#head shot studio booth boston

[keopix]

Head Shot Studio Booth in Boston - Keopix

What is a business headshot?

Definition of a Business Headshot

A business headshot is a professional photograph that typically focuses on the face and upper body of an individual. It is commonly used in the corporate world for branding, marketing, and identification purposes.

Business headshots are often close-up shots that capture the subject's head and shoulders, with the crop of the picture ending just below the level of the shoulders. The purpose of a business headshot is to create a strong visual impact and make a connection with clients and colleagues.

Key Features of a Business Headshot

Close-up shot: Business headshots are typically close-up shots that focus on the subject's face and upper body.

Professional appearance: Business headshots are more formal and simpler compared to regular headshots. They aim to convey professionalism, competence, and friendliness.

Used for branding and marketing: Business headshots are used for branding purposes, such as on company websites, resumes, portfolios, newsletters, press releases, and annual reports.

Identification: Business headshots help in identifying individuals in the marketplace and establishing a personal connection with clients and customers.

Tips for Business Headshots

Dress appropriately: Choose outfits that reflect the desired job industry and convey professionalism.

Pay attention to grooming: Ensure that your makeup and hairstyle reflect your current appearance.

Choose a suitable background: Opt for a neutral background, such as a solid wall or a neutral outdoor setting, to keep the focus on you.

Use natural lighting: If taking indoor headshots, stand close to a large window to take advantage of natural light sources.

Remember, a business headshot is an important tool for creating a professional image and making a positive first impression in the business world.

[trillian-anders]

suspect - ii

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 3.7k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

He’d passed this diner a million times and had never gone inside. It was tightly packed between two buildings almost like it didn’t really belong. The bright neon sign above the door lit him blue as he stepped into the diner, eyes scanning the room until he found what he was looking for. Your back to the brick, typing away on your laptop. Coffee and an untouched slice of blueberry pie going cold next to you.

He didn’t know why he was here. Maybe he shouldn’t be. But how did you know? How did you know that Cheryl’s ring finger was taken? He had to at least absolve that, and then he could go. He could leave. That’s all he is here for. In the moments before you realized he was even there, before he takes a seat across from you, he takes in your appearance.

Windswept hair and wrinkled clothes he was sure were your ‘business casual’ a bare requirement for the office you worked in. But he knew you were attractive. Brock didn’t have to tell him that, he has eyes. The warning in the back of his head, he needed to keep his distance from you. He knows that. But he just must know.

You look up at him as he approaches, sitting back in the booth as he takes a seat across from you. “Hi.” He folds his hands in front of him,

“Hi.” You slip the laptop off to the side as the server approaches.

“Can I grab you anything?” Sweet and polite, giving you a questioning look. He wondered if you had much company here. Marie, on her name tag, seemed to know you.

“Just a coffee, please.” A nod and she was gone.

“So what did you have to talk to me about?” As you took a sip of yours. He sighs, back against the booth.

“How did you know she was missing her ring finger?” Blunt and to the point, he watched your mouth part and then close.

“Because that’s what he does.” You say simply.

“That’s what who does?” You stare at him for a moment more,

“The Boston Butcher.” A pause while Marie set the coffee mug on the table, pouring him fresh coffee and topping yours off. A gentle ‘thank-you’ from your lips before she walks away. The case Steve told him about. The guy who, from 89-99 murdered twenty sex workers in the Combat Zone, the red light district. But he had to admit it had markers of the case. “Detective… it’s the same MO, it’s the same process. The ring finger missing… she was strangled and when your toxicology report comes back from her autopsy, you’ll find ketamine in her system. It’s what he uses to subdue them.”

Bucky shakes his head, “The Boston Butcher is in jail, and has been for almost twenty years now.” He saw the mug shot. Nicholas Joseph Fury, his priors included drug possession and two misdemeanors. The man looked angry in his mug shot, is left eye milky and blue, half shut with a scar. He looked terrifying.

You sigh, tracing the rim of your coffee mug, thinking. “Okay well, it’s a copycat then.” You shrug, meeting his eyes. “Because that is the MO of the Boston Butcher and I wouldn’t be surprised if you find another girl six months from now.”

“We have a suspect for Cheryl’s murder.” He explains. A man who he had just interrogated not that long ago. A man who didn’t have an alibi. You laugh sarcastically,

“Then why are you here?” How could he answer that when he didn’t even know himself? Curiosity? Doubt? Steve had seemed pleased with him finding this lead, no one else bat an eyelash at him going for the ex-boyfriend. It’s more likely. Statistically speaking anyway.

“I don’t know.” He sighs, back hitting the booth. He runs his fingers through his hair and you flip through your notebook.

“First victim, Angela Price.” You swallow, “Twenty-four years old, mother of one, a little boy named Andrew.” You show him her picture. A beautiful young woman, big curly hair with mall bangs and blue eyeshadow. “She was a sex worker. Found on her back, spread eagle, drugged and strangled with her ring finger missing in February of 1989.” Another, “Second victim, Victoria Brown. Twenty-seven years old, mother of three, two girls Jessica and Michelle, and one boy Jason.” Another picture of a beautiful young woman, smiling with her kids, an Easter photo. “She was also a sex worker. Found in the same exact way, August of 1989.” And on, and on.

“Stop.” His hand lay over the pictures you’re laying before him. Okay. Okay. “So say we have a copycat.” He levels with you. “Right? But you think…”

“Fury is innocent.” You spit. “He was a good scapegoat for the police to appease the public.” He watches you reorganize the pictures you’d shown him, slipping them back into your notebook. “Whoever the Butcher is, he’s still out there. But if you’re not ready for that, then you need to go talk to Fury himself or try talking to the girls.” The girls still on the street, “I can help you.”

He sighs, his coffee grew cold. He believes her, some little part of him nagging at the back of his brain and telling him that it makes sense. The proof is all right there. It was at least a copycat. “Help me how?”

“I want this killer brought to justice,” You say, “And the girls are never going to talk to a cop, but they will talk to me.”

“Listen,” He sighs, “This is my first homicide as a detective and I appreciate your enthusiasm over this case and your concern, but I can’t in good conscience bring a civilian into an investigation.” A five-dollar bill down on the table. “Thank you for the information, I’ll keep it in mind while I explore different avenues.” How clinical, like he was giving a press conference on the news. He couldn’t believe what was coming out of your mouth. “If you’re looking for more information for your article, you know where to reach me.” Hands in his pockets he was gone.

A soft rain falling from the sky wet his head and shoulders as he reached his car, his eyes moving of their own volition back to the glass window of the diner. To you. He watched you with your head in your hands, still for a moment before pushing your hair back from your face and sitting back, rubbing your eyes and pulling your laptop back in front of you. And with the lit screen hitting your face he pulled off.

You watched his car leave, before focusing back on the screen. A new message from Wanda sitting in messenger.

GoFundMe is set up, have you talked to next of kin yet?

A quick reply, of ‘tomorrow’ and you shut the screen. Not able to deal with it anymore.

“Marie, I’ll take my check whenever you get time.” The pie boxed up and stuffed into your fridge, you lay on the bed in your studio apartment, staring at the light above the stove. The drip of the sink. The soft sound from the tv playing the evening news. Not a mention of the crime from yesterday. Because no one would care.

No one cares when a sex worker is murdered.

It’s a hazard of the job.

A hazard of the disgusting, degrading, job of a whore. But they weren’t. They were people with hopes and dreams and ideas that were crushed under the boot of people meant to protect them.

It made you so angry. Being treated like you were crazy. You knew that’s who you were to them, the police, that crazy reporter who’s trying to connect dots for a case that’s already been solved. Conspiracy theories about how there must have been someone in the force, there had to be someone in the force helping them. There had to be.

But police protect their own. And no one would believe that one of their own could have had something to do with this. But you knew, it felt like a cover up. But you didn’t know who they were trying to protect.

You just needed someone to take a chance on it. You needed someone to believe you. And you thought James Barnes would, but apparently you were wrong.

When you found the address for next of kin you realized it was familiar. The apartment complex you’d been in once before. A long time ago it feels now, but the memory was fresh. It was unsettling. But you weren’t here for you.

Sophie was a wreck. She had been shaking when she answered the door, pried open with a crying baby on her hip. “I’m here to help you.” You told her. “I run a victim relief charity.” You’d brought food. Put together by some of the others in your group. Ready to bake meals, groceries, and a check of first relief funds to help her with the burial.

“You do this for all of them?” She asked you. And you nod.

“We know how hard it is,” You try to comfort her, “Firsthand.” You helped her clean up the apartment. You helped her get the laundry together and clean out the fridge for space for the food you’d brought.

“I had to ID her body this morning.” Sophie cries. Baby Kayla toddling around and handing you blocks and various toys. Her older sister, Brielle was sitting not too far away watching cartoons. A sniffle, “I couldn’t believe it was her.” A shake of her head. “I can’t believe my baby is gone.”  

How long would it be before the police didn’t care anymore? Until they were done with her? You were sure James had already talked to her. “Have they talked to you about getting custody transferred over and what to do with the girls?” This two-bedroom apartment was in Sophie’s name. Cheryl was supporting them on her income. Sophie is on disability and unable to work. The stress was clear. On top of losing her child, she had the fear of losing her grandchildren too.

She sighs, rubbing her eyes, “The detective said someone from the district attorney’s office would be by, but no one yet.” Because you’re on their time and they’re not on yours. A heavy sigh.

“Well we have a GoFundMe set up,” You rub her back, “We’ll do what we can, we also have resources for free counseling and we do meet ups once a month, there’s one in a couple of days and I know that it might be a little soon for you but we have a lot of people able to pool some resources and I know a couple people who run daycare services and might be able to help you with the legal side of this Pro-Bono.”

It’s funny how tragedy affects people. Some go on to find themselves in careers to help those who were once in their position. Some of those children left behind went into social work, became one became a lawyer, some grew up to become foster parents when they themselves used to be foster kids.

All the people you’ve met, the families left behind, you tried to help. It took years to form this organization, but you did. And you met every single person who had been left behind by those murdered. Some believed that Fury was the culprit, but the majority were in the same boat as you.

They feel like justice hadn’t been served.

“Here’s my number.” Your business card with your contact information handed over, your business card for the charity. “We meet at the rec center on Malcom on the fifteenth of each month. I know that it’s a little soon, but just think about it.”

Reusable tote in hand you step from the apartment building just in time to run into the stunning redhead from yesterday. Today her short hair was down and slightly curled. Her clothing less severe. She got dressed up to be more friendly and approachable.

“Funny running into you here.” Her voice smoky and smooth. You shrug, gesturing to the bag over your arm.

“Just dropping off some food, giving her some information about my victim’s relief aid.” The lawyer doesn’t react, a silent moment before she says,

“I hope you haven’t put any ideas into her head.” You were taken aback.

“I’m sorry?” You were sure she knew about your ‘conspiracy’; you’d seen her a couple times before talking to her yesterday just around the courthouse while you were working on other stories and cases.

“You need to be careful what you say to these women,” Her voice wasn’t betraying any emotion, “I wouldn’t directly tell them to look into those cases.” Walking by you and into the apartment building you wondered what she knew. Because if you don’t directly tell someone to investigate the Boston Butcher cases, you’re not liable for someone interfering in a police investigation. And if someone else were to interfere… you would be given more credibility.

“Hey,” You breathe, sinking into the driver’s seat of your car. “I just left Sophie Hansen’s, I’m on my way back.”

“How did it go?” You could hear the noise from the office, Sam never closed his door which you thought was equally good and bad. “How is she?” You sigh, sinking down into the seat a little bit.

“She’s a little bit of a mess,” You explain, “Understandably… you should see those little girls Sam.” Your eyes welling up, you place your hand over them. “They’re not even going to remember her.” A sniffle.

“You’re doing what you can for them,” He reasons, “There’s not much else—”

“I wish there was.” You lean back against the head rest, pulling a tissue from your pocket, sighing, “I’m gonna stop for coffee, do you want anything?”

“I told Riley that you’re coming for dinner tonight. I think you need to spend some time with your friends right now and you can’t back out because he’s at the store right now.” You laugh,

“You’re the worst.” Turning your key in the ignition he replies,

“I know, now go get my coffee and get back to work.”

…

Bucky didn’t sleep a lot last night. He spent most of it in the precinct and going over old files in the conference room. This old filing system from before everything went digital, he had to go to the records room and get the one box of information about the case. But it wasn’t making any sense.

Why would such a prolific killer not have more recorded information?

After a nap on the breakroom couch and hours reading every detail, he could he compiled his own file about the case and typed his notes.

“You alright pal?” It stunned him out of grogginess, half asleep over the manila folder on his desk. Looking up at his friend he accepted the cup of coffee from Steve’s hand. “Have you been here all night?” Bucky felt himself nod, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“I actually have to talk to you about something.” Steve takes a sip, furrowing his brow.

“Come talk to me in my office.” Steve’s office was always clean and well organized, just like everything else in his life. It made Bucky feel like he was sort of a mess. Where Steve’s hair was always perfectly combed to the side, his face clean shaven, his uniform always starched and pressed, Bucky was always sporting five o’clock shadow, bags under his eyes, and he was sure that he’d never even used an iron. He’d give it to Steve for being a military brat turned ex-military man. “What’s going on?”

Bucky shut the door behind him, slipping the file onto Steve’s desk and sitting heavily in the chair before it, taking a sip of his coffee as Steve opened the file. His brow furrowed and he looked up at his friend.

“You’re looking into the Boston Butcher?” Bucky nods,

“I think we’ve got a copycat, maybe…” He shrugs, “The MO matches perfectly and looking more into Michael Hale’s story… I’m going to keep up with it but I don’t think it was him.” Steve nods, sipping on his coffee before sighing.

“Listen, Buck.” Sitting back in his high-backed chair, “I think you should explore the Hale alibi before we jump to the conclusion that we have a copycat. It would be a very serious avenue to go down.” Steve firm and rational, “Rule out Hale first and then we can talk about a copycat, just to cover our bases.” Bucky nods, “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I took a nap on the couch.” A shrug. Steve sighs and rubs his eyes.

“You need to take better care of yourself.” The file slid back to him over the desk, “Check out Michael Hale, get some rest. Come see me tomorrow.”

Just another nap, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. Groggy he woke up in the afternoon still tired, but a little more alive than he had been previously. He took a hot shower, changed into some fresh clothes and debated shaving but decided against it.

He’d be back at the precinct before the lunch hour was done.

He’d been thinking a lot about what you said to him the night before. If this guy was a copycat, then you had to expect for him to strike again. But how would they even prepare for that? Wait for another body to show up? He’s had to question people in the red-light district before. It wasn’t easy. He was sure that probably anything else would be easier. But it would need to be done anyway.

