#i wonder where all my old lps went....

[candyfloss-kittens]

A little late night shopping haul!

Got a few new art supplies, just more washi tape, mechanical pencils, glue tape, correction tape, and some Crayola stuff. Been trying to find those specific crayons for some time now, actually (now to just get that 100 pack of those Crayola markers)....

Still no g3 Venus, but grabbed the only Fearbook Draculaura that was on the shelf. Also some new little Beanie Boo plush, the grey cat in particular as it pretty much looks like my cat, and I just couldn't pass the other two up. And a new Care Bear!

And I finally got around to buying the latest Devilskin CD!

It's an EP, not a full album, but Devilskin is one of my favourite bands (also I think one of the few Kiwi bands I really listen to...), so I had to get it.

[chuthulhu-plays]

I generally watch LPs of horror games bc I'm too anxious to actually play them but a lot of them have FANTASTIC stories, so sometimes I just binge-watch KrinxTV for background noise. Been watching a lot of playthroughs of Still Wakes The Deep because it's such a delight to hear Scottish voice actors get work and I thought I'd address some questions I keep seeing Let's Players ask:

--Adair is a member of the National Front as you can find out from posters in his cabin, a Neo-Fascist British political party that’s been going since the sixties. While it often preaches British ethnic unity, in practice that often means “everybody in the UK should be exactly like East End Londerners” and features plentiful disdain for Scottish, Irish, and Welsh folk, alongside those perceived as “not British”. No wonder the wanker eats alone in the canteen.

--Neeps and Tatties=turnips and potatoes, mashed, drenched in butter or sauce. Fills your belly, keeps you warm, probably makes you sink like a stone because it’s so heavy.

--Cranachan=a dessert made of raspberries, honey, cream and oats, absolutely delicious

--Rennick calls Caz a “wee ned prick”. Ned is apocryphally said to stand for “non-educated delinquent” and is basically just a way of calling someone an uneducated, lower-class criminal

--A lot of things said by and about Roy indicate that he’s a teetotaller who went through AA and specifically became Catholic and is making an effort at converting Caz.

--I think it’s entertaining how Scottish nicknames often follow a pattern of shortening/rejiggering that I also see a lot with Australian nicknames—Cameron becomes Caz, Rafferty becomes Raffs, etc. Trots is an unusual one but is almost certainly a reference to him being a communist, presumably a Trotskyist. Gibbo is also an unusual one in that it’s just very silly. There’s a kind of indignity implied in being killed by a guy called Gibbo.

--A few times on the radio you hear the Shipping Forecast, a type of weather report aimed at specifically reporting weather conditions out on the ocean, and is also famous for the report being read in such a calm, soothing tone that some folk use it as a sleep aid.

--All the yellow paint for interactable things is very video gamey, yes, but is also in line with old British health and safety standards, and yellow paint on things like emergency ladders or on the edges of stairs that are trip hazards is a thing ou can still see in some older buildings.

--Caz keeps saying he’s “good with the leccy”; leccy=electricity. Caz is implied to be quite a wee guy who can get through a lot of tight spaces, and my uncle swears blind that electricians used to refuse to take on apprentices over a certain size because they only wanted to train wee guys who could get up into the tight spaces that a lot of older buildings are full of. On that note, “wee man” is a term of endearment, generally, and isn’t exclusively applied to short guys.

--Finlay saying of Gibbo that “he’s no right” is INCREDIBLY OMINOUS. It sounds mild but “he’s no right, that boy” is what older folk say about a child who’s been found disembowelling cats for fun or someone they strongly suspect is a pedophile. It’s not something you’d say about a friend who’s just acting a bit unusually.

– “Great minds united over a Buckie”--Buckfast, or Buckie, is a caffienated tonic wine that’s cheap, widely accessible, and is a bit like rocket fuel for bad decisions.

– “Ya roaster” tbh I don’t really know where it comes from, calling someone a roaster, but I’ve always felt like it has a vibe of telling them they’re huffing their own farts.

--Scunnert/scunnered--buggered, screwed, utterly fucked, etc

– “You’re the jammiest bastart on this rig” Someone who is jammy is someone who has incredible luck that is implied to be related to their sheer confidence or willingness to engage in risky behaviour. Walking along the street and finding a pound coin isn’t jammy; crossing the road confident that the cars won’t hit you and stopping in the middle to pick up a pound coin before making it unscathed to the other side is jammy as all hell.

--Barlinnie is the biggest prison in Scotland, and largely hosts violent offenders—it’s where Caz would definitely go for hospitalizing a man.

--Weans are children (contraction of wee yins/wee ones). I thought this one was contextually obvious but apparently not.

SPOILERS BELOW

--”One spark and the whole thing’ll go up”—this is referring to the wee spark of flame in the lighter used to blow up the rig, but is also kind of a pun because electricians are often called sparks or sparkies, and in the end it’s Caz who blows up the rig.

[hooked-on-elvis]

"She Thinks I Still Care" (Single B-side, 1976/1977)

Recording date: February 2, 1976. Release dates: December 1976 (single) / June 19, 1977 (album, "Moody Blue")

RECORDING SESSION Sessions for RCA, February 2–8, 1976: The Jungle Room, Graceland, Memphis The next number, “She Thinks I Still Care,” a George Jones standard by Memphis songwriter Dickey Lee, offered more of the same. The musicians tried adding more rhythm and new vocal parts, but finally returned to the original’s slow country feel.

RCA’s red recording van docked behind Graceland, early 1977, for what's became known as the "Jungle Room recording sessions". Picture and excerpt taken from book "Elvis Presley: A Life in Music" by Ernst Jorgensen (1998)

PREVIOUS RECORDINGS George Jones (1962)

First-time released as an A-side single (flip side "Sometimes You Just Can't Win") on April 14, 1962.

Connie Francis — "He Thinks I Still Care" (1962) B-side single (flip side to "I Was Such a Fool (To Fall in Love with You)"

Francis released her cover as a single in September 1962, a few months after George Jones first released the song. The lyrics this time had been slightly changed to match the performer's gender (gender flip: male to female).

Anne Murray — "He Thinks I Still Care" (1973-1974) As released in her 1973 Danny's Song album, and again as a single in 1974.

Elvis was a great fan of female voices in music; as such, among other artists, he admired Anne Murray's work in country music, so one wonders whether he chose to record "She Thinks I Still Care" after hearing Murray's cover on her 1973 album or some other artist previous release, considering other than George Jones and Connie Francis, more big names in the record business such as Cher, Jerry Lee Lewis and Glen Campbell had also released their covers of this tune prior to Elvis' However, Anne Murray's cover was the latest release of the song recorded by a strong name in the music industry regarding the period in which Elvis would release his cover version (late 1976), therefore it's highly probable that Presley took knowledge of Anne's recording and then became interested in covering the song himself, even if he had listened to other previous released versions as well. This is all merely speculation from my part since I haven't read anything yet addressing the origin for Elvis' interest in this specific song but, if you'd ask me, I'd say that letting aside the difference in gender in the lyrics concerning Murray's recording and his own, Elvis' version ("She Thinks I Still Care") sounds much more like Anne's version than the original recording by George Jones', IMHO.

Anne Murray naturally followed Connie Francis' 1962 female version of the lyrics for "She Thinks I Still Care" in her recording.

