#like i love that album but i miss the rawness and the anger of their previous records

[burningcomputerpersona]

I'm spending a year out of my comfort zone I don't think I've ever been comfortable in my life Or my own skin So I spent a decade painting myself blue Running from any hint of the truth: I'm far too old to complain about dying alone When I've been the way I've been

[starryficsfinishwen]

✧。◟[NSFW] ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ — wanshi x reader [PGR]

all we do is think about the feelings that we hide

a.n. - halsey thanks for this beautiful song (titled "drive" too), you gave me too much inspo and I love it. also I ended up listening to the whole Badlands album as I write this down lmao also here's to hoping we get an s wanshi soon!

pairing - wanshi x f!doctor

words - 3,476

warnings - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MAJOR SMUT AHEAD: thigh riding, penetration, degradation (mentions of whore, slut), orgasm denial, creampie??. mean!dom!wanshi x sub!bratty reader. bratty reader because hehe. also a little exhibitionism down there. STRONG USE OF MATURE LANGUAGE. friends with benefits au! doesn't seem like this thing has plot kek just purely smut, I swear.

Anger has a vice grip on your throat.

Clawing and clamoring at the apex of your tongue, teeth gritting hard to prevent the profanity from spewing on your lips. Your shoulders shake as the events of earlier replay in your mind, fingers curled into fists that you feel your nails digging into the palm of your hand — it's raw; how anger bubbles like a pan full of boiling water, and you want to throw it away viciously into the source of your miseries.

Fuck the autonomy. Fuck the anarchy of your workplace. Fuck the Star of Life.

You wanted nothing more than to let the anger run wild and hope it won't make a home out of your hollowed out chest.

Fortunately for you, the ride you've been waiting for has finally arrived.

The clanking of your heels reverberates throughout the hall as you walk to your transport, but you no longer care if someone watches. Flinging the car door open, you throw yourself onto the chair, slamming the door shut. Your anger doesn't sizzle out, instead, it flares up the moment you catch a glimpse of silver hair in your peripheral vision.

“So angry today,” he chuckles, with a deep voice laced with grogginess, “where to, Princess?”

“Anywhere.” You flat out spoke, not bothering to hide the annoyance in the way you speak, “Just drive.”

He doesn't say a word; instead, he fiddles with the keys, the engine revving back to life. Staring outside the moving car, you find yourself swimming, bathing in the city lights of Babylonia's nightlife.

It stays that way: the occasional sound of the wheels passing through asphalt and concrete, his stepping on the accelerator, and the music of the Golden Age on his dashboard. You've long put on your seatbelt but twiddle the strap absentmindedly. You look away from the front, his gaze is on you. Your hands hold themselves into fists, his left on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift. It doesn't quell the anger in your bones, it only feels too familiar. A routine, if you must.

“You must have done something.” His usual sleepy voice is unlike when he's serious and focused. It's a voice that brings a shiver to your spine.

“I haven't.” You huffed, “This is none of your business.”

“Said the girl who called for me to pick her up.” You don't miss the taunting smile tugging his lips, “You're a walking contradiction.”

“Wanshi.” The name goes as an echo in your head, as a shiver down there, “Did I not tell you to shut up?”

“Then, you shouldn't have called for me.” His voice is sharp enough to cut through silence.

It agitates you. The feelings resurface — anger, frustration, indignation — all crashing into something horribly beautiful, something that claws from the back of your throat to the inside of your thighs (you cross them together now, Wanshi doesn't turn a blind eye to it). Your anger resigns for a short while; your hand reaches and wraps itself on the hand on the stick shift, grasping and desperate to show who's boss.

“Drive,” you muttered, “Keep driving until I say so.”

Sooner or later, the scenery turns into something you're familiar with. It doesn't take long; the humming of the engine, the tale-tell sign of the starry night lulling into midnight, the ocean waves crashing onto the shore, the throbbing of your core aching and aching.

You hear the chair creak. You look away from the ocean. You look at the man instead.

Silver hair, refined jaw, pale face. He reclines himself on the back of the car door, legs spread out up to your thighs. He stares back at you, amber eyes illuminated with an emotion you've long recognized since you both established this contract.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He whispered, “Use me as you like.”

It makes you rethink the contract.

But you're here anyways: straddling his thighs, your legs clenching on it as if your dear life depends on it, hands clawing on his hips. The medical gown you wore is now slung lazily on your chair, the first two buttons on your uniform already open as your cleavage is shown in all its glory, your teeth biting down on the hem of your skirt. You've long discarded your underwear (it's in his pockets, you're somehow aware), and you're desperately humping on Wanshi's thighs.

Whines of frustration escape your quivering lips, the anger in your bones twisting and turning, wanting to be transformed into pure pleasure. But such pleas fall deaf on Wanshi's ears, as his attention is elsewhere but you.

“Wanshi,” your call becomes a whimper, much to your chagrin, “Pay attention to me.”

“You think you deserve it?” He chuckles, amber eyes focused on the book he held, “After being such a brat? Is that how I should be treated?”

“You- ngh,” your pussy flinches, as it catches a part of his pants that deliciously rubbed your neglected clit, “I-I wasn't...”

“Work hard for it, doctor.” His teasing makes your hole quiver once more, the title somehow causing you to be more embarrassed with what you're doing with a man like him.

You've long noticed the tent in his pants, twitching whenever you cried out. Trying to relieve from its restraints, you slowly rubbed it, the outline surpassing the length of your fingers, leather wet from the constraints held somewhere inside-

Wanshi flicks away your hand. Amber eyes stare at you, to which you glare back.

“Fuck you.”

“I will, when you stop being a brat.”

Your ego, unfortunately, doesn't bow down to such a request. You want it raw - the thrill of sex sending your mind into overdrive, the grasps of hands you'd lose sensation from holding on too much. And so, you continue to grind on his thighs, wherever the mere journey of your escapade ends.

You look at him once more — Wanshi. BPE-47. Support-type construct. You've always known him as a reliable healer, for both humans and constructs. After all, he's been a revered war hero and nurse, someone who could keep everyone around him alive. But why is it now, he who made this contract with you, making you choke in the loss of pleasure? You don't even remember the details as to when you've both made this arrangement. All you want right now is just to be fucked full by him and him alone.

“Mm?” Wanshi's eyes flickered at you, and it made your heart skip a beat, “That's new. Did you only call me just so you can do this?”

“No.” You hurriedly said, the pleasure starting to seep into you, wetness coating a patch in his pants, “I...I was just thinking.”

“Say it, then.” He lowers the book in his hand, eyes now attentively looking at your every move, “I don't have all night.”

“I-I had to do 4 operations in two straight days.” You began, gritting your teeth, the reminiscent anger poking you incessantly, “The nurses were bitches throughout the operation.”

A hand crawls ever so slowly to your thighs. He rubs slow and languid circles, tracing up to the outline of your skirt. “Mm, then?”

“I told...I told them to be more attentive or the patient would deviate,” you see his hand caressing outside your uniform, twiddling the bottom buttons, and you swallowed, “but, ah- they didn't listen...”

He's opening the first button. With his amber eyes, he threatens to stop if you stopped talking. And so, you continue, “The-The doctors were assholes as well.”

You want more, the anger subsiding into something you've craved for: pleasure. He's being attentive, finally. The book was already discarded to the dashboard of the car, two of his hands unbuttoning your uniform agonizingly slow (his fingers would slip through, your torso shivering at his every touch). Although you've been talking about your shitty experiences at the Star of Life, they've become a mindless babble to you, mind occupied with the way his hands were exploring the expanse of your exposed skin as the last button is finally opened. Wanshi drags his fingers over your stomach, your sides, your hips- his fingers trail to your back, unhooks your bra fast, like how he has been doing for a long, long while now, hands now cupping your breasts, touching everywhere else there but the two neglected nubs.

“That's it?” His movements halt, causing you to whine, but his hands are still holding your chest, “Over trivial matters?”

You don't remember it being trivial. Ah, maybe it is, now that he's touching you, now that you're too hell-bent on wanting his touch for you. Wanshi looks at you, a free hand reaching out to your chin. His thumb rubs the outline of your lips, carefully staring at your contorting expression. He's always done this before- watching you as if memorizing your every move. Without a warning, he slips his thumb past your lips, toying with your tongue. Your hips stutter at the intrusion, as he squeezes your chest.

“You know, I never got to tell you this, you may look pretty when you're talking about your problems at work.” He glances at your lips taking in his thumb, before looking up at your irises, voice dropping an octave lower. “But you always look prettier when you're silent and sucking on something else.”

He matches the thrust of his fingers in your mouth to your hips. Pleasure rebuilds itself as knots in your stomach, his hands and mouth aiding as he latches on one mound, his other free hand fondling your other breast. It drives you wild and wilder, waiting for the right time to come, with or without his permission.

