#i’m just endlessly fascinated by these pieces of music | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

morkleemelon · 4 years ago

Text

off the ice || chapter 2: heading in

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, humor, sports au, college au

warnings: swearing

word count: 7k

"And we can see here in the figure that the data currently suggests-"

Your pen flies across the notebook page, desperately trying to capture everything your economics professor said in multicolor vigor. Jotting down the figure frantically, your eyes dart back and forth between the powerpoint screen and your paper, high ponytail bouncing up and down from the motion.

Being on scholarship means that you can never let your grades fall past a certain point or else they'd give the money to someone else. As harsh as it is, without the financial aid, you would not be able to continue to go to school. One of the only things that motivates you to work harder than your sleeping peers, sometimes, is the looming fear of becoming a jobless dropout, never able to achieve your dreams.

In a lot of ways, not having money is already bad enough, but the thought of not even being able to earn it in the future is even worse.

"Does anyone know how this company should manage production costs?," your professor asks the crowd of tired students.

You immediately shoot your hand in the air. You know it. This answer was in the textbook reading last night it's-

"Yes" Your professor points behind you.

You slowly set your hand down, disappointed, turning around to see who could've raised their hand before you did.

"They should modernize their marketing efforts with more affordable tools and focus on reducing supply costs," the boy answers expertly.

That's exactly what I was going to say.

Examining his face a little more, something about him seems a little familiar, but you can't quite put your finger on it. Looking around at who he was sitting with, you begin to piece it together.

"He must be one of the Lee's if he's sitting between Ten and Jeno" you ponder to yourself, taking one final look at the boy, "is he... Haechan?". Thinking back to last spring, one of your teammates had a huge crush on the one called 'Haechan'. She always gushed about his fluffy brown hair, handsome face, and how he asked to borrow her biology notes once. You weren't exactly well versed with the university's popular people and honestly, the fact that this school has an 'F4' called "the Lees" is pretty funny to you.

This boy's hair is blonde, though, brushed down into a fringe and slightly messy from, you're assuming, taking off the hood of his sweatshirt before class. Glancing down, you take notice of the mess of white bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

Right, they just had a hockey game. He doesn't have brown hair so this must be-

"That's exactly right, Mark. Nicely done" the professor praises.

Mark. You note the name to yourself, turning back to the board as the professor continues with the lecture.

"Dude she's looking at you," Ten whisper-yells to his younger friend, nudging him sharply in the ribs.

Mark doesn't dare look down at you yet, already feeling his cheeks grow warmer with each passing second. He feels your gaze pull away from him and finally frees the breath he was previously holding captive. Shoving back at the senior boy, his gaze flutters back to you like it usually does during this class, however much to his strong denial.

You always sit in the first row, colored pens and highlighters arranged neatly upon your favorite desk.

Mark watches the way your hair bobs back and forth as you move your head with keen eyes. The delicate gold glint of a necklace clasp at the nape of your neck fascinates the junior boy's attention more than the mundane lecture ever could.

Spotting the slight smile on the older boy's face and the direction of his gaze, Jeno laughs quietly to himself, happy that something interesting is finally happening during the boring lesson. Leaning over behind Mark's back, he gives Ten a silent high five.

"You're a simp" Jeno whispers in Mark's ear, eager to provoke him. Mark slaps the blue-haired boy's face away.

"Fuck off," Mark whispers harshly back as Jeno and Ten laugh to themselves in the lecture hall. He habitually glances back to your focused form. And this is nothing short of how class usually goes for them: Mark fawns over you 'secretly' whilst you haven't the slightest clue. On either side, his friends tease him endlessly for it.

"Yuna and I are planning something for you guys," Ten persists.

Mark's eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the older's ominous words. The professor's voice drones on in the background as his attention shifts to Ten.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it, man". Ten smirks, smacking a firm hand on the confused boy's shoulder.

"Don't do anything weird," Mark warns, recalling the time when the senior had planned on starting a fist fight outside of your dorm building last semester in hopes to gain your attention and provide an excuse for Mark to talk to you. Although the thought was there, no it wasn't.

The hour ticks by and exhausted students groan in relief as the professor wraps up the stale lesson on fundamental economics. A mass shuffle of notebook pages flipping closed and backpacks zipping up fills the hall as students make their way out, eager to do anything but be there.

The Lee's always gather for lunch at this time at the basketball courts, attracting an impressive crowd of envious guys and adoring girls at the sidelines. Although the place is fairly beaten down and otherwise unimpressive, the Lee's choose to be there which consequently deems the courts the coolest lunch spot on campus.

Putting his things away into his trusty black Jansport bag, Mark gets ready to head down to the courts to meet up with Haechan like they always do until he feels a hand unexpectedly grip his left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Some people are gonna join us for lunch today," Ten discloses casually, keeping his gaze forward as the line of students in front of them slowly file their way out of the crowded room.

"Oh, who?" Mark questions. It's not like it's rare for other people come hang out with them, in fact, it's almost always the case. But the fact that Ten is specifically telling him beforehand feels suspicious. Another strong hand grips his other shoulder as Jeno's navy blue hair comes into view.

"Don't worry about it man. You got meal points left for this week? Lend me some," the younger boy expertly diverts.

"Yeah..."

"Let's hurry though, Haechan is probably there waiting already. I told the brat to get food for us early today". Ten ushers Mark forward and pushes his way through the herd of people.

"Aight," Mark sighs in confused defeat, picking up his pace to keep up with the senior. There's definitely something weird going on, but he doesn't have the energy to pry further.

Then again, has he ever lived a day where his friends aren't doing some sort of weird shit?

"Thank you, professor," you smile and bow politely.

"Thank you, y/n, enjoy the rest of your day," the older man smiles back, waving you off as he packs up his lecture notes. It's small things like this that you always make sure to do to make others' lives a little better.

After all, the best thing to give-better than any monetary gift- is kindness. Right?

Your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your frayed denim shorts and you reach to check the notification.

Der sum hoez in this houz:

Yuna: guys!! Let's grab lunch somewhere new today! :DD

Hope: yassss ;););)

You: oh why? The caf has chicken nuggets today :(

This is definitely suspicious -you, Yuna, and your other friends, Lisa and Hope, always ate together at the round table in the university's better dining hall nicknamed "the caf". It's been your unbroken tradition since freshman year and the lunch lady at the caf even likes you enough to give you extra servings sometimes.

Yuna: we can still have the nuggets but Ten knows a cool place we can sit! He says he already got the food so we don't have to pay today ;)

Free food?

Your inner Mr.Krabs reveals himself as you perk immediately at the mention of her boyfriend paying for lunch. Neither guilt nor modesty had time to catch up as your thumbs rush to type a speedy reply.

You: I'm there. Where at?

Yuna: I'm coming to your classroom rn! We can walk together

Lisa: Hope and I are coming from bio :) excited

You: lol why does everyone know but me

You: is it gonna be weird with us third wheeling you yuna?

You: if y'all start kissy kissy touchy touchy I might puke just saying

Yuna: HAHAHA XD

Yuna: don't worry some of ten's friends might be there too

Oh. To be honest, you're caught off guard at your best friend's last message. Ten has been over to your shared dorm a few times and you've exchanged enough awkward greetings to call him an acquaintance at least. But generally, his friend group and yours stay separate.

Not that there is any actual beef there, but, no pun intended, nobody's tried to break the ice yet.

Closing the group chat as you reach the entrance of the economics building, you hold a hand up to block the glaring rays of summer sun from your eyes. The sudden brightness harshly contrasts the musty dark of the lecture hall, making you squint in discomfort.

"Y/n!" a familiar voice calls out. A flash of platinum blonde hair and Chanel perfume filled your senses as Yuna throws your smaller body into a crushing, sweaty hug.

"EWw!" you yelp, shoving the taller girl away from you half-playfully, catching the attention of a few concerned passer-bys.

You nod your head at them in a shy apology.

Yuna, seriously.

The guilty party laughs, the musical sound travelling through the humid air like a refreshing breeze. Your best friend sticks out her elbow for you to link your arm through.

Eyeing her with short-lived contempt, your lips break into a smile as you slip your forearm around hers, unable to be actually mad at your best friend.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"You'll see. It's Ten's spot"

"Hi-his spot?!" You stop in your tracks, wondering why you were going to eat where Ten dealt weed.

Since when did he deal weed though?

"Not that kind of spot!," Yuna cries out, smacking a manicured hand over the top of her forehead as to not ruin her perfect foundation, "he's not like that!".

"Right good," you scoff.

The summer heat swelters as Yuna leads you down campus towards the sports center. It's early September and Seoul is notoriously hot.

Ice cream vendors with big, striped umbrellas litter the streets, calling out for business from sweaty pedestrians who crave a moment of sweet, cold relief. The sky tints a beautiful shade of blue with fluffy wisps of white clouds dotting its never-ending canvas. No matter how hot the weather is, the day is undeniably beautiful.

You don't ask Yuna more about where you're headed, accepting that your best friend likes to be spontaneous and that her boyfriend was paying for your food. This is more than enough for you to follow her down the sketchy alleyway shortcut to the basketball courts. Sometimes you wonder if you'd be really easy to kidnap...

The alley opens up to reveal a worn-out basketball court planted in the middle of a grassy area. Looking around, you noticed there are quite a few people there, most of them unfamiliar to you.

They scatter across the grass in groups, eating and chatting casually amongst their friends atop their patterned picnic blankets. You catch the gaze of a group of girls sitting at the edge of the court; they eye you up and down, taking you aback with their lack of subtlety.

Breaking the awkward eye-contact, you suddenly feel very out of place.

"Hey!" Yuna calls out, slipping her arm out of yours to wave at a group of people sitting at the other side of the court from the judgmental girls.

Her hand slips into yours, snapping you out of your uncomfortable dilemma, pulling you towards the group she waved to. A big willow tree stretches towards the sky and casts a precious spot of shade over the area. Immediately, you spot Hope and Lisa as they wave to you and you let out a breath of relief.

At least I'm not alone, maybe I won't be so awkward now.

You recognize Ten's face and you give him a smile and nod of acknowledgement. Scanning over the rest of the group carefully, you faintly recognize the other boys sitting under the tree.

The boy with the blue hair and the fitted white tee- that's Jeno.

Fluffy brown hair-definitely Haechan.

Your eyes flit to the next boy and you're taken aback when he's already staring at you. His ashy blonde fringe hair, almost grey, seems dearly familiar. His eyes widen before quickly looking away.

He's part of the Lee's... bandaged hands and that hair- that's Mark, the dude who stole your answer from earlier.

The little devil on your shoulder whispers to hold a small grudge. The little angel on the other argues that it was never your question and you shouldn't be so petty. Right, kindness is the best virtue. You will let it go.

You and Yuna reach the edge of their picnic blanket and your best friend immediately goes to sit by Ten who doesn't hesitate to pull her hips smoothly into his lap.

You look away in embarrassment. Good for her for finding love, but by golly are you painfully single.

Eyeing the space on the picnic blanket, Hope and Lisa are almost strategically sitting at the end chatting with Jeno so there is no reasonable way you could sit next to them. Setting down your bag awkwardly, you debate where you should sit, silently cursing at Hope and Lisa for not leaving a space for you. Maybe coming here was a mistake because you feel kind of left out-

"Oh, here," a small voice lets out. You look up to see Mark getting up and moving his stuff out of the way and clearing a space for you next to him.

"Ah, thank you!" You smile, kneeling down to sit in the empty space.

Thank God.

Glancing at his face, a blush even Maybelline would envy rests on his cheeks as his gaze remains glued to the food in his hands.

The first thing you notice is how handsome he is up close. You didn't get a good look at him in the lecture hall, but his face is a perfect mix of feminine and masculine beauty. His eyes are soft and round, but his jawline sharp and angled. The most chiseled cheekbones you've ever seen are handsomely defined under the mosaic of shadows and light created by the branches of the willow tree. A slight, shy smile graced his delicate, pink lips.

He's super cute. I take back everything I thought in lecture.

"Hey, welcome!," a sudden high-pitched voice rips your attention away from ogling the blonde boy. Turning your face, you see Haechan on your other side eagerly holding out a hand for you to shake. You take his hand and he shakes it vigorously, "I'm Haechan nice to meet you! What's your name?".

"I'm y/n," you reply with a smile. He's really outgoing, huh.

"Y/n what year are you?"

"Oh I'm a sophomore this year"

"Ayyy! Jeno and I are sophomores too," the friendly brunette slaps the other boy on the arm, "say hi, Jeno".

"Hey, I'm Jeno". He gives a heart-fluttering eye-smile and you could hear hushed gasps and coos ensue from the onlooking girls across the court.

"Hi, y/n," you respond shyly.

Dang, these guys are all so good-looking.

You always hear about the 'Lees' and their 'godly' visuals, but you never truly paid attention. Yet now that you're sitting with them at their cool-people-only hangout spot, you have no choice but to admit how exactly spot-on those descriptions were.

"Here, y/n" Haechan hands you a paper tray full of chicken nuggets.

"Nice! Thank you," you cheer, taking the food perhaps a little too excitedly. Working out and training nearly everyday means you're inevitably hungry most of the time. Not to mention, your stomach always rumbles at the sight of your all-time favorite food.

Digging into the free food reward, you turn back to Mark who hasn't said anything to you yet.

"What's your name?" you ask. Technically, you already know it, but you don't really know a better way to start a conversation.

Visibly surprised, Mark chokes on his chicken.

You let out a single note of laughter at his unexpected coughing before slapping a hand over your mouth to stop yourself.

"Are you okay?" you ask stupidly.

"Bruh," Haechan teases with a smirk, amused at his best friend's embarrassment.

Mark nods quickly with a hand covering his mouth as he continues coughing. Unsure of what to do, you reach over to pat him on the back firmly.

"Here, dude". Jeno tosses Mark a filled water bottle, the older boy accepting it gratefully, gulping down the water like his life depends on it (which it... actually does).

Gasping in relief as he sets the bottle down, Mark looks back at you with flushed cheeks and wet lips. You realize your hand is still on his back and you quickly snatch your hand away, suddenly flustered by the contact.

"I'm Mark," he finally answers, voice hoarse from the ordeal.

"Hi Mark, I'm y/n" you giggle.

He looks absolutely hilarious with water dribbling down his chin and cheeks as red as fire. There is something intensely endearing about him as he looks down, front teeth biting down on his bottom lip in embarrassment.

"What year are you?," you continue.

"Uh-I'm a Junior"

"Oh nice! What do you study?"

"Uh-business and sports management"

"Wow! Wait you're In Econ31 right?"

"Yeah I am," Mark smiles.

"I thought I recognized you! I'm in that class too," you exclaim. Usually, you aren't terribly sociable with people you just met, but there's something about the softness of his voice that makes him easy to talk to. That and the way he's just choked on a chicken nugget in front of you at your first meeting- you have little to nothing to lose.

"Oh yeah I-I've seen you around sometimes"

"Yeah we've seen you around sometimes," Ten calls out, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Yuna laughs and hits his chest in warning.

"Shut up!" Mark grabs a nugget from his tray and chucks it at the older boy. Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, Ten catches the piece of chicken between his teeth and flashes a wink back at the flustered junior.

You burst out in laughter at the interaction, slapping a hand onto your knee at the dumbfounded look on Mark's face.

Mark feels his heart clench at the sound of your bright laughter filling the air. You gasp with glee, one hand slapping your knee repeatedly and the other gripping your fork. Truth be told, he is freaking out inside. And this is not how he imagined you would meet.

All thoughts about Ten abandoned, a wide smile spreads back onto his face as his eyes scan across your laughing form. You sport a casual outfit consisting of a grey t-shirt and denim shorts like you usually do. A simple gold chain hangs from your neck, tucked away under the collar of your shirt. Up close, Mark feels even more drawn to you than ever before.

Beautiful as ever.

"I-I can't breathe," you wheeze, "what just happened?"

"My talent," Ten states, moving his arms from around Yuna's waist to hold them up in a 'well duh' shrug.

"Nah bro, it was a good throw from me," Mark cuts in, holding up a hand to stop the gloating boy.

"Nah bro, it was a good catch from me," Ten sasses back, moving Yuna off his lap to kneel up. You meet Yuna's eyes and you both hold back laughter at the ridiculous argument.

"Nah bro" Mark moves onto his knees as well.

"Nah bro's," Haechan suddenly interjects, "It was me. I have telepathy and I moved the chicken". Haechan promptly stands up and does a body wave, posing with a finger gun pointed over the slope of his nose to his forehead.

You laugh silently between the three boys who are suddenly all standing as they argue over who was responsible for the nugget trick. You had just met these guys a few minutes ago, but you're more confused and intrigued at them than you've ever been with anyone.

Look at you go, making new friends and everything!

"Guys..." Jeno tries, but his low voice isn't nearly loud enough to be heard over the chaos.

The boys point accusing fingers at each other like in a Renaissance painting. You scooch your way over to the other girls to get out of their way, bringing your food with you.

"You're dating..." You gesture your fork at Ten who was is caught in a three-way head lock with Mark and Haechan.

"Yeah". Yuna's face remains expressionless as she nonchalantly pops another piece of chicken into her mouth. After dating Ten for almost five months now, she is well aware of what the expression 'boys will be boys' really means.

"Are they always like this?" Hope asks, bewildered. Lisa just laughs on the side, enjoying the spontaneous fight more than she should. Jeno gives up, laying down to stare at the sky and wonder why his friends are like this.

Click

Your ears perk at strange noises coming from behind you. Turning around, you notice that several of the girls you saw earlier are now pulling large, fancy cameras out of their book bags. Baffled, you watch incredulously as they shamelessly snap photos of the tussling, oblivious boys.

"What the heck?," you gawk. You haven't been here but twenty minutes and it's already one surprise after the other.

"Tell me about it. Those weirdos are these guys' fans, the 'Lovelees' as they call themselves," Yuna explains, "You would not believe how crazy they can get. Remember when I had to put all my socials on private a few months ago? It's because they found out I was dating Ten".

"Right, I remember that" you nod your head sympathetically. Your eyes move between the unsuspecting boys and the audacious crowd of girls. Maybe you haven't known them for long, but the Lees seem like a regular group of guys. Admittedly, they are above average in the visual department (and in the strange department), but the existence of the Lovelees is really unnerving. Is it just you?

One particular girl at the forefront stares you down intently. Her hair is a mousy brown with two striking streaks of bright red down her bangs in a distasteful take on E-girl style hair. Too-light foundation is packed onto her skin and you winced internally at the severe creasing by her nose. Black eyebrows not matching her hair, her fake eyelashes bat at you threateningly.

"What's up with her?". You are genuinely confused. Why does she look like she wants to murder you?

"She's so scary," Hope's eyebrows knit in worry.

"Yeah, what's with her? She's staring at y/n," Lisa suddenly adds, attention turning to the concerning conversation.

"That's Hillary, the club president or something," Yuna confirms with a shudder, "she's super psycho about Mark. Definitely stay away from her".

"Gotcha... but why is she looking at me like that? Is it just me?"

Hillary's creepy stare never leaves your face and you feel chills run down your spine like a thousand invisible spiders. Generally speaking, you sometimes shy from even ordering food over the phone. Being under her flaming gaze makes you want to shrivel up like a raisin.

If someone could write a story about Seoul University campus life, you'd for sure be a background character. Attracting negative attention to yourself for no reason is surely a new feeling and unequivocally uncomfortable... perhaps because there is any attention on you at all?

"Well for one," Yuna smiles, poking an accusing finger into your side, "you seem to be getting along with these guys pretty well. Especially Mark". The blonde wiggles her perfectly threaded brows at you. Flustered, you shove a nugget in her mouth before she could say more.

"What are you even talking about, we literally just met". You fight to keep your voice steady and expression unaffected, but alas you can't stop the heat from spreading onto your unwilling cheeks. Admittedly, it's been a while since you've gone out with a guy. More honestly, you haven't really dated anyone since you came to campus last year. So needless to say, your single self is a little bit flustered to be thrown into the notion that you even have a chance to be with a super popular, charming guy like Mark.

You shake your head to clear the ridiculous thoughts.

Let's not err on the side of desperation today.

Peering back at the crazy fangirl who you now know as Hillary, you're relieved to find her piercing gaze has shifted from boring holes in your skull to her cell phone and she types away at lightning speed.

"I have a feeling that he likes you, y/n," Yuna presses. Hope and Lisa giggle and nod in agreement, exchanging knowing glances at each other.

