#like babes if you need to replace the lead singer and the guitarist and the bassist and the drummer but oh wait the og lead singer is back-

[an-absolute-trainwreck]

The hardest part about trying to get more into like… 80s-90s thrash metal is figuring out which of these bastards are nazis and which are chill

[thomasandhissides]

Forbidden Fruit- Part 4

ao3 | Beginning | Previous | Next

CW: alcohol use, choking, beginning of a panic attack 

Original chapter on ao3 contains some spicy times so if you wanna read that, check out the ao3 link

Janus got cleaned up as best as he could after the show, wiping the sweat from his face and pulling a new shirt on. He was the last one of his bandmates to go out to the bar, scanning the area for Patton. He smiled softly when he spotted him, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Enjoy the show?” He asked with a sly smile, ordering a drink when the bartender came by.

Patton almost dropped his glass in surprise, coughing as he realized who was next to him, “Uh, y-yeah I did. You guys were really good.” He coughed.

“Careful there, you don’t wanna choke,” Janus chuckled. “At least not yet.” He whispered seductively in Patton’s ear.

“S-sorry, you just make me nervous. I don’t know if you could tell but I’ve never really been to one of these before…” Patton trailed off, turning a bright red at the comment purred into his ear.

“I can tell, you stuck out in your soft colors,” Janus looked Patton up and down. “You don’t look like the type of person to come to a concert like this.”

“I like the music!” Patton protested, “Just not the aesthetics that go with it…”

“Awe, does a little black scare you?” Janus teased.

“Yes!” Patton smiled brightly and Janus laughed.

“Think I can change your mind then?” He tilted Patton’s head up with two fingers under his chin to look at him. “Show you it’s not so scary.”

“It won’t be scary as long as you protect me,” Patton looked at Janus with bright eyes and the taller of the two almost melted at the sheer innocence in his smile.

“Someone as innocent as you? I couldn’t imagine letting anyone hurt you,” Janus murmured and leaned in as he spoke, lips inches from Patton’s. “May I?” He asked quietly as to not break the atmosphere. Patton gave the slightest of nods and Janus smiled, kissing him gently. The kiss only lasted a few short seconds before Janus moved back, resting a hand on his cheek.

“How was that?” He asked with a hint of a smile.

“T-that was nice,” Patton giggled, looking down sheepishly. Janus stroked his cheek lovingly with his thumb as he glanced down at his lips again.

“Can I get your number?” Janus asked gently, hesitantly pulling away from the soft atmosphere that was Patton.

“Yeah sure,” Patton answered, writing his number on a napkin and handing it to Janus.

“Thanks, babe,” Janus took the napkin from him, folding it delicately and slipping it into his pocket. “I’ll call you later tonight.”

“I can’t wait,” Patton beamed.

--

Virgil hummed as he walked up behind Roman, a drink in either hand.

“That’s an expensive jacket,” He pointed out, handing Roman one of the drinks when he turned around. “Keep it, purple looks good on you.” He winked.

“Thanks,” Roman responded, swallowing the glass in one go. “That was an impressive performance by the way.”

“Why thank you,” Virgil smiled. “You really know how to handle your alcohol.” He laughed as he drank his at a more moderate speed.

“It tends to happen when you have a lot of feelings you need to repress,” Roman deadpanned, turning to him.

“What kinds of feelings?” Virgil questioned. “You seemed pretty flustered during our performance. And you’re wearing my jacket.”

“Intense attraction. A little bit of loathing. Some confusion. Mostly attraction though.” Roman smirked.

“Whoever’s got your eye must be a pretty lucky lady,” Virgil winked.

“I mean if you consider yourself a woman, sure.” Roman looked him up and down. “I’m gay.” Virgil bit his lip, flustered under his gaze.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, babe,” He purred with a wink.

“How about you just be yourself and then we’ll go from there,” Roman suggested and Virgil nodded.