Yet, before you could, the sound of an engine draws closer, closer to where Wanshi had parked the car. Fear intertwines your sense of pleasure, pussy violently clenching around nothing, as your hips falter with irregular movements. Wanshi noticed it long before you, so before you could surrender yourself to the pleasure, he pulls himself away.

A regretful moan escapes your mouth, the telltale sign of the ruined orgasm causing the anger in your muscles to reignite. “What the hell-”

“I didn't tell you to cum yet.” He looks behind to see another car parked beside him. “Tsk, a shame.”

He says so, but he pulls you closer. It catches you off-guard, moaning out his name as you feel the friction of his bulge under your soaking pussy. “Do you want to be caught like this, doctor? Would you like to be known that an esteemed doctor of the Star of Life is moaning like a cheap whore inside this car?”

Your cunt throbs at his words. Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, as you cover your mouth. Your face rests on his shoulder, eyes trailing as you recognize the car next to you. Two people step out, wearing the same lab gown you have, but you couldn't recognize the faces. Effortlessly lifting you up, he starts to unzip his pants. While he's at it, you can feel the outline of his hand under you, and you're sure he's purposely teasing you more. You grunt out in annoyance, to which he only laughs.

“So naughty,” he drags the zipper down awfully slow, “I should have known when you've already wet yourself in my pants. I wonder how my captain would react.”

He leans upward, teeth grazing your ear, “That a little whore has been playing with her toy.”

“Wanshi,” your mouth betrays you, a breathy moan calling out his name. You feel his thumb rubbing your overstimulated clit now, ruthlessly shoving a finger into your quivering hole.

“I'm not fucking you like this,” He whispers, continuing his ministrations as he nibbles your earlobe, “You've been so bratty lately, you're ruining the mood.”

Your ego is your Achilles' heel. You want it to crumble, you want it down, just to let him in. But instead, it makes you bite your lips to prevent moans from coming out, it makes you shake. Your strength has long disappeared already though, making you unable to shake away the hand that is abusing your trembling pussy.

“Fuck you.”

“Am I not doing that right now, darling?” Chuckling, he fiddles with your ruined hair, “We've long established that, haven't we?”

The two people outside of the car are laughing now. You're suddenly aware: the car windows aren't that tinted, and you know that they will notice the shake of the car. Wanshi starts to groan.

“Fuck- ah, you're squeezing my hand now. Did you think you'll cum that easily?”

“N-no, I-”

“-oh, or did the newcomers notice?” He starts to laugh, mischievously pulling his hands away, “I think you know these people, yes? They seem nice. Should we give them a show?”

“Wanshi don't be stu- ah,”

Without a warning, Wanshi sinks his cock into you in one fluid thrust. A loud moan of his name tumbles out of your lips, and he has to shove his fingers in your mouth.

You feel so full, so fucking full. You imagine it now, his cockhead teasing your cervix, girth pulsating deeply in your walls.

“You actually want to put on a show, huh?” You taste yourself in the fingers inside your mouth, albeit bitter, but you're too focused on his length that seemed to already reach the deepest part down there.

“[Y/N]- nngh, you're so tight.” He pulls you by the shoulder, smiling when he sees the look on your face, “...already fucked out?”

As if in a daze, you shake your head, “N-No...I-” Your whines grew into something pitiful, as you mindlessly ground your hips, desperate to make him move already, “Wanshi, Wanshi,”

He pulls his fingers away to grasp your chin, angling to kiss you. It's rough, it's soft, it's everything - the first proper kiss of tonight, you should've memorized it: his tongue, his lips, the outline.

“How pretty,” his chuckles passed through your ear and exited to the other, his eyes taking sight of you unraveling like this in his lap, “My pretty little slut.”

The slapping of skin. The sound of lips crashing onto each other. There are no lovers in this story. Only two individuals in one car, chasing the heights and highs of infatuation, drilled in the expanse of lust. One chases the thrill of sex, the other- no one knows. Wanshi could only behold this sight that only he can see alone, ingrained in his M.I.N.D.

His hand grips your hips, nails digging in so that he'll leave bruises in the morning. Latching on one mound, he sucks on it as if his life depended on it. Upon hearing your moan, Wanshi begins to thrust upwards.

“You like that, don't you, doctor?” A title that he's long forgotten in the past, now used for someone he adores, “I think you've done enough. Let me return your favor.”

He feels your pussy clench as he jerked to meet your movement. Low, breathy groans intertwined with whiny moans. You've probably forgotten your name now, as your mouth only calls out to the man fucking you full. Although he fucks you ruthlessly, his gaze seems gentle. Forget the world outside, or the people close — you endlessly chase this heavenly high.

“You're close.”

“Mmph, mmhm-” Your fingers find themselves tangled in his hair, your other hand holding onto his shirt. “I...I have o-one- ah, more request.”

“Say it.”

You looked up, exposing your neck. You've always fooled around with Wanshi, yet nothing but bruises hidden under uniforms and shirts. And right now...you're asking for something that seems different than the usual arrangement.

“Mark me,” you whispered, “please.”

It's a plead, not a request. But who was Wanshi to deny you, when you've asked so sweetly? Pulling you closer, one hand propped under your pussy and twiddling with your clit, Wanshi bares his teeth near your neck, breath fogging even your common sense.

“You will cum when I say so, [Y/N].” He hears you whine, “You better listen.”

You're listening all right. Not when the overstimulation clouds your judgment, not when you hear the suspicion on the outsider's faces, not when Wanshi starts to nip that specific side of your neck- you try not to cum. No, you were far better than that. You forgot that this was just an arrangement, a contract.

The first bite in your neck is painful, but it sends you to paradise. Your body shakes, an impending orgasm rushing to meet you. Wanshi wishes to extend his fun, but he knows you've done enough, too fucked out to make thorough judgments. And he hears the outsiders talk closer now.

“[Y/N],” it's warm, it's hot — your cunt, molded now into the shape of his cock, after being fucked by him multiple times now — he wishes he could stay that way, entrapped in your warmth, but he feels his own self-control wither, “I'm close.”

Your pussy trembles in response. With one last thought, he whispers in your ear, “Who's making you like this, hm?”

“W-Wanshi,”

Your last thought is white noise. His thumb rubs your clit messily, before the magic word arrives, “Cum.”

You do. Oblivious to the world, you come undone, come unraveled in Wanshi's lap, mouth babbling words that you would never say when you're sober. You forget you're a doctor, you forget he's a construct. You forget everything but Wanshi and his name.

Wanshi fucks you through your orgasms, the grip of your hand in his hair grounding him as thick cum fills your overstimulated cunt. He calls out your name, a low moan that echoes in your ear. One rational sense hears the outsiders going back into the car, seemingly driving away. The other is busy holding your slacked body against him, breathing into the afterglow.

You think it's ethereal: his messy hair, the golden glow of the streetlight haloing behind him by the car window, your bodies molding into one another, each catching your breaths. Your eyes grow heavy. You think you should wash away the cum that's stuffed full of his now-softening dick inside you, but weariness slowly consumes you.

When the dark consumes you, you feel a gentle caress on your cheek, paired something warm covering your naked body.

“Sleep well, Princess.”

Solemnity flutters in your chest.

The next moment you wake, your body is heavy. But your head is on something soft, a pillow propped under it. You try to sit up, but you realize a new set of clothes is on you.

“I cleaned you up, Princess.” Wanshi's voice answers the questions running through your head, “You were snoozing too peacefully even when I was dressing you up.”

He's now sitting properly in the driver's seat as if nothing hot happened to the both of you earlier. Amber eyes are trailed to the sea, the glow of the streetlight showing the contours of his face.

A faint blush dusts your cheeks, “Thank you...”

“Don't mention it. I think it's time for you to go back to work anyways, wouldn't want your patients to be left alone.”

As he starts the engine, you start to think. Did you want to go back to the Star of Life now? The night seemed so early, and you wanted to spend more time with him. It wasn't part of the contract, right? A tug in your chest begs to be noticed, wanting him to notice it for himself.

His hand is on the stick shift. You reached out and held it. He looks at you, and you stare at his amber irises.

“Wanshi,” you breathed, “kiss me.”

“...did I not fuck the brattiness out of you earlier?”

The blush on your cheek deepened. “W-Wanshi...!”

He laughs genuinely now. You tug on his hand once more. Looking at you, he silently licks his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You spoke, “Kiss me, Wanshi.”

He's the first to reach out and cup your cheeks. Doing the favor to lean closer, foreheads touching, you closed your eyes. You feel his lips - cold, soft, wanting to be warm - before he closed the gap.

This kiss is softer, sweeter now. You wondered once if this contract would morph into something better, something warmer. But his kiss is now something you could equally call desperation, a want distinct to lust. You've both waited for this. He tilts your face, only to deepen the kiss.