ELVIS RELEASE 💿 "She Thinks I Still Care" by Elvis Presley was first released on the latter part of 1976 as B-side to the title-track of the then-upcoming album release, "Moody Blue" (1977).

Singles sleeve "Moody Blue"/"She Thinks I Still Care" (1976); LP cover: "Moody Blue" (1977)

"She Thinks I Still Care" — LYRICS Oh, just because I asked a friend about her Just because I spoke her name somewhere Just because I rang her number by mistake today You know she thinks I, I still care And just because I haunt the same old places (same old places) Where the memories of her linger everywhere Just because I'm not the happy guy I used to be Lord, you know, she thinks I still care Well, if she's happy thinking I still need her Yea, let that silly notion bring her cheer Oh how could she ever be so foolish Tell me where did she get, Lord such an idea Yeah, oh Lord Just because I asked a friend about her And you know, just because I spoke her name somewhere Just because, Lord I saw her and went to pieces Lord, you know, she thinks I, Lord, still care You know, she thinks I, I still care Lord, she thinks I still care Oh no, she thinks I still care

Lyricist: Dickey Lee/Steve Duffy

[tyedyeinherveins]

My thoughts on the new Linkin Park...which are JUST MY OPINIONS.

As a teen I remember my first favorite BAND(I was a pop girl before this) being Linkin Park, I had their posters on my wall, I had shirts and bought all the magazines they were featured in. I had all the albums and in my depressed moments(which were a lot at times) I replayed "My December" and "Somewhere I Belong" probably a bazillion times. I was a mega fan for years and their lyrics helped me endure tough times.

Eventually as time went on I discovered Good Charlotte and thus began my emo phase and I listened to LP less and less but the love never died.

Fast forward to the day I heard the news...I remember exactly where I was.

My Mom,Daughter and myself were at the doctors office with my Grandpa who was starting to have health issues(he was in his 90s) My daughter and i were in the waiting room while they went in with the doctor.

I got a text, I cant remember from who(maybe my ex?) I'm not sure,but the text read " did you hear about Chester?" At this point I hadn't but as soon as I go onto FB im bombarded with posts like Rip Chester Bennington & Linkin Park front man dead from suicide. I audibly gasp which makes a few heads turn in the waiting room. I can feel the tears burning my eyes but I can't cry around all these people so I held it in But to say my heart was broken was an understatement. The rest of the day I felt numb.

Someone who helped so many of us with our demons couldn't outrun his own in the end. Utterly tragic and such a horrible loss for the music world. And I still feel this way and still struggle deeply myself with depression and my own mind. Sometimes I picture Chester in those final moments because sometimes I feel so low that I wonder what it would be like in those moments but I have kids I have to care for and if I'm gone there is no one else here responsible enough to take care of them. So I live for them, even when I wish so badly that I wouldn't wake up some days. (The song Heavy could could been legit been written about me) I wish Chester could have found some peace in his life, I truly hope he has it now.

I still mourn his death,I probably will forever. Will there be a day I can watch his last performance(I also have thoughts on this, the look in his eyes) and not cry? Doubtful.

Fast forward to last week when LP announced a new lead singer.

*I audibly sigh* I have such mixed emotions I don't know where to begin.

Even before they announced I always said I wish they could do what the band Apocalyptica does and just have guest singers on new tracks OR have Mike be the new main vocalist. I still stand by this.

I have absolutely nothing against Emily because frankly I know nothing about her. Her voice is fine and I may even check out HER band in the future but why does this feel like a punch in the gut?!

I never got to see LP live and if I remember correctly they were touring or getting ready to with MGK before Chester died. I remember saying I wanted to get tickets if they were near me...unfortunately that never happened. I see that LP plans a tour soon with Emily, and I don't think I could bring myself to go. If it were just the original guys i would absolutely, it's just not the same not to mention we are down 2 original members as well?! No I don't think my heart could handle finally seeing them live but like this. I'll pass.

Why not just start a new band with a new name at this point? I'd support that. Don't sing old LP songs with Emily.

Recently I saw Chester's son had lots to say about it(nothing good) while I understand I don't think I agree with it to the extreme he does but then again Chester wasn't my dad so maybe he knows more than we do? I don't know.

I don't doubt Mike and the guys love and miss Chester too but there's no LP without Chester in my opinion. I don't even doubt that Chester would give this his blessing but I'm sorry I can't get behind it.

Also,tell me what band that replaced their lead singer has ever done well after doing so? I can't think of any.

Anyways....big sigh. I wanted to get my thoughts out there.

I do plan at some point to get a tattoo of Chester,once I find the right photograph and a artist that will do it justice.

Gonna go listen to some old LP now.

Much love.

National Hotlines

* 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988

* Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741

* Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA): 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

Online Resources

* National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI): https://www.nami.org/

* The Jed Foundation: https://jedfoundation.org/

* MentalHealth.gov: https://youth.gov/federal-links/mentalhealthgov

[krispyweiss]

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Day No. 2, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, Sept. 30, 2023

Leyla McCalla controls the weather.

An overcast day in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park suddenly turned sun-soaked when the former Carolina Chocolate Drop sang: My face to the sun as she performed Our Native Daughters’ “I Knew I Could Fly” during her Sept. 30 Hardly Strictly Bluegrass set on the Towers of Gold Stage.

“That’s awesome,” she said mid-verse as the Earth’s star emerged from the afternoon clouds.

Following the electric and steel guitar instrumentals of Hermanos Gutiérrez on the adjacent Swan stage and playing cello, banjo and electric guitar, backed with rhythm section and electric guitar, McCalla covered Kendrick Lamar’s “Crown” and offered a gumbo of New Orleanian, Haitian and American music delivered in English and Haitian Creole while showcasing her the Capitalist Blues and Breaking the Thermometer LPs.

The Sound Biteses’ day had begun in the pre-noon fog with the down-in-the-holler, old-time string music of Dry Branch Fire Squad playing the songs of Gillian Welch, Doc Watson and Bill Monroe on the Banjo stage. Later, it was gospel from the McCrary Sisters, who sung Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground,” “Amazing Grace” and other numbers backed by a full band during short, five- to 15-minute sets on the Rooster stage, where Brennan Leigh offered a lunchtime menu of traditional country music.

It was also on the Rooster that Emmylou Harris previewed her Sunday appearance by guesting with Shawn Camp and Verlon Thompson and closing their Doc Watson tribute set with Guy Clark’s “Old Friends.”

Shortly afterward, Bettye LaVette sauntered onstage to deliver her grinding version of Bob Dylan’s “Things Have Changed.” From here, it was an impassioned reading of songs from the Randall Bramblett-written LaVette! album as the singer prowled the stage and proved her 77 years have cost her nothing in vocal prowess and stage presence.

“If I could write, this is what I would have said,” LaVette said in introducing the new songs, which worked better on stage than on wax.

Rickie Lee Jones attracted a ginormous crowd to Banjo - “I haven’t seen so many people in front of me for so long,” she said, soaking it in - and their enthusiasm rubbed off. Jones, whose band included Vilray on guitar and vocals, plus accordion and bass, was animated as she danced around the stage and crooned like a lounge singer when she wasn’t playing guitar, banjo or piano.

Opening with a radically rearranged “Danny’s All-Star Joint” more suited for the streets of New Orleans than the fields of Golden Gate, Jones went on to perform “I Won’t Grow Up” - for the first time, she said - “Last Chance Texaco,” “We Belong Together” and a sinewy rendition of Steely Dan’s “Show Biz Kids” that found Jones lifting her orange sweater to sing of the Rickie Lee T-shirt beneath.