He wonders if maybe he should take you up on that offer, if it turns out to be a copycat. Maybe he answered a little hastily. He cringes at the way he’d spoken to you last, he sounded like some bureaucratic weirdo.

“Detective Barnes?” His eyes torn away from how he’d been blankly starting at his phone in the line for coffee. There you were, like a sign, holding a cardboard tray with three drinks in it. ���Sorry, I just didn’t expect to run into you here and I wouldn’t have felt right not saying hello.” He understands,

“You’re fine,” He offers, “Really.” He wants to ask. His gut feeling is telling him to ask.

“Have you heard anything?” You sound hopeful, “I know it hasn’t been long, but…” He shakes his head.

“Not yet.” You nod. He should ask. “Listen, I know how I came across last night and I just want to say that if the situation plays out… the way that you’re expecting it to, I’ll be in contact.” The line moved forward and it was almost his turn. You nod, a swell in your chest seemingly from satisfaction.

“Okay, okay.” You give him a soft smile, “I’ll talk to you later then.” Confident and pleased.

“How can I help you?” The cheery barista pulled his eyes away from you, and when he turned back you were already gone.

“Americano please.”

…

A loud pounding on the door.

“Christine.” A call through the wood. The apartment’s lights were on. The TV still buzzing with a show no one was watching. More loud pounding. “Christine, I’m coming in!” The door unlocked and swung open. The man on the other side taking the state of the apartment. At first look it was a mess. There was trash strewn about and a rancid smell. As the man walked further into the apartment, he noticed the dishes in the sink and a plate on the counter. He gagged as he realized it was covered with maggots. A sick feeling in his stomach had him pulling his phone out, he continued into the living room.

On the coffee table was a discarded needle, a little foil wrapper opened with a ball of black tar. The smell growing stronger. He lifts his shirt to cover his nose. “Tina?” Hand on her bedroom door his heart began to race. The smell overpowering and turning his stomach as he pushes it open to reveal her body. Bloated with rot.  

He vomits.

…

“He made you sound like a basket case.” You watch Riley glare at his husband, a laugh shared between the two of you as Sam rolls his eyes, forking more pasta into his mouth. “You need to give her more credit,” Looking at you, “You’ve come such a long way.” A sip of wine, Riley already had a lot which is why he’s being so loose lipped right now.

“Thank you, Riley.” You sip your wine, plates just about cleared and Sam was on his second serving. “I really love what you’ve done with the garden.” The night was warm and pleasant, the three of you were eating out on their patio to the light of citronella candles and soft music playing over the speakers Sam installed last year.

Riley worked from home and always claimed, “I need my environment to be beautiful for the sake of my mental health.” Which included plenty of plants and color coordinated desk supplies. He was on first name basis with the guy whose FedEx route was through his neighborhood, “Caleb loves me.” He would defend.

“When are you going to move out of that gross apartment and into something like this?” Riley asked. “He pays you enough.” You shrugged,

“It’s just me right now, I don’t think I really need much.” He sighs,

“I just don’t like you living in that neighborhood.” A defense, “I know you’re used to that area, but—”

“I’ll think about it.” To satisfy him. He smiles softly at you knowing you were just saying it to appease him, “I will.” Your phone rings and glancing down at it you see a number you don’t recognize. “Hold on.” Stepping from the table you hear Sam scold his husband for bringing up your apartment, but you can’t focus on that. “Hello?”

“It’s Barnes.” A sad tone in his voice and what he says next makes your stomach drop, “We found another body.”

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter one (the last day of recording)

January 6, 1989. Rochester, New York.

“Power trip,” I mutter to myself, closing my eyes. “Power trip. Power trip. Power fucking trip.” I have the headphones over my ears and my hands crammed into my pockets as I'm standing before the microphone. Right in front of me is a pane of glass, and behind that is Lars and Kim, the latter of whom flew out here to lay down a couple of guitar tracks for me. He took a few takes but he managed to get it down for me on the tapes here at Music America.

Lars has his finger resting over the playback button. Even though it's not particularly cold in here, he's got on that big heavy overcoat and that lush vest underneath it. He finally shaved off his beard on New Year's Day, but now he's got kind of a stubble already growing in. He, like me, also neglected to brush his head before he and I drove over here this morning in my piece of crap car.

I need to my act together, on this song here in particular. It's been almost a week, six full days. Lars managed to book me two weeks after New Year's Day and once he told me about it, I found myself itching to perform. I am in dire need to sing my heart out again. The memory of having sang so hard in Seattle is still etched fresh within my mind and my slim belly, but I have to do this for myself. I don't know any other way to do anything else and I can't picture myself doing anything else for myself.

Lars plays it back for me. I focus on the words I had written down on that notepad and then memorized. I rinsed out my mouth with a shot of white wine vinegar and a glass of water before coming here. The back of my throat is clean and clear as a bell. It's all there. I just have to do it.

My voice trembles a little bit, but it's my song, I've always loved to perform, and I've been doing this for years. Why am I so nervous?

No. I needn't be so hard on myself. I relax the muscles in my chest and down within my stomach, and let myself breathe. I have the music in me. I need to coax it out. I need to do what I did in New Orleans and Boston and just let it dance with me. I'm the leader here.

I almost want to grip onto the microphone as I feel myself letting go even more. But I know if I do, it'll mess up the recording.

Instead, I remain standing there with my lips before the head of the microphone, and my eyes pinched shut, and my hands in my pockets.

I'm doing it. I'm recording my album, this thing that says Joey Belladonna, and not just a short, abrasive demo like what I did in Seattle.

It's just me. Lars and Kim need not apply here now.

“SHUT! YOUR! MOUTH!”

I let out this wail that came from somewhere inside of me, and I don't know if it's a relic of everything that's happened up to this point but it almost surprises me. Never thought a skinny little boy could be so soft, and never though a skinny little boy could have such a raging beast inside of him.

“SHUT IT! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!”

I don't know where this is coming from. Where is this coming from?

Ohhhh, I think I know where this is coming from.

I was left out in the cold by my old band mates.

I found a girl who was bound at the ankles laying in a storm drain who's been abused and is lying to me about something, maybe everything.

My best friend is in the hospital right now and has some kind of monstrous cybernetic bullshit literally sprouting out from his body.

There might be something sinister lurking about in the background and I don't have a clue what it is or what it wants from me and Lars. It might want to kill me.

“POWER TRIP! POWER TRIP! P O W E R T R I P!”

I feel myself straining and closing up. My stomach is aching me again, but I don't care. I've got it. I've got it! I've got it! I've got it!

“SHUT! YOUR! M O U T H!”

And then the playback ends once I finish out that final note.

“WOW!” I hear Kim shout on the other side of the glass; this is a sound proof room, too, it's amazing I can hear him say that. I take off the headphones as he and Lars stand to their feet to give me a standing ovation. I rub my eyes and my face, and then run my fingers through my black curls before stepping away from the sound booth. I'm sore again and I need some water.

I step out of there and meet up with Lars and Kim at the sound board.

“That was unreal!” Lars declares, giving his long hair a toss back from his broad shoulders.

“I can't remember the last time I sang like that,” I confess to them, my voice hoarse. “Good thing we got that, too. Did you?”

“I did, yes!” he says with glee. “We can use this next week to master and mix it, too.”

“God—I don't think Chris ever sang that hard,” Kim admits to me, returning to his seat there next to Lars.

“Sang so hard that he lost his voice?” I ask him, feeling my voice break some more.

“Not at all. He has hit some pretty intense notes in the past, like when Soundgarden was starting out, but nothing of your caliber, though. That just—holy shit, dude.”

“Can I get some water here?” I ask them, clearing my throat.

“I'll get it,” Lars offers me. He stands to his feet and crosses the room to the door. He disappears for a moment, only for us to hear a familiar woman's voice out there in the next room.

He then returns with a little paper cup of cold water and a Sonia right behind him.

“Sonia! What're you doing here?” I greet her as Lars hands me the water. “I thought you and Marcia were in Portland.”

“A little bird told me,” she begins, adjusting her kinky dark hair, “that Joey was singing his heart out and recording an album near mine and my sister's upholstery place, and I don't have classes on Fridays, so I just had to fly out here to check it out. I also wanted to invite you boys to a stage production I'm doing in a couple of weeks back home.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at that as I bring the cup to my lips.

“Yeah, A Midsummer's Night Dream. I'm playing the part of Titania, the Queen of the Fairies.”

“Oh, well,” Kim smartly notes, “your Highness.”

Lars and I bow our heads towards her and she giggles at us. I then turn to him.

“Anyways, you got the tape?”

“'Bout to lock it up in a safe place for you, my Indian friend. It is five thirty after all.”

“Holy hell, is it really?” I gape at him.

“Yeah. You've been singing for almost seven hours. You've gotta be beat or at least hungry.”

“Beat or hungry, but not both?”

“Okay, beat or hungry, or perhaps both.”

He ducks behind the sound board to fetch the tape.

“I'm gonna put it in a place where both you and I can remember it well enough,” he tells me, closing the door.

“Sorry, what were we talking about?” I couldn't help that.

“Joey!” he scoffs.

“What? I lost my voice and you're both my partner in crime and my producer—I'm entitled to a joke once in a while, Jesus Christ.”

Meanwhile, Kim and Sonia both chuckle at us.

“You guys,” she quips at us.

“It's like me and Chris,” he joins in.

“It's like me and Marcia,” she adds. “Anyways, shall we go over to Snarky's?”

“Bit of a drive, though,” I remind her, “but—it's a nice evening right now and we're not supposed to get snow for another couple of days. I don't see why not.”

I take one final drink of water when I hear the jingle of some keys.

“Oh, boy, I get a lock and key!” I declare. Lars stands to his feet from the far right side of the sound board.

“Belladonna is in a safe spot,” he tells me, running his fingers through his hair. And then he rubs his hands together. “Okay, now let's get loaded up into the car—I assume we're taking your car, Kim?”

“I don't see why not,” he replies with a shrug. “Unless Sonia has one with her.”

“Nah, I took a cab over here. Let's get loaded into the car.”

“Alright, we're gonna get loaded!” I declare again and that coaxes a laugh out of Lars. “Okay, I'll stop now.”

We head out of the actual studio into the front room, the last nugget of warmth for a little bit. I can make out the final rays of setting sun from through the glass in the front door: the sky has painted itself a rich indigo color. I close the lapels of my peacoat at the sight of it, but I also regret not wearing my leather right now. Before we step outside to the frigid cold clear evening, Sonia turns towards me with a mischievous smirk on her face.

“What?” I ask her, clearing my throat again.

“It almost amazes me how strong your voice is,” she remarks in a low voice.

“Well, it kinda has to be,” I point out, “you know, if I'm gonna be going at this whole thing by my lonesome. I need my voice to be able to slice through steel.”

Lars pushes open the front door first and we're greeted with an onslaught of that cold left over from the snow and the freezing rain. I'm the last one out of the building but surely I can't be the first one to catch a glimpse of the glimmers of neon hovering over the towering apartment complexes. I recognize those smooth metallic sides, even in the fading sunlight. I count four of them.

So Maxwell Industries has drones floating around in the Rochester skyline now, which is experiencing the first sprouts of blue neon.

I can only hope one of them isn't carrying a nuke.

***************************

A/N: by the way, go check out and support Joey's solo work if you haven't already! He has four albums (Belladonna, Spells of Fear, 03, and Deadly Nightshade) and a collection of demos titled Relics

[welllpthisishappening]

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping (1/3)

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It's been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he's making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn't have time for visits from ghosts.

Because he's suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he's in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really.

This is going to be great.

Rating: Teen Word Count: 8K’ish in this one AN: Oh hai there @xellewoods​ I’m your CSSS! It’s been my absolute delight getting to know you over the last few weeks and I had such a fun time writing this. I tried to fit as much as I could in and I hope it feels a bit like spending a few days in New York at Christmas. It did, however, get a bit more plot’y than I was expecting, so...here’s three chapters. THEY WERE ROOMMATES!

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

“Swan, what the hell is on your head?”

Emma spins, eyes narrowing slightly which really only makes the whole thing more absurd because Killian can tell exactly what is on her head. Antlers. With what appears to be some kind of sparkly garland hanging off the top.

He rocks back on his heels when she continues to glare at him, ignoring the frustrated mumblings of the few customers sitting just inside the door of his bar. It’s their fault for sitting there anyway. Something about drafts and old buildings and they’re going to be out of business in several weeks anyway, so none of it really matters anyway.

Merry Christmas.

“I’ve been asking her the same question for the last forty-five minutes,” Will says. He flips a towel over his shoulder, widening his eyes meaningfully at Killian. “And trying to get her out from behind the bar. Where she’s not supposed to be. Behind the bar. Against the rules.” “That was subtle,” Killian mutters, finally moving away from the door and a slightly glazed looking man mumbles a vaguely sarcastic thank you his direction. “And, that’s not really that big of a deal.” Will rolls his eyes.

It’s almost less subtle than the other thing.

And, really, the whole thing is kind of stupid. Almost as stupid as trying to save his bar from developers who want to turn Astoria into some suburb and a retreat for all those Amazon workers who are coming to Long Island City and Killian barely heard any of it any of the times it’s been explained to him.

The only thing he knows is they want to take his bar and he’s not sure he’s got anything except his bar. And how much he absolutely wants to tell Emma Swan several things he absolutely cannot. Being in love with your best friend’s little sister, who also happens to be your roommate, is, it turns out, incredibly inconvenient.

Will would argue about the best friend part.

It doesn’t matter. The love part is what’s important and Killian has almost gotten used to the way his heart seems to hammer in his chest every single time he glances Emma’s direction, has been dealing with it for as long as he can remember or something that sounds far less dramatic than that, but today has been awful in a variety of different ways and several others he didn’t realize existed until he was experiencing them.

They want to figure something out before the end of the year. So the developer told him. Something about markets and stocks or whatever. Killian doesn’t care. All he knows is they’re trying to take his bar and it’s ruining December and he’s never been much for December anyway, but it’s been better in the last few years.

That may have something to do with spending those same Decembers with Emma, but that’s neither here nor there.

So, really, Killian just wants to drink as much of his own alcohol stock as possible until his eyes also get a little glazed, crawl into bed with the covers tugged underneath his chin and stop thinking about how soft Emma’s hair is every second he’s awake.

He shouldn’t know that. He hates that he knows that. He’s not sure what he would actually do if he didn’t know that.

The double negatives are confusing.

“Jones,” Will snaps, clearly not the first time he’s tried to get Killian’s attention. Maybe he doesn’t actually need anything to drink.

Emma is very clearly trying not to smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Killian says. “Still here. And--” “--Ignoring me.” “Well, I mean if Swan’s been here for forty-five minutes, then that’s something you should be used to by now.”