Hesitantly, you pull away when you part for air. You opened your eyes to find Wanshi's lips swollen, a blush mirroring your own. Your hand is still with his. He doesn't move away.

“I'll...take you back to the hospital now.”

“I want to stay with you.” You squeezed his hand, “let's drive for now.”

And maybe you would talk a bit more than just drive.

likes, shares, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Please don't copy and plagiarize my work!!

[prince-steele]

tumblr clique server got me thinking about Tyler but specifically about how his anger and rage have manifested in his music

I've always loved his ability to vividly depict complicated expressions of pain and anger in his music (i.e trapdoor, kitchen sink, neon gravestones, etc), and I love those songs so much precisely for what they are.

But I also love how, throughout the years, he's mellowed out a lot and has found people who make those painful emotions easier to bear.

TØP has always been pro recovery to me, and no matter how painful or sad their music is, there's always this throughline of hope and reassurance that it's worth continuing onward.

And as much as I love the darker or more cuttingly accurate songs, I also love that he seems to genuinely be more at peace now with his pain; It's not gone, but it doesn't dominate his life anymore, and he's not dealing with it all alone.

I feel like this is the main reason people misunderstand SAI, and why it seemingly has a lighter tone to the rest of their discography. It's layered with a ton of meaning (that I won't get into here but will if someone asks lol), but I think it unfairly gets put to the bottom of favourite lists bc people miss the rawness of the previous albums.

It's got me thinking about, like, how sometimes during recovery, you find you can't reach the desperate depths of your pain anymore, and therefore can't express it. It can make you feel like there's this void in your soul, or in some cases, compulsively chase that pain that you've started to miss.

I think that's part of the themes of SAI, but I also think it does describe the confusion people feel upon the tonal shift of TØP's albums between Trench and SAI.

I do, of course, hope that Tyler doesn't stop using music to express his tougher feelings, but I also really appreciate that they're branching out into more styles of music and that their current shift really does articulate what Tyler and Josh have been saying since the start; Recovery is possible.

[foxes-that-run]

Sad Beautiful Tragic: "When you were on the train"

I started this at the end of a post about trains I will post shortly, but it is too detailed. So here from the back of my brain:

Taylor wrote Sad Beautiful Tragic on a tour bus and that the original Red was the demo that was first recorded:

On October 4 2011 she tweeted:

"Leaving Little Rock, headed to New Orleans. Writing a song on a moving bus."

She also said:

“Sad Beautiful Tragic” is really close to my heart. I remember it was after a show and I was on the bus thinking about this relationship that ended months and months before. The feeling wasn’t sadness and anger or those things anymore. It was wistful loss. And so I just got my guitar and I hit on the fact that I was thinking in terms of rhyming; I rhymed magic with tragic, changed a few things and ended it with what a sad beautiful tragic love affair. I wanted to tell the story in terms of a cloudy recollection of what went wrong. It’s kind of the murky gray, looking back on something you can’t change or get back.

On 2 May 2011 (5 months beforehand) Jake going to a single date of the Mumford and Sons Railroad Revival tour, the band (not Jake, he was there for the weekend) travelled on a train.

Which if that floats your boat, read no further.

This doesn't sit well with me because of All Too Well. ATW was a hard song for Taylor to write, it took months. (The "F the Patriarchy Keychain on the ground" to "What we had a beautiful magic love there" 2 month pipeline is not one I buy.)

She was editing ATW as late as March 2011, then Jake goes to a concert with a band that caught a train (not him) and she writes something as loving as Sad Beautiful Tragic, a song she still plays sparingly and kept the demo of because it was raw?

I wonder if the 'months and months later' is because this song is about a relationship that was not known, or specifically would not be known at that time.

So come to my rabbit hole, it's nice, we're all mad here

SBT was the first song that made me look more at 2011, because of this in the Cardigan BTS:

"Sad, beautiful, tragic. Like a photo album" These are the same words Taylor used talking about 'the guy' (singular) most of Red is about (unlike Jake who did not listen to the album)

Why Harry then?

In the 2011 timeline Harry and Taylor were in the same city a number of times that year and it is more plausible they met. Particularly in March Taylor played the mash up of Harry's audition song and Fearless in Paris on a date he was missing, they then both played the O2 in the same week. In July Hary was missing when Taylor had the Temper Trap Arm Lyrics he later tattoo's same song.

On 14 September One Direction go to the GQ Awards, where Harry saw and reportedly flirted with Emma Watson and Pixie Lott and in an interview after Louis says:

"Definitely without a question say Harry, like Harry, no matter how long is known her, or who she is he will go up to her, like if it's a celebrity, like at the GQ Awards, [Niall adds "Like Pixie Lott] he will go up and sing their song and dance. It's like 100% Harold Styles." Harry then changes the conversation to silly names, Louis brings up GQ again and Harry mouths "Stop going' on about it" (9:50).

On 28 September, 2011 the band are in New York to film Gotta Be You, which includes.... a train. And also the set on which Harry met EO, the girl he kissed in NZ in April 2012. Speaking of, after that Taylor wrote Babe with a member of the band Train, who Harry covered in his x-Factor audition.

On the day Taylor wrote Sad Beautiful Tragic, 4 October 2011, 1D was at a 'Bring 1D to me' even in Munich they are asked about celebrity dreamgirls Louis has a dig at Harry and points out a love bite on Harry's neck.

The show before Taylor was thought to write SBT her arm lyrics were "It’s easy saying nothing when there’s nothing to say” an apparent reference to the interviews where Harry was trying to hide something.

And so my theory of Sad Beautiful Tragic was there was a Haylor flirtation that didn't get very far, because, well boybander. But it inspired this song and they continued that flirtation.

[popbloganddropit]

The Tortured Poets Department - Taylor Swift (Part 1)

I’ll be posting 8 songs at a time to break this lengthy album up a bit.

Initial thoughts: She’s raw and unfiltered in a way she hasn’t been before.

But Daddy I Love Him and Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me are the immediate insane stand outs

The Black Dog? 🤮 CoSoSoM? 🫨 how did it end? Drag meeee for being nosy.

1. Fortnight (feat. Post Malone)- This is a very interesting introductory track/lead single. There’s some blending of (as far as we know) truth and fiction, which i think stays throughout the album. However, there’s not a ton for me lyrically or sonically for me to connect to here. The missing rhyme scheme in the first lines is distracting. I would have liked a little more Post Malone overall and a bit more duetting. I’m sure there’s some symbolism in their voices rarely overlapping in meaningful ways, but the hints of it we get sound good, and I want MORE. 3/5

Best Line: “All my mornings are Mondays stuck in an endless February. I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary.”

2. The Tortured Poets Department- I like the sound of this, the melodies, most of the cheeky humor (“I think things I never say, like ‘Who uses typewriters anyway?’”), but the Charlie Puth and Golden Retriever lines really ruin it for me. They totally take me out of the vibe and are distractingly out of pocket. 2/5

Best Line: I like the “I’ve seen/read” lines in the pre-chorus, but the unhinged-ness of putting something as raw and exposed as, “But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave. And I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen” in a public space really sets the tone of the album.

3. My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys- I love her echo-y, layered vocals. Her cadence sounds like war drums that really fits the toy soldier metaphor. I think some slight production tweaks would have really taken it over the top. The vocals sound so cool, but there’s still room for a little more than a thwacking drum machine and a hint of sparkly synth. 3/5

Best Line: I love “I’m queen of sandcastles he destroys”. Runner up goes to “‘Cause you should’ve seen him when he first ✨saw✨me”.

4. Down Bad- I love the alien abduction theme and the trippy production to match. The dichotomy of the space-y verses and daily-life drudgery of the chorus works on a metaphoric and Down bad crying at the gym? The self awareness to call it teenage petulance before just saying “fuck it”? People not getting that Miss Swift is sometimes jealous king around and doesn’t take herself seriously 100% off the time will never make sense to me. 4/5

Best Line: “Did you really beam me up, in a cloud of sparkling dust?”

5. So Long, London- once the beat comes in, we’re off to the races and you can’t quite catch your breath through this whole song, especially with the gut-punching lyrics. A beautiful arrangement from Aaron Dessner here that effortlessly carries the weight of anger and heartbreak. 5/5

Best line: “And you say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it, my white knuckle dying grip.”

6. But Daddy, I Love Him- I love everything about this song. It sounds like a sunny, summer day. Maybe the narrator is a little delusional, but whomst amongst us hasn’t been? The bridge telling people off a bit is a great moment for her. “I’ll tell you something about my good name, it’s mine alone to disgrace,” feels like something she’s needed to say for a while. 5/5

Best line: there’s a lot of great moments, but, “I’m having his baby. No, I’m not, but you should see your faces” is such a hilarious double-take moment upon first listen that it has to take the crown.