Give RLJ the MVP for turning in HSB No. 2’s No. 1 gig.

Faced with the quintessential festivalgoers’ dilemma, Mr. and Mrs. Sound Bites split the last hour between Steve Earle’s uncharacteristically sleepy solo-acoustic set on the Banjo and Irma Thomas’ barnburner R&B/soul revival at the Rooster.

At 82, Thomas played the day’s most rambunctious set, ripping into “Time is on My Side” and getting the audience bouncing and waving their handkerchiefs on her mashup of “I Done Got Over It” -> “Iko Iko” -> “Hey Pocky Way” -> “I Done Got Over It.” That one might be ringing through Golden Gate’s trees along with the birdsong for some time to come.

Read Sound Bites’ coverage of HSB Day One here.

10/1/23

[rubbersoles19]

What is your opinion about Launchpad? Speaking of the character himself... Both in the old series in which he appears and in his version from DT 17.

(I'm sorry if the question for you is too personal or if it irritates you, I was really curious when you gave your opinion about Drake and Gosalyn earlier...)

Oh boy.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Launchpad is complicated. The reason he's complicated is because I love him so much, and yet I cannot wrap my head around him.

The OG Launchpad was just wonderful. He was faithful, all heart, occasionally petty, endlessly optimistic, a scaredy cat, and never ever wanted to hurt anyone's feelings. He was incredibly emotionally intelligent while sometimes being kinda clueless, he was logical, he was baffled, and he cared about everyone so freaking much. Launchpad was, without a doubt, the heart of the family. He soothed hurt feelings, looked out for the over looked, tried to steer people in the right direction, and was always ready with a comforting word or a little encouragement. He called Drake out on his nonsense, tried to talk some logic into Gosalyn, and made sure Honker knew he was loved. I can't imagine the back pain the big lug had from carrying all of the emotional maturity in the show. I'm even okay with Launchpad being a terrible pilot, because at the same time he's a Remarkable pilot, and again, being intelligent isn't his strength. But that doesn't stand in his way of being a rounded, well written character.

AND THEN DUCKTALES WENT AND MADE HIM A FREAKING IDIOT. Seriously I can Not STAND DT Launchpad. OG Launchpad (yes, I realize that there was Another Launchpad before DWD Launchpad, but I've never seen the Original DuckTales so it doesn't count) was never the brightest bulb in the box, but he was Grounded. While Drake, Gosalyn, Honker, and pretty much everyone else had their personalities blown out of proportion for comedic effect, Launchpad was the stable, consistent one. He wasn't out there putting clues together to solve the weekly mystery - though he did help! - but good Lord he wasn't licking his hands to make sure they weren't waffles. Again, I haven't seen every DT episode, but I have seen the first season and the finale (which I have opinions on, to no one's surprise) and I know they "tried" to give Launchpad some sort of arc where he, IDK, proves he's a still worth something even tho he's a useless moron, but it just didn't stick. Maybe they shouldn't have made him a stupid lump from the beginning. In order to make all of their other main characters shine, they took a big dump onto poor Launchpad. The original beating heart of the family got reduced to being Dumb for a few cheap gags that weren't even funny. This version of LP suffers all the more for being a terrible pilot bc he has no other redeeming traits. Sure, they tried to keep him optimistic and caring, but it's totally over shadowed to me by how SIMPLE he is, both mentally and as a character. It's terrible writing.

Anyway, the reason Launchpad is so hard for me to write is because on one hand, I get him. But on the other hand, he emphasizes the parts of writing that I'm not good at: the emotionally empathetic characters. I myself am a puzzle solver, so I like writing characters who are solving puzzles, and Launchpad isn't the one really doing that all that often. He's the emotionally smart one and I am... not that.

So in the end, I love Launchpad. I think Darkwing balanced him extremely well, and never had to pull gimmicks with him in order to avoid sidelining him behind their "main characters." In fact, he was a main character. I adore Launchpad for who he was, not what DT did to him, but I still struggle to write him, through no fault of his own. He's just very unlike me. But that's why I love him.

[robmillistw2]

55 years young: the true masterpiece of psychedelia

When I was 14 or 15 and had decided that the late 60s (at the time about twenty years previously) was the thing, but had exhausted all my Dad’s Stones & Cream albums and bought a few of my own from the same acts (and a couple of Hendrix LPs), I set out to discover more from the era. I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here writing this now if it wasn’t for a very, very cheap double LP compilation called ‘Back On The Road’ which I bought. It was a glorious sampler masterclass in almost everything: it had softer, folksy moments from Fairport, Roy Harper and Nick Drake. It had the heft of Sabbath, Deep Purple and Free. It had the familiarity of Cream and Hendrix. It was my first taste of Traffic & Spooky Tooth. But it was also ocean-spanning: it had the Velvet Underground, the Quicksilver Messenger Service - and Jefferson Airplane.

Despite my first taste of ‘Paranoid’ and ‘Black Night’, ‘White Rabbit’ transcended them both in terms of sheer power. I loved it: it was a bolero, reimagined by the acid rock generation. And so it was I set off to find out more about ‘the Airplane’ (as we will call them henceforth) and really began a love affair with the late sixties Bay Area arts and culture that, circa 32 years later, still rages on in my heart.

It didn’t start well. The liner notes to ‘Back On The Road’ made it clear that this band was at the very top of the family tree of what led to (then relatively recent) unavoidable atrocities ‘We Built This City’ and ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’. For a while, ‘White Rabbit’ was ruined - it was unmistakably that same, powerhouse voice: nobody sounds like Grace Slick. But I soon shrugged it off as nonsense and blamed the times, concluding that I couldn’t let ‘Valerie’ and ‘Higher Love’ put me off ‘Paper Sun’ either.

Sadly, it didn’t improve immediately: Jefferson Airplane actually reformed for one album in 1989 just as I set out to discover them for myself. It was of course this album that all the shops stocked, and I bought it. Aside from a couple of moments, it sounded way too much like Starship and not enough like 1960s San Francisco. I later learned that the couple of moments were basically Hot Tuna and the rest of it was a deluxe big-budget Starship-type operation. Jorma Kaukonen summed the reunion up almost word-for-word as I felt the album to be at age 15 in his excellent auto-bio ‘Been So Long’. Buy a copy.

I went to a better record shop the following week where - joy of joys - they actually had a Jefferson Airplane section. Kid in a toy shop moment: I held in my hands and gazed in wonder at copies of ‘Volunteers’, ‘Surrealistic Pillow’, ‘Crown of Creation’…marvelled at the flying toasters on ‘Thirty Seconds Over Winterland’….and then caught sight of ‘After Bathing At Baxters’ for the very first time.

All the others just vanished into the background. This was it: the iconic American stars and stripes bordering that great image: the old biplane made out of a typical wooden clad Victorian Haight-area house, soaring over a consumer-satire landscape. Now, this was 1989 and vinyl albums from the sixties had largely been robbed of their original gatefold sleeves - or in some cases only ever got them in their home country - and it would be another ten years before I got my hands on a USA original. In fact, it turns out that the (probably Dutch or German) pressing that I got brand new was better than the UK original sleeve which lacked the red, white and blue borders and was distinctly drab.