Will throws the towel at him. Killian catches it – and he doesn’t try to glance at Emma to make sure she’s seen his incredible athletic talent, but that’s also just how his body works now and he finds he’s glancing at her more often than not. Will is going to do damage to his throat from sighing so much.

“That sounded a bit like an insult,” Emma murmurs, resting her elbows on the top of the bar. “And these are antlers. Have you never seen antlers before?” “Y’know I don’t know that I actually have in person, honestly.” “What? Really?” Killian shrugs. “When do you think I’m encountering reindeer in the middle of Queens, Swan?” “You haven’t been in Queens your whole life!” “That’s true,” Killian agrees, hooking his foot around the nearest empty stool and there are quite a lot of empty stools. This is the single most depressing day in the world. “Are you also under the impression that there are a lot of reindeer in Boston? They weren’t just patrolling the campus at BC, you know.” Emma narrows her eyes, a twist of her lips that is equal parts familiar and taunting. Killian has to take a deep breath to avoid doing something particularly stupid, pulling in far too much oxygen through his nose and Will slides a half-filled glass of something towards him.

“Subtle, right?” Will asks.

Killian flips him off. That seems like the best response because it’s been going on for far longer than it should – since Boston College and Emma coming to the city during his junior year and they didn’t really like each other at first, but that eventually evolved into something that was almost like quiet acceptance and she was going to Northeastern and around and then David started dating her best friend. Only to promptly fall in love.

Like. The truest of true love. Killian is certain Mary Margaret and David look at each other and rainbows appear and choirs sing and it’s all disgusting and over-the-top and he’s always so goddamn jealous of it, he feels like he could burst.

So he and Emma kept hanging out. They talked. They became, almost, friends.

But then he graduated and moved back home – an idea and a hope and the thought that maybe he and Will could do this that was, currently, blowing up in his face. At the time though, it didn’t matter. He had so much false hope he was practically radiating with it, confidence and certainty and a profit margin that didn’t make the bank flinch.

And time, as it’s apt to do, continued to move.

Emma graduated. And decided she wanted to move to New York – as a police officer. “I just want to do something good, you know,” she’d said, whispered into a phone several thousand miles away from the bar stool Killian was sitting on at the time.

He’d promised her she could. He was certain she could. And the words seemed to tumble out of him at that point, invitations and promises it was fine and it makes more sense, honestly and it did – they could get a good apartment together and he was tired of living in the piece of garbage studio off Steinway Street.

The last thing he expected was for Emma to agree.

Honestly, the whole thing is his own goddamn fault. A fact Will is quick to point out, at least, three times a week.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve proved your point,” Emma grumbles. She has to lean forward to tug the glass out of Killian’s hand, downing half the drink in one quick gulp and shivering slightly. “God, what is that?” “I don’t know. I didn’t actually get a chance to drink any of it.” “Ok, that’s not--” “--Em, can you not critique my drinks until, like, at least, after we find out if we’re going out of business?" Will interrupts, and they should really all just get separate glasses. It doesn’t make any sense to keep sharing one drink.

That should be the subhead of their lives at this point.

Emma blinks, eyes snapping towards Killian and he tries not to actually wilt under her gaze. It doesn’t actually work. “What does that mean?” “You didn’t tell her?” Will shouts before Killian can answer, drawing the curious glances of several customers. One of them definitely shouts he should have told her from the booth at the front of the bar. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Will continues. “That’s--you tell Emma everything. Like it’s disgusting how close the two of you are.” Killian does his best to glare without making it obvious, but that proves an absolute impossibility Particularly when Emma is still staring at him.

“God, you’re an idiot,” Will mumbles. He fills up the shot glass again only to drink it himself.

Killian groans. “Am I ever going to get anything to drink? Shoddy service here. No wonder they want to change everything.” He hears her react. It’s the single worst thing in the world.

She doesn’t quite gasp, but Killian can hear Emma’s breath catch lightly in her throat and it takes every single ounce of something in him to open his eyes and look at her. She’s still staring, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, looking at him like he’s just told her the biggest lie in the universe.

Or like he’s head over heels in love with her.

He really hopes that’s not what she’d look like if he told her that.

“Swan--” Emma shakes her head, strands of hair snapping against her neck and the jut of her chin and he’s always been particularly fascinated with the curve of her right ear. He’s the biggest creep in the world, honestly.

“Well, that settles that, doesn’t it?”

Killian has no idea what’s going on. He jerks his head towards Will, a bemused expression his partner’s face. “At this point I just assumed you guys have some kind of code that you’ve never told me about.” “We don’t have a code,” Emma argues. She still hasn’t looked away from Killian. It’s unnerving in the same way it’s kind of comforting, steady and consistent and, he’d like to believe, almost confident. In him. “I mean, you know, not yet, at least.” He’s getting whiplash from this conversation. “I don’t--” Killian starts, running an anxious hand through his hair. “Swan, you’ve got to make your point, love.” Will sounds like he’s dying. That customer in the booth laughs so loudly Killian briefly worries about the paint on those particular sections of wall.

It’s not a thing, really. It’s just, kind of, sort of their thing and he’s been doing it for as long as he can remember. At first because it very clearly drove her insane, but then because it made this very specific shade of pink linger in her cheeks and then, sometimes, if he’s very lucky, it ends with her teeth digging into her lower lip and--

Killian suddenly feels very lucky.

Even if that developer was talking about drink concepts like that’s even a thing that makes sense.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Emma says. “Also you’re incredibly slow on the uptake today, you realize that?” Killian hums in confusion. “I don’t--” “--I know, I know, but...just, tell me what’s going on, ok?” He grits his teeth, not sure why he hasn’t told her already because she really does deserve to know and if this bar is his, then it’s also, at least, partially hers and it may only ever really feel like home because she’s there, but that also feels a little clingy and--

“Hey,” Emma mutters, interrupting whatever spiral Killian is drifting towards. Her fingers are cool when they wrap around his wrist, soft on his skin as her thumb traces a short line across his pulse point.

He swallows, a wad of emotion suddenly sitting in the back of his throat because this absolutely, positively was not supposed to happen this way.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Emma continues. Her voice doesn’t shake, which is probably for the best because Killian feels as if he’s several different metaphorical leaves, and she doesn’t object when he twists his hand to lace her fingers through his. She squeezes back.

Will gags.

“Why are you home so early, Swan?” “That’s not the question I was hoping for.” “That’s the question you’re going to get.” “I hate you.” “No you don’t.” Emma scowls, shoulders slumping enough that her hair pools against the bar top. “That’s stupid,” she sighs. “Ok, you have to promise not to freak. Because nothing happened and nothing is going to happen, but you really can’t tell David. He’ll drive down here to make sure I’m ok and--” “Emma,” Killian snaps, and that’s even worse than any single nickname he could come up with. She sticks her tongue out.

Will laughs.

“This is not that big of a deal,” she promises, but the words practically fly out of her and that’s a tell. Killian arches an eyebrow. “You remember that sneaker guy we’ve been going after?” He hums. He doesn’t actually trust himself to say anything else.

Idiot.

“Well, we got a lead about him in Hollis today and that’s not really us, but, like I said, we’d been building this whole case and--” “--Focus, love.” Emma scrunches her nose, but she definitely squeezes his hand again. “Anyway. We got there and the guy was trying to break into this display with all those vintage sneakers. Literally millions of dollars just sitting there and, uh...it got a little hectic.” “Hectic,” Killian repeats. “How?” “It’s not a big deal.” Killian looks back at Will – expression turned stony and maybe they should put up some Christmas decorations or something. That’s not really their schtick. “Oh my God, don’t look at him,” Emma growls. “This is not his story.” “And yet I’m still waiting on you, Swan,” Killian points out.

She twists her lips, tongue flashing between them in a way that should be distracting. “You promised not to freak out,” she reminds him. He widens his eyes. “There was uh...some gunfire exchanged.”

Killian knocks the stool over.

It sounds like the entire bar has been knocked over.

The guy at the front jumps up and Will takes another shot, a low murmur of emotion and concern working its way across the entire space. Killian, for his part, feels like he’s frozen.

He’s standing, fingers still twisted up with Emma’s, but he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing, if the burning sensation in the general vicinity of his lungs is any indication. And everything seems to slam into him suddenly – almosts and could have beens and he’s got no idea what he would do if--

No.

That is a dangerous train of thought and one he can’t possibly afford. Emma hisses when he, apparently, squeezes her hand too tightly. Killian’s eyes widen again, his inhale so sharp it only serves to hurt his lungs even more and he’s not sure he’s ever moved that fast, all but sprinting around the back of the bar and cupping her face in his hands.

Emma doesn’t flinch, but she does stiffen slightly and he supposes that’s fair. He’s kind of looming over, fear and what ifs rolling off him in almost palpable waves. She has to shift to rest her palms flat on his chest, tugging lightly on the tie he’d put on for a guy he hadn’t even wanted to meet.

“If this is you not freaking out, then we need to reexamine your definition of the word,” Emma mumbles, drawing a shaky laugh out of Killian and he doesn’t think before pressing his lips to the crown of her hair.

God, her hair is so soft.

“It’s a phrase anyway, really,” Will reasons. He’s crouched down, grabbing rum that they don’t let any of the regulars ever drink and only save for occasions, but Killian figures almost going out of business and avoiding death are both reasonable reasons.

“That’s true,” he agrees. He has to take another deep breath before he can even consider moving, moving his hands to Emma’s shoulders and the bend of her elbows, not quite taking inventory, but drifting dangerously close to creep again.

She’s laughing. He can feel her moving against him.

“Are you ok?” Killian asks, but that only elicits more laughter and he’s not quite sure what to do with that. “Swan, c’mon, this is--” “--I know, I know, it is,” Emma interrupts. “And really, I’m not trying to downplay how absolutely terrifying the last, like, twelve hours of my life have been. But like...obviously I am ok. If I were bleeding out, do you think I’d be here antagonizing, Scarlet?”

“She brings up another very good point,” Will mutters. He slides two glasses of the expensive rum towards them.

“Oh my God, Emma,” Killian sighs. His eyes close of their own volition that time, something that feels like real and genuine exhaustion settling on his shoulders. Or, like, he’s entire life. It’s probably a metaphor.

She has to lean back against his forearm – he’s moved his arm at some point, he’s got no memory of that, but it’s wrapped around her waist and they’re very close and maybe have been very close and this is almost how it all started before and--

“Hey,” Emma mutters, tapping the pads of her fingers against his cheek. “Not even grazed. Justice was served and goodness prevailed, but I was, uh--well, getting shot at has a tendency to mess with your head a little bit and they more or less told me to get out of there.” “Did you put up a fight on that front?” “Nah, I wanted to come home.”

It’s not the first time he’s heard her say that very specific word. And it’s true, honestly. This is her home and his home and their home in some collective way that roommates share, but Killian only just realized his very God awful day had the potential to be the single worst day in the history of any day and he kisses her hair again.

It always smells like vanilla.

And kind of difficult to move against the reindeer antlers that are still on her head.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises. She twists again, moving so she can wrap her arms around Killian’s middle, pulling herself flush against her chest until there’s a considerable amount of her touching far too much of him. “Honestly. I’m just--don’t move for a sec, ok?” Killian nods. He’s not sure he could move if he tried.

And Will shakes his whole head when Killian glances at him, smile knowing and eyes almost amused when he crosses his arms.

“It’s idiotic,” Will mumbles. “The whole goddamn thing.” The guy at the front of the bar shouts something that may be an agreement.

Killian flips Will off. He doesn’t actually move his arms away from Emma.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you now?” she asks, tilting her head back.

That’s cheating. He’s not sure how, exactly, but Killian is positive he’ll figure it out sooner or later and probably after he stops staring directly at her eyes and the tilt of her lips and there’s a hint of pink on both of her cheeks that he’d like to imagine he helped put there.

He genuinely enjoys torturing himself.

“I promise, it’s not nearly that important, Swan,” Killian says, waving Will off when he makes a strangled sound at the blatantly obvious lie.

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “You want to try that again?” “I thought you were supposed to be off the clock, Detective.” “Justice never sleeps. Or something less lame than that. Oh my God, shut up, Scarlet.”

Will does not, in fact, shut up. His laugh gets louder and less restrained, doubling over on himself when the sound practically ricochets out of him.

It’s catching.

Killian’s own laugh doesn’t start loud, but he feels like it could maybe get there, body shaking against Emma’s and the slightly disbelieving look on her face is more than enough to inspire several thousand smiles. That’s the single lamest thought he’s ever had.

Bar none.

But then she’s exhaling softly and her hands are moving again, back on his chest until it feels like they’re restarting his vaguely cynical and only recently terrified heart, and her laugh is his single favorite sound in the entire world.

The three of them stand there for a moment – hysterical and ridiculous, with a half-filled bar gaping at them like crazy people and none of them have actually had any of the exceptionally expensive rum yet.

That feels important.

“Life threatening events make you very snippy, Em,” Will mutters eventually, dragging the back of his hand against his cheek.

She flips him off with both hands. Killian can’t possibly kiss her hair again. There are still, some, lines. “Seriously, shut up,” Emma hisses. “You are ruining my plan.” “Wait, what?” Killian asks, but Emma is already mumbling no no no under her breath.

“You have to tell me what happened with you first,” she says. “Those are the rules or turnabout or whatever.” “Where’d you get the antlers?” “Seriously, you are so bad at answering questions?” “Yes, that’s what the--shit, what’s that guy’s name?” Will shrugs. “Some kind of element. Potassium? Plutonium? Robert Plutonium?” “Robert Plutonium? Are you kidding me?” “You were the one who spent all day with him. And not to agree with Em on literally anything ever, but she’s not the only one interested in what the developer had to say.” Emma’s hands fall back to her sides. “A developer? What--what does that mean? How long have you been talking to a developer?” “Not long,” Killian says, but she’s staring at him like it’s the worst lie he’s ever told. “Honestly, love. Barely even more than a few weeks.” “A few weeks! And you didn’t mention it once?” “That was a bad move, Jones,” Will nods. He’s moved backwards, perched on the edge of a different counter with that same confident smile on his face that helped them get the first loan from the first bank all those years ago. Killian gapes at him. “I’m just saying,” Will continues. “Emma’s like you’re emotional guidepost. It’s genuinely been blowing my mind that you haven’t told her about this yet.” “There hasn’t been anything to tell,” Killian says, but that’s definitely a lie and it’s probably wrong to lie to a police officer who was fired upon that afternoon.

And his roommate. Who may really be the best best friend he’s got in the great, big hierarchy of best friends.

That he’s in love with.

Irrevocably. And completely. And several other adverbs.