“I like the sound of that,” He agreed. “Tell me a little about yourself, starting with your name.”

“Roman. Roman Prince.” He answered with a smile.

“Well, Princey,” Virgil gave a dramatic bow. “I’m Virgil.” He introduced himself, holding his hand out for Roman to shake. “Virgil Storm.”

“Stormcloud. Nice.” Roman complimented, shaking his hand. “So how’d you get into a crowd with that snake Janus?”

“Another last name themed nickname, I like the creativity,” Virgil laughed. “One-night stand that wouldn’t leave me alone. They needed another member so I decided, fuck it. The money could be good if we get this thing off the ground.” He shrugged. “Better than what I was doing before.”

“What were you doing before?” Roman asked. He couldn’t help his curiosity, something about Virgil just drew him in.

“Lived in a mental hospital for six months,” Virgil hummed. “I got out and my family had abandoned me. Janus kinda took me in. It’s been fun being in a band with him.”

“Music is a good outlet, huh?” Roman said, looking into his empty glass.

“Music and weed,” Virgil agreed. “You want another drink?” He offered.

“Yeah. I don’t smoke, but I’ll be damned if I don’t kick a drink back.” Roman nodded. Virgil laughed and pat him on the shoulder.

“I’ll be back,” He walked off to the other end of the bar, ordering him and Roman another drink before coming back. “So, how’s a pretty boy like you here alone? Or are you?” He handed him the drink.

“I’m here with my bandmates,” Roman laughed, “Heard there was a band in town that could give us a run for our money, I had to see if it was bullshit or not.”

“Well?” Virgil gave him an amused smile. “Think we’re good enough to give you a challenge?”

“A challenge? Yes.” Roman admitted, “But just that. My band is twice as talented. After all, I am the lead singer.” Virgil scoffed and sipped his drink.

“Pretty and cocky? How’d I get so lucky?” He teased sarcastically. “Come on, our lead singer would blow you out of the water.”

“Just because someone has been in the business awhile doesn’t mean they’re talented. I’ve won the Battle of The Bands every year since I was 16.” Roman bragged.

“Funny, our singer said the same thing.” Virgil shrugged. “One of you is lying and I hope it’s not you. I like you.”

“Well, it has to be a lie. The only way it would be true is if we were in the same ba-” Roman stopped suddenly, his glass hitting the floor as his eyes widened.

“Woah, you alright there, prince boy?” Virgil gave him a concerned look.

“I-I can’t be here. I have to go,” Roman panicked, beginning to shake. “I can’t be seen here.” He started to get up to leave before Virgil grabbed his arm.

“That’s not happening until you tell me what’s going on,” He frowned.

“I will tell you but please. I. Can’t. Be. Here.” He said adamantly, tears in his eyes. Virgil got the hint and nodded, wrapping his arm around Roman’s shoulders.

“Let’s go somewhere else and you can explain. Is that okay?” He wanted to help but he didn’t want to push him if it was too much.

“That’s fine. Let’s go,” Roman walked out quickly, Virgil following close behind with his arm still securely around the popstar’s shoulders. Once they were a safe distance away from the building, he looked at Roman expectantly.

“Your lead singer… Remus… Is my twin brother.” Roman looked at him seriously.

“What’s so bad about that?” Virgil realized what the question sounded like as soon as it left his lip and he shook his head. “Let me rephrase that, what happened that made you have a panic attack about being in the same building as your brother?”

“The last time we saw each other we had this big argument.” Roman said, wiping his hands over his face, “I didn’t like how he was becoming because of Janus and he ended up leaving the band. But not before I said that I would be bigger and more popular than him. But he won’t let that happen.” Roman shook his head. Virgil frowned and pulled Roman into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Virgil comforted softly, rubbing his back. “I wouldn’t have said anything had I known.”