You don't have ample time to ponder more as your attention is ripped away by the fighting boys. They've shifted from the shade of the willow tree to the basketball court, disregarding all onlookers and fighting like their lives depended on it.

"Let's go. Rooftop. Right now!" Haechan screeches, taking a leap at Ten while Mark struggles to hold him back.

"Fight me here, bro," Ten taunts, "we all know I'm built different". The sass in his voice gives Haechan the strength to break away from Mark's grasp and tackle the senior boy. All eyes glue to the two boys rolling around on the hot pavement, screaming.

"Yuna, can you-" Jeno starts, eyes closed as he lay on the blanket listening to his friends beat each other up.

"Yeah," Yuna gives the tired boy an apologetic pat on the knee. "Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul".

Her boyfriend's entire body immediately freezes at the sound of his full name. Letting Haechan go from his chokehold, Ten scurries back over to his spot on the picnic blanket to kneel by an unamused Yuna like a scolded dog. "I'm sorry".

You suppress another laugh. This... this is what the cool kids are like? You were really nervous for nothing. Mark shuffles back next to you, supporting a limping Haechan who insists he's fine.

"Sorry girls. They're not... actually no, they are usually like this," Jeno apologizes, "Hope we didn't scare you away".

"No, actually. I think you guys are really... funny. It's cool how comfortable you all are". You smile at the hockey players. Weird as they may be, you don't feel uncomfortable.

"She thinks you're cool!" Haechan cries, slapping Mark on the back.

"Shut up!" Mark smacks the back of the younger's head, ready for another fight already.

"But don't you guys think it's weird we haven't met earlier? We always see the hockey team around our practices but I think this is our first time officially talking," Hope suddenly points out the elephant in the room.

"Yeah I guess that's true," Haechan ponders, "to be honest, we didn't think you guys liked us very much... or let me rephrase that- we were kinda scared to approach you".

"YOU were scared to approach US," Lisa exclaims in shock, "did you forget that you four are, like, the most popular guys on campus or what?".

The four boys look amongst each other blankly. "No, but we thought...," Haechan starts.

"... that figure skaters hated hockey players," Mark finishes. Silent glances are exchanged between all parties as this new information is revealed.

At the sheer awkwardness of the situation, you decide to interrupt the silence with light laughter. "Why would we hate you?"

"You- agh," Haechan's reasoning is cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs from Mark. No way is he going to let the blabbermouth sophomore spoil that they stalked your Facebook last year and found your post.

"I mean you all seem really cool and," Mark saves, looking at you, "I'm really glad we got to meet you today. But we were just... intimidated before".

You raise an eyebrow and your eyes meet Yuna's, Hope's, and Lisa's who shared similar expressions.

"Babe, I'm intimidating?" Yuna asks her boyfriend, peering into his eyes. Ten promptly places a hand at the back of her neck and brings her in for a deep kiss. Everyone in the group groans in disapproval and you hope the sour expression on your face isn't too obvious. Why, Ten. Why.

"Uh.. ok then," you divert, "I was never a fan of hockey itself, to be frank. The sport, not the team. And maybe I've been annoyed at you guys for hogging the ice sometimes, but I've never ever hated you! Don't worry haha".

"Bro what?!" Haechan cries, "hockey is the greatest sport of all time! It's all about strategy, speed, strength, and skills. If anything, figure skating doesn't have a point".

You gasp in full-offense. Sure, you just gave your honest opinion on their sport and it was only fair that they give theirs, but that one burns. Before you can make your counterargument, the boy next to you beats you to it.

Tapping the back of his hand to Haechan's arm, Mark's next words made your heart skip a beat: "dude, you don't know what you're talking about," he turned to look into your eyes, "it's beautiful".

Mark's eyes are a deep brown color, you notice, and they sparkle gold in the light streaming past the branches of the willow tree. Softly, they peer into yours, bringing with them a rare kindness that pinches at your chest.

"Thank you" you smile at him. Is your face always this warm?

"Okayyy," Jeno finally opts to sit up, "now that we've determined that we don't hate each other and we're all cool, are we good to be friends?". A chorus of "Heck yeah"'s and "duh"'s filled the picnic area and your heart swells with happiness. You look back at Mark and smiled again.

New friends

"You should come eat with us here more often," Mark suggests to you, warm gaze making your heart strain for the hundredth time that afternoon. What is happening? "All of you should," he corrects, looking away shyly.

"Yeah we're here everyday," Ten adds. Looking down to Yuna who had laid her head in his lap, he stroked her hair lovingly. "You should come hang out with us whenever".

"I'd like that," you grin.

"Let's make a group chat. Everyone gimme your numbers," Haechan declares.

While the brunette went around collecting numbers, you chatted with Mark, wanting to get to know him more. You quickly find that he's so very endearing, blushing and fiddling with the bandages on his fingers at your every word. His words are kind and he listens to you thoughtfully when you speak. Talking to him is so easy, surprisingly easy, and you feel the conversation unfold out effortlessly. You hardly notice as the minutes of your lunch break tick to an end.

"That's crazy! There was this one time that-" the jarring sound of your phone alarm cuts you off. Scrambling for your phone, you tap on the screen desperately to shut it off.

"Sorry guys," you apologize, "Lisa, oh my goodness, it's time for us to go to Frankie's".

Lisa checks her own watch and gasps, "Oh gosh! We gotta go guys".

"Who's Frankie?" Mark questions, eyes slightly crestfallen.

"No," you laugh while picking up your bag, "Frankie's. The diner down the street next to the lake. We work there".

Haechan, Ten, and Jeno crack up silently at their sensitive friend.

"It was nice meeting you all!" you exclaim, "It was nice meeting you, Mark".

"Great meeting you, y/n. Hope to see you around," he waves back at you.

Bidding their goodbyes, you and Lisa make your way down the alley to her parked car.

"Y/n don't you think Mark is super into you?" Lisa says excitedly once the others are out of earshot.

"What are you saying!?" you proclaim, looking back to make sure the Lovelees aren't following you. Seeing the coast is clear, you consider your friend's accusation. So much has happened in the last 2 hours than in your year and a month at college, or your entire life honestly.

You walked into the alley with no guy friends and are leaving with four. Is it greedy to say that Mark really does stand out to you and you might be starting to like him, or are you just like every other girl who likes him too? The last thing you want is to be like Hillary.

"He's probably just friendly to everyone," you decide.

"No way, y/n, you good in the head? This dude only looking at you the whole time," Lisa retorts.

You shake your head in denial but thinking back, it could be true.

There it is again. That nervous, light feeling in your chest.

Oh, God. What if I like him?

Mark flops down on his bed, still not down from the high that he's been on all day. No, not that kind of high. Smile plastered on his face, he runs his fingers through his freshly washed hair, recounting your conversations from earlier.

"Dude, you look so stupid," Jeno walks into their shared room, shirtless from just getting out of the shower. A simple white towel wrapped around his lean torso is the only thing censoring the spectacular scene. Messing his hair with a second towel, he chucks the wet fabric at Mark's face.

"Fuck off," Mark swings it back at the sophomore. This year, he chose to live in a suit with the rest of the guys to save some money. Him and Jeno shared a room while Ten and Haechan occupied the other. It's undeniably small and only has one bathroom, but he is grateful he at least doesn't have to room with Haechan anymore.

Mark's phone buzzes with a notification on his nightstand. Propping himself up with his elbow, he checks to see who it's from.

1 new message from unknown

Mark sighs. If it's these crazy girls again he's going to get really annoyed. Today was a really good day and the last thing he wants is another stranger asking him to father her children.

Maybe: Yuna?: hey mark, it's Yuna. I got your number from the group chat! If you're not too busy I'd love to talk to you about a few things

Oh crap.

Suddenly nervous, Mark scrambles to sit up properly.

"Text from your new girlfriend?," Jeno taunts unknowingly.

"No, dickhead, it's Yuna," Mark rebuts, thinking hard about a good, casual reply.

"Oh, shit," Jeno states, taken aback. The sophomore swaggers onto his own bed, now sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt. The bare minimum makes him look like a poster boy every magazine photographer would clamber for. The man could put all models out of work if he had the heart for it. Fortunately, he only has the heart for hockey, video games, and pizza.

Mark: Hey Yuna! What's up?

Yuna: Hey :) nothing much! Not to freak you out, but I know all about your crush on y/n from Ten

Mark: ahaha... yeah I figured

Yuna: ok, so as her best friend and someone who cares about her a lot I just wanna put a few things out there

Yuna: is typing...

Mark watched as the three dots of the impending message taunted him. What could she be talking about? What if you have a boyfriend and Yuna's telling you to back off?

Yuna: if you're going to get close with her, you gotta make sure you keep her safe from those crazy fangirls. Y/N is a shy and sensitive girl she'll definitely take the hate to heart and if Hillary and those other crazy bitches come after her, I won't let you live

Hillary? Mark wracks his brain for any memory of a girl with that name. That girl from calc? No, that's Helen. Hillary...

An image of a mousy girl with red bangs comes into his mind. Ah yes, that's Hillary. She sends him love tweets and gave him chocolates for Valentine's Day.

Mark: I barely know Hillary and I'm pretty sure I've told her I'm not into her, but i'll make sure she knows. Yuna I'm serious about y/n

Yuna: as you should be! She's a real diamond in the rough and she's never confident in herself. All she does is work and study and practice. She never does anything for herself but she never complains either. Also, I don't wanna butt in too much, but I gotta you ask one thing

Mark: yeah ask away!

Yuna: y/n says today is the first time she met you but Ten says you've "been simping for like a year". Add it up for me?

Mark: It's kind of hard to explain... it like... do you believe in love at first sight?

Yuna: HA!!! You're too cute omg

Mark: It's like that but I never had the chance to talk to her... it never seemed right idk

Yuna: boy

Yuna: I had to force y/n to go to your game with me and Ten had to bribe Haechan to set up the picnic today early

Yuna: not to mention we made Hope and Jeno sit together even though they're both awkward just so y/n would have to sit next to you. you better make ur fucking move now

Mark curls his fingers into his blow-dried hair, letting out a low, stressed groan. He's gonna owe the guys big time.

Mark: I really appreciate it! :)))

Yuna: oh and one more thing

Mark: yeah?

Yuna: If you hurt her, I will gouge out your eyeballs and stick them up your ass and while you cry, I'll force feed you your own severed balls until you choke and die. Got it? :D

Holy fuck.

Mark: understood

Yuna: Yay!!! Approved :) good night mark! Nice getting to know you today!

Mark: same here. Night!

Mark's thumbs shake as he types out his final message. So this is what your friends are like, huh? It's such a contrast to your easy-going attitude. A smile spreads across his lips at the thought of you again.

Stretching up to shut off the lamp on his night stand, Mark tucks himself into bed. It's finally happening. You're here. You're right within his grasp. And he wants nothing more than to give you everything you need.

Mark contemplates Yuna's messages as he lay there in the dark; she said you aren't confident in yourself. This comes as a surprise to him. You're so beautiful, smart, kind, funny, and talented, the last thing he expected was that you didn't know it. You exude put-togetherness and wear elegance like a favorite sweater.

His eyes squeeze shut as Mark replays the first night he saw you in his mind. The image is engraved in his brain as he must have revisited that unintentional performance a thousand times.

This whole time, he never got to know you, but today he dipped his hand in the water. And he wanted so much more, to dive in completely and surround himself with you. All this time, he's only been on the sidelines.

I want her so bad

It's time to stop waiting around and get in the game. He's going to talk to you, walk you to class, make you feel special. So much time has already been wasted due to his own fears and misunderstandings. If it's confidence you need, it's confidence he will give you.

Wait for me, y/n, I'm gonna do it right this time

previous || m.list || next

183 notes · View notes

shewhospeakswiththunder · 5 years ago

Text

Perhaps you’re feeling bored at home or, if considered an “essential” worker like me, you need a little fun and stress relief. Here is my masterpost of fic recs from my two years of reading so far. Maybe you’ll find something new, or reconnect with an old favorite. Either way--

Enjoy! 😷💕

Reylo Fics that Deserve All the Love

Near Kinsman by englishable

Englishable is just one of the best writers I’ve encountered in fandom. This historical western mail order bride AU is top notch quality.

The Masochism of Self-Defence by greyorchids

The Reylo dynamic in this Boston PD AU is steamy, but also heartfelt.

So Much Thin Glass by walkingsaladshooter

Never knew I loved modern day Gothic AUs until I ran across this one.

Heaven Forbid by DarkKnightDarkSide

I was stunned by the author’s creativity in this Priestlo fic. So smutty. So... inventive 😉🔥

Sonder by deathbyhumidity

Two strangers passing each other by on the train. Soft, dreamlike, somber, poignant. Modern AU.

And Still I Would Remember by Inmyownidiom

A Victorian era AU of two souls that parted and come crashing back together.

So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl. by selunchen

Faeries AU! Ben, a fae, and Rey, a human. Shenanigans ensue.

Live Long, and Prosper by SaintHeretical

For the Reylo Trekkies. Hell, even if you don't do Star Trek, read this. PHENOMENAL.

Mr. Solo & Miss Wellfound by LinearA

“Regency/Victorian AU, Ben sees Rey's stockinged ankle by accident.”

Diyari by Nervoustouch

Modern archeologists AU. Snarky banter with dashes of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, and Sahara vibes.

Drawn to the light of your burning sorrows by Kyriadamorte

The Mothlo AU you didn’t know you needed. Both gritty and soft.

Crown Glass by RebelRebel

Fantasy AU, with lots of beautiful imagery and engaging character dynamics.

Kohelet 3:16 (Call Me A Cab) by LinearA

NYC Jewish Leia and Ben. Skillfully layered plot, nuanced characterization. Smut is HOT.

By the Shores of Varykino Lake by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

Unhealthy dynamics, definitely read the tags. “There’s a lot of fucked-up-ness”, in the author’s own words. But it’s good writing. Fair warning.

Let Me Put My Darkness In You by ArdeaJestin

Canonverse. Hux is an insufferable, pompous ass and Kylo Ren writes terrible, melodramatic poetry.

Wintertide by Zabeta

Whimsical and primitive in turn, this lives up to the style of a true fairytale AU.

The Forty Thieves by PoetHrotsvitha

Peaky Blinders/Gangsters AU. Rey starts as Ben’s bartender and ends up as so much more.

I Said to My Soul, Be Still by LinearA

Dark!Rey takes her man. 🥵🔥💕

Hux's Rousing Pep Talks by Riels_shorts

This fic is hysterical. It’s not Reylo, and I don’t care. My list, my rules.

It's All I Can Do To Leave You Alone by TazWren

Office AU. Silly, spunky, with a bashful Ben.

Sip the Honey Sweet by dietplainlite

Anne of Green Gables-esque/Edwardian era AU, the title really says it all.

The Pull to the Light by HarpiaHarpyja

Entrancingly macabre. This modern/fantasy/monsters AU catches your attention from the get-go, and never lets you off the hook.

lay then the axe to the root by sciosophia

All the Bronte goodness, plus smut.

The Golden Age by TourmalineGreen

Golden Age of Hollywood AU in which Ben is a jaded actor in serious need of an image fix, in the form of fresh-faced actress Rey.

Never Be Your Curse by Kate_Reid

Kylo Ren is a go-go dancer in this AU. That was enough to get my attention 😘

Gallows God by Killtheselights

Bursting with deliciously grim imagery, an intelligent take on Norse mythology.

Thunderstorms, Clouds, Snow, and a Slight Drizzle by aNerdObsessed

Who doesn’t love an ugly sweater Christmas party? Ben Solo, that’s who. All the nostalgic wintertime feels in this modern AU.

Though My Soul Has Set in Darkness by englishable

It’s not long, but it’s good. A lyrical dive into the mindspace of child Ben Solo. A true gem. Also not technically Reylo. Still don’t care.

I Dare You by tinylittlebrain

Daredevil Kylo has pissed off ER doc Rey Kenobi for the last time. Spicy!

stuck in colder weather by redbelles

Professor Ren stops grad student Rey from biking home in a snow storm. And takes her to his home. You can guess where this goes 😉

Between Sky and Sea by nessalk

Serious Indiana Jones vibes with a Caribbean flair. Painstakingly researched, and moments of true beauty and joy.

But Before Tomorrow by Kate_Reid

Such good writing. Canonverse.

The Sword of Prince Hector by englishable

Exploration of what redemption might feel like for Ben, canonverse.

if compassion be the breath of life, breathe on me by Victoryindeath2

All the angst and unknowns that we were left with in the wake of TLJ are soothed in this canonverse piece.

build a ladder to the stars by redbelles

An exploration of events post-Crait. Fantastic, beautifully written.

nor are we forgiven (which brings us back) by TolkienGirl

Both Kylo and Rey get to see what life would have been like if they both got exactly what they thought they wanted after TLJ. Fascinating read.

Forsworn by Erulisse17

This Mando/ST crossover has everything you could want--action, witty banter, space romance! So much fun!

Reylo Favorites & Classics

One Shots

59 Minutes by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

For Science by KyloTrashForever, ohwise1ne

He Made It Through the Wilderness (somehow he made it through) by LovesBitca8

light carries on endlessly by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)

Grey by ocjones

The Idiot's Guide to Flirting by Violetwilson

High School/College AU

I Caught Fire by KyloTrashForever

Mountain Springs High School by animal

Epithumia by pontmercy44

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth

Office/Workplace AU

Sensual Storytime by andabatae

The Food of Love by LovesBitca8

Historical/Dystopia AU

Hiraeth by Ferasha

a manner of virtue by neonheartbeat

The lamb's thirst by animal

Wanted by Inmyownidiom

She Who Would be Queen by sasstasticmad

go i know not whither and fetch i know not what by voicedimplosives

ABO

Knot My First Time by KyloTrashForever

Canonverse/Canon-divergent

variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (Reydar)

i will be the wolf by diasterisms

Sky Marked Souls by AnonymousMink

The Death of Kylo Ren by nymja

World In My Eyes by sasstasticmad

i'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) by diasterisms

Catch Me I’m Falling by violethoure666

Sword of the Jedi by diasterisms

You'll Be the One to Turn by postedbygaslight

Dark Crown by Violetwilson

Harry Potter AU

Nocturnal Studies And Other Peculiar Magic by WaterlilyRose

Otherwise Modern AU

Pretense by Celia_and

Insta-heart by slipgoingunder

Serotonin and Dopamine by pontmercy44

The Elusive Mating Dance of the Porgus Adorabilis by andabatae

Hanging by a Moment by crossingwinter

WAR DOGS by fulcrumstardust

miles from where you are by Mooncactus

Charcoal by luvkurai

Stay by jeeno2

coarse and rough and irritating by frak-all (or_ryn)

Blades Crossed by the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Embers by sciosophia

Mitan, Midi by animal

Janus by englishable

Say My Name by Graendoll

Thank You for The Music by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

darling, so it goes by akosmia

This is the Sign You've Been Looking For by RebelRebel

Broken Things by midnightbluefox

One-Night Stand by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

The Rebel Side of Heaven by jeeno2

On The Bumpy Road (To Love) by violethoure666

we could plant a house, we could build a tree by Like_A_Dove

I’d Like My Obituary to Hint at a Sequel by Violetwilson

Only If You Want To by Violetwilson

Not Reylo, Still Awesome

Gingerflower/Gingerrose, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico

Between Sand and Sea by Brit Hux-Tico (birchwoods01)

If Ever I Would Leave You by Weddersins

Her Yellow Rainboots by Weddersins

Merrical, Cal Kestis/Merrin (Jedi: Fallen Order)

The Stars Alight by FlyingMachine

Heavy Ice by FlyingMachine

Caltrilla, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri (Jedi: Fallen Order)

No One Else by xanderwilde

call it what you want by xanderwilde

tear you to pieces by xanderwilde

Dramione, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter Universe)

Now Is A Gift by SenLinYu

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll

Zutara, Katara/Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

oracle bones by an orphaned account

Fics by Me

Virtue Ethics

Reylo College AU (completed)

Dr. Ben Solo, adjunct philosophy professor and part-time martial arts instructor, discovers a young woman in his Intro to Philosophy course whom he thinks may not actually be enrolled at the University.

Chiasmus

Reylo Role-reversal canonverse AU (WIP)

Scourge of the galaxy, Kira Ren, is tasked by the First Order to eliminate the last of the Jedi. When she captures hotshot podracer Ben Solo to extract Luke Skywalker’s location from him, things do not go according to plan.

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing

Snapshots of a modern Reylo AU. Smutty, prosey one-shot.