A brief history lesson: ‘After Bathing At Baxters’ was the third album by the Airplane, and the second with Grace Slick on vocals. The previous release ‘Surrealistic Pillow’ was the breakthrough, with the two bona-fide hits ‘White Rabbit’ and ‘Somebody To Love’ which set them apart from the rest of the freewheeling, often uncommercial (or rather, ‘unconcerned with being deliberately commercial’) San Francisco scene.

The rock and roll history books will tell you that ‘Pillow’ was a huge leap forward from the debut ‘Jefferson Airplane Takes Off’. Well, yes - the sound had a harder edge and not just in the vocals; it also had hits and was a true breakthrough for the band - but it was still an album of short, structured songs with a nominally folk-rock sound. For my money, the difference between ‘Pillow’ and ‘Baxters’ is immeasurably greater and possibly the most significant audible development of any one band from one album to the next that there has ever been. Even ‘Rubber Soul’ to ‘Sgt Pepper’ was a neatly calibrated climb (and that’s assuming you don’t believe ‘Revolver’ was the truly impressive one of the three; I do).

Hits. That’s what happened - and so Jefferson Airplane were given virtual carte blanche by paymasters RCA Victor to make their next record. It took most of 1967 and I’m not sure that RCA were ever ready for the results!

I’m not going to go through it track-by-track; I want you to do that for yourself if you have a mind and thus won’t pepper this missive with spoilers. Let’s just say it is one of the most successful attempts to capture the psychedelic experience on vinyl (which was always a challenge for the artists who were playing freewheeling, stream-of-consciousness improvised concerts by the seat of their pants, then faced the auspices of the studio).

Look out for Jorma Kaukonen ‘inventing Sonic Youth’ in the fuzzed and multitracked guitar solo of his own ‘Last Wall Of The Castle’. Feel the mood as Paul Kantner’s Rickenbacker XII sets up an eastern-influenced mini raga to usher in ‘Wild Tyme’, which then explodes into a mass of joyous harmonies celebrating the times. Be spellbound at Grace’s icy wit and ‘take no prisoners’ attitudes on ‘Two Heads’ and ‘Rejoice’. But above all, don’t drop your bacon sandwich during ‘Spare Chaynge’ - a wild, improvised jam between Kaukonen, the greatest bass player on the planet Jack Casady and drummer Spencer Dryden.

No man is an island - he is a peninsular.

Happy 55th Birthday to my absolute favourite long-playing record; the one that made me want to be a musician and not just a record collector. Thanks for everything.

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (6-15-24)

I wonder why I am so much more open to writing all my thoughts out in a place where they could be seen, versus just writing them in a Google Doc or a notebook. I don't fucking know, alright? Jeez, I don't have all the answers. Maybe it's accountability or something. Or the false anonymity that comes with having a username.

Or, maybe, it's the fact that we're all scared to be seen, but equally as scared to be unseen.

I like having things. Stuff. Objects. I'm a bit of a hoarder. Little, tiny pieces of trash that mean something to me. I have a lump of clay my old homeroom teacher carved a hall pass into when I was in high school. A hair tie that came from my best friend I was in love with, tied back together after it snapped. The t-shirt I wore to my first ever Warped Tour (fuck, who even remembers Warped Tour), that I've never washed, still covered in paint and reeking of Mary Jane (I don't even like that kind of music, but I think it was the sense of belonging).

There's a letter in my car that my dad typed and printed out and gave to me right before I moved away from home. It stays there, never to be brought into any apartment I moved/move into because that letter feels like home the same way my car does. In a way these apartments never will.

But, above all else, I collect records, vinyls, whatever. I actually collect most things of physical mediums, something tangible for something I like, but none more so than records. I have a spreadsheet that lists all of them, however, I need to update it. Right now, the spreadsheet sits at 197, but it is now well over 200.

I remember the first record I ever owned. I had to scroll through my mom's facebook just to figure out when. Six years ago, almost to the date shockingly, when I was 15. My family and I drove out to Washington to go to a wedding, and there was one day where my dad, my brother, my sister and I went into Seattle. My sister was, (and I apologize profusely if this is wrong now, but I swear it's what it was called) a coach for a special olympics team, and she wanted to surprise her kids and see them at their big game. It was very kind of her, my sister is very kind.

So, my dad dropped her off, and we had a few hours to dink around Seattle. We went to the Kurt Cobain park, even though none of us are big fans of Nirvana (they killed glam, we hold a grudge). And, then, we went to an antique store, Mr. Johnson's Antiques, I don't even know if they're still around today. The only reason I remember the store at all is their business card I've kept all these years. And I had been to plenty of antique stores, seen plenty of LPs and 45s, but for some odd reason, this was the time for me to buy one.

Joe Walsh's But Seriously, Folks...

I was chatting with the worker for awhile, he was cool, my dad was wary (always wary of people who are too nice, I wonder if he'd be wary of me now). I was nothing but a small town queer in a progressive big city. I had always been a fan of old stuff. According to people I both know and strangers I've chatted with, I was born in the wrong generation. I was called eclectic once by a family friend of my neighbors, and that has sorta always stuck with me. Not my sense of style or anything, just me, myself, my whole being, eclectic.

I flipped through all the records that they had, seeing names I recognized, names I would later recognize, and names I didn't know, and still don't know. But, out of all of them, I chose Joe Walsh. Who, I'm sure, I only vaguely knew at the time. But I recognized one song out of the eight.

Life's Been Good

I still think about that store when I hear the song, think about the eclectic man who worked there. And it makes me smile. Frankly, it's the only song on the whole album I can hear in my head, or even have any passing remembrance of.

He gave it to me for one dollar. I don't know if that was the actual price, or if he was just being nice. All in all, the album was (still is, I take care of my shit) in great condition. To me, it is priceless, a one of a kind.

We went and got Arby's after, and I will not stand for Arby's slander, it is gas, and that was our adventure into Seattle.

The albums that followed were Foreigner 4, Foreigner Double Vision, Kansas Overture, and Billy Squier's Don't Say No. I don't know what drew me to those albums, but they feel like home.

Then, the best friend I was in love with, sold me a record player, and that sparked an addiction that rivals nicotine for me.

Don't Say No was my favorite album for a long time, still one of my faves, but there's a few more that have bumped it down a peg. The title track is nothing special, but is has one of the best openings to any album I've ever heard. In the Dark into The Stroke into My Kinda Lover??? Absolutely insane. Great flow. I had to start listening to the album when I started writing this.

Nowadays, the lucrative pedestal for my favorite album of all time belongs to George Harrison's Living in the Material World. I don't remember when or where I'd gotten the album, opposed to the other five I've listed, but I do remember listening to it for the first time, which is a credit the other albums I own cannot possess.

I remember why I bought the album. My rising addiction to owning vinyl coincided with getting into the Beatles (nowadays I almost own all Original Pressings of their albums, my White Album has a serial number), and I bought the album because I wanted to also own solo albums from the Fab Four. Tug of War by McCartney, and Walls and Bridges by Lennon are standouts that I own, both are very good albums.

I must have been sixteen at the time, because this is the moment my life diverged. I remember struggling in school, because for the first time ever I got a C+ in a class. Such a big deal, I know, but I was dead set on going to Northwestern and becoming a Mathematician or Physicist or something smart like that. I had the grades and the history to do so, I was a total geek in school, math, science, history, english came so easy to me. Math makes sense to me, and math ties into everything else I had to learn. Everything was just an equation, and had an answer.