“It’s okay I know I probably sound crazy but I know he’s out to get me,” Roman said honestly, “The moment I came back from hiatus. The exact moment I had reporters questioning me about the specifics of our argument, and the rumors of how hard I am to work with.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy to me,” Virgil shrugged. “In all honesty, I don’t like working with them. Janus is a shady person and Remus is just… Remus.” He sighed.

“If it helps,” Roman offered, “You are an amazing guitarist.” Virgil flushed at the compliment and shook his head.

“I’m alright I guess,” He mumbled. “Janus likes to threaten to replace me a lot. I wouldn’t blame him.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Roman laughed in disbelief, “I would kill to have half the talent you have, Stormcloud. You’re phenomenal.” Roman took Virgil’s hand in his own. Virgil looked down at where their hands connected but made no move to pull away, a smile on his face.

“You don’t mean that,” He shook his head shyly. “I’m sure you’re better at it than I am.”

“I can’t play an instrument, actually,” Roman said sheepishly, “So that means you’re better. You could try and argue but I’ll charm my way into getting you to believe me.” Virgil shook his head but he didn’t argue.

“Thanks,” He smiled, lacing his fingers with Roman’s. “You’re really sweet.”

“I try,” Roman laughed, “So Virgil, I’d hate for this to be our last conversation so I have to ask, can I have your number?”

“Of course you can. Here, hand me your phone and I’ll put it in. You can take mine and put yours in,” Virgil was already digging through his pocket for his phone, pulling it out. Roman put his contact in and named it “Princey <3”.

“There,” Roman said triumphantly. ”I hope you use it.” Virgil nodded, looking down at his phone when it started to ring. He groaned quietly.

“It’s Remus, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.” He promised, kissing him quickly. “Be ready.” He winked. As Virgil walked away he could hear Roman cheering happily. He let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

“Man this guy is cute,” Virgil smiled softly to himself.

[americanahighways]

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photos by Jimmy Faber

Watching The National Reserve and Sarah Shook & the Disarmers play back-to-back at the Ardmore Music Hall last Saturday night, I realized that I was witnessing two nascent Americana bands literally headed in opposite directions.

Shook & Co. were on their last stop of a four-shows-in-four-nights East coast mini-tour, having been on tour — not only across the U.S., but in Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Canada, the Netherlands, the U.K. and Spain to boot — almost non-stop since early March of 2018. The National Reserve, on the other hand, were just about to embark on the European leg of their ongoing tour, with shows starting next week in Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Germany in support of their debut album Hotel La Grange.

Having caught Shook & the Disarmers, along with Zephaniah O’hora and Grady Hoss & The Sidewinders, at the tiny Dawson Street Pub in Philly in April of 2018, I was curious to see how the notoriously hard grind of life on the road might have affected them. The most obvious result was that the band was tight as hell, rolling through the best songs from their two albums (2017’s “Sidelong” and their 2018 follow-up “Years”) with precision, finesse and intensity. Shook’s voice was in fine fiddle and got stronger as the night went on, while guitarist Eric Peterson and pedal steel player Phil Sullivan took turns laying down tasty, Bakersfield-inspired licks. Bassist Aaron Oliva made playing barroom-brawl country on an upright bass look easy, while drummer Kevin McClain held the band’s groove steady throughout, shining particularly (though unobtrusively) on their trainbeat-driven numbers.

The band had clearly developed a solid sense of showmanship since I last saw them, when they came across as more of a fun-loving bar band that didn’t take itself all that seriously. Last March, Shook’s banter was carefree and edgy in that tough-chick, “I- don’t-give-a-shit” way of hers, the band happily chatted with the audience and the other bands’ personnel both on-stage and on the tiny patio by Dawson Street’s side door, they drank a just a wee bit (a-hem!), and they seemed genuinely to be having one hell of a good time.

This time around they seemed more self-aware, image-wise. Perhaps it was just that they are now playing bigger venues (the Ardmore Music Hall is easily eight times the size of the tiny Dawson St. Pub) as well as to more popular acclaim, with its attendant critical microscopes. Peterson, for example, came dressed up for the occasion, resplendent in a black silk top-hat decorated with a bright red band; with his lean, black-clad frame, dark-framed glasses and distinctly parted fu manchu- like grey beard, he looked the part of a poster-ready rock star.