Listen Up, Kid

Canonverse Reylo Post TLJ one-shot

The ghosts of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's past are back to haunt him with a vengeance. A well-meaning, familial kind of vengeance. Or, A Star Wars Carol.

Ben’s Body

Reylo Modern AU (completed)

Rey is an up and coming sculptor specialising in human shape and form. Her new next door neighbour has a body to die for and she's determined to preserve it in marble forever. Now she just has to convince dashing and reclusive Ben to model for her. Preferably naked.

Growin’ Up

Reylo High School AU (completed)

Ben Solo was supposed to only be ruining his own life with his bad decisions. Rey Niima was just trying to pay attention in class. Both get stuck in detention.

Seven Texts, 2 AM

Reylo Modern AU, smutty one-shot

Ben has good reasons not to have sex with his neighbor, Rey. She has other ideas.

Song of the Forest

Reylo Fantasy/BatB/Fairytale AU (completed)

Once upon a time, a girl with an unknown past appeared on the doorsteps of a lord’s manor, and now the forest at the edge of the lord’s property is calling to her.

A Season of Frost & Warmth

Modern Reylo P&P AU (completed)

When Ben shows up to a Halloween party with no costume, it only confirms Rey’s certainty that he is the world’s biggest jerk. Until it comes to light that maybe... he isn’t.

Follow Me Home

Modern Werewolf Reylo AU (completed)

Rey gets stone drunk and brings home a big cute husky she found in an alley. The next morning, she finds a naked man built like a fridge sleeping on her living room floor, and no dog in sight.

The Gentleness That Comes

Reylo Modern AU one-shot

Underground boxer!Ben is resigned to his life of violence, until he meets a pretty new bartender one night.

Unlikely, Unbidden, Unbound

Gingerflower canonverse AU (WIP)

General Hux is imprisoned by the Resistance when the First Order falls. He had known his death was coming, it was simply a matter of course. He’s disappointed to learn the Resistance has other plans, and an unwavering policy of giving people second chances.

@thereylowritingden @reylofic @nancylovesreylo @grlie-girl @lilia-ula @greyforceuser @tazwren @mhcalamas

895 notes · View notes

serpentstole · 3 years ago

Text

Luciferian Challenge: Bonus 1

Since I combined the 13th prompt with the 12th yesterday, here’s one of the bonus question.

What do you think is best about Luciferianism?

I don’t think I can make a blanket statement about what’s best about Luciferianism in general. The religion is incredibly personalized, and while I believe its core values and ideals are admirable, I don’t actually think they’re exclusive to Luciferianism. I think it’s one of those things where if you check enough off of the list, and you’re drawn to the label, you’re a Luciferian. If you don’t or aren’t, you can end up as damn near anything else. However, I’m perfectly happy to explain what’s so great about it for me, as I’ve been giving it a lot of thought during this challenge.

Something I will state outright is that what I’m about to describe is specific to my own special brand of Luciferianism. While I would not be at all shocked if it overlaps with others, I don’t make any claims or statements that should be forced onto literally anyone else who shares my religious label.

I’m prefacing this because my Luciferianism has a bit of an odd relationship with Christianity in a way I’m not ashamed of, but that some people might find peculiar at best and uncomfortable at worst if they’re someone who endlessly strives to separate or distance the two.

If that’s not a dealbreaker for you, and you’re curious to hear more of how that works and why it’s so valuable to me, the full explanation can be found below the cut.

I appreciate you sticking around! I struggled with how exactly to begin this part, so I’ll start with a big dramatic statement and then over-explain it from there.

My Luciferianism is impossible to completely untangle and separate from Christianity, and this is despite my tendency to remind people that the name Lucifer appears precisely once in the Bible, and is not meant to refer to a fallen angel.

The biggest thing that drove me away from my Lutheran upbringing was the worship. I did believe in God, and His potentially all knowing and powerful nature, but I genuinely cannot remember a time as a Lutheran when worship felt genuine to me. I thought angels were fascinating. I loved a good deal of the music, the sound of the organ, the stained glass… I even had some fondness for the community, as the one I was in wasn’t terrible and I spent a great deal of time in it as one of the children’s choir’s few members, and later as an acolyte. But I didn’t really want to be a Lutheran. It didn’t feel how I knew it was probably meant to, even going into confirmation classes. I’ve always believed a person should be passionate about their religion, if they have one, and that your deities should be a figure you look to in times of celebration instead of just in times of strife.

As time went on, I also began appreciating the trappings of Catholicism. Don’t get me wrong, I have some issues with the church as a whole, but there’s a reason everyone keeps stealing the aesthetic, right? They certainly put a church together far prettier than the ones I grew up in, they kept much more of the Latin, I like the meditative nature of a rosary… and I ended up forming a relationship with a few saints, despite my religious affiliations.

I had a pagan’s love for Dionysus, for incorporating magic into my everyday life, and for seeing the world through the mindset of an animist. I also had no interest in worshiping God, though the belief in Him remained, and I was kind of just apathetic when it came to the divinity of Christ. However, I do have a deep appreciation for saints in the sense that they’re powerful dead and ancestors of sorts, and angels will continue to be fascinating to me even if it turns out I can work with them less and less. In regards to both, I strongly believe in approaching a spirit on their own terms, and have no issue with incorporating prayer or verse into how I petition the aforementioned saints.

Luciferianism kind of just… has room for all that, given just how loose its requirements are. The figures that are at the center of my practice are undeniably Abrahamic in origin (which I will finally use in the sense that figures like Eve and Azazel are found in a number of religions that share those historic roots) and my typical understanding of Lucifer is a blending of Christian folklore and the long dead religions that came before it.

The result was that I’m kind of steeped in Christianity and its aesthetics the way a vampire from a gothic horror is. All the pieces are there, but there’s something wrong with it.

And I love that for me?

So I don’t call myself dual faith, because I tend to think that requires some level of worship of or loyalty to both sides, but I like existing alongside Christianity. On the fringes, in a way. My Luciferianism merged my polytheism, my animism, my love of the occult, and also my appreciation of figures like Lucifer and Azazel and Eve in a way that I don’t think any other religious label would have allowed for. Not to mention that all the while it also spoke to the ideals and values I hold dearest.

Though I’m still sorting out the finer points of how I view the deities and spirits I work with (partially on account of how our relationship is still growing) I’m very content as a whole.

I could only go into so much detail without making this monster long, so if you’re a little confused by or curious about any part of it, please do shoot me an ask instead of wondering or making assumptions. Even if you worry it’ll come off as a touch rude or confrontational to ask questions about it, I don’t mind.

#luciferianism #theistic luciferianism #30 Day Luciferian Challenge #30dayluciferianchallenge #illumine #personal

11 notes · View notes

hungwy · 5 years ago

Note

it never fully occurred to me that people actually don’t like music. music IS to me a hallmark of existence and it means a lot to me and goes straight to my soul and all that dumb stuff so it’s really interesting for me to hear that some people just think music is music and it doesn’t matter that much. i’m not trying to sound condescending right now i’m like genuinely fascinated at how different of an opinion about something like music can be. that shits brazy bro

yeah its interesting to think about our consumption of music as relative to our personal experiences and culture. many people have enough musical experience to be moved by it. music is a lot like language in that you dont implicitly understand the rules of how to comprehend it, but through enough experience with music you do gain a sizeable vocabulary and understanding to appreciate different songs, albums, artists, genres, etc. you dont have to understand the circle of fifths or whether or not there was a modal interchange in the jazz solo (there probably was) to understand why a piece might sound happy or sad or mysterious -- our emotional understanding of music can largely be chocked up to constantly reinforced associations, just like language. these are all “words” and “phrases” for a larger musical language with many, many dialects, and you need to be exposed to music for quite some time to learn it. music isnt always so complex, either; some cultures might use set beats, patterns, and notes that they rotate around, never straying far away from the original contents of the “song”. some will have event-specific songs like for funerals or birthday parties. some cultures might have a completely different and highly complex musical theory that you will only "get” with years and years listening experience.

but frankly its all too possible to not be interested in music. sometimes you just dont want the experience -- you have to hear it, focus on it, notice how it changes or doesnt change or what genre it is or what the lyrics could mean or maybe its in a language you dont understand or maybe the voice is too weird to tell or maybe theres no voice at all and youre focusing on how the different instruments might play predictable or unpredictable chords or how the song in general subverts or conforms to your expectations or maybe youre just desperately trying to focus on something else and you really dont need to be distracted by something so pounding, screeching, whooping, drowsy energetic fresh old springy light heavy grating whatever. its easy to be overwhelmed by the complexity that can come with music and some people just prefer silence. and if youre going to have it playing in the background and not focus, maybe its just better to turn it off.

as mentioned before the natural world is, for some people, filled with enough noise. for others they may only prefer to hear music in certain settings or by certain people. for many people the context in which music can be played is particularly universal. for others its kind of annoying to have music playing all the time. it would be interesting to see how much music people from previous decades actually listened to -- my gut feeling is that before the invention of radio it was probably a lot less. in other cultures throughout history music was restricted to special occasions or spaces. artists have always been entangled in politics and social norms; sometimes certain types of music could only be played in the king’s court, or at a funeral, or to woo your lover. then there's the endlessly argued topic of what constitutes as music.

i think its fine if music is really important to you. its like gardening or knitting or writing; it can be casual or highly involved or you may not even do it. people dedicate their identities to all sorts of things and music is a pretty common one in this day and age. but realizing that music has a time and a place -- and that time and place being personally, communally, and culturally relative -- makes for good self-reflection, i think!

#Anonymous

193 notes · View notes

skevans · 4 years ago

Text

Nocturne op.72 no.1 — Essay

Hi, welcome to my long-forgotten tumblr I barely remembered existed. Dust and cobwebs aside, this is an essay I initially wrote in French for a Literature class. Don't ask me how the hell I found the will to hand this in to my teacher, bless his soul.

A couple of years later, I found that essay in the depth of a folder on my computer. I remembered what was in it, to a point, but when I decided to read it again, I got very emotional (and very mortified 'cause oh god school). And during the following weeks, I started thinking about a lot of things that were still floating unresolved within my head. But then, I decided to write. And after a few days of internal debate, I posted the first chapter of A Sea of Silence.

It's been months since I finished that story, and those months have not been kind to me for many reasons. And maybe that's why, this week, I started thinking about that essay. When I did, I was overcome with a desire to share it with the world—and especially with the people who read my fic. So here it is, hastily translated but just as honest. Please note that it discusses anxiety.

And so, thank you if you take the time to read this, and an even bigger thank you if you read the essay, too!

Nocturne op.72 no.1

When I think back on my childhood, I hear the sound of piano. Various melodies follow me, accompanying me in a waltz between memories. It’s my mother’s interpretation of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata that haunts the quiet moments. My sister and I would play in an adjacent room, glowing with delight as our mother started the first movement. It’s the piece’s somber and melancholic tone that colours my memory, but it’s a good kind of darkness—the kind that feels like the soft touch of night as you walk under the stars. My mother didn’t stop there; she would segue into the second movement, a graceful interlude that almost got swallowed in between the grandiosity of the other movements. And at last, she would tackle the final piece. I remember the anticipation; I remember wanting to watch her fingers fly over the keys. We would sneak in the living room—don’t make so much noise, you’re gonna bother her!—and thus we became the spectators to a private concert. The combination of semiquavers and staccato, everything played presto agitato, was the most fascinating thing. And despite the intensity and the tempestuous rhythm, I would sense my muscles relaxing, my thoughts lightening, the frenetic beat of my heart slowing. When I listen to this piece now, there’s still a glimpse of that long forgotten peace.

I turn six and I learn the piano. It’s a decision that comes from me, but also from my mother. It’s a decision that pleases me, even enchants me. The learning process goes well; I love to learn and I love to play—a rarely seen fervour seizes me. My motivation originates both from a desire to walk into my mother’s footsteps and from a childish inclination to create noise. The teacher likes me, and the sentiment is reciprocal; she speaks with a soft voice, but underneath there is an unyielding tone that I come to respect. She nudges me forward, constantly making sure that I don’t neglect my practice. I try to meet her expectations because I want to succeed, but also to maintain that impression of calm that possesses me when I sit at the piano.

The next step is to play at a recital, so we set off for the musical conservatory. I’m ten the first time I play before an audience. Panic controls me—I worry I won’t be able to perform, and the thought loops in my mind until I believe it. I climb on the stage in spite of my terror, and the room morphs into a cage. At 10 years-old, the size of the concert hall is intimidating, to a point that my heart crawls up my throat. The exit is far—way too far—and all the stares fixed on me feel more like I’m attending a trial than a recital. My hands become damp (how will I play if my hands slip?), but wiping them on my dress of red velvet means showing my fear—and my father always tells me not to show my fear. So I look at the floor and force my legs to move until finally, finally, I stand before the piano. I sit. Even now, I believe it’s impossible for me to play my piece, that piece I yet find so easy. I take my time adjusting the bench; once done, my hands reflexively settle over the keys. One deep breath—and I start to play. That tranquility I’m so desperate for guides me, and the audience fades from my mind. My eyes track my fingers as they find all the notes—not one mistake—and for a moment, it’s like I’m floating over my body, surrendering utter control to instinct and music. Once the piece ends and my hands lift from the piano, it’s the thunderous applause that tugs me back into reality; I walk off the stage, that paralyzing feeling of fright dismissed.

The feeling that possesses me is anxiety. At 6 years-old, as I begin learning the piano, I don’t know what anxiety is; the only thing I understand is that music offers solace. When I turn 10, I can’t find the word to explain that emotion that assaulted me as I stepped on the stage. It’s with time that I discover the word “anxiety”. I see my reflection in the definitions I find in dictionaries and on the web; it’s those definitions that grasp onto me, that glue themselves over me until I cannot dissociate them from my being without ripping out of my skin. The term “anxiety” now belongs to me—or rather, I belong to it. The years pass and my thoughts cede before it. My anxiety takes control of me for a period of my life; I have lost all mastery of myself. I graduate from high school with terrible difficulty; I drop out of college three times. But anxiety doesn’t stop there; she smears her poison throughout all spheres of my life. My relationship with my family degenerates slowly but surely—so do many of my friendships. Working becomes a hurdle because my boss at the store agitates me with her severe attitude—it feels like nothing is never enough and everything is wrong. I cannot stand myself anymore. Anxiety seeps into my body, an army of swarming bugs that infiltrate all I am as an individual. They contaminate me from the inside, and I am nothing but a puppet, subjected to circumstances out of my control. And this lasts and lasts and lasts for eight years—eight long years. I lose my footing and fall into the arms of depression several times. Appointments with doctors tell me what I already knew. We try solutions and then more solutions; there are good times, scarce but cherished. But happiness and peace of mind slip through my fingers like grains of sand; I grab another handful, but it was never meant to last. These feelings end up seeming distant, unreachable, impossible. I mind myself to the fact that I will have to live with the physical and emotional wounds my anxiety inflicts on me. Time and experience allow me to gauge my level of comfort and how to react; sometimes, I cannot step out of my apartment. And so life goes on—and I am swept away by the tides.

Thinking back on this slice of my life, I’ve come to several conclusions. There were many happenings that were completely out of my control—and yet, as I dig deeper and deeper, I realize that this deviation originates from one thing in particular.

The year I turn 15, I experience an acute pain in my right wrist. Holding a pen for longer than a few minutes is impractical; playing piano on a regular basis is impossible. Those news, validated by a medical consultation, are not surprising—but they are heartbreaking. Later, the pain extends to my shoulder. Within weeks, I become an unwilling witness to the collapse of my dream of studying and teaching piano. The problem comes from within me, within my body—my love for the piano is the trigger to this pain. I’m told that a cure is implausible—you can do exercises to lessen the pain, and you have to eliminate repetitive movements since they will worsen it, and yes, miss, that includes the piano. I used to play piano at least one hour a day, something that unconsciously kept my anxiety at bay—but the inability to play for longer than a few minutes opens the door to my anxiety. I discover myself anew when I’m 16: tirelessly worried, always anxious, terribly distrustful. It’s the start of the downward spiral. I am not me anymore, I am someone else. Anxiety is my mother, instability is my father, fear is my sister. I am reborn into an unknown world dubbed Real Life by my family, who firmly believe this is part of being a teenager. But I don’t believe in this Real Life, and I pray to all and nothing for a miracle. I only know one line of prayer so I make up my own. I fill fictive litanies with my fears and my hopes. Amen. I refuse to consider this existence as True because to me, it can only be False. But my convictions are tossed aside, their dismissal hammered into me endlessly. It’s almost as if a huge neon sign hangs on a wall of my bedroom: Welcome to Real Life! But all I see are ridiculous directives that only bring misfortune—don’t forget to register for our latest draw! Discover what setbacks you will endure next! I don’t want this—I refuse, I reject, I refute. It’s the song of my mind, playing on repeat; I want to believe it—I want to believe it more than anything else because I have exhausted all of my solutions and the future beyond is veiled in uncertainty.

But with time, I realize that simply wanting something, no matter how much, doesn’t mean it will slip into the world through the cracks of my resolve. And so, I begin to toil over my own fate. I try to shape it. I fail. I try again. It’s a cycle with no end in sight. I wander aimlessly through life, and thus I discover more of myself and I try to understand. Questions assail me; most of the time, there is no answer; when there are, they are often unpleasant. Still, I accept them—because I have learned that closing my eyes and rejecting a reality will not bring me anything. This crushing problem, this anxiety that manipulates me, I try to be aware of it—and in the end, I accept it. She is part of me, too intrinsic for me to surrender her; she welded her existence in my foundations, and if I break free, I negate myself. But what crystallizes with time is the recognition that I’m living a fight that I believed lost before even entering the arena. It’s an intimidating fight: my adversary is formidable, and there is no end in sight; it’s an everlasting battle that occurs every hour, every minute, every second. And yet, I am not done—I gather my arsenal, I warm up, and I entre the arena. No referees—this isn’t a fair fight; there cannot be a winner, only moments of victory. My adversary steps forward, and in her, I see me—me as I was for eight long years. The signal goes off and we begin. No turning back now.

Strangely, what helps me survive the daily fights is time. Throughout this turbulent journey, my wrist undertakes its never-ending recovery. Nine years later, the dreadful pain I felt at every move has become a memory. I live alone now, and getting access to a piano is not always easy; neither is it regular. But one day—one day, I decide to try again. I make my way to my mother’s house on a day where she and her husband are absent; the fragility of my resolve hangs over me, and I cannot let it waver out of self-consciousness. In the basement are all of my mother’s sheet music—all of my sheet music—and it takes a lot of searching before I finally find the last piece I learned when I was 15. The last piece I ever played. Too eager, I snatch Chopin’s Nocturne op.72 no.1 off the floor, grabbing a few more sheet music from that part of my life forever ago. At last, I sit on the piano bench. I open the booklet, flipping through the pages until I find the Nocturne; it’s one of my favourites, whether by coincidence or a design of my own. But it’s with wretched bitterness that I realize I am unable to play the piece. Not only has it been nine years, but my dexterity has vanished, bidding me goodbye with a mocking smile. My fingers each weigh a pound; I hear myself strike the keys with a mortifying clumsiness; the resulting sound is disappointing, closer to chaotic noise than the flowing music of my memories. Nothing happens like I want it to. However, the same passage of time that helped my injury gave me the strength to cross out the word “abandon” from my vocabulary. I sometimes know victory, more often I know defeat, but what has become unfamiliar is capitulation. So I close the booklet, hiding the piece I yearned for, and I pick another one. It’s an easy piece, but in truth, nothing seems easy anymore; the piece is a crutch, a stepping stone towards more. In time, I will get sick of hearing Chopin’s Waltz op.69 no.2, my mind saturated by the melody from months of practice. It’s a challenge, and I start to get obsessed with the notion of learning this piece, because learning it means I can learn more. Nothing will stop me.

There is progress, but it’s slow and it’s tedious. Each week, I ride the bus to my mother’s house so I can practice for one hour, sometimes two. These hours are precious; I try not to squander them and I try even harder to remind myself this is just the beginning. My wrist still hurts at times; whenever I test my limits, a zap of pain echoes through my hand, signalling the end of the practice. It slows me down, frustrates me to no end, but the possibility of not playing for another nice years snaps me out of those low moments. And one day, six months later, I pick up Chopin’s Nocturne op.72 no.1 again. I start with the left hand; the constant rhythm of the triplets played legato rips the stitches of a long-buried wound. A ghost rises out of it—it’s Me as I was, and it possesses me, guiding my hand with its cold touch. I play the first line, then the second; soon enough, I jump to the second page. I am not here, not really; rather, I am lost to that old fragment of beloved peace. Now that I recognize the beast in me as anxiety, I finally understand that those moments of solace happen when I hear the twinkling notes of the piano. And so I get on my feet in the arena and I stand ready to continue the eternal fight. There are other ways to keep anxiety away, to rationalize it, and I think back on my first fifteen years, nearly empty of anguish, full of other pains, but also filled with hours of music. I learn Chopin’s Nocturne in three months. It’s not perfect—it will never be—but I can play it. I play it until I can do so with my eyes closed.