7. Fresh Out the Slammer- I have seen the steaming numbers and y’all are SLEEPING on this track! It’s sad, it’s wistful, it’s a little sexy, it’s everything. I love the rolling cadence of the verses and the slower, haunting choruses. The decelerating outro is perfection. 5/5

Best line: “Now, pretty baby, I'm running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to”.

8. Florida!!! (Ft. Florence and the Machine) - Florida has committed various atrocities on the people of the United States of America, but this is absolutely not one of them. A song of escapism, ghosts, and a banging drum chorus that earns those three exclamation points. Hurricane Florence is a beautiful addition to the track and it wouldn’t sound out of place on an album of hers either. Every line of this is an earworm that you’ll catch h yourself singing over and over again. Fuck me up, Florida (!!!), indeed. 5/5

Best Line: “Barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine. Well me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.”

[cherrycocaineee]

36. Draco Malfoy - Avada Kedavra

*Synopsis: During the war, Maggie finds a way back to Hogwarts as she’s worried about Draco and the friends she made there. She’s surprised to find all of the students and teachers standing before Voldemort, while ‘dead’ Harry Potter was being carried by Hagrid. Spotting Draco, she runs out to the center of the battlefield and calls his name. But a muggle at Hogwarts doesn’t exactly make Voldemort happy.*

*Warning - doesn’t follow the movie 100%, mentions of death, anger, and war. Whatever else is considered a warning*

*Maggie’s p.o.v*

Every inch of my body felt like it was broken when I woke up in the middle of my Grandmother’s old farmhouse. There was a hole in the roof and the speculation of whether or not I fell through it came into question. I pulled myself off the ground; a layer of dust was collected on my clothes causing me to dust it off. Coughing from the cloud of dust, I stumbled out onto the porch and gasped desperately for some fresh air. I was greeted by the sickly green color of the England sky; the feeling that something was wrong burned me deep in my bones. As I stared up at the dark sky, the last couple of months hit me like a ton of bricks. Dumbledore was gone forever, just like Grandma Loral; Draco was a Deatheater, which he had refrained from telling me until the night he asked me to see him, and was meant to kill Dumbledore himself. Draco didn’t know that I had witnessed him trying to kill Dumbledore but failing to do so, or me seeing the mark on his arm when he revealed it. Snape, in the end, was the one who had killed Dumbledore and was a Deatheater all along. Harry and I confronted Snape at the beginning of the school year and I had managed to get him alone as he ran off to avoid confrontation. Our conversation was heavy on my mind.

“Snape!” I yelled out; his body coming to an abrupt stop, “Why? Why did you do it?” “A muggle such as yourself could never understand,” he hissed. “You were his friend!” I yelled back, “and Draco! Where is he?” He watched me and time seemed to move ever so slow the longer he held his gaze. The inside of my throat felt raw and sweat was practically pouring from my skin. “I know Draco met with you,” Snape said, “at your Grandmother’s house after Dumbledore’s death. He told you everything despite what you are.” I swallowed hard, being reminded by the burning in my throat how dry it was. “I love him,” I said; Snape got closer to me. “Even after everything he is?” I couldn’t answer that because I didn’t know if I did. That night I couldn’t abandon him, he was in so much pain, but my feelings for him felt rocky. Every part of me wanted to hold on to that love but it didn’t seem practical with where he was heading. “Yes,” I stated. “Then forget about him. With you around, you’ll only put him in danger.”

The next thing I remembered was a flash of light and I was thrown here. For how long was beyond me; it could have been days, weeks, months. I collapsed on the steps of the porch, fresh tears spilling from my eyes as I tried to cope with all the events that have occurred in however many days it's been. It felt like I hadn’t cried in so long and this was much needed at a time like this. My entire world felt like it was crashing before me and there was nothing I could do. I was nothing more than a muggle and I didn’t hold anything powerful inside me like all of my friends and family. It was a curse being born the only muggle to a family of wizards and witches.

  When I was done crying, I picked myself back up and went inside. There must have been something left behind here; since no one was able to sell it so all of her belongings had remained here and sometimes I would come stay here when I missed her so much. I picked up an old, tattered photo album and plopped down on the withering couch before flipping it open and looking through the photos. Like every other photo in the magic world, these photos moved revealing a few seconds before and a few seconds after the snap of the camera. There were tons of photos: my grandmother with her late husband who I had never had the pleasure of meeting, my parents who had died when I was terribly young; they were so young and in love based on the stories I was told and the photos I saw, then there was Draco and I. Some of the pictures I hadn’t known were being taken, for example, the two of us sitting in the garden; Draco’s head rested in my lap while I read to him from one of the many story books I kept around. He was watching me so lovingly, not an ounce of hatred in his eyes or heart that day. Another photo was taken with our knowledge; Draco had snuck away from school to see me on a particularly warm day and we were outside enjoying a fresh bowl of cut watermelon. His arms were wrapped around my waist and I was feeding him a piece when Grandma had snapped the photo. I smiled, a stray tear slipping off my cheek and onto the old paper.

  I flipped to the next page which happened to also be the last page of the album. There was something written on the empty page in black ink in perfect, loopy handwriting that belonged to my Grandmother. The words on the page were addressed to me which was odd because I had never seen them before. I traced my fingers over the ink as I read the inscription.

“Those who tell you that magic is the most powerful force known to all have never known the true power of absolute, undying love. Maggie, you may be a muggle but your love and heart are just as powerful as any wand.”

All of the memories of Draco and I flooded through my mind as I was reminded of all the times I was truly in love with this boy. Even now my heart aches to be near him, to touch him, to breathe in the unforgettable scent of his expensive cologne. Of course I was angry at him from betraying all of Hogwarts by becoming a Deatheater, and for him to not tell me or trust me with that information was heartbreaking but there was no denying that I was terribly in love with him because there was a better side to him than all of this. I needed to get back to Hogwarts and check on all of my friends, and I needed to find Draco. Fortunately I had managed to pick up a few tricks on how to get to and from Hogwarts after being there for so long. Not many ways worked for muggles but there were a few including a portkey which I was fortunate to own thanks to Grandma Loral. It was a stupid looking portkey, a piece of yarn with a paperclip attached to it but it was damn powerful. This portkey allowed for me to transport myself anywhere my Grandmother had been and that included Hogwarts. Taking a deep breath, I fished the object out of my jean pocket. As soon as my fingers touched the odd piece of trash, I was transported back to Hogwarts with a single thought of the school in my head.

   It didn’t matter how many times I used this thing, I would never be use to the sudden landing of the portkey. My knees always buckled and I always ended up falling down because of the lack of balance in my body. Oddly enough, there was no one around. Pulling myself from the ground, I did a swift scan of the halls of Hogwarts. They were in ruins; dirt and gravel and chunks of other pieces of the building were scattered all over the place. Something had definitely happened here. I ran to the window and popped my head out. Everyone was standing out there in front with defeated looks on their faces. Standing a couple of feet away from the people I’ve grown to call family was an ungodly pale man in dark robes in front of an even larger group of darkly dressed people. It hit me instantly, this was the man everyone had been scared of, who Draco had told me about that evening Dumbledore was murdered: Voldemort. Even from up here, I was terrified. Hagrid was walking forward with a person being held in his arms but I couldn’t really make out who it was. All I could really see was the sad look over Hagrid’s face as if he had just lost someone beloved to him. Then it hit me hard with the realization that it was Harry being cradled in Hagrid’s arms.

 From underneath I heard some murmuring but couldn’t make out the words. That is until Voldemort started speaking, his voice booming over the schoolyard.

 “Harry Potter…is dead!” He yelled.

 “No! No!” Ginny screamed, trying to push herself forward.

“Silence!” Voldemort bellowed, raising his wand and throwing a spell towards Ginny causing her to stumble backwards, “Stupid girl. Harry Potter is dead.”

  Every inch of my body felt hot and I found it harder and harder to breathe as I held back more tears.

“From this day forth,” Voldemort continued, “you put your faith…in me. Harry Potter is dead! And now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us…or die.”

From behind Voldemort stood a man who looked like a much older Draco; he lifted his hands and waved frantically forward. I could hear his voice as clear as day as he called out.

  “Draco! Draco.”

  But even in the crowd I could hardly make him out because of the people surrounding him. Then a woman stepped forward, her black hair had a single streak of white in it. She raised her arms openly and spoke in a soothing voice.

  “Draco, come.”

Draco emerged from the crowd and slowly approached Voldemort and his family. A low, eerie chuckle left Voldemort’s lips as he reached his arms out to greet Draco.

  “Well done, Draco. Well done.”