Killian huffs, turning back towards an almost-patient looking Emma. She’s got her lips twisted again, a look she usually reserves for when he moves her shoes away from the door or critiques her dish-drying technique.

“Once more with feeling,” Emma whispers, a note of something that may be a genuine threat just on the edge of her voice.

Killian snaps his fingers. “Gold. The guys’ name is Gold. God, how did I forget that?” “I’d imagine you’ve got plenty of other things on your mind,” Will answers archly. “Also you’re incredibly old, so the memory loss is to be expected. And what did our dear Mr. Gold ask of us today?” “He’s buying up the rest of the block.” “Ah, shit.” “Those were essentially my sentiment exactly.” Emma makes a noise that sounds a bit like a growl and the general sense of frustration Killian can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes are hard when he looks at her – barely more than slits of green and he almost wouldn’t be surprised to find her hair emitting actual wavelengths of energy.

“A developer is trying to buy up your entire block?” she asks, a forced calmness to the question that makes Killian wince. He nods. “And he’s been talking to you for weeks? And you didn’t--you didn’t once think to mention that to me?” “It’s not--” “--Oh my God, if you tell me it’s not a big deal I will strangle you here. Right here. Behind your bar.” “This is why you’re not supposed to be behind the bar,” Will mutters, drawing a half-nervous laugh out of Killian and another pointed glare out of Emma.

“And,” he adds. “If you strangle me here, then the bar becomes a crime scene and I doubt Mr. Gold would want a crime scene in his vision for making Astoria great again.” Whatever noise Will makes is not human. “Did he actually use that phrase?” “Not in so many words, but the sentiment was there. There was several allusions to open floor concepts and natural lighting and--” “--Has he ever seen this bar?” Emma interrupts. “There is no natural light in here. It’s a cave.” “Wow, that is scathing, Swan.” “A very nice cave.” “Better.” She scoffs, taking a step away from him and he shouldn’t regret that as much as he does. Maybe that should be the actual subheadline of his life. “This guy wants to shut down the bar?” “Eh,” Killian and Will say at the same time.

“What does that mean?” “It means that he’s less interested in shutting down the bar and just kind of...bulldozing it,” Killian says, and the smile on his face hurts every single one of the muscles in his face. It’s that fake.

Emma’s mouth drops open.

“He told me today he’s basically got the whole block. The coffee place, the pita place, that hair salon’s been closed forever, so that was, like, the easiest thing he’s ever done. It’s just...us left.” “We’re the holdouts,” Will grins, like the whole thing is some great, big joke and not their entire lives. It’s easier to deal with that way.

“And how do you plan on continuing to hold out?” Emma asks.

Killian tilts his head. “That seems to suggest you think we’re going to do that.” “Are you not?” “Well, yeah, but--” “--See, this is why I was certain you guys had some kind of code,” Will interrupts. “She knows all your tricks, Jones. It’s a miracle we’ve been able to keep it a secret for so long.” “A Christmas miracle,” Emma corrects. Her smile isn’t quite as wide as it normally is, but it’s tugging at the edges of her mouth and Killian knows she’s trying to look confident for him. He resists the urge to kiss her. Again. At all times. “So, c’mon, tell me, what are you guys going to do? There’s got to be a plan.” “There’s not really,” Killian admits. “We’re more or less hinging all our hopes on finding some kind of his historical relevance to this building.” “Are you kidding me?” “I told you there wasn’t much of a plan.”

Emma shakes her head, tongue moving between her lips again and Killian can almost hear the metaphorical gears starting to turn. It doesn’t surprise him. She’s always been impossibly stubborn and when she sets her mind on something, there’s very little that will stop her from getting it.

Which is why the whole incident was so goddamn disappointing.

If she’d wanted it, she absolutely positively would have brought it up again and neither one of them have ever said anything and--he needs to stop. This is cruel and unusual and self-inflicted.

Her hair had felt so incredibly soft in between his fingers though. And there was that one sound – not quite a whimper, but something like giving in and accepting and wanting, pressed against the curve of his jaw when she’d pulled her head back and Killian would open sixteen-thousand bars only to sell every single one of them to some dick of a developer if it meant he got to hear Emma make that sound one more time.

They’d been very drunk, the five-year anniversary of the bar and more over-priced alcohol, stumbling up the stairs back into their apartment with fumbled keys and laughter and wandering hands. And neither one of them said anything even coming close to stop, just moved into each other’s space like they were falling into each other’s atmosphere and the whole thing had felt so incredibly normal.

That was probably the best and worst part. Equally. It felt like it was supposed to, like breathing or sharing the same space and that one, particular noise was going to haunt Killian even after he was dead, he was positive.

“That’s like...negative amounts of a plan,” Emma nods. “So what exactly are you going to do? Just keep dodging this guy until the end of time.” “Or the aliens attack,” Will adds.

“And if the aliens attack, then we’re hoping they’ll also just avoid this building and let us keep providing alcohol to the general populace,” Killian says. “Or the Doctor will show up and the aliens won’t actually be attacking. They’ll be nicer than we expected. Or--” “--God, how is there more?” Emma asks, but she’s almost laughing now too and Killian’s smile doesn’t feel as forced.

“The aliens will hear our distress call, know we’re barely staying above ground in the fight against modernism and they’ll just go attack Mr. Plutonium instead.” “I thought his name was Gold.” “I’m really feeling partial to Plutonium now.” “I don’t think that’s even on the Periodic Table. And Plutonium is more than this guy deserves. He should be like...tin or something.” Will lets out a low whistle, pouring something because, despite whatever the developer’s name is, they still do have a regular customer base and regulars and Killian genuinely doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this all gets tugged out from underneath him.

Maybe cry or something.

That seems kind of lame.

“Tin sounds almost insulting, Swan.” Emma nods again. “That’s totally the point. Do you--he really wants to buy the bar to tear it down?” “I see no reason why he’d lie to us. It’s a good amount of money too. Enough that we’d probably be able to figure out something without having to do it immediately, but…” “You guys are giant saps and you don’t want to sell your bar,” Emma says, more of that certainty and confidence.

“Yeah, exactly that.” “So it’s just been a complete and total shit day for all of us, hasn’t it?” “Exactly that,” Killian repeats. “Where’d you get your antlers, Swan?” “That really creepy party supply store right off the R-Train.” Killian’s answering laugh is far too loud to be acceptable in any sort of normal social environment, but he figures the rules are a little different in his own bar with the subject of his possible one-sided pining standing in front of him wearing goddamn reindeer antlers like a beacon of Christmas potential. “I think I’d like to get vaguely buzzed,” he announces, and Will shouts something that sounds a hell of a lot like finally.

He does, in fact, get slightly more than buzzed – a seemingly never-ending stream of glasses pushed Killian’s direction in between doing his actual job and acknowledging customers and Emma does, eventually, get back on the right side of the bar.

Technically.

Killian doesn’t ever really mind when she stands back there.

And it’s closing in on last call, his vision swimming just a little bit because it’s been a day and he’s probably a little dehydrated at this point when Will pushes on his shoulder. “God, what?” Killian asks sharply.

“You a little drunk?” Will counters.

“No, no, I’m--” “--Literally the world’s worst liar. Gold offered again? With the money?” Killian nods, wiping his hands absentmindedly on the front of his jeans. “He said we’re the only ones stopping him from, and I’m quoting here, making this official, so if we don’t come to terms sooner rather than later, we’ll be, you’re going to enjoy this, impeding progress.” “It’s like he’s reading from a script isn’t it?” “Honestly, I’m almost insulted by the distinct lack of creativity. I wonder if he gets his inspiration from Mr. Potter. Or the Grinch.” “I don’t like either of these examples,” Will says. “Because I think it makes me Uncle Billy and Max the dog respectively and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“At least Uncle Billy actually makes sense, you know, name wise.” “Yeah, yeah, that’s generous of you.” He sighs, running a hand over his face and Killian isn’t sure he’s seen him look that exhausted since he spent three straight days trying to cram for a chemistry final during their sophomore year. If memory served, he hadn’t done all that great on that exam.

Killian hopes that’s not a sign.

“She was really freaked, you know,” Will says suddenly, jerking Killian’s attention back to the present and he realizes she’s not sitting on the stool anymore.

He scans the bar, only a few stragglers shrugging on coats and grumbling about the threat of overnight snow, a noise that feels like relief and sounds like something else entirely when his eyes land on her – curled up in a booth with her head on his balled-up jacket.

“That’s not subtle either,” Killian says.

“Yeah, I wasn’t trying to be. She was...I told her I didn’t know when you’d get back and she said she didn’t care, just wanted to be here when you did show and it took forever to finally get to give up what had that look on her face.” “And what look was that?” It’s a selfish question. It’s a needy question. Killian doesn't move his gaze away from Emma.

“Like she’d just watched her whole life flash in front of her eyes and realized she’d wasted a good amount of it not making out with her roommate,” Will says.

Killian has to bite his tongue to stop from dissolving into a puddle of several different emotions. “That’s a rather pointed opinion.” “It’s an obvious opinion. One several people share. Strangers on the street see you two together and immediately share that same opinion.” “C’mon, it’s not--” “--Why didn’t you tell her about this guy?” Killian turns his head. And that’s another mistake because Will is staring expectantly at him – brows lifted and one side of his mouth quirked up, a different towel than before draped over his shoulder. “I didn’t want her to worry,” Killian mutters. “I knew she was looking for that guy and it’s Christmas--there’s always more, you know, crime or whatever. Plus, we’ve got to go home in a couple weeks and…” “The fact that you just referred to Storybrooke, her hometown, as home and the place you’re going for Christmas gives me pause.” “I always go up there for Christmas.” He had – ever since he got assigned David Nolan as a roommate and David could not understand the concept of another human spending Christmas alone. So Killian had gone home with him, to Storybrooke, Maine, and met his mother and his little sister and everything had spiraled from there.

Driving back to Storybrooke with Emma is one of Killian’s favorite parts of Christmas now.

Will hums, and Killian wishes he’d do something with his face. “Right, right. So let me get this straight, you didn’t want to tell Emma that some asshole wants to buy our bar so he can single-handedly continue the gentrification of our neighborhood because you didn’t want to worry her when she’s got so much crime to fight before the two of you go to Maine to spend time with her family on a holiday that, at its core, is, like, the most family holiday ever?” “Don’t you think that’s Thanksgiving?” “No,” Will says easily. “And I think you looked like you’d seen several ghosts when she told you what happened today.” Killian’s stomach twists. “Yeah, well,” he reasons. “I…” “God, it’s so dumb. The whole thing is so incredibly dumb. Both of you.” “What?” Will doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and pushes Killian back towards the booth where Emma is still sleeping. “Take your very platonic roommate back to the apartment you share. Platonically. Where you can platonically tell her that you don’t know what you’d do if you lost her. Platonically.”

“You said that word so many times, I’m not even sure it has real meaning anymore,” Killian says, mostly so he can ignore the fluttering in his chest. Will totally knows that. As exhibited by the middle finger flashed his direction.

There’s no possible way Emma can be comfortable. It is, after all, a very old bar and very old booths and the wood can’t be very forgiving on her spine, but she doesn’t stir much when Killian walks forward – or when he winces at the sound his knee makes when he crouches by her head.

“Jesus,” he grumbles, reaching out a hand to brush a stray piece of hair away from her forehead before he can think better of it. “Swan.”

Nothing. No sound. No noise. She does move her head slightly though, like she’s trying to shift closer to his hand and there’s no way his internal organs can hold up to this for much longer.

“Swan,” Killian repeats. Still nothing. “Emma.” Her eyelids flutter. Figures.

“C’mon, love, it’s after last call. We’ve got to go home.” She opens her eyes, and for half a second it’s so goddamn endearing Killian is certain his entire soul has moved to some other plane because she looks at him like...everything and then some, lips curling up into a smile as she presses her cheek against his palm. She’s still got the antlers on her head.

“Did I fall asleep?” Killian hums. “Only for a little while, though. Probably didn’t mess up your sleeping patterns too much at all.” “Small miracles.” “Of the almost-Christmas variety.” “Is it weird that I fell asleep in your bar? That seems like it should be more weird.” “No, no, it’s cute.” “Cute?” “Cute,” Killian confirms, despite the rather loud alarm bells going off in his brain. This is suddenly dangerous and very thin ice. “And festive. Or something.”

Emma’s laugh is quiet, but his hand is still touching her and he can feel her breath on his skin. So, he’ll probably think about that until New Year’s. At least. “You going to walk me home?” “Would be rude otherwise. Scarlet knows how to lock doors.” “I don’t think it’s cute that you’re falling asleep in our bar, Em,” Will calls as she stands up, using Killian to keep her balance. That may be the only reason he doesn’t say anything to Will. “I think it’s a sign.” “Oh, yeah?” Emma asks. “Of what?” “I’m not at liberty to say.” She makes a face – all eyebrows and wide eyes, but she’s also leaning against Killian’s side and hasn’t actually objected to the arm around her shoulders, so maybe they’re all just going insane. Collectively.

Maybe Robert Gold won’t want to buy a building from crazy people.

“C’mon, love,” Killian says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Their apartment isn’t that far from the bar – only two blocks away, and they don’t move very quickly. It’s snowing, after all, but not quite frigid and the city-provided lights wrapped around the street lamps are almost enough to make Killian forget about all the bad lingering just on the outside of all of this.

And, really, he thinks that’s going to be it.

They walk the two blocks, Emma hands him her keys because she’s not always entirely coherent when she’s only just woken up, toeing out of her boots as soon as the door is closed behind her. And that should be it.

He’s got every intention of asking her if she’s alright again, but nothing more than that and--

“You know I never actually got to my part of the plan,” Emma says, which may be one of the last thing Killian expects her to say.

“What?” “My plan. I got distracted by gunshots and you not telling me stuff and me being kind of right when I was only half suggesting some asshole was trying to steal your bar.” “He’d give us money, Swan.” “It’s still stealing somehow.” “What’s your plan?” Emma takes a deep, the smile on her face moving in what feels like actual slow motion. “I want to reclaim our festivity.” “I don’t...I don’t understand.” “This is why I got the antlers. At first it was mostly because someone shot a gun at me today--” “--Fucking hell, Emma,” Killian groans, an exasperation in the words that doesn’t likely belong in any sort of platonic relationship. Especially one that’s discussing Christmas. But his lungs don’t seem to care and his ability to pull in oxygen is suddenly non-existent.

She winces. “If I make jokes about it, it’s a little bit easier.” “Please don’t make jokes about it.”

He hates that he sounds a bit like he’s begging, but he’s also a little more buzzed than he’d originally planned on being and only just realized that his jacket will probably smell like Emma’s hair for the next few weeks. At least.