The year I decide to sit at the piano again, I return to school. The first semester is trying; I haven’t studied seriously in over five years—good habits are difficult to unearth. I try to keep my demanding job despite the crushing amount of pressure, but there comes a moment where I cannot breathe under that weight, and stress wins once more. Everything appears ready to crumble before it began. Luckily, my mother realizes that my fragile pyramid of cards is about to fall, and she wakes me up with harsh and well-aimed and true words; we don’t always understand each other then, and feelings get bruised, but in time, things will change for the better. I still fail the classes I took; I search for a new job. My anxiety hit me with an uppercut that could have turned the tables in her favour, but I stand again and again—I stand long enough to finish college a year later. I am 24 the day I hand in my final project that allows me to graduate. As I walk out of the building, there is pride accompanying me, but most of all, it’s a soothing sensation of satisfaction that wraps itself around me. It resembles that peace of mind I find from the piano, and that is what makes me smile.

The next fall, I have my own piano. The opportunity to play whenever is still incredible. Not long before the purchase, the pain in my wrist flares once more, stronger than before. But this time, I know what to expect. I adapt instead of running away; I’m not 15 anymore and I have so much more experience in the suitcase I carry through life. I get tests done in hope of a permanent solution; they reveal nothing new, but the professional advice that follows those tests opens the door to new possibilities to rein in the pain. Those possibilities are comforting in their own way; that absolute sense of defeat is now barely discernable.

I still believe that the Me from over ten years ago will not come back to life; she doesn’t exist anymore; her only vestige is her love for music. But that is alright—I am not the same person I was at 6 years-old when all I knew was the music weaving through the house. I am someone else, so I baptize myself anew. I allow myself the sanctity of a second chance, that unreachable notion always evading me. But this time, I chase it. I grasp it close to my heart. I take it—and I live it.

#writing #essay #anxiety

24 notes · View notes

jamestaylorswift · 4 years ago

Text

My giant goes with me wherever I go: a study of the geographic metanarrative of folklore

This topic has been rattling around in my brain ever since I first heard folklore and I think it’s endlessly fascinating. Cue this lengthy but (hopefully) intriguing piece.

I’m afraid the title may not be an accurate reflection of this essay’s content, so here’s a preview of talking points: geography, existence, metanarrative, making sense of the theme of death, the “peace”/“hoax”/“the lakes” trio, history/philosophy, and exactly one paragraph of rep/Lover analysis (as a treat).

I make the standard disclaimer that analysis is by definition subjective. Additionally, many thanks and credit to anyone else who has written analysis of folklore. I am sure my opinions have been influenced by yours, even subconsciously.

Questions, comments, and suggestions are always welcome, and thank you for taking the time to read :)

——

“Traveling is a fool’s paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me in the stern Fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

——

If Taylor Swift’s music is anything, it is highly geographic. Taylor has been a country, pop, and now alternative artist, yet a storyteller through and through—one with a special knack for developing the aesthetic of songs and even entire records through location. The people and places she writes about seem to mutually breathe life into each other.

It is plausible that Taylor, as a young storyteller, developed this talent by using places as veritable muses just like she did anything else. Furthermore, her confessional storytelling became much more geographic as she shifted to pop because of factors including (though certainly not limited to) purchasing real estate, traveling more, writing in a genre that canonically centers coastal cities, and dating individuals with their own established homes. The geographic motif in her work is so identifiable that all of the corresponding details are—for better or worse—commensurate to autobiography.

However, folklore is not autobiographical in the way that most understand her other albums to be. The relationship between people and places in folklore is likewise much less symbiotic.

The first two songs on the record illustrate this. We are at bare minimum forced to associate the characters of Betty and James with New York: the lyrics about the High Line imply a fraction of their relationship took place in this city. Even so, this does not imply Betty or James ever permanently resided in New York, or that Betty is in New York at the moment she is narrating the story of “cardigan.” Taylor places far more emphasis on James and the nostalgia of youth, with “I knew you” repeated as a hook, to develop the emotional tone of the song. Rhode Island also comes to life in “the last great american dynasty” because of Rebekah Harkness’ larger-than-life character. But Taylor, following Rebekah’s antagonism, states multiple times throughout the song that the person should be divorced from the place. folklore locations are never so revered that they gain the vibrancy of literal human life. Taylor refrains from saying a person is a place in the same way that she has said that she is New York or her lover is the West Village.

For an album undeniably with the most concrete references to location, it is highly irregular—even confusing, given that personification is such a powerful storytelling device—that Taylor does not equate location with personal ethos.

Regurgitating the truism that geography equals autobiography proves quite limiting for interpreting Taylor’s work. How, then, should geography influence our understanding of folklore?

I submit that the stories in folklore are not ‘about’ places but ‘of’ places which are not real. Taylor’s autobiographical fiction makes the settings of the songs similarly fictionalized, metaphorical, and otherwise symbolic of something much more than geography. It is this phenomenon which emotionally and philosophically distinguishes folklore from the rest of her oeuvre.

——

As a consequence of Taylor’s unusual treatment of location, real places in folklore become signposts for cultural-geographic abstractions. Reality is simply a set of worldbuilding training wheels.

Prominent geographic features define places, which define settings. The world of folklore is built from what I’ve dubbed as four archetypal settings: the Coastal Town, the Suburb, the City, and the Outside World.

Each has a couple defining geographic features:

Coastal Town: water, cliffs/a lookout

Suburb: homes, town

City: public areas, social/nightlife/entertainment venues

The Outside World serves as the logical complement of the other three settings.

Understanding that real location in folklore is neither interchangeable nor synonymous with setting is crucial. Rhode Island is like the Coastal Town, but the two settings are not one and the same. The Suburb is an idyllic mid-America setting like Nashville, St. Louis, or Pennsylvania; it is all of those places and none of them at the same time. The City may be New York City, but it is certainly not New York City in the way that Taylor has ever sung about New York City before. The Outside World is just away.

Put simply, folklore is antithetical to Taylor’s previous geographic doctrine. While we are not precluded from, for instance, imagining the City as New York City, we also cannot and should not be pigeonholed into doing so.

Note:

This album purports to embody the stereotypically American folkloric tradition. “Outside” means “anywhere that isn’t America” because the imagery and associations of the first three cultural-geographic settings indeed are very distinctly American.

While Nashville and St. Louis are relatively big cities, they are still orders of magnitude smaller than New York and LA, the urban centers that Taylor normally regards as big cities. In context of this essay, the former locations are Suburban.

In this essay, the purpose of the term ‘of’ is simply to replace the more strict term ‘about.’ ‘Of’ denotes significant emotion tied to a place, usually because of significant time spent there either in the past or present (tense matters). Not all songs are ‘of’ places—it may be ambiguous where action takes place—and some songs can be ‘of’ multiple places due to location changing throughout the story. (This does not automatically mean that songs with more than one location are ‘of’ two places. A passing mention of St. Louis does not qualify “the last great american dynasty” as ‘of’ the Suburb, for example.)

Each of the four archetypal settings must instead be understood as an amalgam of the aesthetics of every real location it could be. Setting then exists in conversation with metaphor because we have a shared understanding of what constitutes a generic Suburb, City, or Coastal Town.

Finally, by transitivity, the settings’ metaphorical significance entirely hinges upon the geographic features’ metaphorical significance. This is what Taylor authors.

The next part of the essay is concerned with deciphering geography in folklore per these guiding questions: how is an archetypal feature used as a metaphor? By proxy, what does that say about the setting defined by it? What theme, if any, unites the settings?

The Coastal Town: Water and Cliffs

The Coastal Town is defined by elemental features.

The first (brief) mentions of water occur on the first two tracks:

Roarin’ twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

Leavin’ like a father, running like water

“the last great american dynasty” introduces the setting to which the pool (water) feature belongs, our Rhode Island-like Coastal Town. It also incorporates a larger water feature, the ocean, and suggests the existence of a lookout or cliffs:

Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever

Flew in all her Bitch Pack friends from the city

Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

“seven” and “peace” also have brief mentions of water; however, note that these songs remain situated as ‘of’ the Suburb. (More on this later.)

I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek

I was too scared to jump in

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

“my tears ricochet” and “mad woman” with their nautical references pertain to the water metaphor:

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

Now I breathe flames each time I talk

My cannons all firin’ at your yacht

“epiphany” also counts, though with the understanding of “beaches” as Guadalcanal this song is ‘of’ the Outside World:

Crawling up the beaches now

“Sir, I think he’s bleeding out”

“this is me trying” and “hoax” reiterate the cliff/lookout geography:

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could’ve followed my fears all the way down

Stood on the cliffside screaming, “Give me a reason”

Finally, “the lakes” features both water and cliffs:

Take me to the lakes, where all the poets went to die

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

In folklore, water dovetails with permanent loss.

“epiphany” is the most egregious example. Crawling up the beaches of a war zone proves fatal. “the lakes” describes grieving in water, perhaps for the loss of one’s life because there exist cliffs from which to jump. “this is me trying” and “hoax” mirror that idea. On the other hand, in “peace,” death does not seem to have any connection to falling from a height.

Loss can also mean loss of sanity, such as with the eccentric character of Rebekah Harkness or Taylor as a “mad woman” firing cannons at (presumably) Scooter Braun’s yacht.

Subtler are the losses alluded to in “my tears ricochet” and “seven,” of identity or image and childhood audacity, respectively. And in the opening tracks water is at its most benign, aligned with loss of a relationship that has run its course in one’s young adulthood.

The most fascinating aspect of water in folklore is that it is an aberration from water as the symbol for life/birth/renewal, derived from maternity and the womb. folklore water taketh away, not giveth.

As of now, the greater significance of the Coastal Town—the meaning to which this contradiction alludes—remains to be seen.

The City: Nightlife, Entertainment, and Public Areas

Preeminent in Taylor’s pop work is the City; New York City, Los Angeles, and London are the locations most frequently extolled as Swiftian meccas. This archetypal setting is given a more understated role in folklore.

“cardigan,” ‘of’ the City, illustrates this setting using public environments and nightlife:

Vintage tee, brand new phone

High heels on cobblestones

But I knew you

Dancin’ in your Levi’s

Drunk under a streetlight

I knew you

Your heartbeat on the High Line

Once in twenty lifetimes

To kiss in cars and downtown bars

Was all we needed

“mirrorball” paints the clearest picture of the City’s nightlife/social venues by sheer quantity of lyrics:

I’m a mirrorball

I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

I’ll get you out on the floor

Shimmering beautiful

You are not like the regulars

The masquerade revelers

Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down

“invisible string” briefly mentions a bar:

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar

In addition, “this is me trying” implies that the speaker may currently be at a bar, making the song partially ‘of’ the City:

They told me all of my cages were mental

So I got wasted like all my potential

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere

Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here

Pouring out my heart to a stranger

But I didn’t pour the whiskey

It goes almost without saying that the City at large is alcohol-soaked. Indeed, alcohol will help us understand this location.

Each of the aforementioned songs has a distinct narrator, like Betty in the case of “cardigan” or Taylor herself, at the very least in the case of “mirrorball” or at most all songs besides “cardigan.” And because the narrative character is so strong, I posit that the meaning of this geography is tied to what alcohol reveals about the speakers of the songs themselves.

“invisible string” and “mirrorball” are alike in the fact that the stories extend well beyond or even completely after nightlife. Meeting in a dive bar in “invisible string” is just the catalyst for a relationship that feels fated. Taylor, in her “mirrorball” musing, expresses concern about how she is perceived by someone close to her. Does existing after the fact (of public perception, at an entertainment venue) constitute an authentic existence? Alcohol, apparently a necessary part of City life, predates events which later haunt the speakers. Emotional torment is then what prompts the speakers to recount their stories.

On the other hand, alcohol directly reveals the emotional states of the speakers in “cardigan” and “this is me trying.” “cardigan” is Betty’s sepia-toned memory of her time with James, in which James’ careless, youthful spirit (“dancin’ in your Levi’s, drunk under a streetlight” and “heartbeat on the High Line”) inspires sadness and nostalgia for their ultimately temporary relationship (“once in twenty lifetimes”). “this is me trying” is tinged with the speaker’s bitterness; hopelessness and regret lead them to the bar and the destructive practice of drinking just to be numb.

These observations suggest that the City is also a site of grief or loss, though not for the same reason that the Coastal Town is. Whereas the Coastal Town is associated with a permanent ending such as death, the City reveals an ending that is more transitional and wistful, tantamount to a coming of age. There is a clear ‘before’ and ‘after’ to loss related to the City: life, though changed, goes on.

The Suburb: Homes and Towns

Noteworthy though the City and Coastal Town may be, the former in particular concerning the pop mythology of Taylor Swift, it is the Suburb which Taylor most frequently references in folklore and establishes as the geographical heart of the album.

The Suburb is defined by a home and town. A “home” encompasses entrances (front/side doors), back and front yards (gardens/lawns/trees/weeds/creeks), and interiors (rooms/halls/closets). The “town” is pretty self-explanatory, with a store, mall, movie theater, school, and yogurt shop.

Observe that the folklore Suburb is the aesthetic equivalent of the “small town” that provided the debut and Fearless albums’ milieu and inspired the country mythology of Taylor Swift. While Taylor primarily wrote about home and school on those albums (because, well, that was closer to her experience as a teenager), the “small town” and the folklore Suburb are functionally the same with regard to pace, quality, and monotonicity of life. Exhibit A: driving around and lingering on front doorsteps are the main attractions for young adults. (From my personal experience growing up in a Suburb, this is completely accurate. And yes, the only other attractions are the mall and the movie theater.)

The Suburb becomes a conduit for conflict.

Conflict that Taylor explores in this setting, including inner turmoil, dissension between characters, and friction between oneself and external (societal) expectations, naturally can be distinguished by distance [1] between the two forces in conflict. As an example, ‘person vs. self’ implies no distance between the sides because they are both oneself. ‘Person vs. society’ is conflict in which the sides are the farthest they could conceivably be from each other. Conflict with greater distance between the sides is usually harder to resolve. One must move bigger mountains, so to speak, to fix these problems.

The folklore Suburb is additionally constructed upon the notion of privacy or seclusion. We can imagine a gradient [2] of privacy illustrated by Suburban geography: the town is a less intimate setting than the outside of the home, which is less intimate than the inside of the home.

I combine these two ideas in the following claim: the Suburb relates distance between two forces in conflict inversely on the geographical privacy gradient. Put simply, the more intimate or ‘internal’ the setting, the farther the two sides in conflict are from each other.

(I offer this claim in the hopes that it will clarify the nebulous meaning of the Suburb in the next section.)

Salient references to the Suburban town can be divided into one of two categories:

Allowing oneself to hope

Allowing oneself to recall

“august” clearly belongs in the first category. Hope is central to August’s character and how she approaches her relationship with James:

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

Canceled plans just in case you’d call

And say, “Meet me behind the mall”

If we interpret the bus as a school bus then “the 1” also belongs in this first town category:

I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinee

“invisible string” indicates that the yogurt shop is equally innocent as Centennial Park. The store represents the hope of Taylor’s soul mate, parallel to her hope:

Green was the color of the grass

Where I used to read at Centennial Park

I used to think I would meet somebody there

Teal was the color of your shirt

When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop

You used to work at to make a little money

“cardigan” and “this is me trying” alternatively highlight the persistence of memory, with a relationship leaving an “indelible mark” on the narrators. These songs belong in the second category:

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time

Chasin’ shadows in the grocery line

You’re a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

James’ recollection qualifies “betty” for the second category as well. This song shows that emotional weight falls behind the act of remembering:

Betty, I won’t make assumptions

About why you switched your homeroom, but

I think it’s ‘cause of me

Betty, one time I was riding on my skateboard

When I passed your house

It’s like I couldn’t breathe

Betty, I know where it all went wrong

Your favorite song was playing

From the far side of the gym

I was nowhere to be found

I hate the crowds, you know that

Plus, I saw you dance with him

The surprising common denominator of these two categories is that conflict is purely internal in public spaces. Regardless of whether the speakers feel positively or negatively (i.e. per category number), their feelings are entirely a product of their own decisions, such as revisiting a memory or avoiding confrontation. This gives credence to the theory that the Suburb inversely relates conflict distance with privacy.

On the other extreme, the home is a site of conflict larger than oneself, and often more conflict in general. Conflict which occurs in the most private setting, inside the house, is conflict where the two sides are most distanced from each other. Conflict near the house, though not strictly inside, is closer, interpersonal.

“my tears ricochet” is just an ‘indoors’ song. The opening line depicts a private, funeral-like atmosphere:

We gather here, we line up, weepin’ in a sunlit room

There are multiple interpretations of this song floating around. The two prevailing ones are about the death of Taylor Swift the persona and the sale of her masters. In either interpretation, society and culture are the foundation for the implied conflict. First, the caricature of Taylor Swift exists as a reflection of pop culture; second, the sale of global superstar Taylor Swift’s masters is a dispute of such magnitude that it is not simply an interpersonal squabble.

For the alternative interpretation that “my tears ricochet” is about a dissolved relationship, “and when you can’t sleep at night // you hear my stolen lullabies” implicates Taylor Swift’s public catalogue (and thus Taylor Swift the persona) as the entity haunting someone else, as opposed to Taylor Swift the former member of the relationship.

“mad woman” is just an ‘outdoors’ song because of the line about the neighbor’s lawn:

What do you sing on your drive home?

Do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn?

Does she smile?

Or does she mouth, “Fuck you forever”

It’s clear Taylor has a lot of vitriol for Scooter Braun. Though it’s probably a bit of both at the end of the day, I am comfortable calling their feud more of the ‘person vs. person’ variety than the ‘person vs. society’ variety.

Consequently, the privacy gradient claim holds for both songs.

“illicit affairs” is one of two songs with a very clear ‘transformation’ of geography:

What started in beautiful rooms

Ends with meetings in parking lots

In context, this represents the devolution of the relationship. External conflict, the illegitimacy of the relationship, defined the affair when it was in “beautiful rooms.” Relocating to the parking lot (i.e. now referencing the Suburban town) coincides with discord turning inward. Any external shame or scorn for both lovers as a consequence of the affair is replaced by the end of the song with anger the lovers feel towards each other and, more importantly, themselves.

“seven” is the best example of how many types of conflict are present in and around the home:

I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek

I was too scared to jump in

And I’ve been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with me

And we can be pirates

Then you won’t have to cry

Or hide in the closet

Please picture me in the weeds

Before I learned civility

I used to scream ferociously

Any time I wanted

The first few lines exemplify ‘person vs. self’ conflict, a fear of heights. The third segment introduces a ‘person vs. society’ dilemma, shrinking pains as a result of socialization into gender norms. (I am assuming that the child is a girl.) The second verse indicates strife between a child and a father. It leaves room for three interpretations:

The conflict is interpersonal, so the father’s anger is wholly or partially directed at the child because the father is an angry person

The conflict is sociological, so the father’s anger is a whole or partial consequence of the gendered roles which the father and child perform

Both

Is curious that we need not regard sadness and the closet in “seven” as mutually inclusive. The narrator says the child’s options are crying (logical) or hiding in the closet. Both the father’s temper and the closet are facts of the child’s life, either innocuous or traumatic or somewhere in between.

But we might—and perhaps should—go further and argue that conflict in “seven” is necessarily sociological, and specifically about being civilized to perform heterosexual femininity. For, taken to its logical extreme, if only gender identity and not sexual identity incites anger, then men must be socialized to become abusive to women, who must be socialized to become submissive to that abuse. Screaming “ferociously” at any time would also denote freedom to be oneself despite men, not freedom to be oneself for one’s own gratification. Yet the child surely enjoys the second freedom at the beginning of the song. While the patriarchy is indeed an oppressive societal force, the interpretation of the social conflict in “seven” as only gendered yields contradiction. This interpretation is much more tenuous than acknowledging that the closet is, in fact, The Closet.