  I watched as Draco made his way to his parents slowly before holding onto who I assumed was his mother. The look on my face made my heart ache. He looked sad and defeated, like he didn’t want to be where he was anymore. Not wasting another second standing at this window, I ran off down the hall to the entrance. I could hear more chatting, a speech is what it sounded like but it wasn’t coming from Voldemort, instead it was coming from Neville. I rushed out the side of the building and some of the students turned to me, gasping at the mere sight of me. I scanned the area and saw Neville speaking to the entire crowd while holding something in his hand, it looked like the sorting hat. He pulled out a sword from the hat ready to use it. That’s when Harry fell out of Hagrid’s arms and pointed his wand.

  “Confringo!”

 The spell blasted towards the snake beside Voldemort rather than at him but it bounced off and into the crowd of Deatheaters. Harry took off running and some of the Deatheaters started to leave at the sudden situation; most of them were being yelled at by some frizzy haired woman who wanted them to stay and fight. I pushed past everyone, even passed Professor McGonagall who tried to grab me but failed. Voldemort was shooting random spells at Harry, who managed to dodge a lot of them but used his wand to get rid of the ones he couldn’t. I ran past him but muggles have a different scent than wizards or witches, they lack the smell of magic, so as soon as I ran past him he noticed me. His eyes tearing away from Harry and I could practically hear him snarl behind me.

  “Muggle,” he hissed, angrily.

 “Maggie! No!” Harry yelled.

  “Draco!” I screamed.

  The blonde haired boy stopped and turned around quickly, his eyes almost popping out of his head at the sight of me.

  “Draco! I love you!” I called out, “I’ll always love you! No matter what! Do you hear me?! I love you, Draco Malfoy!”

*Draco’s p.o.v*

“I love you, Draco Malfoy!” Maggie yelled towards me.

   Tears started to stream down my face and I yanked myself away from my mother and father as they desperately tried to reach me. The single sight of Maggie filled me with so much warmth, and all I needed was for her to be in my arms. As I started walking faster towards her, her own feet carrying her even faster to meet me, I spotted Voldemort raising his wand towards her. Everything felt slow and I could hear the sound of my heart beating inside my chest rapidly as I watched.

  “Maggie!” I cried, time returning back to its normal path and more tears spilling from my face.

 She didn’t bother turning around as if she knew what was coming next. Instead, she smiled at me.

  “Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort hollered.

 A green flashing light soared through the sky towards her.

  “Maggie!” I screamed just as the flash of green light hit her.

I felt my mother grab me, trying to drag me away but I just pulled myself away from her again and ran to Maggie’s body that now lay on the ground. I fell to my knees and grabbed her body; it was heavy and limp with no sign of movement. My tears fell onto her face as I cried.

 “No, please. Maggie, please, wake up.”

  Voldemort raised his wand at me this time but his spell was defiled by Potter causing the attention to be thrown back to him.

I pulled Maggie’s body upwards and hugged her tightly as I sobbed; my mother’s hands touched my shoulder as she knelt beside me. She tried to pull Maggie out of my arms but I didn’t allow it.

  “I love her!” I cried out, “Don’t take her away from me!”

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: The Spatulas — Part 1

The Spatulas churn out uneasy jangle pop straight from the garage — or, more literally, the storage unit where the band met to play and beat back their pandemic frustrations. Their sound is built on blunt yet psychedelic melodies, chopping guitar, and rhythms that lurch then steady themselves. Assembled in various forms over the last several years, the Oregon-based quartet released March Chant, their first EP,in December of 2023. Alex Johnson found it “raw and charming…a full band record [that pairs] the relief at venting your anger and the goofy waywardness of distracting yourself with a joyful noise.”

Miranda's List: A bunch of songs that seem to make me me...

Mope Grooves — Look At The Time, 2018

Catchiest song ever. My friend Stevie made a bunch of wonderful music in her lifetime and was a beautiful person. Everything she put out on her label, See My Friends Records is great, and she included many of my fellow Oregonians on Mope Grooves albums. Our previous Spats drummer, Kyle closes out this song "Look At The Time" with that wave of nostalgic synth sound.

Pip Proud — De Dum De Dum, 1967

The original recording of this Pip Proud album is golden all the way through. I listened to this alone on a sheep farm in Oregon in the middle of rainy winter in 2021 and it influenced my writing a lot.

Nico — One More Chance, 1983

Nico at her most gothic rock. I love this echoey version — makes me wanna dance! The beat is great. Ambient synth sounds abound; her vocals incredible as ever... The origins of The Drama of Exile, her fifth album — so full of drug-addled dysfunction!

Pearls Before Swine — Playmate, 1967

One Nation Underground is one of my most listened-to records; the grooves are worn. I used to cover the opener song, “Another Time” pre-Spats, with my Partners, Buddies and Pals. “Playmate” is the upbeat, second song on the album, a cover of an old children’s song, which I think is perfect for me. “(Oh Dear) Miss Morse,” is another hit on side A, on side B it's “Uncle John” and “Surrealistic Waltz.”

Grace Slick & The Great Society — Often As I May, 1966

This song propels you along. It sounds so beautiful, like a traditional folk song, yet a Slick original. Great fun to sing along with this gal.

Lou Reed — Waves of Fear, 1981

Robert Quine’s guitar hits the spot, and with Lou’s voice and guitar, those lyrics — so hard!

Yoko Ono & Plastic Ono Band — Why, 1970

The most adventurous and exciting song ever. Yoko’s primal screaming, with John’s guitar wailing, and Klaus, and Ringo clipping along... WHYYYYYY????? A brilliant reminder to LET IT OUT.

The Bats — Made Up in Blue, 1986

Beloved. Great bass. The song that I think put this Flying Nun band on the map, leading up to another special full album, Daddy’s Highway from 1987, the year I was born. The accompanying music video is a treasure!

Broadcast — I Found The F, 2005

We’re so lucky to have the album Tender Buttons, and the band Broadcast. The album was made while singer Trish Keenan’s father was dying of cancer, six years before she herself died of pneumonia from swine flu. Knowing this makes it all the more eerily personal and sweet-sounding for me. Both my parents were dead by the time I was 32, so I’m familiar with making art as a response to grief.

Don Cherry and Organic Music Theater — Om Shanti Om, 1976

This is the full live performance at RAI Studios in Rome, Italy, for television broadcast. Listen to the ~47-minute album Om Shanti Om as much needed meditation. Imagine also all Moki Cherry’s tapestries in full color, as featured in the Blank Forms book I was so engrossed in last summer.

[fox-glove]

Songs to exist frightfully off of…songs to go through the effort of googling “how to put a song on a loop on Spotify” and fall asleep in an armchair after getting home at 8 am…songs that will most definitely kill your mood or revive and slap the shit out of you..

“Lakes of Canada” by The Innocence Mission or covered by Sufjan Stevens. Honestly, this is a dealer’s choice kinda thing but if you’re inclined to go with Sufjan, give the original a chance because it’s just as good. The song holds a very strange catharsis for me. It always brings me back to this terrible period of rejection several months ago when everything seemed very world-shattering. I think if I hadn’t listened to this song as much as I have I wouldn’t be able to look back at all.

“Famous Blue Raincoat” by Leonard Cohen was my gateway drug. “And what can I tell you, my brother, my killer, what can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you, I’m glad you stood in my way,” is not the line to be left to your own devices to interpret for the first time pissant drunk listening to records.

"Against Pollution" by The Mountain Goats is another song where I just get caught on the execution of one particular line. Just "And a guy came in," absolutely caught me. I have no idea what Mr Darnielle is doing but he's doing it completely right. I personally think the simpler songs instrumentation-wise are the best in TMG's discography.

"Roman Candle" by Elliot Smith is the titular song of his first album. So many songs in there that I wish I listened to years ago. I found out about Elliot when I saw The Scene in The Royal Tennumbaums. Then, I just sleepily waded through his music until I hit this. The song possesses a kind of anger and rawness that belongs to someone with no aim toward mainstream success. It isn't a song written for an audience.

"Sadie" by Joanna Newsom grows on you. I have a bad habit of not being able to read the vibe as far as musical accompaniment goes. I will put on my "The Milk-Eyed Mender" CD while friends are over and trying to sleep in random uncomfortable places. Apparently, this isn't a popular choice. Joanna Newsom's music has a voice that's so rough and fragile, that anyone would love it eventually. May take you a bit...

"Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens is the most vivid listening experience one could ask for. Talk about sustaining, you know? It's where Sufjan shows his personal interest in the art of the short story. I don't remember when I listened to Illinois for the first time but whenever it was, I should separate my life into before and after. I also feel like I didn't really feel immersed in the album until I rode through Illinois and upstate Wisconsin (an area I feel extremely attached to 3,000 miles away from it) on a bus. The song makes me want to take a cross-country bus. They should make those things cheaper. If you get anything from this list, take a greyhound. They're terribly impractical modes of transportation, more expensive than you'd think, and the best environment for some real artistic contemplation.