But that class was awful. It was about 3D modeling and stuff and learning how things move and stuff, I don't remember, I hated the class. The teacher was pretty awesome too. Well, the student teacher technically, the actual teacher was usually busy with a million other things to actually teach our class. The kids were alright. It was a bunch of conservative hicks, because it was technically a shop class, but I got along pretty well with most of them, even became friends with some of them.

But I still failed that final, the first time I've ever failed something. Sometimes I got Cs or maybe a D on a final, but that was usually because I didn't care if I passed or failed because I knew I'd still get an A or B in the class. It was a project instead of a test.

My mom would tell me years later, with a few drinks in her system, that she didn't know how to help me. I was crying at the dinner table because I knew I was going to fail the project, and my mom, bless her heart, wanted to help, wanted to see me succeed, wanted my tears to quell, but she didn't know how to help. I'd never needed help with anything before really. I was good at school unlike my brother, I never got into drama with my friends unlike my sisters. Gifted kid burnout I guess.

And I sat at that table feeling like a failure, that I could see all my hopes and dreams crumbling away in that instant (everything seemed like a much bigger deal when you're a kid). And my mom didn't know how to help me because I'd never needed help before.

I don't know why I gravitated towards listening to Living in the Material World. I can only assume, because my collection at the time was less than fifty, that I'd simply already listened to everything else. I simply put the album on the spinner, dropped the needle, and laid down on the floor.

Music, nowadays, is background noise. I can't work without music, but as soon as I heard the opening warm, gentle guitar of Give Me Love, I couldn't do anything but listen. I could feel every inch of skin that touched my scratchy carpet floor (the carpet had never been gutted from that room, mystery stains could write their own memoir). I can feel that same carpet now as I write this.

Give Me Love spoke to me, because I just wanted love like everyone else. Chasing that feeling, holding it close, and hoping it never leaves.

Sue You, Sue Me Blues felt petty and angry despite the timid tone of the song. Made me feel righteous in my hatred of that class, screamed into my head what I wanted to scream at that class. What I wanted to scream at that stupid project while sitting at my dining room table. But it was so timid. Basically saying, why do you need to feel so angry over something as small as this? Why let it consume you? So, just, sue me, sue you. Everyone is sued.

The Light That Has Lighted the World immediately shifted me into sadness. That piano is so fucking heart wrenching. Like watching my dreams shatter. That it was okay to feel upset, that I had the right to. "So hateful of anyone that is happy" is exactly how I felt at the moment. He says something about having changed at the beginning of the song, and I had changed at that moment. I couldn't be helped by my mom.

Don't Let Me Wait Too Long sounds like what my mom wanted to say to me at that table. With her gentle hands and gentler smile. And when she had told me that drunken tidbit, I just smiled at her, because she tried, she was there. And that's all I needed.

Who Can See It, I remember crying during this song during my first listening. Because it told me it was okay I failed that final, that my dreams were crumbling, because it'll get better, I'll find a new a new meaning because my life belongs to me.

Living in the Material World, the title track. Now that I was able to process my failure, this is what I needed. That I would find that new place to belong, a new dream to slot myself into. I may not have it now, but it would come, it would be okay. I think I latched onto the lyric "Just trying to get a message through" because that has sorta become my new dream. To let others feel seen through what I do. To feel like they belong near me.

I remember the record fizzling to silence, and I still just laid there, going through the songs again in my head. Feeling as they blew my mind, resonated in my soul.

When I did finally get up and turn over the album, I still liked the music, but it faded back to background music as I processed the A-Side. I think, maybe, I just haven't needed the B-Side yet. Still very good music, but it hadn't, hasn't, hit me as much as the first six.

When I graduated, I went out and bought a new copy of the album to give to my homeroom teacher. I told him "this album changed my life". The you did too was silent, but I think he got the message. I gave it to him at my graduation party, he didn't stay for very long, but it meant a lot to me that he came. When he left, he told me "I've met your parents now, and so much about you makes so much sense now".

It made me laugh then. Now it makes me kinda wanna cry and smile at the same time. I wonder if he's listened to the album. I wonder if it spoke to him the same way it did me. I wonder if, after listening, so much more about me made sense.

I emailed him recently, told him how much he meant to me.

He told me I was one of the rare ones, not one of the cookie cutters. Eclectic. And if I was ever gonna be back in town, that we should meet up.

I go home in July for a week.

-PCD

[pugs-cats-bb-8]

P3 Reload Part. 4

This guy can't have been in the original. If he was either you guys are slacking or Persona fans hate cute dorks. Same goes for the teacher. (Maybe it's just my thing for guys with glasses). Messy curly/fluffy hair and glasses ❤❤

Was Junpei always worried about Apathy victims? He never struck me as the type.

Is this another "I have 300k Yen but I'm broke" game? Strikers has that problem. You can not keep money. 300k is a lot in Royal. You don't start feeling the pinch until Makoto and Haru join. I'm starting to think Tactica is the same.

No wonder you have to pay to take out Personas 🤣🤣

The Tardis coin purse. I like the old animation where it just kept going.

It looks like a real picture of somebody.

Good dreams my ass. Sandman looks like he gives you nightmares.

Either Kenji's Bi or he hit his head.

Ten eggs, man's gonna be farting up a storm.

That's a fuckin' tiny cup.

This man is going to end up in rehab with his nephew.

Makoto doesn't find it odd that their rooms have cameras in them? Like that's a major privacy violation and totally against the law.

They did the "damn bitch, you live like this" meme. 🤣🤣

I like Mitsuru's ponytail and apron.

Why do I feel like they went overboard, on the whole, your friends care for you thing. Because in the original everyone just sorta minded their own business and didn't seem to care for you (minus Aigis, Fuuka, Yukari and Koromaru) until you died.

Why do they do hits? And who ordered it?

That sounds like a mix of 2 and 5.

The UP! looks like LP!

Oh, I always wondered how you knew who went missing.

"Taken by the Angels". That's a new way to say died.

That "I'll be back" sorta undercuts the moment.

At least it tells you that you should check on the vegetables. I often forgot about Haru.

🤣🤣 Cue text, "My arms feel like noodles".

🤣🤣 This man's got a bug up his ass about that cigarette butt. Expelled? A kid in my school got caught smoking, whether cigarettes or weed, I don't know. But all he got was probation.

With what's going on with Yukari and her having Fuuka look into it. I'm surprised you can go to Tartarus.

At least you don't have to go up every floor looking for people.

In 5, you have to wait until Morgana goes off, on the floor where the mission is. Or you transfer to a safe floor in that and he'll tell you if you're closeish.

Oh yeah, this dude's Toshiro. 🤣🤣

[kylekozmikdeluxo]

"Good morning, young master, it's 1882..."

The early years of Paul McCartney's post-Beatles group Wings have been on my mind for the past few weeks, even before the untimely passing of the one Wings member who stuck with Paul and the late Linda McCartney through thick and thin: Denny Laine.

15 years ago... Early 2008...

By March, I was scalp-deep in the solo output of McCartney. I had already went through a Beatle-obsessive phase, now I was onto Paul's stuff. His first two albums and such, the first couple of Wings album, just endlessly fascinated by a lot of it...

One day, I had come across a bootleg of a song called... '1882'...