(Mere mention of a closet, the universal symbol for hiding one’s sexuality, immediately justifies a queer interpretation of “seven” notwithstanding other sociological and/or semantic technicalities. A sizable chunk of Taylor’s extensive discography also lends itself to queer interpretation by extension of connection with this song—for instance, by a shared theme of socialization as a primary evil. To me it seems silly at best and homophobic at worst to eschew the reading of “seven” presented here.)

It is undeniable that “seven” represents many types of conflict and places them inversely on the privacy gradient. The father embodies societal conflict larger than the young child and introduces that conflict inside the house. The child faces internal conflict (i.e. a fear of heights) and no conflict at all (i.e. freedom to act fearlessly) outside.

Reconciling “august,” “exile,” and “betty” with the privacy gradient actually requires a queer interpretation of the songs. To avoid the complete logical fallacy of a circular proof, I reiterate that the privacy gradient is simply a means of illustrating how the Suburb functions as an archetypal location. Queer interpretation is a sufficient but not necessary condition for an interesting argument about Suburban spatial symbolism. Reaching a slightly weaker conclusion about the Suburb without the privacy gradient would not impact the conclusions about the other three archetypal locations. Finally, queer (sub)text is a noteworthy topic on its own.

“betty” situates the front porch as the venue where Betty must make a decision about her relationship with James:

But if I just showed up at your party

Would you have me? Would you want me?

Would you tell me to go fuck myself

Or lead me to the garden?

In the garden, would you trust me

If I told you it was just a summer thing?

Yeah, I showed up at your party

Will you have me? Will you love me?

Will you kiss me on the porch

In front of all your stupid friends?

If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it?

Will it patch your broken wings?

Influencing Betty’s decision is her relationship with her “stupid” (read: homophobic) friends who don’t accept James (and/or the idea of James/Betty as a pair), her own internalized homophobia, and the trepidation with which she may regard James after the August escapade. The conflict at the front door is external/societal, interpersonal, and internal.

The garden differs from the front door as an area where James and Betty can privately discuss the August escapade. By moving to the garden, the supposed root of their conflict shifts from the oppressive force of homophobia to James’ behavior regarding the love triangle (“would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?”). Much like in “illicit affairs,” motion along the privacy gradient underscores that micro-geography is inversely related to conflict distance.

Next, the implied settings of “august” are a bedroom and a private outdoor location such as a backyard:

Salt air, and the rust on your door

I never needed anything more

Whispers of "Are you sure?”

“Never have I ever before”

Your back beneath the sun

Wishin’ I could write my name on it

Will you call when you’re back at school?

I remember thinkin’ I had you

The backyard holds a mixture of ‘person vs. self’ and ‘person vs. person’ conflict. August’s doubts about James manifest as personal insecurities. However, James, by avoiding commitment, is equally responsible for planting that seed of doubt.

The song’s opening scene depicts a young adult losing their virginity. The bedroom can thus be conceptualized as a site of societal conflict because the queer love story expands this location to the geographical manifestation of escapism and denial. James runs off with August as a means to ignore externalized homophobia from a relationship with Betty, who has homophobic friends. Yet they eventually ditch August for Betty, either because of intense feelings for Betty or internalized homophobia—the relationship with August was too perfect, too easy.

“betty” and “august” are consistent with the gradient theory provided we interpret the love triangle narrative as queer. Identity engenders conflict in these songs. The characters then confront the conflict vis-à-vis location. ‘Indoors’ becomes the arena for confronting issues farther from the self, namely concerning homophobia. ‘Outdoors’ scopes cause and therefore possible resolution to individuals’ choices.

Last but not least, consider “exile,” the song with strange staging:

And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it

Holdin’ all this love out here in the hall

You were my crown, now I’m in exile, seein’ you out

I think I’ve seen this film before

So I’m leaving out the side door

“I’m in exile, seein’ you out” and “I’m leaving out the side door” contradict each other. The speaker, “I,” seeing their lover out means that the speaker remains inside the house while their lover leaves. But the “I” also leaves through the side door. Does the speaker follow their lover out? If so, then whose house are they leaving? It is most likely a shared residence. They plan on coming back.

Taylor said in an interview [3] that the verses, sung by different people, represent the perspectives of the two lovers. The “me” in the first segment is the “you” in the second. So our “I” is left in the hall too. Both individuals in the relationship are implied to leave and stay at different times.

An explanation for this inconsistency lies in the distinction between doors. A front door in folklore is symbolic of trust, that which makes or breaks a relationship (see: Betty’s front door and the door in “hoax”). It also forces sociological conflict to be resolved at the interpersonal level, lest serious problems hang out in the open. Fixing the world at large is usually impossible, and so front doors only create more issues. (The mountains, as they say, are too big to move.) The main entrance is thus a site for volatility and high stakes.

“exile” suggests that a shared side door is for persistent, dull, aching pain. This door symbolizes shame which is inherent to a relationship. It forces the partners to come and go quietly, to hide the existence of their love. Inferred from a queer reading of “exile” is that it is homophobia that erases the relationship. Conflict with society as evinced in individuals is once again consistent with the staging at the home.

Note that few (though multiple) explanations could resolve the paradox between intense shame in a relationship and the setting of a permanent shared home. Racism, for example, may be a reason individuals hide the existence of a loving relationship. Nevertheless, the overall effect of Taylor’s writing is that it is believable autobiography. It is unlikely that she’s speaking about racism here, least of all because there are two other male characters in the song. So a slightly more uncouth name for “exile” would be “the last great american mutual bearding anthem.”

To summarize, the Suburb is an archetypal setting constructed upon the notion of privacy. Taylor makes the folklore Suburb the primary home (no pun intended) of conflict of all kinds. Through an intimate, inverse relationship between drama and constitutive geography, Taylor argues that unrest and incongruity are central to what the Suburb represents.

The Outside World

The final archetypal setting is the complement to the first three—a physical and symbolic alternative.

The Guadalcanal beaches in “epiphany” (which are also alluded to in “peace”) contrast the homeland in “exile” through a metaphor about war. The Lake District in England is opposite America, the setting of most of folklore. The Moon, Saturn, and India are far away from Pennsylvania, the setting of “seven.” India quantifies the lengths to which the speaker of the song would go to protect the child character, while astronomy abstracts the magnitude of the speaker’s love.

This archetypal setting is symbolic of disengagement and breaking free from limitations. Moving to India in “seven” is how the speaker and child could escape problems at the child’s home. Analogizing war with the pandemic in “epiphany” removes geographical and chronological constraints from trauma.

The Lake District is where Taylor, a poet, goes to die. The line “I don’t belong and, my beloved, neither do you” could also suggest that this location is where Taylor and her muse break free from being outcasts (i.e. they find belonging). Regardless, the Lake District is where she disengages from the ultimate limitation of life itself.

——

How is an archetypal feature used as a metaphor? By proxy, what does that say about the setting defined by said feature?

Analysis of each archetypal feature yielded the following:

The Coastal Town is representative of permanent loss/endings

The City is representative of transitional loss/endings

The Suburb is the site of character-defining conflict

The Outside World is freedom from the constraints of the other settings

What theme unites these settings?

Though the majority of songs in folklore are anachronistic, the album has a temporal spirit. Geography seems to humanize and animate folklore: the meanings of the settings mirror the stages of life.

(The theoretical foundation for this claim is a topology of being; that the nature of being [4] is an event of place.)

The City, characterized by transition, is the coming-of-age and the Coastal Town, characterized by permanent endings, is death.

The Outside World, an alternative to life itself, is hence a rebirth. (After all, Romantic poets experienced a spiritual and occupational rebirth upon retiring to the Lakes to die. We remember them by their retreat.)

Outwardly, the Suburb is ambiguous. It could be representative of adolescence or adulthood—before or after the City. Analysis shows that this setting is nothing if not complex. Adult Taylor writes about the Suburb as someone whose opinion of this setting has unquestionably soured since adolescence. Yet she also approaches the Suburb with the singular goal of creating nuance, specifically by exposing unrest and incongruity which the setting usually obfuscates. This setting, ironically one that is (culturally) ruled by haughty adolescents, is where she explores the myriad subtleties and uncertainties coloring adulthood. The Suburb thus cannot be for adolescence because James is 17 and doesn’t know anything. Taylor intentionally situates the Suburb between the City and Coastal Town as the geographic stand-in for a complicated adulthood.

Despite genre shifts, Taylor has always excelled at establishing a clear setting for her songs. She is arguably even required to establish setting more clearly for folkloric storytelling than for her brand of confessional pop. If we can’t fully distinguish between reality and fiction, we must be able to supplement our understanding of a story with strong characterization, which is ultimately a byproduct of setting. Geography is a prima facie necessity for creating folklore.

This further suggests that the ‘life story’ told through geography is the thing closest to a metanarrative of folklore.

I use this term to refer to an album’s overarching narrative structure which Taylor creates (maybe subconsciously) in service of artistic self-expression. Interrogating ‘metanarrative’ should not be confused with the protean, impossible, and distracting task of deciphering Taylor Swift’s life. True metanarrative is always worth exploring. Also, though some conclusions about metanarrative may seem more plausible than others, at the end of the day all relevant arguments are untenable. Only Taylor knows exactly which metanarrative(s) her albums follow, if any. It is simply worth appreciating that folklore allows an interesting discussion about metanarrative in the first place; that it is both possible to find patterns sewn into the fabric of the work and to resonate with that which one believes those patterns illustrate. I digress.

folklore is highly geographic but orthogonal to all of our geographic expectations of mood or tone. Through metaphor, Taylor upends our assumptions about the archetypal settings.

The Outside World is usually a setting which represents a brief and peaceful respite for travelers. Here, it is the setting for complete and permanent disengagement. Hiding and running away was a panacea in reputation/Lover, but in folklore, finding peace in running and hiding becomes impossible.

The City is usually regarded as a modern Fountain of Youth and, in Taylor’s work, a home. However, the folklore City’s shelter is temporary and its energy brittle, like the relationship between the characters that inhabit it. The City has lost its glow.

One would expect the Coastal Town to be peaceful and serene given its small size and proximity to water. Taylor makes it the primary site of death, insanity, permanent loss. The place where one cannot go with grace is hardly peaceful.

The Suburb is not the romanticized-by-necessity dead end that it is in a Bildungsroman like Fearless. Rather, it is the site of great conflict as a consequence of individual identity. The American suburb is monolithic by design; Taylor points the finger of blame back at this design for erasing hurt and trauma. By writing against the gradient of privacy, she obviates all simplicity and serenity for which this location is known. Bedrooms no longer illustrate the dancing-in-pjs-before-school and floodplain-of-tears binary. Front porches become more sinister than the place to meet a future partner and rock a baby. Characters’ choices—often between two undesirable options in situations complicated by misalignment of the self and the world at large—become their biggest mistakes. It is with near masochistic fascination that Taylor dissects how the picturesque Suburban façade disguises misery.

If we have come to expect anything from Taylor, it is that she will make lustrous even the most mundane feelings and places. (And she is very good at her job.) folklore is a departure from this practice. She replaces erstwhile veneration of geography itself with nostalgia, bitterness, sadness, or disdain for any given setting. folklore is orthogonal to our primary expectation of Taylor Swift.

Yet another fascinating aspect of folklore is the air of death. It’s understandable. Taylor has ‘killed’ relationships, her own image, and surely parts of her inner self an unknowable number of times. Others have tarnished her reputation, stolen her songs, and deserted her in personal and professional life. She perishes frequently, both by her own hand and by the hands of others. The losses compound.

I’ve lost track of the number of posts I’ve seen saying that folklore is Taylor mourning friendships, love, a past self, youth…x, y, z. It has literally never been easier to project onto a Taylor Swift album, folks! At the same time, it is very difficult to to pinpoint what, exactly, Taylor is mourning. To me, listing things is a far too limited understanding of folklore. The lists simply do not do the album justice.

Death’s omnipresence has intrigued many, and I assert for good geographic reason. Reinforcing the album’s macabre undertone is nonlinear spatial symbolism: each setting bares a grief-soaked stage of a single life. From the City to the Suburb, Coastal Town, and Outside World, we perceive one’s sadness and depression, anger and helplessness, frustration and scorn, and acceptance, respectively. folklore holds a raw, primal grief at its core.

The geographic metanarrative justifies Taylor’s unabridged grieving process as that over the death of her own Romanticism. For the album’s torment is not as simple as in aging or metamorphosis of identity, not as glorified or irreverent as in a typical Swiftian murder-suicide, not as overt as in a loss with something or someone to blame. folklore is Taylor’s reckoning with what can only be described as artistic mortality.

——

To summarize up until this point: geography in folklore is not literal but metaphorical. The artistic treatment of folklore settings evinces a ‘geographic metanarrative,’ a close connection between settings and the stages of a life spent grieving. I propose that this life tracks Taylor’s relationship to her Romanticism. folklore follows the stages of Taylor’s artistic grief, so we will see that the conclusion of the album brings the death of Taylor’s Romanticism.

It is important to distinguish between the death of Romanticism in general and the death of Taylor’s Romanticism. folklore presents an argument for the latter.

A central conceit of Romanticism is its philosophy of style:

The most characteristic romantic commitment is to the idea that the character of art and beauty and of our engagement with them should shape all aspects of human life.…if the romantic ideal is to materialize, aesthetics should permeate and shape human life. [5]

Romanticism is realized through imagination:

The imagination was elevated to a position as the supreme faculty of the mind.…The Romantics tended to define and to present the imagination as our ultimate “shaping” or creative power, the approximate human equivalent of the creative powers of nature or even deity. It is dynamic, an active, rather than passive power, with many functions. Imagination is the primary faculty for creating all art. On a broader scale, it is also the faculty that helps humans to constitute reality…we not only perceive the world around us, but also in part create it. Uniting both reason and feeling…imagination is extolled as the ultimate synthesizing faculty, enabling humans to reconcile differences and opposites in the world of appearance. [6]

Imagination then engenders an artist-hero lifestyle [7]. This is similar—if not identical—to what we perceive of Taylor Swift’s life:

By locating the ultimate source of poetry in the individual artist, the tradition, stretching back to the ancients, of valuing art primarily for its ability to imitate human life (that is, for its mimetic qualities) was reversed. In Romantic theory, art was valuable not so much as a mirror of the external world, but as a source of illumination of the world within.…The “poetic speaker” became less a persona and more the direct person of the poet.…The interior journey and the development of the self recurred everywhere as subject material for the Romantic artist. The artist-as-hero is a specifically Romantic type.

Taylor’s Romanticism is thus her imagination deified as her artist-hero.

Moreover, the discrepancy between perceptions of grief in folklore is a consequence of the death of her Romanticism.

We (i.e. outsiders) naturally perceive the death of the Romantic as the death of Romantic aesthetics. Hence the lists upon lists of things that Taylor mourns instead of celebrates.

Taylor seems to grieve her Romantic artist-hero. Imaginative capacity predicates an artist-hero self-image, so conversely the death of the Romantic strips imagination of its power. The projected “fantasy, history, and memory” [8] of folklore indeed unnerves rather than comforts. The best example of this is from a corollary of the geographic metanarrative. Grief traces geography which traces life, and life leaks from densely populated areas to sparsely populated areas (it begins in the City and ends in the Outside World). Metaphorical setting, a product of imagination, aids the Romantic’s unbecoming. So, imagination is not a “synthesizing faculty” for reconciling difference; it is instead a faculty that divides.

Discriminating between the death of Romanticism in general and the death of Taylor’s Romanticism contextualizes folklore’s highly individualized grief. It is hard to argue that Taylor Swift will ever be unimaginative. But if we assume that she subscribes to a Romantic philosophy, then it follows that confronting the limits of the imagination is, to her, akin to a reckoning with mortality, a limit of the self.

——

folklore follows the stages of Taylor’s artistic grief. The album ends with Taylor accepting of the death of her Romanticism and being reborn into a new life. The final trio of songs, set ‘of’ the Suburb, Coastal Town, and Outside World in turn, frame the album’s solitary denouement.

In truth, “peace” is hardly grounded in Suburban geography. The nuance in it certainly makes it a thematic contemporary of other songs belonging to the Suburb, however. And consider: the events of “peace” are after the coming-of-age, the City; defining geographic features of the Coastal Town and Outside World are referenced in the future tense; an interior wall, the closest thing to Suburban home geography, is referenced in the present tense:

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues come

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

And you know that I’d swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Per tense and the geographic metanarrative, “peace” is Suburban and is the first story of this trio. “hoax” and “the lakes” trivially follow (in that order) by their own geography.

The trio is clearly a story about Taylor and her muse. Understanding perspective in these songs will help us reconcile the lovers’ story and the geographic metanarrative.

We must compare lines in “peace” and “hoax” to determine who is speaking in those songs and when. Oft-repeated imagery makes it challenging to find a distinguishing detail local only to the trio. I draw attention to the affectionate nickname “darling”:

And it’s just around the corner, darlin’

'Cause it lives in me

Darling, this was just as hard

As when they pulled me apart

These two mentions are the only such ones in folklore. Whoever sings the first verse of “peace” must sing the bridge of “hoax” too.

“hoax” adds that the chorus singer’s melancholy is because of their faithless lover:

Don't want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Augmenting Lover is an undercurrent of sadness to which Taylor alludes with the color blue. By a basic understanding of that album, Taylor sings the “hoax” chorus.

The fire and color metaphors in tandem make the “hoax” verse(s) and bridge from the perspective of the lover who is burned and dimmed by the energy of their partner, the “peace” chorus singer:

I am ash from your fire

But what you did was just as dark

But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm

Finally, a motif of an unraveling aligns the “hoax” verse(s) and bridge singer:

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

My kingdom come undone

The “hoax” verse(s), chorus, and bridge are all sung by the same person.

In sum: Taylor sings the first verse of “peace” and her lover sings the chorus of “peace.” (See this post for more on “peace.”) Taylor alone sings “hoax.” “the lakes” is undoubtedly from Taylor’s perspective too.

Now let’s examine “peace” more closely:

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly this summer, it’s clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it’s just around the corner, darlin’

‘Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Taylor’s lover has the temerity to die for her in secret. We can infer from the first verse that Taylor’s coming-of-age brings not the courage her lover possesses but clarity about an unsustainable habit. She realizes that she cherishes youthful fantasies of life (such as “this summer,” à la “august”) for mettle. This apparently knocks her out of her reverie.

The recognition that being an artist-hero hurts her muse frames the death of Taylor’s Romanticism. It is impossible for Taylor to both manage an unpleasant reality and construct a more peaceful one using her Romantic imagination. The rift between her true lived experience (“interior journey”) and the experience of her art (“development of the self”) is what fuels alienation from Romance. The artist is unstitched from the hero.

“hoax” continues along this line of reasoning. In this song, she admits that she has been hurt by herself:

My twisted knife

My sleepless night

My winless fight

This has frozen my ground

As well as by her lover:

My best laid plan

Your sleight of hand

My barren land

I am ash from your fire

And by others:

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

The bridge marks is the turning point where she lets go of of her youth and adulthood, both of which are tied to her Romanticism through geography:

You know I left a part of me back in New York

You knew the hero died so what’s the movie for?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

You knew the password so I let you in the door

You knew you won so what’s the point of keeping score?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

Of utmost importance is the very first line. The muse to whom Taylor addresses “hoax” is said to have been present at Taylor’s side through all of her struggles (“you knew”). The first line reveals that the lover did not know that Taylor left a part of herself back in New York (“you know [now]”). Taylor is only sharing her newfound realization as she stands on the precipice of the Coastal Town.

Nearly imperceptible though this syntactic difference is, it is an unmistakable reprise of the effect of the verses and chorus of “cardigan.” (Coincidentally, references to New York connect the songs.) “Knew” and “know” in both songs underscore a difference between what a character remembers (or had previously experienced) and what they understand in the current moment (or have just come to realize). Betty realizes at the very moment that she narrates “cardigan” that it was a mistake to excuse James’ behavior as total ignorance and youthful selfishness. Taylor realizes in “hoax” that she can no longer cling to youth, the romanticization of her youth, or romanticization of the romanticization of her youth. The youth in her is gone forever because she is no longer attached to the City. The adult in her has also matured for she is past the Suburb as well. The Coastal Town thus very appropriately stages the death of her Romantic.

Anyone who listens to Taylor’s music has been trained to connect geography to the vitality of Romantic artist-hero Taylor. In short, aestheticized geography renders Taylor’s Romantic autobiography. By letting go of the parts of her connected to geography, Taylor abandons the Romantic aesthetics both she and listeners associate with location. Divorcing from aesthetics also pre-empts romanticization of location in the future. The bridge of “hoax” is thus most easily summarized as the moment when any fondness for and predisposition towards Romance crumbles completely.

