what kind of dynamic Nyssa had with her father; what kind of relationship did they hold, did she idolize her father, was Ra's training both Nyssa and Barbara to become possible heirs to the League which has led Nyssa to resent Barbara? Who knows? Thirdly, how does Nyssa even know it's Bruce and Barbara specifically that killed Ra's? Last I checked, Ra's death in Season 4's finale was only witnessed by Bruce, Barbara, Jeremiah, Tabitha, and Oswald.

What's even more amusing is that before Nyssa even identifies herself, she has Eduardo torture Gordon just as a way to get Bruce to try and figure out for himself who she might be. And as heart-wrenching as David Mazouz's performance is, it's too easy for the audience to side with Bruce as well, and wonder aloud in bewilderment at our television set over who this woman is, when we haven't had any buildup or hints whatsoever to her identity. Of course Bruce can't figure out who you are sweetie, your dad never even mentioned you to him!

While all of this is unraveling, a very twisted rendition of Gilligan's Island – consisting of Oswald, Ed and Barbara – is about to set sail aboard their newly-configured submarine, but the excursion is cut short when Barbara goes into labor. This is where I was kind of hoping Gotham would give us an indication of where we are in the timeline because wasn't it only four episodes ago that Barbara even dropped the bombshell that she was with child? I admit I've also never been present around what an actual childbirth is like, but Erin Richards absolutely is convincing enough, to the point that I'd even say she had the best performance of the entire episode. Once Nyssa sends Eduardo to kill Barbara, the dynamic duo of Ozzie and Ed cobbles together a few traps to buy Barbara enough time to escape, complete with endearing screaming fits from Ozzie, and Ed's pettiness needing to get the last word in to Lee ("For the record, you stabbed me first!")!

This fustercluck of an episode ends with Barbara successfully giving birth to her and Gordon's daughter, a genuinely touching moment, while Eduardo, just to further remind the audience that he is indeed Bane, breaks Alfred's back. Once again, all of my sympathies just go out to poor Alfred, for so many of the horrific injuries and torment that Bruce had to go through in the comics just seem to get shifted on to Alfred in Gotham. Apart from Erin Richards' performance and Ozzie and Ed always being a ton of fun together, there's not much else in this episode that gets me eager to see this merit-less conflict's resolution, in four weeks no less. I used to always remind myself during prior seasons that things may have to get worse before they get better, but with Gotham nearing the final curtain call, perhaps this episode's final scene of Gotham City being air-bombed is appropriate symbolism for the end – perhaps things only get worse.

Aaron Studer loves spending his time reading, writing and defending the existence of cryptids because they can’t do it themselves.

[joegoffwork-blog]

“Bettered by The Borrower” Audio and Visual Plunderphonics: Rebellion Against Copyright Law

The term ‘Plunderphonics’ refers to a form of music which takes one or more pre-existing recordings and manipulates them to create an entirely new composition, often contradicting or questioning the artistic intentions of the original works, or as artist Dana Birnbaum puts “isolating and changing its vocabulary and syntax”. This technique can be applied to film and video art with a similar philosophy. The medium has a long history of interrogating and criticising copyright law which often prohibits the use of licensed material, I will use this as a theme to examine the relationship between these laws and the artists who rebel against them. I will explore this concept through several specific examples: John Oswald, Soda_Jerk, Christian Marclay and Neil Cicierega, with reference to several artists who paved the way for this kind of work to be made.

 John Oswald’s seminal 1985 essay presented at the Wired Society Electro-Acoustic Conference in Toronto both coins the term Plunderphonics as well as first discussing its integral relationship with audio piracy. Plunderphonics has its roots in ‘Music Concretè’, pioneered by Pierre Schaeffer in the 1940s, using raw audio tape he created sonic collages which made use of exclusively pre-recorded material, despite a similar working methodology to that of later Plunderphonic artists what I think sets the two movements apart is largely the humour and prankishness of the latter. Schaeffer’s vision was more akin to abstraction within other art forms, he sought to devolve familiar sounds into something alien and disorienting. John Oswald deliberately chooses recognisable melodies and tunes in order to create something slyly goading to the author but simultaneously funny and engaging. His ‘Plunderphonics’ EP was his first major clash with copyright law, after receiving a barrage of cease and desist orders from Michael Jackson’s label ‘Epic’ over his heavily plundered version of ‘Bad’. Oswald’s argument is that there is nothing in the realm of sound which is equivalent to literature’s quotation marks, which allows one author to reference another’s work without it becoming an issue of theft, "Without a quotation system, well-intended correspondences cannot be distinguished from plagiarism and fraud.” He is constantly trying to create dialogue with the pieces which he chooses to work with, his blatant ‘mis’-use of them seems to be a defiant protest of the restrictions put on artists that prevent this kind of artwork from being distributed.