Probably until Christmas.

There’s an odd poetry to it.

Of the torturous variety.

Emma nods, twisting her lip between her teeth and fisting her hands at her side. “No more jokes, I promise. Just--tourist attractions. And maybe some eggnog. When’s the last time you think you had eggnog?”

“I don’t know that I’ve had eggnog ever.” “How is that possible?” “Do you drink eggnog all the time?”

“Well, no, but that’s my point.” “This is the most roundabout way of getting there,” Killian says, if only because he knows it’ll get her to stop biting her lip. It does.

She smiles, stepping further into the apartment and sprawling on the couch. Killian doesn’t move, but then Emma’s crooking a finger towards him. It doesn’t take very long to walk after that, a few steps and his knee brushing hers when he sits down.

“Ok, so everything happened today and, well, I’ve got a good chunk of holiday time that I wasn’t going to take--” “--You are seriously the most stubborn human being on the planet, do you know that? Holiday time is meant to be taken off.” “I am never going to get to the plan if you keep interrupting me,” Emma says, but it comes out more like a sigh. They’ve moved a bit, slumping against cushions and blankets with Emma’s head resting on Killian’s shoulder. It’s more comfortable that way, he reasons. “Anyway,” she continues. “I have time and now, you know, they’re giving me some time and--” “--Swan!” “I can’t threaten to murder you in here. I like this apartment too much.” “That’s generous of you, love.” “‘Tis the season or whatever,” Emma grumbles, rapping her knuckles on his stomach. “The point I am desperately trying to make is that I’ve got some time off and we’ve got a whole city at our fingertips with a reputation for being particularly fun during Christmas. I think we should take advantage of that. Reclaim our festivity, as it were.” “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Well, we drink some goddamn eggnog first. But then we do all the stupid Christmas stuff in New York. A variety of trees and holiday markets and you know I’ve never been ice skating once in my life.” “It’s not that much fun,” Killian says. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Swan, but all of these things sound decidedly like tourist traps.” “Yes.” “Wow, that’s a much quicker agreement than I was anticipating.” “The tourists go there for reason. And I haven’t done them in forever. It could be fun.” “Or we could get trampled,” Killian counters. “Mad shoppers in the Bryant Park holiday market.” “I sincerely doubt that.”

Killian scoffs, considering the idea for a moment and, for half of that moment, it doesn’t seem that bad. Even with the threat of tourists and the possibility of making a complete fool of himself on some yet-to-be-determined skating rink.

Because, above all else, he really does enjoy spending time with Emma and it may be nice to remember that this time of year is, usually, nice. It may be nice to forget about Robert whatever his last name is for a few hours.

And he’s just about to agree, to promise that sounds good, Swan when she swings her legs over his, head tilted up to meet his eyes. He swallows back every word.

“I just…” Emma starts, scrunching her nose when she cuts herself off. “It started because I was feeling like shit and then I bought the stupid antlers, but then you weren’t at the bar and Scarlet wouldn’t give you up. I tried every interrogation technique I know.” “It’s because he’s not a normal human. That’s not a marker on your interrogation skills, love.”

“That’s generous. But I had half this plan and I was totally going to say something as soon as you got to the bar. Only then you got to the bar and were so annoyed, like, glowing with annoyance and I knew I was going to have to tell you about today and it all kind of snowballed and--” “--Was that a pun?” “Not intentionally.” “That’s impressive,” Killian murmurs. His fingers are moving. That’s weird. He can’t remember deciding to do that, but they’re dragging up the side of Emma’s arm and she hasn’t actually told him to stop.

“You’re on a compliment roll. Basically what I’m saying is it started as this very selfish thing that I was going to kind of drag you along with kicking and screaming, but if anyone deserves to have their festiveness restored than it’s you Mr. Ebenezer Grinch.” Killian chokes on the minimal amount of air in his lungs. “Ebenezer Grinch?” “Don’t forget the Mr. That’s important too.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “It does,” Emma objects. “I’m not entirely sure how, but I’m sure it does. So I want...I want to help. You and me. But mostly you now. I want to do something good. With us, I mean. Ah, no, that’s not what I mean. Not us us, just, like, you and me doing something together. As a unit. For Christmas. Oh God that sounds worse, doesn’t it?” “No.” “No?” “No,” Killian repeats. “If you’re going to make me drink eggnog though, you’re going to buy it, Swan. I’m not sure I’ll be able to drum up the courage.” It’s enough to get her to laugh again, head falling against his chest and Killian can feel her inhale deeply. “I’ve stolen so much of your alcohol stock over the years, it only seems fair we even it up at some point.” “This is definitely the way to do it.”

She makes a noise against his shirt, burrowing further against him. Maybe they can find spiked eggnog. Killian feels like he’s downed several gallons. “So that’s a plan, then? Operation: get festive is a go?” “Should we wear matching jackets?” “Don’t think I haven’t considered matching sweaters.” “That actually doesn’t surprise me,” Killian says, and it sounds like a far larger admission. “When did you want to go?” “Saturday?” “Saturday!” “Saturday.” “You want to go into the city on a Saturday in December? To tourist attractions?” “Part of the festivity is being around other people,” Emma reasons. “And we’ll go places besides the tourist attractions. I’m totally going to make a list.” “Of course you are. If I get run over by some family of five from Pennsylvania, all of them holding a variety of bags from Macy’s and several from those I Love NY stores in Midtown, not only am I going to hold you personally responsible, but I’m going to come back and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Emma presses her lips together – clearly doing her best not to laugh in his face. Killian isn’t sure if he appreciates that or not. Until she brushes her lips over his cheek, so quick he’s nervous he just imagined it, but he can’t possibly have imagined the way his entire body seems to light up at it and then he’s far too busy trying to cope with Emma curled against his side to worry about anything else.

“This will be fun,” she promises. “Festive. Close your eyes, Jones.” “Swan, we own beds.” “Yeah and I don’t want to get up. So either you’re going to carry me to bed or you’re just going to move slightly and we can both fit almost comfortably on this couch.” “That’s insane.” “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s how today has been.” Emma takes a deep breath, the arm around Killian’s stomach tightening slightly. “I can move if you want though.” She doesn’t quite whisper the last few words, but it’s dangerously close – a hint of nerves that he doesn’t ever want her to feel around him. And, well, that decides that.

“No, Swan, it’s fine,” Killian says, maneuvering them until they’re both on their sides and it doesn’t take very long for either one of them to fall asleep.

With her hair in his face.

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[grapevynerendezvous]

The Sopwith Camel - Sopwith Camel A prime example of how fast things can develop, The Sopwith Camel released their only hit single less than one year after they had started rehearsing as a band. Within a week after founder Peter Kraemer met guitarist Terry MacNeil (later known as Nandi Devam) at Big Little Book Store in San Francisco they had written several songs, including Hello Hello, Frantic Desolation and You Always Tell Me Baby. By the end of 1965 they added three other band members guitarist William Sievers, drummer Norman Mayell, and bassist Bobby Collins who soon gave way to Martin Beard. The band started rehearsals in a former firehouse on Sacramento St. In April they laid down six tracks for a demo recording.

Thanks to Bobby Collins, who had briefly played bass for Kraemer and MacNeil in the beginning, a copy of the demo ended up in the hands of Erik Jacobson. A New York producer with Sweet Reliable Productions, Jacobsen had been responsible for seven top ten hits for The Lovin’ Spoonful in one year. He had also worked with Tim Hardin as well as with The Charlatans, another fledgling SF band. Particularly attracted to Sopwith Camel’s Hello Hello, Jacobsen came to California to meet with them in May. Within the week the band signed a contract with his Sweet Reliable Productions. In late summer he took them into Coast Studio in SF to do the basic track of Hello Hello. The band then relocated to New York City to record the album and while there, signed with Kama Sutra, for which Jacobsen had produced two albums with The Lovin’ Spoonful. The Sopwith Camel was the second San Francisco band of the era to be signed to a label. Recording was done intermittently throughout the Fall while The Sopwith Camel also toured as an opener for The Lovin’ Spoonful. This meant they spent an extended period of time in New York.

Not long after Hello Hello b/w Treadin’ had been released as a single the band returned to San Francisco. After the release of their next single, Postcard From Jamaica b/w Little Orphan Annie, in April 1967. Sopwith Camel went back into Coast Recorders and recorded one more track, The Great Morpheum. In May the eponymous album was released. By this time Hello Hello had gone off the charts and that next single, had not been successful. Considering this, a sticker was placed on the album upon release that said, Remember Hello Hello! In early October a third single, Saga of the Low Down Let Down b/w The Great Morpheum was released but did not chart. It took over five months for the album, Sopwith Camel, to enter the Billboard Top 200 and after two weeks it went off the chart. By this time the band had started slowly disintegrating. 

Hello Hello was not the song one would have expected to be the first Top 40 hit to herald the up-and-coming San Francisco psychedelia music era. It was released in mid-November 1966, b/w Treadin’. It entered the Billboard Hot 100 on Dec. 24 and by January ’67 crested at No.26 on the Top 100,y becoming the first San Francisco band in that era to have a Top 40 hit song. It did very well in some markets across the country: No.2 in San Jose CA, No.3 in San Diego CA, No.4 in San Francisco CA, and Louisville KY, and No.5 in San Antonio TX and Boston MA. It was one of the first songs written by band founder Peter Kraemer and guitarist Terry MacNeil right after the first met. The style harkens back to the days of Vaudeville, which was the primary live music source from the the late 1800’s to the early 1930s. The lyrics are about a simple desire to meet someone, get to know them, to share with them.

Song two of the album, Frantic Desolation, was also one fo the first songs Peter Kraemer and Terry MacNeil wrote together, but , according to MacNeil, they didn’t perform it early on. They decided to record it because they needed songs for the album. It was a distinct shift from the good timey vaudevillian Hello Hello to a distinctly psychedelic sound. The fuzztone guitar played by Terry MacNeil was noted by Elvis Costello to be ‘one of the best examples of psychedelic guitar from the period’. In an interview with the The Psychedelic Guitar MacNeil said that he wanted to reflect the meaning of the words desolation, desperation, in his guitar playing. He sat close to the amp for feed-back and played as weird as he could. In later reincarnations of Sopwith Camel it was regularly played.

William “Willie” Sievers penned The Saga of the Low Down Let Down. This has a good time feel to it musically, but it is about a low down let down none the less.. MacNeil again shines on the all too short, but effective guitar solo. Little Orphan Annie is a musical version of the syndicated newspaper comic strip that first appeared in 1924. Back to the vaudeville era, but with just a hint of the ‘60s hippie chick as well. The tongue-in-cheek performance has a a very winning way about it, with a skillful instrumental interlude featuring twelve-string guitar. One can’t help conjuring up images of Annie and Sandy in this winning “comic strip” tune.

The final two songs on side one each have their own character about them. You Always Tell Me Baby recites a complaint about how the protagonist is being told how to do things by their counterpart. It features flowing harmonies behind the lead vocals and well placed trumpet throughout. The conclusion of the song seems poised for the following song. Maybe in a Dream is basically an instrumental until the final quarter of the song. It has an optimistic feel as guitars and keyboards soar and glide throughout. The most arresting song on the album, Cellophane Woman, starts off side two. It is the other psychedelic number but with a harder, almost punk quality to it. The lyrics, written by Willy Sievers, seem to be an anti-materialism metaphor that doesn’t quite hit it’s mark. Yet the angst is there and the instrumentation takes it over the top right to the finish. Returning to the roots of the album, The Things That I Could Do With You takes it straight  back to the vaudeville era. Again written by Kraemer and MacNeil, this one is a fantasy about all the things someone could be doing together with their girl. Well, not quite that kind of fantasy, unless you let your imagination run wild. It features a nice little harmonium solo. Walk in the Park continues in the vein of old-time vaudeville, only this time going back to the 19th century for inspiration. While very original in many ways, composer Willy Sievers seems to take a cue from British songwriter Harry Dacre’s 1892 “Daisy Bell (A Bicycle Built for Two)”. Sievers replaces a ride on a bicycle with a walk in the park. The ragtime-style piano style fits in perfectly as do the background harmonies. On top of all this, the comedic voice-over in the middle is priceless as William, shyly but slyly, asks Daffney to take a walk in the park with him. The Great Morpheum was the last song written and recorded for the album. Like Hello Hello, it was recorded in San Francisco. It was in April 1967, the month before the album release. The band had just recorded four 45-second commercials for Levi Strauss. Peter Kraemer recalls that he and Terry MacNeil went into a smaller studio at Coast Recorders to write the song. Along with guest saxophonist Terry Clements, Martin Beard and Norman Mayell had the basic track cut on the second take. After inclusion in the album it later became the B-side of their third single. The pace of the song slows considerably from the other cuts on the album. It has variation within itself though and the highlight happens when Clements’ saxophone comes to the fore. The song is about a surreal movie at a theater (the Morpheum). I was recently enlightened by none other than Peter Kraemer, that the Great Morpheum is in fact, about the Vietnam War. I agree that, with a bit of thought and understanding, makes perfect sense. Thanks to Peter for pointing this out. Who else would know better than he? The song’s conclusion builds to a dramatic finish, but once again the last note, so to speak, hangs in mid-air. It also leads into the final song.

Postcard From Jamaica begins with a postman ringing a doorbell announcing a mail delivery. It’s a message from a girlfriend who is visiting Jamaica, and an invitation for the reader to take a trip to see her there. As the album had not come out as yet, Postcard From Jamaica b/w Little Orphan Annie was released as second single. The haste to get it out created a scenario as told by Peter Kraemer, "Sopwith Camel was being interviewed by the DJ at a radio studio in Dallas when a guy named Richie, from Cavallo’s (the band’s manager) office, brought the 45 in from New York. When the engineer in the sound booth dropped the tone arm it bounced and skated right off the record. He tried again; it did the same thing. He looked at the band through the double glass and sadly shook his head; the bass was cut too hot and the record wouldn't track. It would play on the more primitive equipment in jukeboxes and became what was called a 'jukebox hit' in some parts of the country and in Canada.”

The album featured poster artist Victor Moscoso’s first great pop-art cover. Essentialy the design already was used for a Matrix poster back in February. The back liner cover had the first infra-red band photo, shot by Jim Marshall.

While Hello Hello wasn’t precisely one of my favorite songs, when I spotted the album at the record store I decided to find out what the rest of it sounded like. I thought it strange that there was a sticker on the cover that said REMEMBER HELLO, HELLO. Of course I remembered it, but at the time I perhaps didn’t completely get that their only hit song had come and gone three or four months before the album hit the market. I immediately enjoyed what I heard though, and quickly added it to my small but growing collection.