Lastly, we must pay special attention to micro-geography in the “hoax” chorus. We recall from “the last great american dynasty” and “this is me trying” the insanity that consumes the characters who contemplate the cliffs. The Coastal Town is not a beautiful place to die; one is graceless when moribund:

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

I’ve been having a hard time adjusting

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could’ve followed my fears all the way down

From “peace” we know that Taylor’s lover is willing to die for her, in particular if Taylor’s sadness becomes too great (i.e. if she goes to the sea).

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The “hoax” chorus is when Taylor’s sadness balloons. Taylor the Romantic is ready to die:

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason"

Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in

Don't want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Remember Rebekah, pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea. Taylor is in this same position, on the cliffs, facing the water. Why is she screaming? Taylor is yelling down at her lover, who has already died (in secret, of course) and is in the water below waiting to catch her. (“I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below,” anyone?) Taylor’s singular faith is in her lover, and Taylor wants them to promise to catch her when she falls. In the end, though, the inherent danger nullifies what the lover could do to convince Taylor that the two would reunite safely below.

Taylor examines the water and realizes that her lover’s hue is combined with the blue of the sea. The sea cannot promise to catch her. Already mentally reeling, the admixture of sadnesses—in the setting which represents the culmination of life—makes Taylor recalcitrant. The Coastal Town has too much metaphorical baggage. It is not the place Taylor leaps from the cliffs. The first line of the “hoax” chorus uses “stood,” which implies that Taylor is reflecting on this dilemma after the fact.

The outro reinforces that the Coastal Town is where Taylor the Romantic comes to term with death but does not actually die:

My only one

My kingdom come undone

My broken drum

You have beaten my heart

Don’t want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Romantic imagination cannot protect Taylor from all the hurt she has suffered in reality. A calm settles over her as the chords modulate to the relative major key. She reflects on her journey: “my only one” corresponds to the first verse which introduces her solemn situation; “my kingdom come undone” ties to the self-inflicted hurt that froze her ground; “my broken drum // you have beaten my heart” supplements the second verse about suffering from her lover’s duplicity. The last lines are again her rationale for not jumping from the rocks. Finally, after the album-long grieving period, Taylor the Romantic has made peace with her inevitable death.

Romanticism is Taylor’s giant which goes with her wherever she goes. Running, hiding, traveling, and uprooting are indeed the fool’s paradise in her previous albums. Impermanence of setting—roaming the world for self-culture, amusement, intoxication of beauty, and loss of sadness [9]—engenders an impermanence of self, which fuels the instinct to cling tightly to what does remain constant. Naturally, then, Romanticism is Taylor’s only enduring companion. It becomes the lens through which she understands the world, yet the rose-colored one which by virtue inspires problems on top of problems. Forevermore does her Romantic inspire a cycle of catharsis that plays out in real life. Thy beautiful kingdom come, then tragically come undone.

Taylor chooses to go to the Lakes to escape from the constraints of this cycle:

Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die

I don’t belong and, my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I’m setting off, but not without my muse

Of the death story in the “peace”/“hoax”/“the lakes” trio, it is impossible to ignore the mutualism of Taylor and her muse. Neither of them belong of this life—and ‘of’ American geography—anymore. Taylor’s last wish is to go to the Outside World and jump (“[set] off”) from the Windermere peaks with her muse, who is ever willing to both lead Taylor to the dark and follow her into it.

Taylor bids a final goodbye—appropriately, in the tongue of Romance—to the philosophy which has anchored her all this time:

I want auroras and sad prose

I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet

'Cause I haven’t moved in years

And I want you right here

Romanticism, her art and life in tandem, brought Taylor what she values: union with her muse in the privacy of nature and her imagination. The final ode holds respect.

Finally, her death. The journey of grief concludes with Taylor both accepting death and, fascinatingly, being reborn into a new life:

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground

With no one around to tweet it

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

In keeping with metaphorical geography, old life dwindling in water is exactly concurrent with new life flourishing on land.

Observe that the rebirth concerns ice frozen ground, an element of “hoax,” which is set in the Coastal Town. The rebirth must happen back in America even though the death happens at the Lakes.

Despite the imagery, this is not a Romantic rebirth. Begetting a new life is the juxtaposition of two things Taylor once romanticized toward opposite extremes—a red rose for beauty and an ice frozen ground for tragedy—with her simple refusal that either be distorted as externalities of her experience.

This final stanza is wide open for interpretation with regards to the story of the two lovers. It allows a priori all permutations of Taylor and/or her muse experiencing rebirth as the red rose and/or the frozen ground:

Taylor and her lover experience a rebirth together

Taylor is the red rose and her lover is the ice frozen ground

Taylor is the ice frozen ground and her lover is the red rose

Taylor and her lover are indivisible: they are both the rose and the frozen ground

Taylor alone experiences a rebirth

Taylor is the rose

Taylor is the ice frozen ground

Taylor is the rose + ice frozen ground

The lover alone experiences a rebirth

The lover is the rose

The lover is the ice frozen ground

The lover is the rose + frozen ground

(2) and (3) make death at the end of “the lakes” purely sacrificial. This is inconsistent with the disproportionate emphasis placed on the lovers’ mutualism. I am thus inclined to dismiss (2) and (3) as consequences of combinatorics.

There are also two interpretations of the final lines of the bridge:

Taylor the Romantic is the implied ‘I’ overcome with grief; her muse is her calamitous love with whom she bathes

Taylor the Romantic possesses both calamitous love and insurmountable grief; her lover, as per usual, dies with her in secret

It is unclear which is the truth. Still, (1) is relatively straightforward: there are two entities said to bathe in the Lakes and two entities said to be involved in reincarnation.

There need not be ‘parity’ between old life and new (reincarnated) life with respect to the lovers’ relationship status. If Taylor’s muse dies, does her relationship dissolve? Or must her muse, who dies at Taylor’s side, be reborn at her side too? If Taylor declares her devotion to her lover before her death, does that ensure that they are together in perpetuity? Or is that sentiment purely a relic of her past life, in which case her love disappears anew? Perhaps the invisible string tying the lovers together bonds them in eternal life. Perhaps the string snaps. Which is the blessing and which is the curse?

Whatever you make of ‘parity’ in reincarnation, it is important to remember that Taylor insists the relationship between her and her muse is at least a spiritual or divine one—if not also a worldly one—for it exists in conjunction with her own metaphysic.

How does reincarnation betray Romanticism?

A. Taylor is the red rose and the lover is the ice frozen ground.

Taylor as the rose does not trivially align with a bygone Romanticism, for the rose epitomizes Romance. Key, therefore, is the line about tweeting. Taylor abhors the practice of cataloguing and oversharing in service of knowing something completely—effectively ‘modern’ Romanticism.

Digital overexposure is an occupational hazard [10], but Taylor refuses to let ‘modern’ Romanticism to become invasive this time around. New life shall not be defiled by social media. It shall remain pure by individual will. Though Taylor’s rebirth into a new life happens on land in America, that it does not become a hyperbole of local Twitter is the proverbial nail in the coffin of Romanticism, distortion in service of aesthetic.

Rose imagery also draws a direct parallel to “The Lucky One,” Taylor’s self-proclaimed meditation [11] on her worst fears of stardom. The “Rose Garden” in this song contextualizes the “lucky” one’s disappearance from the spotlight:

It was a few years later

I showed up here

And they still tell the legend of how you disappeared

How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out

They say you bought a bunch of land somewhere

Chose the Rose Garden over Madison Square

And it took some time, but I understand it now

Emphasis on individual choice in the aforementioned star’s return to normalcy bears a striking resemblance to the individualistic philosophy of “the lakes,” as exemplified by Taylor and her muse choosing to jump from the Windermere peaks and Taylor keeping her rose off social media. Mention of a “legend” that describes disappearance and simultaneous return elsewhere is another connection to the “the lakes.”

Taylor as the rose could alternatively represent a chromatic devolution of true love (“I once believed love was burnin’ red // but it’s golden”). That is, becoming a rose suggests she may have changed her mind back to believing that love is burning red. This more generally represents returning to the beginning of a journey that began in the Red era. Perhaps Taylor sees Red as the beginning of her calamitous Romanticism. She realizes by folklore the fears which she surveyed in “The Lucky One,” so choosing a new life presents an opportunity to protect post-Speak Now Taylor from self-inflicted wounds which fester and prove fatal to her Romantic. (In essence…time travel.)

Taylor’s lover, ice frozen ground, is reborn frigid not blazing, the opposite of their raging fire. Taming the lover’s wild essence renders it impossible for them to be a Romantic muse in a new life. If the two lovers do indeed share an eternal love, then death reveals a conscious choice not to glorify it.

Additionally, Taylor’s artist-hero imagination has no power in her new life. Taylor and her lover have effectively switched spots. All we previously knew of the lover’s secrets and secret death was from what Taylor wrote, so Taylor (for lack of a better phrase) concealed her lover. The lover, ice frozen ground, is now the one concealing Taylor, the rose. As a smothering but not razing force, Taylor’s lover thus is reincarnated into the role of a public protector. Reincarnation reveals that the death of Romanticism is abetted through the death of secrecy, which always allows distortion of truth.

Another possibility: the secrecy surrounding the lover is that they were the ice frozen ground. If Taylor confirms that the lover was something ‘tragic’ before, then after the death of Romanticism they counterintuitively may become beautiful. Or, the lover continues to be tragic, and paramount again is Taylor’s choice not to sensationalize her muse.

B. Taylor is the ice frozen ground and the lover is the red rose.

Many of the themes above apply to this interpretation too.

Taylor reborn as ice frozen ground does not change her essence from “hoax.” By not ‘shaking off’ a sadness with her rebirth, she subverts the usual expectation—a product of the many years devoted to fixing any and all criticism [12]—of artist-hero Taylor Swift.

The lover reborn as the red rose means their being surfaces where they once were hidden and/or that they are not the golden love they had been in reputation, Lover, and “invisible string.” New life brings the bright, burning “red” emotions. Either what was once very bad is now very good and vice versa, or these emotions are simply not very anything because Taylor doesn’t want to sensationalize them as a pastiche of Red. If Taylor’s love is eternal, then she will be more subdued when sharing it; if it is not eternal, then she will simply move on.

This interpretation implies that Taylor’s Rose Garden is eternal love without the necessity of elevating her partner to Romantic muse status. No one being around to tweet the rose bursting through the ice means that Taylor alone gets to appreciate her lover for their pure essence before modern society does—lest the lover be perceived at all.

C. Taylor and her lover are indivisible: they are both the rose and the frozen ground

Taylor’s “twisted knife”/“sleepless night”/“winless fight” froze her ground but her lover’s “sleight of hand” made the land barren, unable to sustain life. The two lovers are emotionally at odds, but Romanticism acts as the “synthesizing faculty” which unites them in their old life.

The metaphor of the rose and frozen ground does not work without each part. It is possible that the lovers remain equally united in their new life; the lovers’ spiritual connection yields unity after reincarnation. Abiogenesis is therefore the phenomenon which betrays Romanticism. The lovers exist alongside each other naturally, not because they are opposites which Romanticism has forced together.

This is probably the most lighthearted interpretation of the last stanza in “the lakes.” Extreme hardship helps the lovers grow, and they remain intertwined through eternity.

——

The geographic elegy of folklore is that for Taylor’s giant, her Romantic, something both treasured and despised right until its end. (How appropriately meta.)

This raises the question: what replaces it?

Nothing.

folklore can—and perhaps should—be understood as a Transcendental work rather than a Romantic one. From this angle, Romanticism is that which prevented Taylor from connecting with something deeper within herself, something more eternal.

“Transcendental” does not mean “transcendent” or beyond human experience altogether, but something through which experience is made possible. [13]

Transcendentalism and Romanticism were two literary and philosophical movements that occurred during roughly the same time period [14]. Romanticism dominated England, Germany, and France in the late 18th and early 19th centuries slightly before Transcendentalism swept through America in the mid-1800s.

The two movements heavily influenced [15] each other. Transcendentalists and Romantics shared an appreciation for nature, doubt of (Calvinist) religious dogma, and an ambivalence or dislike of society and its institutions as corrupting forces. We see Taylor align herself with these ideas by the end of the album. “the lakes” holds a reverence of the natural world, disregard of predestination, and contempt for Twitter.

But Transcendentalism sharply diverged from Romanticism along the axis of faith. Transcendentalism thrived as a religious movement that emphasized individualism as a means for self-growth and, in particular, achieving a personal, highly spiritualized [16] understanding of God:

For many of the transcendentalists the term “transcendentalism” represented nothing so technical as an inquiry into the presuppositions of human experience, but a new confidence in and appreciation of the mind’s powers, and a modern, non-doctrinal spirituality. The transcendentalist, Emerson states, believes in miracles, conceived as “the perpetual openness of the human mind to new influx of light and power…”

Romantics, for instance, viewed nature as a source of imagination, inspiration, and enlightenment, whereas Transcendentalists saw nature as a vessel for exploring spirituality. Transcendentalists believed in an innate goodness of people for possession of a divine inner light [17]. Occupied with the perverse and disparate, Romantics believed people were capable both of great good and terrible evil.

It’s tempting to scope Taylor’s shift from Romanticism to Transcendentalism to this album alone. It’s true that folklore is filled with individualism, a hallmark of Transcendentalist philosophy. However, I argue that spirituality reveals a journey towards Transcendentalism that began well before folklore.

Consider the evolution of faith from reputation to Lover. Taylor places more emphasis on personal spirituality as she becomes increasingly disillusioned with organized religion/religious dogma. In “Don’t Blame Me,” Taylor defies religious convictions in favor of chasing the high of her forbidden love. Then her quiet and private life with her lover in “Cornelia Street” advances whatever traditional religious beliefs she possessed towards a self-defined spirituality (“sacred new beginnings that became my religion”). Individual spiritual enlightenment and religious conviction become mutually exclusive by the end of Lover, for the lovers would still worship their love even if it is a “false god.”

The final scene proves most important for establishing the album’s philosophy. In the end of “the lakes.” Taylor chooses death and is reincarnated into new life, kept pure also by individual will. (It should be noted that Transcendentalism was heavily influenced [18] by Indian religions, of which reincarnation is a central tenet.) Choosing reincarnation—to the extent that one even can—reflects a greater understanding of oneself. Choice, the ultimate power granted in the self, engenders spirituality. It is the means by which one follows a divine, guiding spark (i.e. “inner light”) in search of connection with others and the natural world. The album’s ending marries individualism with spirituality, which makes Taylor a true champion of Transcendentalism.

——

Transcendentalism is considered one of the most dominant American intellectual movements. Exploring the significance of Transcendentalist Taylor Swift is a rather unimaginative end to this essay. If we try hard enough, we will always be able to connect its philosophy to any art that exists in conversation with American culture.

Perhaps a more gripping conclusion comes from the assertion that philosophy doesn’t matter…

…at least, not in the way this essay regards philosophy as the ultimate Point.

So identifiable is the geographic motif in Taylor’s work that it is nearly impossible to ignore. This is especially true for folklore, an album that would literally not be folkloric if not for the blending of reality and fiction, real location and setting elevated as metaphor. So moving, moreover, is the grief at folklore’s core that it is natural to wonder what else it could represent. Hence, this essay’s charade of poking around both to see if they convey a deeper meaning.

A strong philosophical foundation establishes the ethos of art, that with which we resonate. However, we will never know to what philosophy Taylor subscribes. The interaction between her beliefs, creative spirit, and innate sense of self will always be a mystery. Any and all conclusions about the philosophical foundations of her art thus (1) are highly subjective and (2) reveal more about the ones making them than about Taylor herself.

Ironically, it is paramount to appreciate Taylor’s (Romantic) style above all else. The ways she uses basic building blocks of literature—theme, imagery, mood, setting, to name a few—piques curiosity. After all, without those building blocks, one would not be able to cultivate (should they so desire) an interest in the metaphorical, philosophical, or otherwise profound.

——

Disclaimer: this essay references (explicitly and implicitly, by way of citing expanded theoretical work) the ideas of Emerson and Heidegger, two preeminent thinkers whose ideas have had especially deep and lasting impacts on society. They are also two individuals noted to have had poor and even abhorrent political/personal views. I do not condone their views by referencing any ideas connected to these individuals (done mostly in service of rigor). I furthermore leave the task of generating nuance to those who dedicate their lives to critical examination of these individuals’ personal philosophies and the impact of their work on society.

#folklore analysis #gaylor swift #music analysis #my post

100 notes · View notes

grigori77 · 4 years ago

Text

2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. ONWARD – Disney and Pixar’s best digitally animated family feature of 2020 (beating the admittedly impressive Soul to the punch) clearly has a love of fantasy roleplay games like Dungeons & Dragons, its quirky modern-day AU take populated by fantastical races and creatures seemingly tailor-made for the geek crowd … needless to say, me and many of my friends absolutely loved it. That doesn’t mean that the classic Disney ideals of love, family and believing in yourself have been side-lined in favour of fan-service – this is as heartfelt, affecting and tearful as their previous standouts, albeit with plenty of literal magic added to the metaphorical kind. The central premise is a clever one – once upon a time, magic was commonplace, but over the years technology came along to make life easier, so that in the present day the various races (elves, centaurs, fauns, pixies, goblins and trolls among others) get along fine without it. Then timid elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) receives a wizard’s staff for his sixteenth birthday, a bequeathed gift from his father, who died before he was born, with instructions for a spell that could bring him back to life for one whole day. Encouraged by his brash, over-confident wannabe adventurer elder brother Barley (Chris Pratt), Ian tries it out, only for the spell to backfire, leaving them with the animated bottom half of their father and just 24 hours to find a means to restore the rest of him before time runs out. Cue an “epic quest” … needless to say, this is another top-notch offering from the original masters of the craft, a fun, affecting and thoroughly infectious family-friendly romp with a winning sense of humour and inspired, flawless world-building. Holland and Pratt are both fantastic, their instantly believable, ill-at-ease little/big brother chemistry effortlessly driving the story through its ingenious paces, and the ensuing emotional fireworks are hilarious and heart-breaking in equal measure, while there’s typically excellent support from Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine from Seinfeld) as Ian and Barley’s put-upon but supportive mum, Laurel, Octavia Spencer as once-mighty adventurer-turned-restaurateur “Corey” the Manticore and Mel Rodriguez (Getting On, The Last Man On Earth) as overbearing centaur cop (and Laurel’s new boyfriend) Colt Bronco. The film marks the sophomore feature gig for Dan Scanlon, who debuted with 2013’s sequel Monsters University, and while that was enjoyable enough I ultimately found it non-essential – no such verdict can be levelled against THIS film, the writer-director delivering magnificently in all categories, while the animation team have outdone themselves in every scene, from the exquisite environments and character/creature designs to some fantastic (and frequently delightfully bonkers) set-pieces, while there’s a veritable riot of brilliant RPG in-jokes to delight geekier viewers (gelatinous cube! XD). Massive, unadulterated fun, frequently hilarious and absolutely BURSTING with Disney’s trademark heart, this was ALMOST my animated feature of the year. More on that later …

19. THE GENTLEMEN – Guy Ritchie’s been having a rough time with his last few movies (The Man From UNCLE didn’t do too bad but it wasn’t exactly a hit and was largely overlooked or simply ignored, while intended franchise-starter King Arthur: Legend of the Sword was largely derided and suffered badly on release, dying a quick death financially – it’s a shame on both counts, because I really liked them), so it’s nice to see him having some proper success with his latest, even if he has basically reverted to type to do it. Still, when his newest London gangster flick is THIS GOOD it seems churlish to quibble – this really is what he does best, bringing together a collection of colourful geezers and shaking up their status quo, then standing back and letting us enjoy the bloody, expletive-riddled results. This particularly motley crew is another winning selection, led by Matthew McConaughey as ruthlessly successful cannabis baron Mickey Pearson, who’s looking to retire from the game by selling off his massive and highly lucrative enterprise for a most tidy sum (some $400,000,000 to be precise) to up-and-coming fellow American ex-pat Matthew Berger (Succession’s Jeremy Strong, oozing sleazy charm), only for local Chinese triad Dry Eye (Crazy Rich Asians’ Henry Golding, chewing the scenery with enthusiasm) to start throwing spanners into the works with the intention of nabbing the deal for himself for a significant discount. Needless to say Mickey’s not about to let that happen … McConaughey is ON FIRE here, the best he’s been since Dallas Buyers Club in my opinion, clearly having great fun sinking his teeth into this rich character and Ritchie’s typically sparkling, razor-witted dialogue, and he’s ably supported by a quality ensemble cast, particularly co-star Charlie Hunnam as Mickey’s ice-cold, steel-nerved right-hand-man Raymond Smith, Downton Abbey’s Michelle Dockery as his classy, strong-willed wife Rosalind, Colin Farrell as a wise-cracking, quietly exasperated MMA trainer and small-time hood simply known as the Coach (who gets many of the film’s best lines), and, most notably, Hugh Grant as the film’s nominal narrator, thoroughly morally bankrupt private investigator Fletcher, who consistently steals the film. This is Guy Ritchie at his very best – a twisty rug-puller of a plot that constantly leaves you guessing, brilliantly observed and richly drawn characters you can’t help loving in spite of the fact there’s not a single hero among them, a deliciously unapologetic, politically incorrect sense of humour and a killer soundtrack. Getting the cinematic year off to a phenomenal start, it’s EASILY Ritchie’s best film since Sherlock Holmes, and a strong call-back to the heady days of Snatch (STILL my favourite) and Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels. Here’s hoping he’s on a roll again, eh?