The other band members were less nattily attired though. Except for Shook, who wore her usual combo of leather jacket (quickly removed), tattoos and fitted tee, they came casually dressed in grey t-shirts and jeans. Still, combined with the stage’s greater remove (compared to the stageless Dawson St. at least), the relative lack of between- song banter, the professional staging and light management, the overall impression I had was of a band that was less casual, but by the same token more professional and intent on taking their craft seriously.

The humorous moments I caught during the band’s time on stage at the AMH came when the singer ceremoniously tipped her plastic cup of whiskey with an over-hearty “Cheers!” to the crowd, and then later when I caught a glimpse of the band’s set list, with its cute, inside-jokey replacement of several abbreviated song names with titles like “Farting” (for “Parting Words”), “Home Fries” (for “Keep the Home Fires Burning”) and “Whut” (for “What It Takes”).

The crowd ate it up, singing along knowingly with several numbers. Those included “Fuck Up,” onto which the audience added an incongruously merry gloss to Shock’s weary, simmering anger, and “New Ways to Fail,” during which the crowd gave special emphasis to the line “I need this shit like I need ANOTHER HOLE IN MY HEAD.” By the time they got to “Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don’t” — during which Sullivan’s pedal steel quickly rose to the feisty occasion — a bunch of white- haired older gentleman in flannel shirts, jeans and trucker caps were crowding the front of the stage and shouting along with every word.

The only rumble of dissatisfaction I sensed from the crowd came when the band limited its encore performance to a single song. (In response to Shook’s ”We’ve got one more for you,” the crowd responded pleadingly: “How about two more?!?”) But what a performance that encore was! — with Shook spitting out the “Nah-AIILL in this here coffin” like an angry Appalachian cast-off, Peterson cueing up yet another habañero-hot Telecaster solo, and Sullivan following that with a series of well-lubricated pedal steel lines that prompted a chorus of “Yee-haw!!!’s” from the balcony.

Two earlier moments in the show shared the energy and joy of that encore. The first came when Shook delivered the recently-released ballad “The Way She Looked at You,” digging in passionately on the mournful chorus while Sullivan’s pedal steel wept openly behind her. The other big bump in energy, which sent a perceptible electric zing through the crowd this time, came when Peterson and Sullivan traded fours about 2:30 into “What It Takes,” while drummer Kevin McClain alternated deftly between delicate rim taps and rock-solid pounding. The ensemble playing was as tight as on the recording, but hearing and seeing it performed live was absolutely thrilling. It was clear at these moments that the band was not only clicking on all fours, but actively enjoying itself.

In short, Shook and her Disarmers delivered on all counts and clearly matched or exceeded the audience’s expectations. Still, to my mind at least, they did so in the professional and slightly cool manner of, say, a really good mechanic — rather than, in contrast with last year’s pre-European tour show at Dawson St., a band that was excited to be raisin’ hell out on the road, meeting new folks every night, and basking in the glory of a great new record.

On the other hand, the latter was exactly the vibe The National Reserve gave off during their thrilling 75+ minute, 11-song set. While I’m not sure the Reserve is quite “there yet” (to use a hack-critical phrase) in terms of the level of their songwriting — which is not as memorable and distinctive as Shook’s, for example — and their approach’s originality, they brought an impressive energy and verve, along with a white-hot level of musicianship, to their set at the AMH.