It was in its home demo form, taped sometime in mid-to-late 1970. Presumably a little after the release of MCCARTNEY... The song, in any form, wouldn't see an official release until 2018...

... and this one fascinated me the *most* out of the unreleased material.

1882 would later be turned into a dreary near 7-minute epic in the studio in 1972, and a similar take was played live throughout the Wings Over Europe tour that took place from July to August of that year. At several points, a live recording from Berlin was to be used on Wings' second album - and Paul's fourth overall - RED ROSE SPEEDWAY, which was released in April 1973 after being cut from a double-LP to a single-disc.

Anyways, where was I? Winter 2008... January-March, precisely... Life was rough. I don't want to get too into it, but my brain was in a very low place... It was small special interests like these that got me through such miserable days, and probably made worse by the bitter winter conditions. New England isn't particularly nice during this time of year, you get some truly bitter days mixed with some inexplicable near-summerish ones. Something something Mark Twain-

And when I heard 1882 for the first time... I felt like, for a moment, after so much going on... It's like I woke up in 1882... Like the opening lyrics of the song... I had such a vivid picture of waking up in a vintage old house in the woods.

At the time, I frequently saw my father on the weekends, when he was living in a city. His house, that he got from his parents, was largely not updated since around the early 1980s I want to say? It still had wood-paneled walls, green shag carpet, '70s wallpaper on a vintage stairwell, and the room I slept in... I might as well have stepped into a bedroom from the 1960s. Like how Thomasin McKenzie's lead character, when she stays in that apartment, in LAST NIGHT IN SOHO.

I honestly miss that house sometimes.

But that all just rammed home the vintage-ness of the song, especially in its home demo form. It sounds like Paul recorded it on his Scottish farm, a bucolic and remote setting far off from Liverpool and London. For sure. I feel that sleepy farm life, a post-Beatles wind-down and restart, is captured so beautifully on MCCARTNEY, RAM, and WILD LIFE, and there's some of it left on RED ROSE SPEEDWAY. (It also helps that two songs on that album are RAM leftovers.)

I also really enjoy the studio and live versions, too, but the home demo fits the time period nicely. It's almost a vivid picture into a mundane, if not grim life in the late 19th century. It really inspired me to write stories set in the late 19th century, British period pieces, stuff like that. Not necessarily Victorian ones, but ones set in the countryside, quaint and relatively uneventful, but very much full of feeling and vibe. Almost like an early Disney film or a Miyazaki film. To this day, I still incorporate those kinds of aesthetics and ideas into what it is I do... It's just endlessly fascinating to me, and I do wonder how a song like this would've been received had it come out when it was supposed to.

And even to this day, sometimes, when all feels like a flurry. An utter tornado, a rush of emotions, happenings, and anxieties... I create a mental black out in my head, and then imagine a character waking up... And it's 1882... Somewhere in the countryside...

(The oil painting is apparently titled A VIEW IN HEREFORDSHIRE, Thomas British, fitting name, made around the 1880s)

[thisaintascenereviews]

The Menzingers - Some Of It Was True

The Menzingers is a rock / punk band that I’ve got some mixed feelings on — they’re not one of my all-time favorite bands, but they’re also a band that I’ve liked over the years. It’s just that none of their albums have truly resonated with me, at least in an album of the year or “all time favorite” kind of way. They’re one of those bands that I love every time I listen to them, and when they have a new album, I’m excited to check it out, but I hardly seek them out. I feel that way with a handful of other bands, too, like I enjoy them whenever I see they have something new, but I don’t go back to them otherwise. I did go back to The Menzingers’ last LP, 2019’s Hello Exile, and like with all of their other albums, I really enjoy it, but it does have something more that their earlier records don’t.

I’m not sure what it is, but maybe it’s the heartland-rock influence and sound being more prominent. They’ve always had that influence there, but it was never this overpowering until now. Hello Exile had some fantastic hooks that showcased how versatile the band can be, although they do have one major issue that could be what prevents me from loving them — every song of theirs seems to be about the same thing. Their lyrics are awful repetitive, talking about nostalgia, how things used to be, and all of that stuff. Hell, a few songs on Hello Exile are about wondering where the good times went, and shooting the shit with high school friends. The questions that I had with their newest LP, Some Of It Was True, is whether or not they would go further with the heartland rock influences and whether or not they would have something else to say other than about getting older and looking back on how things used to be.

The answer to both of those questions is, well, sort of. I’ve listened to Some Of It Was True a few times now, and I liked it overall, but this might be my least favorite of theirs. It’s a good record, but I feel like a couple of steps were taken back, starting with its sound. I do enjoy that they went a tiny bit further with its sound by shedding some of the punk influence that they started off with, but the vocals on this record feel more smoothed out and don’t sound as rough as they normally do. I mean that in a good way, too, as their vocalist has a rougher voice akin to Chuck Ragan of Hot Water Music (another band in this vein that I like a bit more, honestly). He smoothes out his voice here, and I don’t know if I like it. His voice isn’t the best, technically speaking, but its rougher edge worked within the confines of their sound, reminding me of a poor man’s Springsteen, but smoothing is out just doesn’t sound as good. He isn’t horrible, as some of the hooks are quite good, but there are some songs where the vocals feel kind of flat.

As for the lyrics, they do talk about some new things, but it’s still about a lot of the same things they write about, although a few tracks are about the idea that nostalgia isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s just about a lot of the same stuff, though, and I can’t say I’m incredibly engaged. I guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and even though they do expand on some things here, it just doesn’t do a whole lot for me. This record is good, and if you’re a fan of these guys, it’s worth hearing, but I don’t have too much of a desire to go back to it.

[audio-luddite]

Frustration.

I was on You Tube and bumped into a really nice Jazz Playlist. One song sounded OK on my computer earbuds, so I wondered if I could find the tune online to listen to on my big system. That is where it became frustrating.

First thing is there was a video of a record spinning and a phono cartridge in the groove, but that is not where the music came from. There was dirt in the video and it did not make a noise. I also noted the TT was not high end and the phono pickup was not square to the disk. Just an empty video to fool people. He pulled this off a stream somewhere. I wish it was a real LP as I would buy it if I could identify the artist. But no track list, no artist noted and tellingly no credit to them. The song was a really nice Jazz arrangement of Elton John with a piano and very little else.

It appeared that this playlist was pirated and the guy just put it out cuz he liked it. He did not like it enough to see the artists paid for the work. I went searching through the comments and up and down the indexes looking for the singer's name at least. No joy. I got to the point where I forgot what song it was, just an Elton John tune. Searching for female singers doing Elton John Covers just kept popping up Diana Krall. I know what she sounds like, twern't her. It is now lost forever in the entropy. Damn!

After dinner I fired up my system and played Apple Music Jazz hoping to get lucky. No joy there. So as the fine Gewurztraminer took me to a nice place I debated playing Diana Krall. I have several LPs of hers. All good ones. But then no I played "Graceland" side one to hear Ladysmith Black Mambazo, then jumped to White Rabbit from George Benson. You know that album is old, simple plain consumer grade LP from the 1980s and sounds fine. I mean FINE. It is a CTI recording and it really stands up.

Cool thing is the song White Rabbit from Jefferson Airplane and Grace Slick was about a psychedelic trip thing. It used the melody from Ravel's Bolero and Rodrigo's Aranjuez by way of Miles Davis which has a weird story of its own. So the George Benson tune is more Bolero than Acid Trip, but hey its good music. There is a lot of good music out in the 'verse.