 Christian Marlclay’s 24 hour film work ‘The Clock’ draws on hundreds of sources to produce one overarching ‘narrative’ of time passage. This epic work was made laboriously over a period of four years, but when asked about the legal risks of such a work Marclay was adamant that "If you make something good and interesting and not ridiculing someone or being offensive, the creators of the original material will like it.” This harks back to a familiar saying within the music industry in regards to legal infringement that “where there’s a hit there’s a writ”, essentially that the original authors are only likely to object to the work if it somehow trespasses on the integrity of the initial source. Many of Oswald’s works, for instance, were provocative and could be perceived as devaluing the sources in some way, so they could therefore be more vulnerable to corporate intervention. The interesting thing however is that according to the American definition of ‘Fair Use’ parody is fairly well protected, it doesn’t rely on consent from the original author, as criticism is seen as an essential aspect of the 1st amendment. It seems to me that if work either satisfies the author of the original or, on the other end of the spectrum, satirises the work thoroughly then it could be either not held to account or considered fair use and therefore exempt from legal action.

 The Australian visual art duo Soda_Jerk create ridiculous, hilarious works which directly reference the copyright laws which they are knowingly impeding upon, they pay homage to classic sample based video artists such as Craig Baldwin and Vicki Bennett aka People Like Us. They have described their work as “a considered form of civil disobedience. We understand each work as a probe to test and map the contours of the legal systems in which it circulates”, they are deliberately pushing the limits of what could be legally accepted. Hollywood Burn is their 2006 epic, which stitches together hundreds of Hollywood film clips in order to form a loose narrative, in which Elvis leads a gang of rebels against Charlton Heston’s copyright preaching Moses. This seems to be in line with Dana Birnbaum’s philosophy that “if it’s a corporately made image then it’s mine for the taking”, these kinds of films exist to be a part of the public consciousness, by re-appropriating them nobody really loses out, the iconography and characters from these works are so much a part of one’s childhood and lives in general, there becomes a sense of social ownership. Oswald has also commented in this issue stating that “all popular music essentially if not legally exists in a public domain, listening to pop music isn’t a matter of choice... we’re bombarded by it”. The films of Soda_Jerk are deeply critical of copyright, seeing it as a kind of censorship, they see the inability for the masses to control cultural history as crucial, to take back control from the hegemonic few. But despite this palpable anger within the work they never lose the appealing aesthetics or the ludicrous humour which makes the work so likeable. I feel that despite their works into this area of ‘visual plunderphonics’ there is a lot of room for exploration into this style of working, they feel more akin to the rough-edged sound of Oswald as opposed to the intricately produced work of Neil Cicierega.

  The sound artist Neil Cicierega is someone who I feel is brilliantly developing the core concepts of Plunderphonics further. Alongside others such as Girltalk, he has made the ideas explored by John Oswald become suddenly mainstream, reinventing it as the less intimidatingly titled ‘mashup’. The comedy is achieved though finding combinations of pre-existing songs fit together seamlessly, finding a deliberate sense of dissonance in the context but not in terms of the actual sound. He perfectly reforms songs, isolating vocal tracks and changing the instrumentation to totally rework meaning, clashing the ‘well respected’ with the irritating to creating something highly listenable. For example, his track which takes the vocals from ‘YMCA’ by the Village People and transposes them over the almost comically dramatic strings from the Inception soundtrack; the result is something disarmingly emotive, the track ties off with the iconic meme-centric whistle from the end of Smash Mouth’s All Star, coming full circle by making you feel stupid for getting so emotionally invested in the whole thing. Cicierega and Girltalk both released their albums for free, maybe suggesting a donation, in order to get around the copyright infringement which, they are both blatantly guilty of. At the moment digital music appears to have little monetary worth anyway, just as they pirated the music to make the albums so too do you pirate the end product.  Due to the inhibitions of the law they are unable to profit from their work, but like Oswald’s Plunderphonic EP, if you are to release the music for free then there is little grounds for being sued by the record company of the original. Despite the stranglehold that these kinds of ownership laws have upon many artists, the internet has proven itself to be the perfect tool for finding loopholes and likeminded work.