Like Shook and her Disarmers on their last two passes through Philly in 2018 (the second was at Johnny Brenda’s in mid-September), the Reservists seemed intent on kicking butt and taking no prisoners at AMH. Led by songwriter, vocalist and multi- instrumentalist Sean Walsh along with the towering Jon Ladeau on vocals and guitar, The Reserve came out rocking right off the bat with a Ladeau-led power-poppish number that incorporated three-part harmonies and (naturally) a jangly Rickenbacher guitar. Ladeau is a BIG guy and a strong vocalist with a rough-edged, soulful voice, and with his long dark hair and beard, American flag-adorned jeans jacket and hiking boots, he projected a powerful yet laid-back presence.

Walsh, who grew up about a half-hour from Ardmore, took over the lead vocals on the second number, and the two continued to toss the lead vocal baton back and forth for the duration of the set, with bassist Scott Povrick and drummer Brian Geltner intermittently contributing tasty harmonies. Walsh adorned this bouncy, melodic number with a scorching Les Paul solo featuring a nifty descending slide lick, which was followed by a second solo by Ladeau that actually drew screams from the crowd.

This back-and-forth dynamic, with their talents intertwining at times, continued throughout, much to the crowd’s delight. The Reservists followed those first two numbers with a wide variety of tunes, including a swampy blues rocker highlighted by a Freddie King-like solo by Ladeau; a folksy-twangy Americana singalong number called “Abe Lincoln”; a southern rocker featuring “Sweet Home, Alabama”-ish chord changes, a dual guitar attack AND dueling vocals; and a cover of Derroll Adams’ “Roll On, Babe” that incorporated a vaguely Caribbean shuffle beat, a glissando solo over chimey rhythm guitar effects, and a superb Les Paul slide solo by Walsh.

The second half of their set included the title song from their album Hotel La Grange, a slow ballad about meeting the “queen of Bowling Green” at that hotel; a mid-tempo country rocker with Allman Brothers overtones; a slide-centered blues rocker that evolved into an extended jam that showed off all of the band’s skills, drawing wild applause from the crowd and the exclamation “MAN, this is fun!” from Ladeau; and a tasty roots-gospel-country rock singalong with the refrain “Let me ride in your big Cadillac, Lord Jesus / Let me ride in your big Cadillac.” The audience happily crooned along on the latter.

They closed with a jammy southern rocker that featured more tasty harmonies and snazzy tempo changes. Watson and Ladeau cut loose on the breakdowns and solos during this one, without the song’s ever getting raggedy or wooly. Tight in concept and delivery, it was a fitting finale to the band’s impressive set.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention local duo Hannah Taylor and Rekardo Lee (aka, Jesse Lundy), who opened the evening with a fun eight-song set of blues-based numbers. With her big up-draft of bright red hair and blonde cowboy boots, Taylor belted out these tunes — which encompassed everything from mellow mid-tempo numbers, to a rockin’ Ricky’ Nelson number (“I Believe”), to some obscure, low-down 1920s blues ditties and even a slow, sweet version of “Blue Bayou” — with a twangy yet robust voice reminiscent of early Bonnie Raitt. Alternating between a metal resonator guitar that was “double-signed” (the first signature had rubbed off) by Edgar Winter and a jumbo acoustic, Lee complemented Taylor’s voice perfectly with his good-’n’-growly slide accompaniment and Chuck Berry-inflected blues licks. Their good-natured, diverse set proved the perfect aperitif for the night’s main courses.

—————

Merch, videos, and tour dates for Sarah Shook & the Disarmers can be found at: https://www.disarmers.com

Tour dates, band info, recordings and merch for The National Reserve are available at: https://thenationalreserve.com/home

Info and links for Hannah Taylor and the Rekardo Lee Trio can be found at: https:// http://www.facebook.com/htrl3/

  Show Review: Life on the Road: Sarah Shook & the Disarmers and The National Reserve Rev Up Their Engines at the Ardmore Music Hall @sarahshook @nationalreserve @ardmoremusicpa photos by Jimmy Faber Watching The National Reserve and Sarah Shook & the Disarmers play back-to-back at the Ardmore Music Hall last Saturday night, I realized that I was witnessing two nascent Americana bands literally headed in opposite directions.