I got sleepy and shut her down. Maybe I will get lucky later.

[prettymmorg]

J cole forest hills drive live vinyl lp rerelease

#J cole forest hills drive live vinyl lp rerelease how to#

I began talking to myself, out loud, making sure it was clear and not slurred or babbling voicings.

#J cole forest hills drive live vinyl lp rerelease how to#

With a family history of heart problems, I was aware of the signs, and how to deal with an onset if one still had the ability to control functions as it begins. As I was processing this as a possible problem, I became aware that the entire right side of my body – from neck to feet – felt like it was asleep not paralyzed but buzzing and as if something was trying to grasp my entire right side with frail but gripping fingertips. This time, it stayed blocked, completely. But, they began dissipating almost as soon as they appeared, and never lasted more than a minute or so at the most. Now, I had been having little bouts of impaired vision, where these obscuring fields of gray blocked parts of my field of view in either eye sometimes the top half, sometimes the bottom half, sometimes the sides, sometimes was like a tunnel and sometimes right in the center of my vision. While shopping in an Indianapolis Wal-Mart in mid-August, I suddenly went totally blind in my left eye. That word is stenosis from an Ancient Greek word that means “narrowing.” However, like being in a late-onset Sesame Street episode, I was destined to learn a new word, a medical word that was applicable not just once oh no, it was applied to my condition twice, but with different body parts in play with the use of the word. Oh, this little distraction sorta clouded my larger issue for absence. Other than that, not a scratch, dent or wobble in the wheels or fork, all controls untouched and safe to operate. 2014 Forest Hills Drive comes off as a great, experimental, and advancing mixtape, but it's insider to a fault, as slight as that fault might be.My darling Della, who valiantly tried to stay upright after I was forced into the median curb by a car, only suffered a broken rear turn signal lens and a scuffed derby cover on the transfer case. Later, "No Role Modelz" mixes a tribute to the late actor James Avery ("Rest in peace Uncle Phil"), with a bubbling beat that's a variation on cloud-rap (co-produced by Phonix Beats and Cole), and a snarky, snappy set of put downs that are like an elevated Fergie ("I don't want no bitch from reality shows/Out of touch with reality hos"), but all these flights of fancy fly freely since the album lacks an anchor. Cole the producer offering a beat that's rather Alchemist or 9th Wonder inspired, and then slathering it in plush strings for a perfect single on an album that refuses singles. Key cut "January 28th" puts gut-wrenching hard truths of the Pusha-T type ("What's the price for a black man's life?/I check the toe tag, not one zero in sight") next to wobbly wordplay that could have been lifted off some old Digable Planets LP ("Flow is bananas/Here, peel this back"), while "Wet Dreamz" finds J. Most importantly, it's admirable bordering on excellent, sure to inspire returning fans to herald it as a classic even if it doesn't woo the skeptical, casually wandering out of its intro with two smooth and soulful numbers that are so free, they're just shy of being clumsy. Cole's third studio effort was released with no supporting singles, and there are no featured artists, either, because 2014 Forest Hills Drive is one of those personal, conceptual, and "heavy" albums. Named after the address of his childhood home in North Carolina, J.

[littlweirdostuffwritesworld]

The Golden Sun

Prologo: This is before re how our black reader met Lorenzo de Medici (her future zaddy) thanks to the man's ex nemesis and her cousin

Florence was celebrating Francesco de 'Pazzi was getting married, it was a sigh of relief for everyone from plebeians, knights, nobles and to the church. It was an event that no one expected, everyone knew that Guglielmo de 'Pazzi was the sentimental one, not Francesco.

But everything changed when he met Andrea Sabini's eyes, they met at a ball in Venice for the union of two nobles.

Right there Andrea distracted and euphoric did not look in front and collided with the man.

"My apologies Messer. I wasn't looking where I was going" he smiled

"No problem, but she's careful" she said with her typical look, and the woman walked down her street, but she turned around and asked

"Your name, Messer" he turned

"And why would he want to know?" he asked sceptically

"Please don't be offended, I shouldn't be so curious, I wish you a good evening" she said and went away, leaving Francesco to look down the corridor, realizing that her brother was calling him she went away.

He enjoyed the rest of the evening, talked with possible collaborators and clients and danced with many women, also had the good fortune to meet Ludovico Sabini, strangely obviously liked him with Lorenzo de 'Medici.

"You two seem like talented young men, if you use your mind you will be more than your fathers and your names will be remembered in the stars" he laughed proudly, a woman interrupted him.

"Andrea you feel better" he asked, Francesco recognized her.

"Yes father, I'm sorry I made you worry," she said sadly.

"Excuse me for the interruption," she said and went off to join other ladies, and Francesco didn't take his eyes off her.

"That's my daughter Andrea Sabini, the diamente of the family" Ludovico was proudly beating his cane on the ground.

"Andrea is a rather manly name" Lorenzo added

"When she was born she took my finger and I almost rupper it, she is worthy of that name, even if she looks like a young lady I taught her like my sons and she is always on my right, she is the only one in the family to convince to the royal family of Naples to invest and buy our silk "explained after a chat or two the old man left.

"Francesco it seems that you are infatuated with Andrea Sabini" Lorenzo teased him.

"Shut up Medici" the dances opened and Pazzi was really waiting to meet Andrea again, and finally he succeeded.

"Oh we meet again Messer" the woman said she took her hand and they danced.

"I have to offer you my sincere apologies," he apologized

"For what reason?" she was confused

"For answering you abruptly earlier"

"Don't worry, I just wanted to know who the bewitching-faced Messer was," he smiled

"I wonder if you say lp just to make me feel better or at all?" the dance was about to end

"I told you I'm not offended," they bowed and their eyes met

"And I only express myself this way to people who have caught my eye," she whispered

"I caught an eye on you '"

"I'm a lady, I can't answer this question in public, but come and know the question"

From that moment the two were under secret courtship, for the Sabines it could have been fine but for Jacopo Pazzi it would have been the loss of his best pawn. The relationship continued for months until the man's uncle was becoming suspicious and sent a spy to the French court where Francis was invited. Thanks to the letter from Lorenzo they discovered that their uncle and the whole of Florence had discovered him.

"You don't have to come with me, you can save your reputation" he tried to persuade her beloved but there was nothing to be done.

"My love, I will not leave you anywhere, if you are guilty of this foolishness I am too" she stroked his face and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek.

The carriage arrived in front of Villa Pazzi, they looked at each other for a moment and went out hand in hand, Lorenzo had already told them that there would be many Florentine noble families waiting. And so it was Jacopo de Pazzi really wanted to humiliate him, and his uncle was there and he was smiling.

"Francesco, would you like to introduce us to your beloved?" the man said

"I'm Andrea Sabini of the Sabini family, Messer Pazzi" she introduced herself making the nobles jump

"Do you know what crime he committed?"

"Love your nephew?" she said brazenly.

"Adultery and …..

"I have to stop you there Messer Pazzi but the two of us are under courting, my family knows it and I Pazzi know it" she replied, the nobles were really shocked by her "cheekiness".

"Messer Pazzi did not know about your scandalous ……." Niccolò Ardighelli tried to say

"But my brother knew it and since we have half the power of this family, the de 'Pazzi knew it," Francesco said.