[treesswayinginthewind]

Enjoying heavy songs - Amygdala

Trigger warnings: I don't mention anything explicit, just vaguely mental health struggles. Of course tread carefully around the MV.

I have recently gotten into reaction videos and as a Yoongi/SUGA/AgustD bias, of course I watch reaction videos of his songs, love to see people fall in love with his music, love to see them be blown away by the raw authenticity of his lyrics, by the emotions he shows.

But it has also brought to the surface reactions to a song that is my favourite of the whole D-Day album. (And they are all my favourite. The moment I say this, I wanna add a "but", unable to really choose, but that is a topic for a different day.) To be honest watching reaction videos of this song is a bit hit and miss. Most are not worth watching but there was one thought voiced that bothered me and I want to address it in this post.

Amygdala is the song that makes me wanna cry every time I listen, it's a song that I know all the lyrics to and I really can't claim to speak any Korean. It's the song that enables me to sing, yell, shout along to and feel oh so much. It is not a secret, that Yoongi's songs resonate with a lot of people who struggle with things in their lives, be it mental health topics, friends or family issues. His fans relate to him and his music because he gives our struggles a voice.

I am one of them. And although there are a lot of issues I struggle with that I might not be able to address and deal with (yet), his music means so much to me. It enables me to feel all those emotions, to get a release for all the anger, sadness and pain I feel without it needing to be about me. I can feel angry, sad and hurt over his story and still have a cathartic experience, feel relieved about my own issues afterwards.

It's not the only thing Yoongi's music does. He also gives us hope. He shares his journey with us with all its ups and downs, tells us that he has our back, that we can let go, that he's there for us. And he lets us know that he's okay too. That he is better and gives us hope that we can be better too.

I understand that the song deals with a lot of heavy topics. That the MV for Amygdala specifically shows things that are triggering for people and I respect and support people's decision to not watch and/or listen for those reasons. But, and I hope that the people I have heard voice this opinion are the exception, because some have said, that because of the topics of the song that this song and this MV are not something we should enjoy. And I reject this notion with all my heart.

I love this song. I love turning it up loud, dancing and singing along with it. And that's okay. I don't believe that Yoongi made this song, so we only listen once, make a sad face and move on. I don't believe that he made this song, so we say, yes he indeed had a difficult life, pity him and move on.

I am sure he knew that this is not the sort of subject matter that would top the charts. So it leaves the question, why did he do it? It's clear that making music is a way for him to process his own experiences and emotions. His music has always been like that. But I don't think it's far fetched to say that he probably knows that he is helping other people too. I like to think that he has seen at least some of the things people have written about his music, about how it makes people feel seen, how his songs and him talking about these topics makes space for them in the public discourse, makes people feel validated in their struggles. So I like to believe he made this song not just for himself, but also hoping it would help others. And with that in mind, I think it's wrong to insinuate that this song should not be enjoyed, CANNOT be enjoyed. I reject the idea that it should be a song, we can only listen to in silence with a solemn face. Of course his story should be treated with respect. Of course there are settings and ways this song could be consumed that might be inappropriate. But there is a difference between enjoying it and disrespecting it's subject matter.

I can enjoy this song because I feel seen. I can enjoy it, because I know he is better now. I can enjoy it for the emotional release I experience when listening to it. I an enjoy it for the skill that went into creating it. There are so many ways to enjoy this song that don't equal disrespect.

So if there is anyone out there who feels like they shouldn't be allowed to enjoy this song, this is for you. Please turn it up loud and sing along and dance to it and let it make you feel all the emotions. Let us enjoy the music, the beautiful lyrics, let us appreciate the skill with which he made this song.

It is okay to enjoy this song. It is okay to enjoy the MV. Both are brilliant. So much work and skill and dedication went into them. It is okay to feel joy while listening, because he's a brilliant artist, making something so beautiful from so much pain.

There is a delicate balance between wanting people to know this song, wanting people who struggle feel seen, create a platform for mental health topics and feeling like capitalising on pain in a society that is so obsessed with consumption. Maybe I am in a bubble, but I respect the fandom for how mindful they have been in creating content around this song and for the lack of content that uses imagery from the MV specifically in inappropriate ways.

But this should not mean, we should not "consume" the song and the MV. The worst we could do to this song is push it aside because "it's too heavy" or too delicate of a topic to talk about.

Let us enjoy the story he tells, the pain he sings about, the cry for help this song so clearly is. Let us enjoy it and feel it. Because despite his struggles, he is still here. And because even if we struggle, we are still here. Let this song be the voice that says, I struggle too and it's okay. Let us listen to it and remind ourselves. Let us talk about it and support each other. Because we are still here and we are not alone.

[infernaleikon]

Why the fruck do i keep listening to midnight rain and think about Obikin?

sksksksk i had to go find the song tbh

anyway! yeah, i can see why you're thinking about obikin. made me think of them in a modern au setting kinda where anakin is a singer-songwriter maybe and he becomes a breakout star and rises in popularity quickly, and it's all so thrilling and dazzling, and people love his music, his lyrics, love him, and he's just riding that high. it's everything he's been dreaming of.

and i'm thinking he's in a relationship with obi-wan before it all happens. obi-wan is a singer too, but he doesn't have any stardom ambitions though, he likes to keep it small and intimate, likes to play in smaller clubs and cozy settings because he doesn't like the glamour and hypervisibility of big popularity. he's turned down big agents before.

he's incredibly proud and happy when anakin gets his breakthrough because he knows how desperately anakin's wanted it and how hard he worked for it. and anakin wants to share it with obi-wan. so much. he wants to work with him, he wants to take him with him everywhere he goes, wants to show him off, wants to be with him and go big with him.

except obi-wan doesn't want that. he doesn't mind anakin's popularity, but he doesn't want to be dragged into it. he doesn't want to be in the spotlight, doesn't want to keep dodging calls and proposals and paparazzi and interview requests, doesn't want to have to keep justifying why he doesn't want to go big with his music (anakin's talked publicly about how his boyfriend is an amazing musician too and ofc people find obi-wan and his music). but anakin is so happy with all the adoration and attention he receives. they start fighting over it more and more because anakin keeps trying to pull obi-wan into the limelight with him while obi-wan keeps rebuffing him until obi-wan eventually decides to break up with him.

he does it because he doesn't want to stand in anakin's way and thinks it makes it easier for him to further pursue his musical career without having obi-wan by his side as a dead weight who can't give him what he wants.

anakin ofc takes the breakup as a rejection of everything that is him. he tells himself obi-wan is begrudging his success; that obi-wan secretly also aspires to be widely popular and is frustrated that anakin got everything he wanted; that he's just too afraid to go after it.

anakin writes a bunch of songs about the breakup. they're angry and sharp and fans go wild over them because omg what happened between these two?? there are wild speculations about it naturally, and anakin is flippant and arrogant about it publicly while obi-wan dodges all attempts that try to get him to talk about it (or anything else).

a couple of years pass. anakin's remains famous and popular and dazzling, and obi-wan follows his career. he's happy that anakin's music is so well received, that he's even won awards for it, but it always accompanied by a deep, deep ache. some days he misses anakin so much it's like a physical hurt.

meanwhile anakin also keeps tabs on obi-wan, despite himself. he finds a video of obi-wan playing at café that's been recorded by a fan, and he looks so good, he's laughing as he talks to the patrons before the song, and the track is so beautiful, obi-wan looks so gorgeous singing, that anakin slaps his laptop shut and almost tosses it across the room because the pain and anger eats at him with renewed vigour. he digs up some old songs, ones he's written after the breakup, the soft and achey ones, the ones he poured his pain and despair into, the wistful ones. anakin falls down a hole and spends days reworking and refining them, and when his manager hears them, they convince anakin to record them. it turns into a whole album. it's still uniquely anakin but it's different from his previous albums, it's much more vulnerable, there's a depth to it that wasn't there before, it's real and raw, and anakin tries to back out of releasing it because he's too afraid to expose himself like that. but the album becomes a huge success. he wins several awards for it, and he's so proud and at the same time utterly heartbroken because essentially, obi-wan gave him this success.