18. SPONTANEOUS – one of the year’s biggest under-the-radar surprise hits for me was one which I actually might not have caught if things had been a little more normal and ordered. Thankfully with all the lockdown and cinematic shutdown bollocks going on, this fantastically subversive and deeply satirical indie teen comedy horror came along at the perfect time, and I completely flipped out over it. Now those who know me know I don’t tend to gravitate towards teen cinema, but like all those other exceptions I’ve loved over the years, this one had a brilliantly compulsive hook I just couldn’t turn down – small-town high-schooler Mara (Knives Out and Netflix’ Cursed’s Katherine Langford) is your typical cool outsider kid, smart, snarky and just putting up with the scene until she can graduate and get as far away as possible … until one day in her senior year one of her classmates just inexplicably explodes. Like her peers, she’s shocked and she mourns, then starts to move on … until it happens again. As the death toll among the senior class begins to mount, it becomes clear something weird is going on, but Mara has other things on her mind because the crisis has, for her, had an unexpected benefit – without it she wouldn’t have fallen in love with like-minded oddball new kid Dylan (Lean On Pete and Words On Bathroom Walls’ Charlie Plummer). The future’s looking bright, but only if they can both live to see it … this is a wickedly intelligent film, powered by a skilfully executed script and a wonderfully likeable young cast who consistently steer their characters around the potential cliched pitfalls of this kind of cinema, while debuting writer-director Brian Duffield (already a rising star thanks to scripts for Underwater, The Babysitter and blacklist darling Jane Got a Gun among others) show he’s got as much talent and flair for crafting truly inspired cinema as he has for thinking it up in the first place, delivering some impressively offbeat set-pieces and several neat twists you frequently don’t see coming ahead of time. Langford and Plummer as a sassy, spicy pair who are easy to root for without ever getting cloying or sweet, while there’s glowing support from the likes of Hayley Law (Rioverdale, Altered Carbon, The New Romantic) as Mara’s best friend Tess, Piper Perabo and Transparent’s Rob Huebel as her increasingly concerned parents, and Insecure’s Yvonne Orji as Agent Rosetti, the beleaguered government employee sent to spearhead the investigation into exactly what’s happening to these kids. Quirky, offbeat and endlessly inventive, this is one of those interesting instances where I’m glad they pushed the horror elements into the background so we could concentrate on the comedy, but more importantly these wonderfully well-realised and vital characters – there are some skilfully executed shocks, but far more deep belly laughs, and there’s bucketloads of heart to eclipse the gore. Another winning debut from a talent I intend to watch with great interest in the future.

17. HAMILTON – arriving just as Black Lives Matter reached fever-pitch levels, this feature presentation of the runaway Broadway musical smash-hit could not have been better timed. Shot over three nights during the show’s 2016 run with the original cast and cut together with specially created “setup shots”, it’s an immersive experience that at once puts you right in amongst the audience (at times almost a character themselves, never seen but DEFINITELY heard) but also lets you experience the action up close. And what action – it’s an incredible show, a thoroughly fascinating piece of work that reads like something very staid and proper on paper (an all-encompassing biographical account of the life and times of American Founding Father Alexander Hamilton) but, in execution, becomes something very different and EXTREMELY vital. The execution certainly couldn’t be further from the usual period biopic fare this kind of historical subject matter usually gets (although in the face of recent high quality revisionist takes like Marie Antoinette, The Great and Tesla it’s not SO surprising), while the cast is not at all what you’d expect – with very few notable exceptions the cast is almost entirely people of colour, despite the fact that the real life individuals they’re playing were all very white indeed. Every single one of them is also an absolute revelation – the show’s writer-composer Lin-Manuel Miranda (already riding high on the success of In the Heights) carries the central role of Hamilton with effortless charm and raw star power, Leslie Odom Jr. (Smash, Murder On the Orient Express) is duplicitously complex as his constant nemesis Aaron Burr, Christopher Jackson (In the Heights, Moana, Bull) oozes integrity and nobility as his mentor and friend George Washington, Phillipa Soo is sweet and classy as his wife Eliza while Renée Elise Goldsberry (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Jacks, Altered Carbon) is fiery and statuesque as her sister Angelica Schuyler (the one who got away), and Jonathan Groff (Mindhunter) consistently steals every scene he’s in as fiendish yet childish fan favourite King George III, but the show (and the film) ultimately belongs to veritable powerhouse Daveed Diggs (Blindspotting, The Good Lord Bird) in a spectacular duel role, starting subtly but gaining scene-stealing momentum as French Revolutionary Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, before EXPLODING onto the stage in the second half as indomitable third American President Thomas Jefferson. Not having seen the stage show, I was taken completely by surprise by this, revelling in its revisionist genius and offbeat, quirky hip-hop charm, spellbound by the skilful ease with which is takes the sometimes quite dull historical fact and skews it into something consistently entertaining and absorbing, transported by the catchy earworm musical numbers and thoroughly tickled by the delightfully cheeky sense of humour strung throughout (at least when I wasn’t having my heart broken by moments of raw dramatic power). Altogether it’s a pretty unique cinematic experience I wish I could have actually gotten to see on the big screen, and one I’ve consistently recommended to all my friends, even the ones who don’t usually like musicals. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t need a proper Les Misérables style screen adaptation – this is about as perfect a presentation as the show could possibly hope for.

16. SPUTNIK – summer’s horror highlight (despite SERIOUSLY tough competition) was a guaranteed sleeper hit that I almost missed entirely, stumbling across the trailer one day on YouTube and getting bowled over by its potential, prompting me to hunt it down by any means necessary. The feature debut of Russian director Egor Abramenko, this first contact sci-fi chiller is about as far from E.T. as it’s possible to get, sharing some of the same DNA as Carpenter’s The Thing but proudly carving its own path with consummate skill and definitely signalling great things to come from its brand new helmer and relative unknown screenwriters Oleg Malovichko and Andrei Zolotarev. Oksana Akinshina (probably best known in the West for her powerful climactic cameo in The Bourne Supremacy) is the beating heart of the film as neurophysiologist Tatyana Yuryevna Klimova, brought in to aid in the investigation in the Russian wilderness circa 1983 after an orbital research mission goes horribly wrong. One of the cosmonauts dies horribly, while the other, Konstantin (The Duelist’s Pyotr Fyodorov) seems unharmed, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s now the host for something decidedly extraterrestrial and potentially terrifying, and as Tatyana becomes more deeply embroiled in her assignment she comes to realise that her superiors, particularly mysterious Red Army project leader Colonel Semiradov (The PyraMMMid’s Fyodor Bondarchuk), have far more insidious plans for Konstantin and his new “friend” than she could ever imagine. This is about as dark, intense and nightmarish as this particular sub-genre gets, a magnificently icky body horror that slowly builds its tension as we’re gradually exposed to the various truths and the awful gravity of the situation slowly reveals itself, punctuated by skilfully executed shocks and some particularly horrifying moments when the evils inflicted by the humans in charge prove far worse than anything the alien can do, while the ridiculously talented writers have a field day pulling the rug out from under us again and again, never going for the obvious twist and keeping us guessing right to the devastating ending, while the beautifully crafted digital creature effects are nothing short of astonishing and thoroughly creepy. Akinshina dominates the film with her unbridled grace, vulnerability and integrity, the relationship that develops between Tatyana and Konstantin (Fyodorov delivering a beautifully understated turn belying deep inner turmoil) feeling realistically earned as it goes from tentatively wary to tragically bittersweet, while Bondarchuk invests the Colonel with a nuanced air of tarnished authority and restrained brutality that made him one of my top screen villains for the year. One of 2020’s great sleeper hits, I can’t speak of this film highly enough – it’s a genuine revelation, an instant classic for whom I’ll sing its praises for years to come, and I wish enormous future success to all the creative talents involved.

15. THE INVISIBLE MAN – looks like third time’s a charm for Leigh Whannell, writer-director of my ALMOST horror movie of the year (more on that later) – while he’s had immense success as a horror writer over the years (co-creator of both the Saw and Insidious franchises), as a director his first two features haven’t exactly set the world alight, with debut Insidious: Chapter III garnering similar takes to the rest of the series but ultimately turning out to be a bit of a damp squib quality-wise, while his second feature Upgrade was a stone-cold masterpiece that was (rightly) EXTREMELY well received critically, but ultimately snuck in under the radar and has remained a stubbornly hidden gem since. No such problems with his third feature, though – his latest collaboration with producer Jason Blum and the insanely lucrative Blumhouse Pictures has proven a massive hit both financially AND with reviewers, and deservedly so. Having given up on trying to create a shared cinematic universe inhabited by their classic monsters, Universal resolved to concentrate on standalones to showcase their elite properties, and their first try is a rousing success, Whannell bringing HG Wells’ dark and devious human monster smack into the 21st Century as only he can. The result is a surprisingly subtle piece of work, much more a lethally precise exercise in cinematic sleight of hand and extraordinary acting than flashy visual effects, strictly adhering to the Blumhouse credo of maximum returns for minimum bucks as the story is stripped down to its bare essentials and allowed to play out without any unnecessary weight. The Handmaid’s Tale’s Elizabeth Moss once again confirms what a masterful actress she is as she brings all her performing weapons to bear in the role of Cecelia “Cee” Kass, the cloistered wife of affluent but monstrously abusive optics pioneer Aidan Griffin (Netflix’ The Haunting of Hill House’s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who escapes his clutches in the furiously tense opening sequence and goes to ground with the help of her closest childhood friend, San Francisco cop James Lanier (Leverage’s Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter Sydney (A Wrinkle in Time’s Storm Reid). Two weeks later, Aidan commits suicide, leaving Cee with a fortune to start her life over (with the proviso that she’s never ruled mentally incompetent), but as she tries to find her way in the world again little things start going wrong for her, and she begins to question if there might be something insidious going on. As her nerves start to unravel, she begins to suspect that Aidan is still alive, still very much in her life, fiendishly toying with her and her friends, but no-one can see him. Whannell plays her paranoia up for all it’s worth, skilfully teasing out the scares so that, just like her friends, we begin to wonder if it might all be in her head after all, before a spectacular mid-movie reveal throws the switch into high gear and the true threat becomes clear. The lion’s share of the film’s immense success must of course go to Moss – her performance is BEYOND a revelation, a blistering career best that totally powers the whole enterprise, and it goes without saying that she’s the best thing in this. Even so, she has sterling support from Hodge and Reid, as well as Love Child’s Harriet Dyer as Cee’s estranged big sister Emily and Wonderland’s Michael Dorman as Adrian’s slimy, spineless lawyer brother Tom, and, while he doesn’t have much actual (ahem) “screen time”, Jackson-Cohen delivers a fantastically icy, subtly malevolent turn which casts a large “shadow” over the film. This is one of my very favourite Blumhouse films, a pitch-perfect psychological chiller that keeps the tension cranked up unbearably tight and never lets go, Whannell once again displaying uncanny skill with expert jump-scares, knuckle-whitening chills and a truly astounding standout set-piece that easily goes down as one of the top action sequences of 2020. Undoubtedly the best version of Wells’ story to date, this goes a long way in repairing the damage of Universal’s abortive “Dark Universe” efforts, as well as showcasing a filmmaking master at the very height of his talents.

14. EXTRACTION – the Coronavirus certainly has threw a massive spanner in the works of the year’s cinematic calendar – among many other casualties to the blockbuster shunt, the latest (and most long-awaited) MCU movie, Black Widow, should have opened to further record-breaking box office success at the end of spring, but instead the theatres were all closed and virtually all the heavyweights were pushed back or shelved indefinitely. Thank God, then, for the streaming services, particularly Hulu, Amazon and Netflix, the latter of which provided a perfect movie for us to see through the key transition into the summer blockbuster season, an explosively flashy big budget action thriller ushered in by MCU alumni the Russo Brothers (who produced and co-wrote this adaptation of Ciudad, a graphic novel that Joe Russo co-created with Ande Parks and Fernando Leon Gonzalez) and barely able to contain the sheer star-power wattage of its lead, Thor himself. Chris Hemsworth plays Tyler Rake, a former Australian SAS operative who hires out his services to an extraction operation under the command of mercenary Nik Khan (The Patience Stone’s Golshifteh Farahani), brought in to liberate Ovi Mahajan (Rudhraksh Jaiswal in his first major role), the pre-teen son of incarcerated Indian crime lord Ovi Sr. (Pankaj Tripathi), who has been abducted by Bangladeshi rival Amir Asif (Priyanshu Painyuli). The rescue itself goes perfectly, but when the time comes for the hand-off the team is double-crossed and Tyler is left stranded in the middle of Dhaka with no choice but to keep Ovi alive as every corrupt cop and street gang in the city closes in around them. This is the feature debut of Sam Hargrave, the latest stuntman to try his hand at directing, so he certainly knows his way around an action set-piece, and the result is a thoroughly breathless adrenaline rush of a film, bursting at the seams with spectacular fights, gun battles and car chases, dominated by a stunning sustained sequence that plays out in one long shot, guaranteed to leave jaws lying on the floor. Not that there should be any surprise – Hargrave cut his teeth as a stunt coordinator for the Russos on Captain America: Civil War and their Avengers films. That said, he displays strong talent for the quieter disciplines of filmmaking too, delivering quality character development and drawing out consistently noteworthy performances from his cast. Of course, Hemsworth can do the action stuff in his sleep, but there’s a lot more to Tyler than just his muscle, the MCU veteran investing him with real wounded vulnerability and a tragic fatalism which colours every scene, while Jaiswal is exceptional throughout, showing plenty of promise for the future, and there’s strong support from Farahani and Painyuli, as well as Stranger Things’ David Harbour as world-weary retired merc Gaspard, and a particularly impressive, muscular turn from Randeep Hooda (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) as Saju, a former Para and Ovi’s bodyguard, who’s determined to take possession of the boy himself, even if he has to go through Tyler to get him. This is action cinema that really deserves to be seen on the big screen – I watched it twice in a week and would happily have paid for two trips to the cinema for it if I could have. As we looked down the barrel of a summer season largely devoid of blockbuster fare, I couldn’t recommend this enough. Thank the gods for Netflix …

13. THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO 7 – although it’s definitely a film that really benefitted enormously from releasing on Netflix during the various lockdowns, this was one of the blessed few I actually got to see during one of the UK’s frustratingly rare lulls when cinemas were actually OPEN. Rather perversely it therefore became one of my favourite cinematic experiences of 2020, but then I’m just as much a fan of well-made cerebral films as I am of the big, immersive blockbuster EXPERIENCES, so this probably still would have been a standout in a normal year. Certainly if this was a purely CRITICAL list for the year this probably would have placed high in the Top Ten … Aaron Sorkin is a writer whose work I have ardently admired ever since he went from esteemed playwright to in-demand talent for both the big screen AND the small with A Few Good Men, and TTOTC7 is just another in a long line of consistently impressive, flawlessly written works rife with addictive quickfire dialogue, beautifully observed characters and rewardingly propulsive narrative storytelling (therefore resting comfortably amongst the well-respected likes of The West Wing, Charlie Wilson’s War, Moneyball and The Social Network). It also marks his second feature as a director (after fascinating and incendiary debut Molly’s Game), and once again he’s gone for true story over fiction, tackling the still controversial subject of the infamous 1968 trial of the “ringleaders” of the infamous riots which marred Chicago’s Diplomatic National Convention five months earlier, in which thousands of hippies and college students protesting the Vietnam War clashed with police. Spurred on by the newly-instated Presidential Administration of Richard Nixon to make some examples, hungry up-and-coming prosecutor Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is confident in his case, while the Seven – who include respected and astute student activist Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne) and confrontational counterculture firebrands Abbie Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Succession’s Jeremy Strong) – are the clear underdogs. They’re a divided bunch (particularly Hayden and Hoffman, who never mince their words about what little regard they hold for each other), and they’re up against the combined might of the U.S. Government, while all they have on their side is pro-bono lawyer and civil rights activist William Kunstler (Mark Rylance), who’s sharp, driven and thoroughly committed to the cause but clearly massively outmatched … not to mention the fact that the judge presiding over the case is Julius Hoffman (Frank Langella), a fierce and uncompromising conservative who’s clearly 100% on the Administration’s side, and who might in fact be stark raving mad (he also frequently goes to great lengths to make it clear to all concerned that he is NOT related to Abbie). Much as we’ve come to expect from Sorkin, this is cinema of grand ideals and strong characters, not big spectacle and hard action, and all the better for it – he’s proved time and again that he’s one of the very best creative minds in Hollywood when it comes to intelligent, thought-provoking and engrossing thinking-man’s entertainment, and this is pure par for the course, keeping us glued to the screen from the skilfully-executed whirlwind introductory montage to the powerfully cathartic climax, and every varied and brilliant scene in-between. This is heady stuff, focusing on what’s still an extremely thorny issue made all the more urgently relevant and timely given what was (and still is) going on in American politics at the time, and everyone involved here was clearly fully committed to making the film as palpable, powerful and resonant as possible for the viewer, no matter their nationality or political inclination. Also typical for a Sorkin film, the cast are exceptional, everyone clearly having the wildest time getting their teeth into their finely-drawn characters and that magnificent dialogue – Redmayne and Baron Cohen are compellingly complimentary intellectual antagonists given their radically different approaches and their roles’ polar opposite energies, while Rylance delivers another pitch-perfect, simply ASTOUNDING performance that once again marks him as one of the very best actors of his generation, and there are particularly meaty turns from Strong, Langella, Aquaman’s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (as besieged Black Panther Bobby Seale) and a potent late appearance from Michael Keaton that sear themselves into the memory long after viewing. Altogether then, this is a phenomenal film which deserves to be seen no matter the format, a thought-provoking and undeniably IMPORTANT masterwork from a master cinematic storyteller that says as much about the world we live in now as the decidedly turbulent times it portrays …

12. GREYHOUND – when the cinemas closed back in March, the fate of many of the major summer blockbusters we’d been looking forward to was thrown into terrible doubt. Some were pushed back to more amenable dates in the autumn or winter (which even then ultimately proved frustratingly ambitious), others knocked back a whole year to fill summer slots for 2021, but more than a few simply dropped off the radar entirely with the terrible words “postponed until further notice” stamped on them, and I lamented them all, this one in particular. It hung in there longer than some, stubbornly holding onto its June release slot for as long as possible, but eventually it gave up the ghost too … but thanks to Apple TV+, not for long, ultimately releasing less than a month later than intended. Thankfully the film itself was worth the fuss, a taut World War II suspense thriller that’s all killer, no filler – set during the infamous Battle of the Atlantic, it portrays the constant life-or-death struggle faced by the Allied warships assigned to escort the transport convoys as they crossed the ocean, defending their charges from German U-boats. Adapted from C.S. Forester’s famous 1955 novel The Good Shepherd by Tom Hanks and directed by Aaron Schneider (Get Low), the narrative focuses on the crew of the escort leader, American destroyer USS Fletcher, codenamed “Greyhound”, and in particular its captain, Commander Ernest Krause (Hanks), a career sailor serving his first command. As they cross “the Pit”, the most dangerous middle stretch of the journey where they spend days without air-cover, they find themselves shadowed by “the Wolf Pack”, a particularly cunning group of German submarines that begin to pick away at the convoy’s stragglers. Faced with daunting odds, a dwindling supply of vital depth-charges and a ruthless, persistent enemy, Krause must make hard choices to bring his ships home safe … jumping into the thick of the action within the first ten minutes and maintaining its tension for the remainder of the trim 90-minute run, this is screen suspense par excellence, a sleek textbook example of how to craft a compelling big screen knuckle-whitener with zero fat and maximum reward, delivering a series of desperate naval scraps packed with hide-and-seek intensity, heart-in-mouth near-misses and fist-in-air cathartic payoffs by the bucket-load. Hanks is subtly magnificent, the calm centre of the narrative storm as a supposed newcomer to this battle arena who could have been BORN for it, bringing to mind his similarly unflappable in Captain Phillips and certainly not suffering by comparison; by and large he’s the focus point, but other crew members make strong (if sometimes quite brief) impressions, particularly Stephen Graham as Krause’s reliably seasoned XO, Lt. Commander Charlie Cole, The Magnificent Seven’s Manuel Garcia-Rulfo and Just Mercy’s Rob Morgan, while Elisabeth Shue does a lot with a very small part in brief flashbacks as Krause’s fiancée Evelyn. Relentless, exhilarating and thoroughly unforgettable, this was one of the true action highlights of the summer, and one hell of a war flick. I’m so glad it made the cut for the summer …