I felt that overall, the song-writing, arrangements, originality, vocals and instrumentality were really top-notch. It’s notable that the music was all band-written, not something usually encountered at that time. What struck me most about some of the writing was its’ droll humor. In particular I was quite taken by Little Orphan Annie and Walk in the Park. They are among those songs on the album that harkened back to vaudevillian style, yet worked so well in the renaissance of the ‘60s. I was equally intrigued by Frantic Desolation and Cellophane Woman, both of which explored the more experimental aspects of the period. While I enjoyed the rest of the songs, the final two took me a bit longer to warm up to. I simply didn’t listen to them as much for quite awhile. Eventually though, I began to appreciate the more elaborate arrangement of The Great Morpheum, and the warmth and optimism of Postcard From Jamaica.

The record quickly became one of my favorites. I can still fairly well sing along with most all the songs. It’s unfortunate that, since the album faded so quickly once it finally appeared, not many people really got to hear all Sopwith Camel had to offer. It turns out that by the time of the release the band had started to fall apart due primarily to bickering and, as one band member called it, immaturity. Willy Sievers had announced in November that he intended to leave to start a solo career, but didn’t actually do that until late spring of the next year. The band members still played in other projects, some of which included two or more of them, but things seemed to be over for good. At least for the time being. I missed a golden opportunity to see not only Sopwith Camel, but Buffalo Springfield and The Standells as well in 1967. The event was a tri-school dance that had been put together by a student named Rod Jew at Cubberley High School in Palo Alto. Held at the high school pavilion, the concert was on April 27th, just prior to the Camel’s album release. All the bands had, or were enjoying, big hits. I thought I had lost any opportunity after that but Sopwith Camel was to have more in store.

Another opportunity unexpectedly came up in 1971. After not hearing anything about Sopwith Camel for nearly four years, they resurfaced playing a dance concert at Foothill Community College in Los Altos Hills CA. By this time I was a student there and attended the show in the gym with my girlfriend/future wife. While he was not aware that this event had occurred, based on information obtained through a blog done by music historian Bruno Ceriotti, it appears that four of the original band members had reunited. Hearing them play songs from that first album live was like a dream come true.

Speaking of Bruno Cerotti, through three decades of research he created a day-by-day diary of The Sopwith Camel as well as other bands. Utilizing information from interviews, as well as gathering many visuals, from several individuals and news media sources, it gives far more details than one would would normally expect to encounter. Particularly for a band that had but two albums (not counting re-releases), three singles, one hit song, and lasted less than a decade at their height. He also documented their return to performing from 2009-2016. Finally looking into what Bruno has accomplished I decided to reach out to him and we have become friends. He was quite amazed and excited to hear of the show at Foothill College. He helped me hone in on the year it must of happened and now all we need to do is get a precise date and any other details. It’s good to be interactive.

http://brunoceriotti.weebly.com/the-sopwith-camel.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sopwith_Camel_(band)

https://www.allmusic.com/album/the-sopwith-camel-mw0000117772

website https://www.sopwithcamel.com

Joel Selvin articles https://www.sopwithcamel.com/stories2.html

https://www.sopwithcamel.com/stories4.html

https://sopwithcamel.org/about-the-band/

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/sopwith-camel-where-are-they-now-93996/

https://www.sopwithcamel.com/Albums.html

https://vancouversignaturesounds.com/hits/hello-hello-sopwith-camel/

http://therockasteria.blogspot.com/2014/09/sopwith-camel-sopwith-camel-1966-67-us.html

https://www.discogs.com/artist/391236-Sopwith-Camel

https://www.sopwithcamel.com/stories4.html

http://www.rockremnants.com/2013/06/22/song-of-the-week-hello-hello-sopwith-camel/

http://andrewdarlington.blogspot.com/2014/01/

https://www.sopwithcamel.com/Terry.html

https://fictionliberationfront.net/erik_jacobsen.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erik_Jacobsen

Hello Hello https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjYsl__loTw

Frantic Desolation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaxiKL-Rzjk

Saga of the Low Down Let Down https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdcMbtkQxaQ

Little Orphan Annie https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-y-afIkukg

You Always Tell Me Baby: Maybe in a Dream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yU2Saf1EKlc

Cellophane Woman https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_0LxEQnnVI

The Things That I Could Do With You https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3-kM0brrXQ

Walk in the Park https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CIG6Xc-GFc

The Great Morpheum; Postcard From Jamaica https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DU5e3lcHkx0

LP25

[tetesaxman]

My Boston and New York Trip Summary

I wrote this as part of my WLJ Internship.

Staff Diary : 

We have many talented staff: full-time, part-time, interns, volunteers working with us towards strengthening our jazz community. From time to time we’d like to feature a personal thoughts of them. For this entry, we would like to feature our loving intern Te and about his first big trip to the States to Los Angels, Boston and the jazz capital, New York City!

MY BOSTON AND NEW YORK TRIP SUMMARY  Pongthipok Sootthipong (WLJ SG intern)

BOSTON DAY 1 - Wally’s Cafe Jazz Bar

As I was in the car driving from Merced to San Francisco Airport to take a flight to Boston, I’ve already looked up some jazz bars in Boston. Without thinking about how cold it was gonna be when I arrive in Boston, I planned to go to Wally’s Cafe Jazz Bar, which has been established since 1947. There were two things that made me decide to go to Wally’s that day, number one, how close it is to the hotel I was staying at and it advertised itself on its website as ‘Musicians Training Ground’. Since, I really wanted to see what the Berklee kids are doing musically, there was no hesitation. 

I reach Boston at 6 or 7pm, It was about 4 degrees Celsius, which I was told, was quite warm for Boston’s winter temperatures. I was literally freezing. I didn’t rethink my decision though, I took the metro to Wally’s. My description of Wally’s would be a space where the growing musicians can come and grow. It was a small bar with barely more space than the space of one ground floor shop house unit. It didn’t help with the fact that the place was packed back to front. I couldn’t get anywhere past the door.

As for the music at Wally’s, It was a saxophone quartet. I don’t know who it was but they were quite talented and young so I had my suspicions that they were Berklee or New England Conservatory students. To be honest, the level of musicianship on that day was pretty high, despite the loud talking and intoxicated audience. I felt like I didn’t appreciate their music as much as I should. This is purely because they were playing modern jazz, straight eighth kinda feel, which I haven’t studied and therefore do not understand. I stayed for 1 and half set. I had to leave because it was too hot inside the bar, too cold outside the bar and I needed to catch the train back to the hotel. Overall, it was a mixed experience stompin’ in at Wally’s but I blamed that on my level of musical understanding. 

BOSTON DAY 2 - BERKLEE COLLEGE OF MUSIC

The second day of my Boston trip, I was scheduled to meet with the Singaporean bassist studying abroad at Berklee College of Music, Mr. John Koh. We scheduled to meet at 160 Massachusetts Avenue at 12pm or as I called it, the Berklee new building. Prior to my meeting John, i’d like to do some CD shopping. After a search on Google Maps, I discovered that the best thing to do is to head to a music shop at the New England Conservatory, which was only down the road from my hotel. I was expecting the shop to be a CD shop, but instead it was a music shop, full of scores and other stuff. I bought a Brecker book then left. I discovered that I could walk from NEC to Berklee in 10 mins. Hence I did. 

As I walked up to Berklee on that cold saturday afternoon, I see the vibe, the practice vibe. Everybody was walking into or out of the Berklee College of Music buildings with their instruments and with their friends. The vibe was incredibly positive and friendly. There were Wendy’s restaurant, some bars, musical instrument shops and 7-eleven across the street. 

After I met up with John Koh, he took me for a trip around the campus of Berklee Boston. Their recording studios and suites are massive and state of the art. They have loads of fully equipped ensemble rooms littered throughout the campus buildings. They have a library full of music books. They have a big computer lab and a Stan Getz saxophone on display. 

However, their practice rooms are extremely tiny when compared to anything we are used to here at the college I studied at, LASALLE College of the arts or any other practice studios at Yong Siew Toh Conservatory of Music. Their piano rooms can only fit one upright piano and a bench and that’s it. In fact, when I came back to Singapore and told my teacher, Greg Lyons about Berklee. Being an alumni, he described the practice rooms for saxophone as telephone booths. All of this didn’t matter because on this saturday afternoon a week before christmas, everybody was practicing and shedding and hanging around Berklee. In fact, the day I was there, there happened to be an assault that took place at the 7-eleven opposite to the campus, but it didn’t matter because, everybody was still hanging around campus at 10pm. Massachusetts Avenue was still alive on this cold saturday night. 

NEW YORK CITY 

Two days later I was cruising through jazz bars in New York City. I went to the infamous Village Vanguard where I’ve paid 35 dollars for two nights for a 10:30pm set to watch Kenny Barron and Vanguard Jazz Orchestra. The set at Village Vanguard ended around midnight. Both nights, I was starstrucked to be able to watch some of my heros such as Kenny Barron and Dick Oatts performed live in front of me. The set at Village Vanguard ends around midnight. I would then grab a pizza from the store next door and walk down a block to Smalls. I love Smalls. It’s really a proper underground (literally) jazz bar you would envision to see in New York City. I was also there for two nights. I caught Ben Zweig Trio “After-hours” at 1am playing proper, super swingin’ swing music on the first night, and Jon Elbaz Trio “After-hours” at 1am playing more third-stream music which I’ve yet to understand. The will to find out more about the music made me stay for the after jam session on that night. 

It was closing in on 3:30am at Smalls. The after hours jam session is coming to the last song. The last song they played was ‘If I were a Bell’. Since It was getting late, each jammers was only allowed to take one chorus. There were about 6 saxophonists and a few more trumpeters and trombonists. Each jammers looks like they are college kids or younger. I could have sworn that they are 25 and younger. However, their level of playing is beyond beliefs. The language, the connection to the music, the communication within the band stand is astonishing. I’d never forget that last song. Each players were trying their best, all different sounds with one common goal, to play as good as they can play. 

I cannot put into words how inspired I am from taking this trip to Boston and New York as well as Los Angeles, where I actually jammed. I made new friends in these three cities last December and I’m glad. I’m glad that I’m fortunate enough to have experience what the music is really like in one of the best jazz schools in the world as well as the city which has been at the center of jazz music for the longest time. Prior to my journey to the states, I felt really stuck and uninspired, the jazz scene in Singapore was not doing so well and I’ve no new inspiration. No new experiences to fill that urge of wanting more even though I tried to get myself to be inspired, I practiced more, I transcribed more, I listened more. But at the end of the day, It was same old same old.  Same places, same tunes and same acts. It was as though nobody cares about the music anymore. It was as though we lost that connection that bonded music to us. 

Why not move to New York? I’d love to put myself in New York City, but that’s still a long journey away. Obviously there are many disadvantages of living in New York both musically and physically. However, I’m never someone who plans ahead that much, I’m more of a guy who make what now matters. I figured that the thing I can do now, is try to bring New York City back to me. To be the best of what I am. To push beyond expectations and limitations. To be inspired and eventually inspiring. There won’t be an end. 

In Singapore now and doing my thesis for my four months left at LASALLE College of the Arts, I have one big goal. My one and only big goal is to aim high, to aim to be as good as the New York Cats I saw ; jamming ‘If I Were a Bell’ at Smalls at 3:30am in the morning. I know it’s a long shot but it’s worth a try. This is because at the end of the day, you learn from your actions. 

MORE PICTURES

VINCENT HERRING at SMOKE, New York City

Vanguard Jazz Orchestra at Village Vanguard, New York City

Jam Session at Mezzrow Jazz Club, New York City

ALL BUT TWO jazz bars I went in the US was overground.

 Masami Kuroki at Rhythm Room, Los Angeles

Written by Tete with help and inspiration from Aya Sekine: Somewhen in early 2019

tetesaxman.com

welovejazz.org

[civilwarren]

APRIL 26, 1865 -- THE PRESIDENT'S ASSASSIN JOHN WILKES BOOTH IS SHOT AND LATER DIES AT GARRET'S FARM. BUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MAN WHO SHOT JOHN WILKES BOOTH?

The man who was credited with the shot that killed Booth was Sergeant Thomas "Boston" Corbett, Co. L, 16th New York Cavalry Regiment.

Corbett was initially arrested for disobeying orders, but was later released and was largely considered a hero by the media and the public.

In his official statement, Corbett claimed he shot Booth because he thought Lincoln's assassin was preparing to use his weapons. This was contradicted by the other witnesses. When asked later why he did it, Corbett answered that "Providence directed me."

After being questioned at the War Department, Corbett was greeted by a cheering crowd. As he made his way to Mathew Brady's studio to have his official portrait taken, the crowd followed him asking for autographs and requesting that he tell them about shooting Booth. Corbett told the crowd:

"I aimed at his body. I did not want to kill him....I think he stooped to pick up something just as I fired. That may probably account for his receiving the ball in the head. [W]hen the assassin lay at my feet, a wounded man, and I saw the bullet had taken effect about an inch back of the ear, and I remembered that Mr. Lincoln was wounded about the same part of the head, I said: "What a God we have...God avenged Abraham Lincoln."[

After his discharge from the army in August 1865, Corbett went back to work as a hatter, first in Boston, later in Connecticut, and by 1870 in New Jersey. His life was marked by increasingly erratic behavior. In 1875, he threatened several men with a pistol at a soldier's reunion in Caldwell, Ohio. In 1878, he moved to Concordia, Kansas.

In 1887, because of his fame as Booth's killer, Corbett was appointed assistant doorkeeper of the Kansas House of Representatives in Topeka. One day he overheard a conversation in which the legislature's opening prayer was mocked. He jumped to his feet and brandished a revolver. No one was hurt, but Corbett was arrested and sent to the Topeka Asylum for the Insane. On May 26, 1888, he escaped from the asylum. He went to Neodesha, Kansas, and stayed briefly with Richard Thatcher, whom he had met when they were both prisoners of war. When he left, he told Thatcher he was going to Mexico. His "madness" may have been the result of exposure to mercury, an element commonly used in hat manufacturing. It is so well known for this side effect that it has given rise to the expression "mad as a hatter".

Rather than going to Mexico, Corbett is believed to have settled in a cabin he built in the forests near Hinckley, in Pine County in eastern Minnesota. He is believed to have died in the Great Hinckley Fire of September 1, 1894. Although there is no proof, the name "Thomas Corbett" does appear on the list of dead and missing.

Courtesy: Wikipedia Photo of color stereoview courtesy: CivilWarin3D

[geekade]

PAX East is Fun

The beginning of “Convention season” always gets me excited for PAX East which fortunately for me, is in the first quarter of the year. PAX (Penny Arcade Expo) started out west in Bellevue, Washington for their first show in 2004. Then in 2010, it expanded to Boston for PAX East, and it has been growing ever since. What makes this special for me is that it’s a convention focused only on games, but not just video games. From hardcore D&D to casual tabletop games & card games, they have it all covered. Many of these truly wonderful tabletop game creators even allow you and your friends can try out whole games before you even buy them in a special section of the convention designated for that purpose. The people of PAX are a very friendly community and it is always an enjoyable experience.