(fans speculate who the songs are about because it's been years since the breakup. some immediately link it to obi-wan, others believe it to be one of anakin's more recent hook-ups.)

obi-wan listens to the whole album as he sits in his living room. he breathes through the ache and the yearning and wonders what made anakin write these songs. it's been years after all. and the first songs were less than pleasant for obi-wan. he almost texts anakin about it. he comes really close to it. he has the message typed out, he's two glasses of wine in on an empty stomach, and he feels petty enough, but he deletes it and lets it go.

anakin half expects obi-wan to react to it in some way. he gets frustrated and irritated and embarrassed when he doesn't.

obi-wan does, however, perform a song that he wrote together with anakin and has never played before. it's a banger. people love it. videos of obi-wan singing it blaze through social media, and anakin takes a significant amount of damage when he sees it. because. what does that mean???? obi-wan is singing their song. after anakin released what he dubbed his "obi-wan albumn" in his head. but he hasn't responded to the album at all.

anakin can't stop thinking about it. which is how he ends up at one of obi-wan's sets. he bundles up and disguises himself so nobody recognizes him, and he sits through obi-wan performing, closes his eyes and listens to his voice, lets the lyrics wash over him, and realizes that a lot of his songs are about anakin. they're much more subtle but anakin knows him, knows the things obi-wan sings about, and something clicks for him.

he waits until the set is over, until there aren't any more people occupying obi-wan, before he approaches him. they both freeze when they lock eyes. they haven't seen each other in years but it somehow feels like no time has passed and like it's been an eternity all at the same time. obi-wan packs up in silence and anakin trails him wordlessly until they're in the alley behind the location.

"you're singing about us," anakin says accusatorily, and almost feels stupid that these are the first words out. "you're singing about me."

"you're doing it too," obi-wan answers as he crosses his arms over his chest, defensive. he eyes anakin warily thinking anakin is here to call him out, pick a fight, sue him maybe, he's not quite sure.

except anakin gets all up in his space and there's wonder and yearning and hope in his eyes, and he's still so hauntingly beautiful it takes obi-wan's breath away. it makes his chest tight with how much he still wants anakin, and it's even worse what with how close they are right now.

"i can't believe you're singing about me," anakin says in a hushed tone.

obi-wan smiles a bit self-deprecatingly, even as he sways closer to anakin, too. "i never stopped singing about you."

"i never stopped singing about you, too," anakin admits. and then he fists his hands into obi-wan's shirt and kisses him.

that's how they get their heads out of their asses. of course they have a reunion fuck in the alley.

this got away from me oops, sorry, anon!

[lintcovered]

Closer thoughts

This song is one of the biggest ones that hit home for me. in my first "real" relationship, and also my worst relationship, my ex was the one to introduce me to waterparks. for that reason, a lot of their songs are connected to them. especially the breakup ones, those always seem to strike a chord as way too familiar.

At first i actually was liking this song and was relating to it but differently. the ideas of feeling love differently from those around me, and not knowing how to love was familiar. coming from a difficult family situation with people who arent very open to expressing love verbally, i have always felt behind in that way. but through the first chorus, as i was reading the lyrics i felt a shift.

I love you, or i want to. is it easy? i need you closer, or i need it over. when things really started to fall apart, this is really how i felt. I also noticed the stages of grief over the course of this song, which i cycled through for about a year and a half of my life trying to move past that relationship. denial and confusion. its easy to be with you, or have i been conditioned to feel that way. do i love you, or do i want to have someone to love. depression and bargaining, theres nothing left to let go, maybe in another life we can try to get us right. can we be easy now, since i tried so hard? anger, ive been fucked so much that i no longer wait, i sabotage and break my own heart just in case. the only thing missing was acceptance.

This whole song emulated the despair that I felt during that time of my life. I was 16, covid had started, the person i thought i was going to spend the rest of my life with said they hated me and i felt like i truly had nothing left. I am the b-side throwaway. What had i paid for the inbetween moment of love or care that i got from them? I had paid my childhood. my friends. my sanity. and my self worth. and all i got in return was disgust, hatred, and deep hurting. an empty promise that if i stayed maybe things would change. maybe they would return my feelings one day. but after secrets and only caring when it was convenient, telling me they loved me after weeks of conditioning and spiteful words, ripping me from my closest friends.

i needed them closer, or it needed to be over. and now, three years later, it finally is over. i said in the intro that im glad this album came out now instead of when i was experiencing this, and the reason why is i am finally healing. im finally finally accepting what they did to me, and accepting that its okay to move on. the anguish and pain i felt is still valid and still lives in me for now, but after all those years of pain and cycling through my grief over and over, it finally actually is over.

Closer is one of the songs that reminds me how far ive come. how much ive grown. im not the same sad kid who cried at the color blue nearly fainted at a text message. it reminds me of the pain i felt, and reminds me how much better things are now. how grateful i am for where my life is, despite everything. and for that, this one for me is a 10/10. its painful, its raw and its a true snapshot of my brain from january 2018 to may 2021.

[luxgalador]

2 and 24 :3

2: A song you like with a number in the title

Paramore - Figure 8

My favorite off their new album. The chord progression is so unorthodox relative to most popular music currently being released. Taylor York went off on this album and the whole band really just weren't afraid to make something honest and unique. This song especially taps into their emo roots a little more but with the sophistication of folks who've mastered their craft and lyrics that reflect the wisdom of not just knowing that you've been hurt, misled, and subdued by another/others, but understanding the depths of that cruelty from the perspective of a more protective, older you. It's so good.

24: A song by a band you wish were still together

Linkin Park - Leave Out All The Rest

For obvious reasons, I wish they were still together. Chester is one of the greatest rock vocalists of all time, and I miss his art so dearly. The way he was able to sing with such softness and flawlessly traverse the barrier into expressing pure pain/anger just with the shape of his voice is unreal. The control that takes is superhuman. One thing I've always appreciated about Linkin Park is their willingness to just lay it out there and say their feelings. I love when things are wrapped up in concept, imagery, and metaphor of course, but they didn't really bother with that. To me, that raw unprocessed emotion is why they've spoken to so many over the years. They provided the soundtrack to survival for so many. What a gift that is.

[db-reviews]

#160 - Vulnicura - Bjork (2015)

I think in many music discussions, Bjork is brought up quite a lot, and for a lot of great reasons. Her unique sound that fuses pop with chamber music, IDM, ambient, and many more atmospheric genres give her a unique avant-garde twist. At first I never really got her, but now I am a very big fan of her work. I do not think she has released any bad albums. My only issue with them is that they kinda take a while to set in, but after you sit down in Bjork’s wild train of mysteries then any of her releases can become a very fun adventure through music that is very cutely Icelandic. I think, though, she reached her highest peak after releasing her 8th (12th if you count her child album, Gling-glo, and the OSTs) studio release, Vulnicura.

A little background for Vulnicura, this album was recorded after Bjork broke up with Matthew Barney, a contemporary artist from the USA. This album is the result of such a break up, and is meant to be an album that is to heal the wounds that the break up left Bjork. The outcome of it all: an incredible and personal album that is filled with heartache and misery.

Vulnicura is an album that isn’t just personal, but one that can perfectly encapsulate the listener in the feeling of longing, and heartbreak. No longer do we have those wintery hills of Homogenic, or the warm breezes of Volta, but rather a more deep and meditative Bjork, that knows how to contort her songs in a way that she is no longer giving you grilled meat, but rather the raw elements off the bone. Front to back, the album has instrumentation that fits the moods Bjork feels. Sadness, bitter defeat, anger, loneliness, and emptiness to name a few. She creates these wonderful soundscapes that break down the listener bit by bit; taking them apart and putting them back together. These sounds skewer and mauls your heartstrings, much like what that breakup did to Bjork, and thus creating this amazingly well put together experience that always beats me up inside.

Not only is the instrumentation amazing, but Bjork’s voice never sounded any better. I think her voice always sounded heavenly, but man, here she just sounds flat out angelic. I just love how she amplifies the already moody atmosphere into stuff that can rival even the best vocalists like Peter Gabriel and Devin Townsend. She puts a misty mystique on everything, from the profoundly beautiful Lionsong, to the electronically inclined Quicksand, and that mystique ALWAYS makes these songs so memorable to me, more than any other song off any other Bjork album. If I had one critique on her vocals, it's that I miss her occasional voice cracks during her younger days. I think they added a very big level of charm in her music, but I can see that as she got older she lost the ability to crack her voice, so I do not harp on Bjork for it. Either way, her voice is still so wonderful.

The vocals and instrumentation combined creates what I think is Bjork’s best album. Yes, even better than Homogenic or Vespertine, I think it is just that good.

This very open and raw album is an essential listen for anyone who likes pretty much any genre, namely pop and electronic music fans. It is on par with some of the best pop records in the 21st century, hell, even the 20th century. This is one of the most beautifully crafted albums from 2015, and one that I think can open up anyone’s eyes to how truly grand Bjork’s works can be, even at her most miserable of moments. This isn’t just a breakup album, it is a breakdown album, and one that I cannot help but fall in.

5/5

[these-words-like-violence]

My Speak Now Taylor's Version Reactions

Mine: This one is definitely recognizable as not being the old one right away... Something about the sound mixing is just different, but it still sounds great.