11. PROJECT POWER – with Marvel and DC pushing their tent-pole titles back in the face of COVID, the usual superhero antics we’ve come to expect for the summer were pretty thin on the ground in 2020, leading us to find our geeky fan thrills elsewhere. Unfortunately, pickings were frustratingly slim – Korean comic book actioner Gundala was entertaining but workmanlike, while Thor AU Mortal was underwhelming despite strong direction from Troll Hunter’s André Øvredal, and The New Mutants just got shat on by the studio and its distributors and no mistake – thank the Gods, then, for Netflix, once again riding to the rescue with this enjoyably offbeat super-thriller, which takes an intriguing central premise and really runs with it. New designer drug Power has hit the streets of New Orleans, able to give anyone who takes it a superpower for five minutes … the only problem is, until you try it, you don’t know what your own unique talent is – for some, it could mean five minutes of invisibility, or insane levels of super-strength, but other powers can be potentially lethal, the really unlucky buggers just blowing up on the spot. Robin (The Hate U Give’s Dominique Fishback) is a teenage Power-pusher with dreams of becoming a rap star, dealing the pills so she can help her diabetic mum; Frank Shaver (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is one of her customers, a police detective who uses his power of near invulnerability to even the playing field when supercharged crims cause a disturbance. Their lives are turned upside down when Art (Jamie Foxx) arrives in town – he’s a seriously badass ex-soldier determined to hunt down the source of Power by any means necessary, and he’s not above tearing the Big Easy apart to do it. This is a fun, gleefully infectious rollercoaster that doesn’t take itself too seriously, revelling in the anarchic potential of its premise and crafting some suitably OTT effects-driven chaos brought to pleasingly visceral fruition by its skilfully inventive director, Ariel Schulman (Catfish, Nerve, Viral), while Mattson Tomlin (the screenwriter of the DCEU’s oft-delayed, incendiary headline act The Batman) takes the story in some very interesting directions and poses fascinating questions about what Power’s TRULY capable of. Gordon-Levitt and Fishback are both brilliant, the latter particularly impressing in what’s sure to be a major breakthrough role for her, and the friendship their characters share is pretty adorable, while Foxx really is a force to be reckoned with, pretty chill even when he’s in deep shit but fully capable of turning into a bona fide killing machine at the flip of a switch, and there’s strong support from Westworld’s Rodrigo Santoro as Biggie, Power’s delightfully oily kingpin, Courtney B. Vance as Frank’s by-the-book superior, Captain Crane, Amy Landecker as Gardner, the morally bankrupt CIA spook responsible for the drug’s production, and Machine Gun Kelly as Newt, a Power dealer whose pyrotechnic “gift” really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Exciting, inventive, frequently amusing and infectiously likeable, this was some of the most uncomplicated cinematic fun I had all summer. Not bad for something which I’m sure was originally destined to become one of the season’s B-list features …

#onward #onward movie #The Gentlemen #spontaneous #spontaneous movie #hamilton #hamilton movie #sputnik #sputnik movie #The Invisible Man #Extraction #extraction movie #the trial of the chicago 7 #greyhound #greyhound movie #project power #2020 in movies

25 notes · View notes

hazzabeeforlou · 5 years ago

Text

Fine Line Masterpost:

A breakdown, musically and lyrically

In Fine Line, ‘raw honesty’ doesn’t really mean delving into the details of who Harry Styles is sleeping with, but rather it’s a glimpse into the world of a 25-year-old who is both deeply in love and who fucks up a lot; he’s given to sugary supplications, is plagued by jealousy, pouts at consequences, and struggles with understanding an inner self that keeps prodding him towards exploration of his identity.

The album is constructed to be consumed by various factions of the fandom. There’s no getting away from the surface dedication of HS2 as an ode to a blonde supermodel with a delicious French accent whose new boyfriend’s father owns a gallery, a girl who has golden hair and blue eyes. I won’t be arguing that away, because it’s intentional, it’s meant to be the surface layer.

The mantle is not the crust, though. Taken individually, each song can be seen as speaking to the queer experience in varied and complex ways, and I’ve seen some truly beautiful explorations of this angle. Especially with TPWK and FL, the anthemic solidarity with queer experience is astounding and gorgeous. I think it’s no accident that this broad take holds true as we zoom in and look at the complex details; Harry has written songs that speak both to this meaning and also hold incredibly personal and intimate significance between him and a partner (in this post we’ll call them Subject).

I will be focusing on the album as a cohesive narrative in the context of it’s chronological, linear progression. Fine Line details an incredibly personal struggle; it’s a love letter, an at times embarrassing, self-loathing reflection on a love gone wrong, a love struggling, an emerging self, and a hope redeemed.

Please feel free to ask questions if any of the technical stuff is confusing, but please also remember that these are my opinions, coupled with my analysis as a professional musician (meaning, hopefully I’m remembering those torturous years of theory dictation correctly!)

Side A

All four songs share an off-kilter-ness, a restless, unsettled, frantic feeling, as if Harry is balancing, undecided between throwing himself at the feet of the one he loves or pulling away. This is no illusion; the tonic base is missing from each song save WS (but even here the tonic is sabotaged in our ear, as we’ll discuss). We’re on a journey to side B; we start with a hope that sweet memories and lust can salvage love, and we end with Harry going his own way.

Golden: There are only two chords in this song, DM and CM7, the V and IV7 of the implied tonic, G Major. We never get to tonic though. We never touch that home base. The songs “da da da’s” give it a happier, peppier illusion than the text reveals.

Harry is already broken, already reflecting and hopeless as the song begins. His intended listener, Subject - the sun, the golden one - waits for him in the sky, and is all he’s ever known. Subject has always browned his skin just right, but now, Harry reflects, perhaps has been too bright for him. (Is some aspect of Harry buried in the brilliance of Subject’s light?) This golden Subject is scared, though, scared Harry is so open. Harry doesn’t want to be alone, but he also needs to peel back edges of himself previously unexplored. Stepping into and away from light is a major theme for Harry, and this opening song sets that precedent. Subject is scared because “hearts get broken,” but Harry’s heart is already broken, so perhaps this refers not to interpersonal heartbreak, but situational. Harry recognizes he’s “out of his head...” BUT, he counters, “Loving you’s the antidote!” He naively gushes out poetry while Subject remains unconvinced. We establish an impasse.

Watermelon Sugar: The Dm - Cm - Am6 - GM chord progression is an odd one; my best guess is that the song is in D minor, so the progression is:

i, VII, v, IV

That’s not typical in a minor key. Usually the leading tone note (in this case a C) is raised (so C#) making the five chord Major (V) not minor (v) and the seven chord diminished (viio) not Major (VII). also the Major IV ignores the B flat in the key signature of D minor and instead uses B natural. So all this to say that the tonic base STILL doesn’t feel like a tonic home, because the normalcy around the key signature is erased. Everything still feels unsettled, unresolved.

Much has been made of the oral sex interpretation, so, ya. This is a song about remembering the best of times, a prayer to Subject, a plea for summertime and bellies and strawberries, and a feeling Harry is desperate to get back.

Adore You: The three chords in this song, Cm - BbM - AbM, imply an E flat Major key, so vi, V, IV, respectively. The tonic, Eb (I), is (once again) never used, and instead vi, V, IV circle without ever coming to rest.

Subject, “Honey,” creates a rainbow paradise. This is another love letter to Subject, let me adore you, I’ll walk through fire for you, you don’t have to say anything just listen to me, you don’t have to say you love me too, just please, please... you’ve been on my mind. Let me adore you like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do. By this wording, Harry admits that adoring Subject is not the only thing he ever does, yet he wishes Subject to remember, or imagine, this false reality.

Lights Up: We’re in C Major here, with the chords Am - GM - FM, creating the same exact chord progression as Adore You, vi, V, IV. We (yet again!) never reach the tonic of C Major. It’s a constant tease of resolution, but there’s no solid home base. We’re suspended in limbo.

Subject is “sorry, btw.” What does that mean, Harry asks? Sorry we’re here in this place, that this is happing? This song is Harry’s declaration: he’s not staying, he’s not coming back down. It would be sweet if things stayed the same, but no, I’m stepping into the light. “All the lights couldn’t put out the dark”... even all the golden sun of Subject couldn’t heal the void in Harry’s soul? Harry asks subject, do you know who you are? implying that he’s determined to answer this for himself. I’m reminded of the crab in Moana, singing “Shiny.” There’s a certain bravado here, a reckless glittery happiness, a flaunting, an exuberance in discovery.

Side B

Tonics are all over the place. Harry is certainly certain about heartbreak. No ambiguity here.

Cherry: GM - Em - CM, or I, vi, IV. We’re in G Major and we know it. Repetitive “cou-cos’s” pepper the track like hanging fruit (let’s imagine from cherry trees).

The song is a simple one, simple in its jealousy. Harry has let Subject go, and now Subject is at their best... and Harry hates it. He doesn't want his former pet term of endearment used on another, even though he has no claim on Subject’s actions anymore. Harry keeps finding bits of Subject in how he dresses. They’re not talking lately, and Harry perhaps is most upset that this separation isn’t going how he planned... Subject is at their best without him.

The gallery line is inserted as a bridge, a unique line of music rather separate from the rest, an intentional narrative. But what’s most fascinating is the end of the song. The previous repetitive chord progression changes. Now we have

GM - AM7 (an added C#) - Am7 (4/2 inversion) - GM

or I, II7, ii7, I

The “cou-cou” lands during the AM7 (the II7) and it lands EXACTLY on the note of B, extending the 7th chord to a ninth chord, before, on its second syllable, dropping to the A and holding there (a kind of suspension) while the chord progression resolves to the Am7 (ii7), making the A a chord tone. This is deliberate. Unless the whole piece was harmonically built around Camille’s random use of a B to A in a voicemail (also randomly in the perfect key for Harry’s voice) this was purposely recorded for aesthetic effect. I for one really love it, I could listen to breathy french girls mutter about beaches endlessly...

Falling: A straightforward progression. In the key of E Major,

EM - C#m - BM - AM or I, vi, V, IV

With Falling, the only ballade on the album, we see Harry shift from jealousy to self destructive behavior. I don’t believe the ‘wandering hands’ line is about cheating (he and Subject were already apart) but rather, Harry seeking to wound Subject by turning to others. Communication is back open, because Subject says they care, they miss him too, but now Harry’s gone and fucked it all up. What have I become? What if Subject never needs me again? I can’t unpack the baggage they left. I just want Subject AROUND! Harry isn’t even begging for a romantic connection, he’s simply begging for Subject’s presence. He was so sure he could discover himself in LU, and now he keeps asking, what am I now? Who has he become on his own? He’s falling, and there’s no one to catch him.

To Be So Lonely: This song waffles between two keys, just as Harry waffles between defending himself to Subject and finally, finally admitting (in just one small line) that he is, in fact, sorry. The song seems to start out in C Major, with CM and Am chords (I, iv) but then at the chorus the Am chord elides from a iv to a i, revealing the key is really A minor. The chorus goes on to be:

Am - GM - Em - FM

or i, VII (lowered leading tone in minor), v (lowered leading tone in minor), VI

A fluttering mandolin mimics a fluttering heartbeat, and a folk music lilt gives the song a certain feel of heartbreak.

Harry asks for Subject to not blame the drunk caller, likely himself. Harry was away. He missed Subject. He was just a little boy when he fell, and presumably Subject caught him that time. Subject is trying to be friends, they mean well, perhaps have taken pity on him, but Harry cannot stand to be called baby now, not when that name doesn’t mean what it used to, not when it’s a hollow word. Harry’s ‘home’ is suddenly a lonely place, but Subject has his reasons for how he’s acted, presumably good ones, and finally Harry gives his mea culpa, “this is it, so I’m sorry.”

Interestingly, only after admitting that he’s made mistakes too, that he’s not perfect, that he shares the blame, does Harry confront and open himself to the realization contained in the next song, the heart of the album and the crux of what Harry’s been dancing around up until this point.

She: In E minor, both verse and chorus use the same progression:

Em - DM - CM - Am - (Bm, a quick lead-in to) - Em

or i, II, VI, iv, v (no raised leading tone), i

This Bowie-esc sounding song is the first to have characters. In addition to the Subject (perennially addressed as ‘You’) there is The Man and She. I would argue The Man and She are both Harry, a duality. The man drops his kids off at school, the man is thinking of You, like all of us do (everyone thinks of their SO perhaps). The Man goes through mundane daily tasks, but is he faking it? Does he really know what to do? He’s playing pretend, so pretend.

Now Harry introduces She. (When speaking of She, Harry sings in a high falsetto.) She lives in daydreams, she is the first one he sees, and Harry doesn’t know who She is. A Woman just in his head, who sleeps in his (a jump up to the falsetto for just this one word in the verse) bed while he plays pretend. Much has been said about the gender/fluidity discovery in this song, and by better than me. It’s clear what Harry is saying, it’s clear what he’s going through and wrestling with. He’s thinking of Subject, but also haunted by She, in his head, in his mind’s eye, in his daydreams. She is a part of Harry, and Harry wants to know who She is.

Side C

Uncomplicated tonics! All Major! A shift into happiness perhaps?

Sunflower: F Major. BbM - FM - CM, or IV, I, V. The bridge is fancy:

iii, IV, V, vi, I, V vi, V (vi?) V

Some trippie hippie song from the 60s! Two lines of thought are apparent from the get go; Harry says he wants to get to know Subject, but then says “before I got to know you.” It’s as if this is a new beginning, like he and Subject are starting over. Much is made of the ‘seed’ thing, a metaphor for new life and rebirth, “plant new seeds in the melody.” Harry is trying hard not to talk to Subject, to not seem eager, not act a fool. He was just tongue tied, then he’s still tongue tied, implying he’s done this whole dance before. He implores Subject to hold their sweet memories: domestic times, kitchens, kids. In Golden, Subject was the sun. Now Subject is a sunflower, hung up high in the gallery, out of the shade, in the light a sunflower needs to thrive, into the light, step into the light. Little gasps from Harry interject throughout; is he surfacing from water (LU music video?), is he breathing between kisses, is he suddenly gifted new life like Gandalf atop Isengard? The end of the piece devolves into calls of unbridled, nonsensical joy, like birds song, like mating calls amongst brilliant plumage.

Canyon Moon: D Major. DM - GM - AM - DM (I, IV, V, I)

Bridge DM - (Em transit?) - AM - DM (I, (ii), V, I)

Chorus DM - AM - DM - GM (I, V6, I6, IV)

Perhaps the most straightforward tonic bound song of the album. Harry is missing Subject, but it’s a happy nostalgia now, a hopeful one, a “two weeks and I’ll be home.” Home is no longer a lonely place, like in TBSL. The world is happy waiting (there’s no rush? No need to have everything figured out?). “Doors yellow, broken, blue.” You can’t bribe the door on the way to the sky a sky where Harry’s Golden sun awaits him, and now the sky door is broken, busted through, that blue door to a blue sky that never looked so blue.

We get another glimpse of She here; Subject remains You, Harry remains Harry, but there’s also a She who plays old hippies’ love songs and pretends to know the words; perhaps this is another Camille reference for narrative purposes, but I lean more towards this being another reference to She as Harry, exploring odd new music he’s never heard, trying not to be so pretentious about it but failing. (He’s such an Aquarius.) Most charmingly of all, the single whistler becomes two by the end of the song.

Treat People With Kindness: F Major. This is the most interesting piece in terms of text painting.

We start with CM6 - FM, then FM6/4 - BbM, then back to CM6 - FM, then we hold on the Am chord, and then repeat the whole thing. So analyzed in F Major this would be V6, I, I6/4, IV, V6, I, iii.

But. By using the I6 to IV, Harry plays with the idea of a V of IV, where you take the IV chord of the key and pretend it has its own dominant (V) and use the V of IV not as the I chord normally is used, but as a Leading Tone chord to IV.

ALL THAT TO SAY. He’s illustrating the lyrics. During “Maybe we can find a place” the chords are playing with dual resolutions. Where is the actual tonic? Is it F Major or B Flat Major? It’s ambiguous! We don’t know! We haven’t found our place yet!

But then! The bridge. “And if we’re here long enough” and look where we land, on a CM chord, then BbM, then FM, a solid V, IV, I progression. And THEN (bless this boy) on the word belong we get the same A minor chord (the iii) but we get a 7th added to the chord, a G, and Harry holds this G in the melody (plant new seeds in the melody), a note that VERY MUCH DOES NOT BELONG because in no universe does a iii chord in Major have a 7th added! And Harry not only ADDS but draws attention to this note, this note that doesn’t belong!!! Then this iii7 chord resolves to C Major (V), making the G note a chord tone, making it BELONG, making it fit perfectly.

GOD. Weep with me.

This is Over the Rainbow. This is Hair, this is Age of Aquarius. Somewhere there’s a place we can belong and feel good and people will celebrate and rejoice in us, someday a new age will dawn.

Harry is plunging into the deep end, dreaming, caught up in his good feelings and his euphoria in being “given second chances.” He’s tentative about admitting reckless hope to Subject; instead he says, “Maybe we can find a place to feel good?” Harry says he doesn’t need all the answers. He said in LU “do you know who you are” then in Falling “What am I now?” then in She “I don't know who she is” and now he’s at peace. He feels good in his skin, and he will keep on dancing.

Most personally, I think the sudden somber turn of the line “If our friends all pass away” is in reference to grief. He’s speaking to Subject, but also to himself. It will be okay, okay, okay. Harry can’t control his life, he doesn’t have everything figured out, but he’s come to accept that.

Side D

Fine Line: D Major. We come full circle, returning to the use of only three chords like at the start of the album. This time, though, Harry resolves to tonic in a repetitive pattern used for both the verses and chorus:

Bm, GM7, DM6/4, or vi, IV7, I

FL is the summation of the album, the thesis statement, the conclusion of the journey. Harry has endured tests of patience, and accepted that there are things he’ll never know. He’s trying to shake off trepidation (of plunging in the deep end? Of hoping?). He says “My hand’s at risk, I fold.” The poker analogy is an interesting one; Subject (presumably) has gotten past Harry’s poker face, has sussed out his fronts and acts and strategies, and Harry is left bare and exposed, vulnerable before them. He’s been brought to this point, but willingly he folds. He laments that “spreading you open is the only way of knowing you.” We should open up before it’s all too much. Harry is done fighting. He’s also done sleeping in the dirt. For the first time he’s not sugar-coating his words, avoiding their problems via sex and pretense and flowery language. He’s matured enough to admit, “Man, I hate you sometimes.”

Again we have the reappearance of She. Harry says to Subject, “We’ll get the drinks in, so I’ll get to thinking of her.” This She is something between them, within them now, another facet of his and Subject’s relationship. Harry is going to spend time thinking of Her. She, I believe, is a part of him.

A fine line is a balancing act, a tightrope, a suspension between extremes. But Harry calls out into the echo of the music, “We’ll be alright.” A declaration, a hope, a promise. Brass, strings, and a building crescendo, a cacophony of movie-credit-worthy emotion, sweeps us towards closure. Ethereal voices fade out, moving from dominant to tonic, but then a solitary piano plinks on a V chord, twice, hanging in the air, a question, an invitation, a hope.

#fine line #masterpost #musical analysis #HS2 #Harry Styles #lyric interpretation #theories #opinions #Golden #Watermelon Sugar #Adore You #Light Up #Cherry #Falling #To Be So Lonely #She #Sunflower #Canyon Moon #Treat People With Kindness

831 notes · View notes