PAX East is a much smaller convention than the ones I’m used to, which is a breath of fresh air. I only purchased a Saturday pass because I can normally get through the whole show floor in a day. This year there was a much larger indie gaming presence and while I couldn’t have been happier, it did present me with a challenge. Being the completionist that I am, I had to attempt to get to each booth and find something that would leave a lasting impression on me.

As soon as you get onto the escalator to the show floor, you immediately know where all the big-name studios are. What surprised me was that Twitch had a much larger presence this year than in 2016. They had a lounge where you could network with Twitch streamers and relax. It was a nice addition because all they did last year was hand out deodorant (which I certainly didn’t mind. It sometimes gets a little stinky at the convention) and pamphlets to let people know about Twitch. Then there was also a see-through box with a single streamer inside playing a game. People would press their hands and faces against the glass and watch them like they were in a human exhibit at the zoo. There was also an area where an interviewer would talk to people and developers from the stow floor, but I was more interested in the indie games.

My first stop of the day was at a gaming booth dedicated to Polish game studios. The publisher of the following games was 11 Bit Studios:

Digital Sun is the developer of a game by the name of Moonlighter, an Action RPG with rogue-like elements. You play as Will, a shopkeeper that dreams of becoming a hero. This was my favorite game at the booth. You’re told a story of how the village you live in was once a profitable merchant town and shop owners would venture into the caves and bring back supplies to fill their shop, but soon the caves became too dangerous and the merchants began to leave. You are a brave young hero who dreams of becoming a hero and vanquishing the monsters in these caves. It's a dungeon crawling game, bit it's also a shopkeeper simulator. When you get back from exploring caves you can put the items you find on sale.

Pixel Crow is the developer of Beat Cop, a game where you play as Jack Kelly, a former detective framed for murder. You are reassigned to a new precinct where you are stuck writing tickets. Yes, you read that right. This is a text-heavy, story-driven game with multiple endings and sadly I didn’t get enough time it. I’d love to sit down with this one some more and read every bit of the text I can find. Lucky for me and other fans of the game, it releases in Spring of 2017.

The final game in this booth was Tower 57, a top-down twin stick shooter with 16-bit-inspired pixel art, destructible environments, and a heavy focus on co-op. This game was a lot of fun, and the way the “display” was set up was very cute. There was a couch at the very end of the booth. I was handed a controller and taken to the character select screen. There are 7 different characters you can choose from with different abilities. I obviously picked a female scientist, steampunk Abraham Lincoln, and a detective. You pick these 3 character and they act as your lives. If your first character dies you switch to the 2nd one, and so on. This game took me back to my childhood where I’d play these types of games with my little brother. I loved the couch setup which made it seem like you were in a living room playing with friends.

My next stop of the day was the Shovel Knight booth which was oddly tucked into the back corner of the convention. There were only a few show-goers there so I decided to try out the new co-op mode. If you weren’t aware, like myself, Shovel Knight and all of its related DLC are available now on Nintendo Switch, including Specter of Torment, which is currently only available on Switch, and hitting all other platforms in April. Playing it on the Nintendo Switch wasn’t really my cup of tea because the Joycon controllers were a bit too small to work with. After beating the first boss, the trial was over and I left to pick up a Shovel Knight keychain.

My next destination was the Raw Fury booth. The games they had were GoNNER; a cute 2-d platformer with an award winning soundtrack, Tormenter X Punisher; a top-down twin stick shooter where the goal is to survive and you only get 1 life, Kingdom; a kingdom-building simulation game where you control a king or queen and spend your coins expanding your kingdom, and finally Dandara; a metroidvania gravity bending game based on an Afro-Brazilian woman in the colonial period of Brazil.

Across the way was an elaborate set-up of booths for Melbourne International Games Week, Asia Pacific’s largest digital games celebration featuring conferences, events and activities for the games industry, game enthusiasts and the general public. The game that stuck out most was a beautiful water-colored mobile game called Paperbark.

“Paperbark is a game that tells a playful short story of the bush, a wombat and a very hot Australian Summer. It presents a sincere representation of Australian bushland, which has been inspired by iconic historical and contemporary landscape Artists and Australian children’s literature. The player follows a sleepy wombat; who spends it’s day exploring, solving problems and foraging for interesting things. As the story unfolds and new locations are discovered, the adventure builds with the heat of the day. The game has been created as a love letter to wandering through the bush and can resonate with anyone who grew up in Australia, or is interested in it.”

It was a cute whimsical game where you would swipe the screen to make the wombat walk around and if you swipe over the white space that uncovered more of the area around you.

Afterwards I decided to switch gears and try out some VR games. My friend had been deciding between getting VR or the Nintendo Switch and this was a perfect place to try both. Unfortunately for her, she hates horror games which is the biggest genre in VR right now but, we were able to find a few games that were safe for her. The first one we found was called The Lab, a mini-game collection created by Valve. After putting on the headset I was told by the woman at the booth to select the “Longbow” mini-game which is a bow and arrow “shooter”. This game was pretty straightforward. You are perched on top of a wall in your fort and you must shoot at the stick-figure people who are trying to break down your fort’s gate to enter it. When you shoot the stick-figures they release balloons you can shoot to regain your health. It was a silly game but it did a pretty great job of introducing you to the VR world.

We moved onto another VR shooter called Dick Wilde on the Oculus Home. In this particular game you must shoot mutated alligators and other giant swamp creatures while actively dodging projectiles being shot at you. This one was a bit more involved than the other VR shooter, but also more difficult because you have to remember to move around shoot. At the end of each round your score is tallied up according to how many creatures you shot and how many projectiles you were able to dodge.

The Cartoon Network booth was my next stop. Grumpyface Studios, which brought us the critically acclaimed Steven Universe game Attack the Light, is releasing their sequel Save the Light on consoles this summer. I never played Attack the Light, but had heard nothing but good things about the game. It is a blend of turn-based and real-time combat, sort of like Paper Mario, featuring the main characters of the Steven Universe show. The game will still be co-written by the shows creator Rebecca Sugar and it looks like it will further explore the lore in the Steven Universe universe. The only other game at the Cartoon Network booth was OK K.O.! Lakewood Plaza Turbo based on an upcoming Cartoon Network show OK K.O. Let’s Be Heroes. This game is a beat-em-up featuring characters from the show. The portion of the game I played had rhythm elements to it almost like DDR or Stepmania which I enjoyed.

My final destination of the day was the IndieBox booth. I had been excited about this for weeks because there was a rumor they would have Jotun, an action exploration game where you play as a viking warrior who must prove herself to the Gods so that she may enter Valhalla. I grabbed the box and was on my way to purchase the game when a sales rep at the booth informed me that they were having a special deal that day. If I spent another $20 I would get one IndieBox for the following month and 5 game codes. Typoman is their game for the next month and after receiving such high praise I thought it was an amazing deal.

As I headed up the escalator to leave the convention I couldn’t help but feel a little sad leaving my favorite convention. It’s wonderful to be able to get through a whole convention in a day, but I always think about the games I had missed out on playing or the people I never got a chance to talk to. All in all this is a great way to start the convention season and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

[mastcomm]

Wedding Photographers Share Their Favorite Moments

Most photographers have a shot list — a must-capture catalog of photographs that each couple insists they have to remember their wedding day. And yet the unexpected moments are really what everyone hopes for.

“You always look for these rare moments. They don’t always happen, but when they do, it’s magic.”

— Andy Marcus, 70, an owner of Fred Marcus Studios, Manhattan

Mr. Marcus has been capturing wedding moments, sometimes 200 to 300 a year, for more than five decades. “An unexpected moment is a wonderful surprise, it’s unique and organic,” he said. “Everything comes together at once: the lighting, the composition and the visual. It contains emotion but tells a bigger story at the same time. Capturing one for me happens every 100 weddings or so.”

Here are 12 photos from 12 photographers who share their most unexpected moments while explaining what made them so special. There is nothing from a shot list. No step and repeat. No portraits. These are moments that happened when real life got in the way, and someone was there to document the unscripted and unplanned.

“We were looking to take photos in Bryant Park and the bride’s feet began to hurt. Her new husband chivalrously carried her on his back and I knew this would be an iconic moment. The two of them, moving forward in life together while the passers-by go about their day. To me, this photo is quintessential New York.”

— Dave Robbins, Brooklyn

“At this particular wedding this little kid stole the dance floor for about 30 seconds. I pushed through a couple of people to get a close, low angle. I wasn’t prepared for this moment, but fortunately I had on a wide enough lens to capture the whole scene. Besides his awesome moves, there was the varying expressions of the onlookers — everything from delight to disinterested. To me that’s part of what makes the whole shot come together.”

—Eli Turner, Washington

“This couple was pretty stiff all day so when I pulled them out to take some portraits during the reception dinner before the sun went down, I wasn’t expecting a ton of movement. The groom spun his bride and dipped her down toward me. This shot stands out because the moment is so pure and undirected.”

— Clark Brewer, Nashville

“I was able to capture this quiet moment, maybe an hour before the party was over, when the bride stepped away from mingling to be with her dying mother. The wedding was planned in a week because of the bride’s mother’s poor health. I rarely capture photos like this, and I imagine I won’t ever again.”

— Phillip Van Nostrand, Manhattan

“ I was outside about to take my couple off to shoot some portraits when this other bride, who was getting married in another ballroom, popped out to say, ‘Hi. I just wanted to say happy wedding day and tell you, you look so beautiful!’ They had a really nice sisterhood moment, and I grabbed the shot.”

— Julie Lippert, Boston

“This father of the bride was so overcome with emotion upon seeing his daughter as a bride on her wedding day that he leaned over, grabbed a curtain and wiped his tears. The bride laughed out loud and said, ‘Dad, we’re at the Ritz!’ Many fathers try to hold it in, but he was so in the moment. As a photographer, you’re always looking for this.”

—Perry Vaile, Charleston, S.C.

“This was shot in a parking lot while it was snowing. We were crossing from the ceremony to the reception site, in front of the valet booth with cars all around us. It was a cold, stormy, dark night, so we were trying to hurry. I saw the image in my head and asked the bride and groom to hold hands and hold still, then snapped just as a car pulled into my frame. This photo explains their connection and interaction and what the day and their life can be together.”

— Clane Gessel, Manhattan

“ I’m always looking for truthful moments where people are unguarded and the camera is invisible. I hadn’t caught what I was looking for that day, and I didn’t give up on the story yet, so I followed them to the subway and got on the G train with them, because they were going home. I was so focused on how they were body-wise, we were all in this bubble of post-marital bliss and this private display of affection in the midst of this public subway car. ”

— John Dolan, Manhattan

“I was taking my equipment out to do décor shots, and I leaned over the glass ledge to see the room. I was about 100 feet above the floor, and spotted the couple privately rehearsing their first dance and thought, ‘that’s the shot.’ This image tells the whole story: the location, the position of the couple, the lighting, the chemistry, this bird’s eye, voyeuristic angle during an important moment on a special day. If the whale wasn’t hanging above them, it wouldn’t have been the same shot.”

— Brian Marcus, Tenafly, N.J.

“A wedding is an emotional roller coaster. The party is the culmination of that ride, where everyone lets loose and forgets their inhibitions. The party was coming to a close and I noticed this flower girl face-planted and limbs sprawled out on the dance floor. Her gesture reminded me of how I feel at the end of every wedding, so I clicked the shutter. Only afterward did I notice the rainbow confetti and her matching dress, which is what ties this photo together.”

— Sasithon Pooviriyakul, Manhattan

Continue following our fashion and lifestyle coverage on Facebook (Styles and Modern Love), Twitter (Styles, Fashion and Weddings) and Instagram.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/wedding-photographers-share-their-favorite-moments/

[keopix]

Neon Writing Booths Boston - Keopix

Is neon signage expensive?

The cost of neon signage can vary widely depending on several factors such as size, complexity, design, and location. Neon signs are generally considered more expensive than some alternative signage options due to the craftsmanship involved in bending and shaping the neon tubes, as well as the electrical components required for illumination.

Simple and small neon signs may be more affordable, while larger and more intricate designs with multiple colors and custom shapes can be quite expensive. Additionally, the cost of installation and any necessary permits can contribute to the overall expense.

It's recommended to contact local neon sign manufacturers or suppliers to get specific quotes based on your requirements. Keep in mind that while neon signs may have a higher upfront cost, many businesses find them to be a worthwhile investment due to their unique and eye-catching appearance.

Do neon signs fade?

Yes, over time, neon signs can experience fading, although the rate of fading can depend on several factors. One primary factor is the type of glass coating used on the neon tubes. Some coatings are more resistant to fading caused by ultraviolet (UV) light exposure than others.

Exposure to sunlight and environmental elements can contribute to fading. If a neon sign is placed outdoors and subjected to prolonged sunlight exposure, the UV rays can cause the colors to fade over time. Indoor neon signs are generally less susceptible to fading since they are not exposed to direct sunlight.

Regular maintenance and cleaning can also help preserve the vibrant colors of neon signs. Dust and dirt accumulation on the glass tubes can affect the brightness and appearance of the sign.

To extend the life and vibrancy of a neon sign, it's advisable to place it in a location with minimal direct sunlight exposure and to follow any maintenance recommendations provided by the manufacturer. Additionally, if fading becomes a significant concern, periodic re-gassing or re-coating of the neon tubes may be necessary, which is typically a service provided by professionals who specialize in neon sign maintenance and repair.

[slrlounge1]

Four Decades Later: An Interview with Rick Friedman | SLR Lounge Artist Feature

Our “SLR Lounge Artist Feature” articles highlight some of the very best photographers in the world. This article features award-winning photographer Rick Friedman of Rick Friedman Photography (Boston, MA). Rick has been a photographer for going on four decades, getting his start in photojournalism in the mid 1970s. We recently met Rick while hanging out near the Tamron booth at WPPI 2019, and got to know him a bit further over a few emails and phone calls. So, what’s Rick up to in 2019? Well, read on and be inspired by a true master of photography, lighting, and story telling!

[Related: “Interview with Kate Woodman | SLR Lounge Artist Feature (NSFW)”]

Thanks so much for taking the time for an interview, Rick. Could you start out by talking a bit about how you got into photography?