"He really wants to be with a woman like her," a doonna whispered

and finally they could court each other in the sun.

" What are you saying?" Andrea asked while eating strawberries under the Tuscan sun.

"I'm thinking how you came into my life," he said, stroking her face

"Thanks to you I became a better man, I would have become like my uncle Jacopo"

"I didn't do any of that," she blushed

"I'd like to ask you something," she tugged at a ruby ring

" Francis…."

"Andrea, will you marry me?"

"Sure yes, yes" their lips joined

"Francesco I love you" she smiled

" I love you too"

And so they went back there hand in hand on their wedding day not knowing they would bring two people together.

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

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[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Joe Louis Arena in Detroit, MI, USA - September 20, 1980

(x)

Freddie stopped the show part way through Love Of My Life because the rowdy audience was drowning out Brian's guitar.

Around this time the Detroit Lions football team had adopted Another One Bites The Dust as an anthem. When Queen performed it as an encore with Freddie donning a Lions' cap, the arena exploded.

(x)

Fan Stories

“It was September 20th, 1980 and it started just like any other day for me. I was upstairs playing my favorite 45 record for the millionth time it seemed... at least to my mother that is. The song was Another One Bites The Dust by Queen, I had already worn out 3 or 4 of the 45 record which was released just a short time ago. My Uncle had stopped by and asked me if I wanted to spend the night and see a late movie. At first my mom was rather reluctant to let me go but being a Saturday and no school she gave in and off we went. As we were driving I noticed that we weren't going to his place so I asked him what the movie was, he just smiled and said we weren't going to a movie but to a rock concert, He KNEW my mom would forbid me to go to such an event so he used the movie as a ploy to get me out of the house. I asked him what concert, all he said was it was a surprise. By the time we entered Detroit Michigan I was all excited as this was my first concert ever, we weren't even allowed to listen to rock and roll. We got to the Joe Louis Arena and that is when I melted into the seat, on the Marquee in BIG letters "QUEEN". That is when I melted in my seat and repeatedly thanked my uncle, he later told me the look on my face was worth the tickets. We made our way inside and found ourselves about in the middle of the floor, we had General admittance tickets. I remember jumping up and down a lot during the support bands set. In case you are wondering the bands name was Dakota, and I have never heard of them. Well after they had finished we tried to make our way forward knowing we would NEVER see Queen where we were, we were young and short, I was 14 and my uncle was 18. Well it seemed like an hour, but must have been a couple of minutes when 2 security guards told us to follow them. My first though was "oh no, we are in trouble and are not going to see Queen". Well, That was NOT the case, in fact they took us ALL THE WAY UP FRONT, just off center stage, we were on Brians side.

No sooner did we get there when the whole place went dark. Then this sound that seemed to come from everywhere started. It got louder and louder and started to rise in pitch. I kept looking at the stage to see if I could see the band, nope.. but I did see something above us moving. by now the sound was reaching a peak and then it happened, a LOUD explosion and Lights that blinded us. It happened a couple more times but now I was ready... the crowd were going nuts, I WAS going nuts, then the guitar. Out walked Brian May playing this song that would literly plague me for years as I was certain it was NOT a Queen song, but no idea, of course it was Jailhouse Rock. Then Freddie came out. He was wearing a black leather jacket and orange pants with blue kneepads. I can't remember if he was wearing a hat and sunglasses. By now the crowd was so loud I could not even hear my uncle next to me, he later told me that during the first 2 songs all he could say was YEAH.... @$!* Yeah... Of course the second song was the fast version of We Will Rock You but to be very honest at that time the only 2 songs I knew were Another One Bites The Dust and Don't Try Suicide, so EVERY song was a new experience. After We Will Rock You Freddie spoke to us for the first time, he said something like "Hello Detroit... " he may have said more but I can't remember. Hearing bootlegs from that tour I would assume he added "Lets Rock and Roll Huh" or something like that. I remember when they went into Play the Game everyone went nuts, of course I didn't know it was new to me, ALL the songs were new. He then spoke to us again telling us that they were happy to be back in Detroit and that we were in for a treat.Then came Mustapha, That was my first taste of their diversity, this foreign language. but what confused me was just about everyone knew that language. again, I didn't know the song and had no idea what it meant but it was cool. I think Freddie took his jacket off around Play the Game or Mustapha not sure, to be real honest I was amazed by the guitar player, Brian made everything seem so easy. I can tell you that pretty much the whole night was a sensory overload and that I could not take in everything. The Get Down, Make Love section that was lights, smoke, Freddie and Brian was too much, If you never saw Queen live when they performed this then you truly missed a WONDERFUL experience, Video does NOT do this song justice, Freddie really sets the mood when he starts his vocal teasing. Aside from Another One Bites The Dust the only song I could NOT get out of my head was oddly enough another John Deacon gem, You're My Best Friend had a beat that just could not be dismissed. Then the moment I found to be the most humorous, Freddie asking us if we liked his new moustache, He informed us that he grew it just for US, then he said, You Fuckers will believe anything. When I saw a book some years later By Judith Davis mention the same scene I wondered if he said that at all the shows or just ours, after listening to various bootlegs I could not find any other one that mentioned that. Now You remember I mentioned that I was just 14 right. When Freddie announced Fat Bottomed Girls he dedicated it to all the ladies with huge tits, for a 14 year old boy that was WAY COOL, in fact there were a couple of women near us that actually flashed him, I wonder did he even notice. During Love Of My Life Freddie stopped the show because we were too loud he could not hear Brian, The rest of the night was a blur aside from Brians nifty guitar work on his solo. That moment right there convinced me that I wanted to be a guitar player. I remember yelling a lot ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST!!!!..

I was very very close, I KNEW Freddie could hear me, well I got my wish, he came out after a brief break and I was just in heaven, I heard MY song, now I could go home happy, but wait, Queen and Freddie had another surprise in store for me, I am a Star Wars Geek, and when he came out on Darth Vaders shoulders I was just freaking out, I ACTUALLY thought it was the same guy that played Darth Vader. of course I had no idea what that song was, funny how songs work into your subconscoius, a few days later I was just drumming the beat to We Will Rock You, NOT knowing what it was. Anyway, the last song was odd, I THOUGHT COOL they are playing My Country Tis of Thee.. Well, I know now that is was NOT that song... hehe. I left the concert just amazed, my ears ringing, just going on and on about what just happened. My uncle told me to calm down, there was no way my mom could know we saw a concert he would be in trouble, so he kept drilling me about the "Movie" we saw, the next morning the first words I said to mom were "Mom I saw QUEEN!" she was furious, but the damage was done, the next few weeks I bought every Queen album I could, I even stole money from my paper route just to by the next LP, and when I found Live Killers, it was so close to what I saw, BUT, there were differences. The date was September 20th, 1980 when my life changed forever. I would be completely OBSESSED with Queen, I would do anything I could to get their latest LP. Thank you for reading this and I hope you found it as enjoyable as I did writing it as I actually started to remember things that had been locked away. I found out that John had nearly brought down the cymbles nearest to him, Crystal had to dive out to catch them, I had the pleasure of chatting with Crystal Taylor (Roger's drum roadie and no relation by the way) and asked him if he remembered that and to my surprise he said that John did that often, but he DID remember our show because of Freddie stopping the show during Love Of My Life.” - Mike Preston