When I got out of college, I was working as a teacher and got a part time job working at a camera store in Harvard Square [mid 1970s]. Soon after, they offered me a full-time job, and I didn’t go back to teaching. A couple people that would come into that store had a big influence on me and my career. One was George Riley, who worked for UPI (United Press International). George was always willing to teach any young photographer the trade, as long as they were willing to put in the time.

The other person was Arthur Grace, who, at the time, was working for Time. But it was really George Riley who taught me how to be a photojournalist. And, more and more, I began working for UPI on a regular basis.

By a fluke, I went and took a photograph of Arthur Fiedler, long-time conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra. On a whim, I went and rang his doorbell. I asked if I could photograph him, and he said I could. It was the fist time in 50 years that he would not be conducting on July 4th. I took a roll of black and white for UPI and a roll of Ektachrome, but no one was interested in the color. Undaunted, I called Black Star, and they were interested. Now, at that time, you mailed in the film. You didn’t develop it. You overnighted it. Unfortunately, Mr. Fiedler passed away while the film was in transit. Of course, everyone called me back and wanted the film, but Black Star had it. And from there, I suddenly had a connection at Black Star.

My first real assignment for Black Star was to cover Pope John Paul II coming to the US. And that was the beginning of a twenty-eight-year relationship with Black Star. All done on a handshake. What a nice way to do work, right? Within a short time, I was also regularly doing assignments for Newsweek. And I am still an active photojournalist today, currently represented by Polaris Images.

You’ve covered several presidents and are still covering politics. How has the landscaped changed? What’s a piece of advice you’d give someone looking to cover politics as a photojournalist?

Well, from the very beginning, I loved covering early presidential campaigns. You quite simply have more access. It’s before the motorcades, the crowds, Secret Service, and all the security.

When I first started, I did a little bit with Carter and did a lot on the Reagan v. Bush campaign. My first Newsweek cover was actually when Reagan won the New Hampshire primary. I was on assignment to cover Bush. After Reagan won, I photographed Bush’s speech and then drove from Manchester to Concord, dumped my car in a snow bank and ran into the room, setting up 15 minutes before Reagan’s speech. I got a photograph of Reagan that made the cover of Newsweek.

Of course, today, you can’t do that. You can’t just walk into the room 15 minutes before a high-profile politician is about to speak. It’s unheard of. But yeah, it’s the access that you have early on that makes it fun. When they’re campaigning in a bar with twenty people, for example …

And as far as advice? Be nice. When you are covering a campaign early on, introduce yourself to everyone, especially security and police. Because when access is restricted or they’re only allowing in three photographers? They’ll remember you and let you in.

You have photographed quite a few celebrities, and also regularly photograph professors from local universities. That’s a diverse, and very interesting, clientele for head shots. How do you make that happen, i.e. get a celebrity to be comfortable with you or relate to a professor who is an expert in area with which you aren’t familiar?

When you deal with celebrities, you, of course, get a ‘Do and Do Not List’ from their people. For Anthony Hopkins, for example, the entire ‘Do Not List’ was simply that I couldn’t have anyone on set who wasn’t working. We spent an hour with him, telling jokes, etc. In preparation, I watched several of his earliest movies. And I asked him, because I was wondering about it, if he ever went, wearing a disguise, to see how people reacted to his movies when he first started out. He said he didn’t have to wear a disguise, because no one knew who he was! He couldn’t have been nicer.

Basically, my rule is to know everything I can about a subject before I photograph them. You have to be able to talk to your subjects/ask them a question about what they do. It accomplishes a couple of things. First, it breaks down any barriers. Second, it helps them relax, because it shows them that you care enough about what they do to learn something about it.

And it’s similar with professors. I photographed, as another example, a professor of physics, where I had 15 minutes to photograph her. In fact, I had been reading up on physics for three days in advance of the session: textbooks and some work on string theory, which was her area of expertise. I asked a few questions, and she asked how long I’d been studying physics. I told her three days, and our 15 minutes became an hour. And then we had lunch.

So, that’s how you get through to a subject. Realistically, anyone can buy a camera and push a button. Not everyone knows what to do with their subject to create a photograph …

You’re well-known for your lighting workshops, and your Location Lighting Workshops in particular. What are a few of your go-to lighting tips for lighting “on location”?

First, know your lighting equipment.

Second, do your best to plan everything out in advance, so you are ready for any possible situation.

Third, know how to control your light and plan what light modifiers you might need. For example, I will often mix speedlights and portable studio strobes. For speedlights I use Nissin Flashes. In the studio I use Dynalite, and on location I use Dynalite Baja portable strobes.

On major shoots, I will bing several sizes of soft boxes, strip lights, grid sets, gobos, and, of course, my Sekonic flash meter. If I am using speedlights, I’ll bring Rogue Flashbender XL2 and Rogue Grid sets. I also work a lot using Rosco gels and cinefoil. On some shoots the gels become a major part of the final photograph, and, other times, I might just use a 1/2 CTO (orange filter) to bring out warm highlights in the hair …

The photograph above is a good example of a quick lighting set up. The model in the photograph is my former assistant Hyunah Jang, who is now a successful photographer in the San Francisco area. And that’s the basis of what I teach in my Location Lighting Workshops, I teach across the US and UK.

Likely, most photographers reading this interview are wondering how you are still rocking it some 40 years later? It’s impressive! So, can you give us your secret?

It’s fun. I love the challenge of all the different kinds of work I get to do. I could be covering the President one day, a noted scientist or professor the next, and then be off on a travel story overseas. Truly, I have the best job in the world. I get to jump in and out of people’s lives. I describe it like this: I have gotten my college education one hour at a time, from some of the greatest minds in the world.

And one last question, Rick! Who and/or what companies are you working with that make your job that much more enjoyable?

First off, I have a wonderful photography partner (pictured above). Her name is Keiko Hiromi, and we’ve been working together for 15 years now, even though she is an award-winning photographer in her own right. As far as companies and products, I only have relationships with companies whose products I actually use and have used for years. I am very proud to represent Tamron as an official Tamron Ambassador, and with Rosco, I created the Rosco Location Lighting Kit by Rick Friedman. I also work with the following companies that I didn’t mention in the interview already: Click Props Backdrop, ExpoImaging, Hoodman, LensBaby, Mindshift, PocketWizard,  and ThinkTank Photo.

You can check out more of Rick Friedman’s work on his website. Also, be sure to connect with him over on Facebook and Instagram as well. Finally, you can learn more about his upcoming education events and lighting workshops here, including the Can Am Photo Expo (Buffalo, NY, from April 26-28, 2019), a Tamron Benefit Seminar for the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life  (Commack, NY, May 2, 2019), and his next Location Lighting Workshop at Cardinal Camera in (Lansdale, PA, May 4, 2019).

Thanks for checking out our latest artist feature! Quick reminder before you go! Don’t forget to submit by the April 30 deadline to be considered for SLR Lounge’s April 2019 awards competition. Remember that anyone can sign up for an SLR Lounge account for free and submit. However, Premium Members are able to submit up to three photographs each month!

      from SLR Lounge http://bit.ly/2GtD33C via IFTTT

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Four Decades Later: An Interview with Rick Friedman | SLR Lounge Artist Feature

Our “SLR Lounge Artist Feature” articles highlight some of the very best photographers in the world. This article features award-winning photographer Rick Friedman of Rick Friedman Photography (Boston, MA). Rick has been a photographer for going on four decades, getting his start in photojournalism in the mid 1970s. We recently met Rick while hanging out near the Tamron booth at WPPI 2019, and got to know him a bit further over a few emails and phone calls. So, what’s Rick up to in 2019? Well, read on and be inspired by a true master of photography, lighting, and story telling!

[Related: “Interview with Kate Woodman | SLR Lounge Artist Feature (NSFW)”]

Thanks so much for taking the time for an interview, Rick. Could you start out by talking a bit about how you got into photography?

When I got out of college, I was working as a teacher and got a part time job working at a camera store in Harvard Square [mid 1970s]. Soon after, they offered me a full-time job, and I didn’t go back to teaching. A couple people that would come into that store had a big influence on me and my career. One was George Riley, who worked for UPI (United Press International). George was always willing to teach any young photographer the trade, as long as they were willing to put in the time.

The other person was Arthur Grace, who, at the time, was working for Time. But it was really George Riley who taught me how to be a photojournalist. And, more and more, I began working for UPI on a regular basis.

By a fluke, I went and took a photograph of Arthur Fiedler, long-time conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra. On a whim, I went and rang his doorbell. I asked if I could photograph him, and he said I could. It was the fist time in 50 years that he would not be conducting on July 4th. I took a roll of black and white for UPI and a roll of Ektachrome, but no one was interested in the color. Undaunted, I called Black Star, and they were interested. Now, at that time, you mailed in the film. You didn’t develop it. You overnighted it. Unfortunately, Mr. Fiedler passed away while the film was in transit. Of course, everyone called me back and wanted the film, but Black Star had it. And from there, I suddenly had a connection at Black Star.

My first real assignment for Black Star was to cover Pope John Paul II coming to the US. And that was the beginning of a twenty-eight-year relationship with Black Star. All done on a handshake. What a nice way to do work, right? Within a short time, I was also regularly doing assignments for Newsweek. And I am still an active photojournalist today, currently represented by Polaris Images.

You’ve covered several presidents and are still covering politics. How has the landscaped changed? What’s a piece of advice you’d give someone looking to cover politics as a photojournalist?

Well, from the very beginning, I loved covering early presidential campaigns. You quite simply have more access. It’s before the motorcades, the crowds, Secret Service, and all the security.

When I first started, I did a little bit with Carter and did a lot on the Reagan v. Bush campaign. My first Newsweek cover was actually when Reagan won the New Hampshire primary. I was on assignment to cover Bush. After Reagan won, I photographed Bush’s speech and then drove from Manchester to Concord, dumped my car in a snow bank and ran into the room, setting up 15 minutes before Reagan’s speech. I got a photograph of Reagan that made the cover of Newsweek.

Of course, today, you can’t do that. You can’t just walk into the room 15 minutes before a high-profile politician is about to speak. It’s unheard of. But yeah, it’s the access that you have early on that makes it fun. When they’re campaigning in a bar with twenty people, for example …

And as far as advice? Be nice. When you are covering a campaign early on, introduce yourself to everyone, especially security and police. Because when access is restricted or they’re only allowing in three photographers? They’ll remember you and let you in.

You have photographed quite a few celebrities, and also regularly photograph professors from local universities. That’s a diverse, and very interesting, clientele for head shots. How do you make that happen, i.e. get a celebrity to be comfortable with you or relate to a professor who is an expert in area with which you aren’t familiar?

When you deal with celebrities, you, of course, get a ‘Do and Do Not List’ from their people. For Anthony Hopkins, for example, the entire ‘Do Not List’ was simply that I couldn’t have anyone on set who wasn’t working. We spent an hour with him, telling jokes, etc. In preparation, I watched several of his earliest movies. And I asked him, because I was wondering about it, if he ever went, wearing a disguise, to see how people reacted to his movies when he first started out. He said he didn’t have to wear a disguise, because no one knew who he was! He couldn’t have been nicer.

Basically, my rule is to know everything I can about a subject before I photograph them. You have to be able to talk to your subjects/ask them a question about what they do. It accomplishes a couple of things. First, it breaks down any barriers. Second, it helps them relax, because it shows them that you care enough about what they do to learn something about it.

And it’s similar with professors. I photographed, as another example, a professor of physics, where I had 15 minutes to photograph her. In fact, I had been reading up on physics for three days in advance of the session: textbooks and some work on string theory, which was her area of expertise. I asked a few questions, and she asked how long I’d been studying physics. I told her three days, and our 15 minutes became an hour. And then we had lunch.

So, that’s how you get through to a subject. Realistically, anyone can buy a camera and push a button. Not everyone knows what to do with their subject to create a photograph …

You’re well-known for your lighting workshops, and your Location Lighting Workshops in particular. What are a few of your go-to lighting tips for lighting “on location”?

First, know your lighting equipment.

Second, do your best to plan everything out in advance, so you are ready for any possible situation.

Third, know how to control your light and plan what light modifiers you might need. For example, I will often mix speedlights and portable studio strobes. For speedlights I use Nissin Flashes. In the studio I use Dynalite, and on location I use Dynalite Baja portable strobes.

On major shoots, I will bing several sizes of soft boxes, strip lights, grid sets, gobos, and, of course, my Sekonic flash meter. If I am using speedlights, I’ll bring Rogue Flashbender XL2 and Rogue Grid sets. I also work a lot using Rosco gels and cinefoil. On some shoots the gels become a major part of the final photograph, and, other times, I might just use a 1/2 CTO (orange filter) to bring out warm highlights in the hair …

The photograph above is a good example of a quick lighting set up. The model in the photograph is my former assistant Hyunah Jang, who is now a successful photographer in the San Francisco area. And that’s the basis of what I teach in my Location Lighting Workshops, I teach across the US and UK.

Likely, most photographers reading this interview are wondering how you are still rocking it some 40 years later? It’s impressive! So, can you give us your secret?

It’s fun. I love the challenge of all the different kinds of work I get to do. I could be covering the President one day, a noted scientist or professor the next, and then be off on a travel story overseas. Truly, I have the best job in the world. I get to jump in and out of people’s lives. I describe it like this: I have gotten my college education one hour at a time, from some of the greatest minds in the world.

And one last question, Rick! Who and/or what companies are you working with that make your job that much more enjoyable?

First off, I have a wonderful photography partner (pictured above). Her name is Keiko Hiromi, and we’ve been working together for 15 years now, even though she is an award-winning photographer in her own right. As far as companies and products, I only have relationships with companies whose products I actually use and have used for years. I am very proud to represent Tamron as an official Tamron Ambassador, and with Rosco, I created the Rosco Location Lighting Kit by Rick Friedman. I also work with the following companies that I didn’t mention in the interview already: Click Props Backdrop, ExpoImaging, Hoodman, LensBaby, Mindshift, PocketWizard,  and ThinkTank Photo.

You can check out more of Rick Friedman’s work on his website. Also, be sure to connect with him over on Facebook and Instagram as well. Finally, you can learn more about his upcoming education events and lighting workshops here, including the Can Am Photo Expo (Buffalo, NY, from April 26-28, 2019), a Tamron Benefit Seminar for the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life  (Commack, NY, May 2, 2019), and his next Location Lighting Workshop at Cardinal Camera in (Lansdale, PA, May 4, 2019).

Thanks for checking out our latest artist feature! Quick reminder before you go! Don’t forget to submit by the April 30 deadline to be considered for SLR Lounge’s April 2019 awards competition. Remember that anyone can sign up for an SLR Lounge account for free and submit. However, Premium Members are able to submit up to three photographs each month!

      from SLR Lounge https://www.slrlounge.com/rick-friedman-photography-artist-feature/ via IFTTT