Sparks Fly: This one is not recognizable as being different from the old one right away. Such an infectious song. Long time fave.

Back to December: Oh shit, I am glad I listened to the original album before this and cried about this track already, because I would be a mess right now. This one is hard to recognize as being any different from the original.

This song is so raw and honest and beautiful... Who am I kidding? I'm crying again.

Speak Now: Okay, the vocals are different right away on this one. This is a more seasoned Taylor. It also sounds sort of slower?

She is so good at scene setting. Not having a music video for this one is such a missed opportunity.

Dear John: Fuck. Not this song... I can't. :'(

Fuck all the Johns we've had in our lives. "Never impressed by me acing your tests." Fuck that hits home.

Sorry for the cursing, I can't help it. This is Dear fucking John.

Mean: Definitely can tell this is a more seasoned vocalist. She doesn't sound quite as impassioned, but I still love it. This sounds like the Taylor who's already so far over it she doesn't entertain criticism like this anymore, and I respect that.

Story of Us: This song always had one of my favorite music videos. I can tell right away this is not the old one, but I still get a little thrill when she says, "next chapter."

The. End.

Never Grow Up: No, no, noooo. :'( I love you, Mom.

Enchanted: This song is so pretty. One of her best and most effective at sounding like the feelings she's singing about. Still beautiful.

Better than Revenge: I remember being so surprised by the harder sound the first time I listened to this.

INTERESTING LYRIC CHANGE, TAYLOR.

I was wondering how that would go. Still like it, but it doesn't quite hit the same way the original song does. Less anger, but it's an angry song, so it just doesn't quite go as hard.

Innocent: This one hits about the same as the original. There's always been something profound about it.

Today is never too late to be brand new.

Haunted: Okay, this one actually sounds more haunting with that echoey thing going on.

Last Kiss: This one also hits about the same despite sounding slightly different. I feel that these are just about interchangeable.

Long Live: This one always get me so emotional, and it still hits just has hard.

Ours: This song is so cute. Cried when I first watched the video.

Superman: Such a sweet and pure song. A girlish admiration for a decent man who does seem like a superman among all the villains. It has the same energy as the original.

I'm bummed we didn't get "if This Was a Movie" but onto disc 2!!

When Emma Falls in Love: Who's Emma?

I Can See You: I love the sound of this. Just the right kind of edgy for this album. Very groovy.

Castles Crumbling: I absolutely love hearing Taylor and Hayley Williams together.

I'm reminded of the "New Romantics" lyrics and how she goes from this sorrowful hopelessness to determination later.

Foolish One: She is so good at telling a story in a few minutes. I'd love to see this as an empowering movie about letting go of someone who doesn't want you.

Timeless: Imagine being the person Taylor thinks of as she's going through the antique shop and seeing you and your love in everything. <3 This is so sweet pure.

[torpublishinggroup]

Last Exit to Playlist

By Max Gladstone

I wanted to write a road novel. I wanted to write a book about friends grown apart, a book that drew on memories and dreams and journals of bouncing around the country all summer in the back seat of a Plymouth Voyager, a book that understood space and could chew time. So, I needed a mixtape.

I used to do this for every road trip. There was a different art to it when you had to fit your vibe into a forty-five minute A side and a forty-five minute B. Poets know: constraint breeds creativity. You start to understand why radio singles used to have long outros, which lets the DJ choose the right moment to crossfade, and fit the tune to their set. I loved the challenge, and the music would set the tone for the trip. So: why not make a mixtape for a road trip into my own imagination?

This wasn’t a playlist for the process itself, the actual word-by-word writing. In the flow, I drift between ambient albums, chiptunes, soundtracks, games music, jazz. I find tracks that have the right vibe or rhythm and drop them into a giant “writing music” folder, where live ancient OCReMix tracks based on the Morrowind title theme or the Chrono Trigger soundtrack. I do whatever works. But this wasn’t a playlist to write by—this was a playlist to help me think through what I was thinking through. And the road, for me, is songwriter country.

Good Man - Josh Ritter, The Animal Years

The Animal Years was my first Ritter album. I played it again and again in my bedroom in southeast China late at night as the Iraq War kept on being bad. The Animal Years casts a prophet’s eye on America—clear, visionary, angry—and any three of its songs could have made it to this list, but the album resolves on this note of tired, broke-down grace. Even in its earliest iterations, I knew the book that turned into Last Exit would start after what felt like the end—after the breaking point, when the young kids who thought they could save the world tried, failed, and broke up. None of them have yet reached the promise this song holds out—of rest, of, at least, friendship—but it gave me, and them, something to steer toward.

Tangled Up in Blue - The Indigo Girls, 1200 Curfews

I’m a Dylan fan, but—something magical happens when you give Dylan songs to someone else. Jimi Hendrix’s All Along the Watchtower is the iconic version. And the Indigo Girls’ cover of Tangled Up in Blue takes this raw and wry tale of wandering around the country, wondering what the hell happened to your generation, and layers in passion and mourning. In Dylan’s version, the narrator feels resigned—of course it all went down like that, it couldn’t have happened any other way, people are just like that and you have to understand. Here, the narrator cares. She misses what she’s lost, and even though she’s getting through, she’s angry about it. That gave me the right touchstone for Zelda, for my main character: memory and loss, regret and anger, and a worn-down determination.

Democracy - Leonard Cohen, Live in London

Speaking of prophecies. “It’s coming with the feel that it ain’t exactly real, or it’s real, but it ain’t exactly there.” In this version, gravelly and terrifying, Cohen unsettles. It’s Democracy by way of The Future, and you feel the hope, but you have to concede—it is murder. In earlier recordings, this song can feel triumphant, but by Live in London, you can’t tell whether it’s a prophecy of salvation or of Armageddon. Maybe both.

Galahad - Josh Ritter, To the Yet Unknowing World

I heard this song for the first time live, and I went home and listened to it a dozen times in the next day. I love that walking-beat drum, like a cane echoing on a marble floor. I love the sly and vicious sense of humor. I love how virtue twists in this song—how nothing’s quite what it sets itself out or up to be. You have to look under the surface. And the King Arthur mythos, as slantwise as we see it here, really speaks to me in an American country/folk/blues setting. It’s the one you read in Steinbeck’s The Acts of King Arthur, or in Tortilla Flat. Kings and knights in a land without knights and kings.

Tear My Stillhouse Down - Gillian Welch, Revival

Gillian Welch is one of those songwriters who leaves you certain you’ve just heard a song that’s a hundred years old.

The Hobo Song - Old & In the Way, Old & In the Way

A track about being lost at the end of your part in the American story. Old & In the Way is a tremendous project—Pete Rowan, Jerry Garcia, David Grisman on mandolin, John Kahn, and of course all-star Vassar Clements’s elegant, barn-burning fiddle. I could have a dozen of their songs on this playlist. Speaking of which…

Panama Red - Old & In the Way, Old & In the Way

I’m honestly not sure what this song is doing here as opposed to, say, Land of the Navajo which has more of the cosmic vision I aimed for in Last Exit. Maybe it’s just that Panama Red is a great name. Maybe it’s that cowboy vibe. Maybe the tape needed a moment to breathe.

Wagon Wheel - Old Crow Medicine Show, O.C.M.S.

You too, perhaps, have heard this one at every bonfire you’ve attended since the mid year-zeroes, and I hope that when you did, you had the fullness of heart to join in and sing. It’s had a lot of play, and it’s probably been used to sell some SUV somewhere, and that’s fine, but for me when I hear this song, it’s late at night, I’m in the middle of the People’s Republic of China, far away from anyone and everything I grew up beside and especially from the Cumberland Gap and Johnson City, Tennessee, and a visiting buddy has just handed me a thumb drive with some music on it, and—well. I worked out the fiddle part that night.

I Hear Them All - Old Crow Medicine Show, O.C.M.S.

The world is a hard place and there are lots of people hurting, and all that pain is a bright and fearful light. We close down in the face of it. David Rawlings, Gillian Welch’s guitarist collaborator, has a great version of this song, too, which could be on this list, but the O.C.M.S. version is the one I heard first.

Walking in Memphis - Marc Cohn, Marc Cohn

Look, okay, look. Just…look.

Silver Thunderbird - Marc Cohn, Marc Cohn

You’ll have noticed a lot of doubled artists on this track list, and to be honest, some of that’s because I took out the album looking for one song, saw the other, and couldn’t resist adding it. In this case, I couldn’t pull out the Mark Cohn album without adding Walking in Memphis—”She said/ Tell me are you a Christian child?/ And I said ‘Ma’am I am tonight’”—but Silver Thunderbird was why I got the album out in the first place. It’s a haunting, brief song about being a kid, about your parents, about shoes you can’t quite grow into—and about a car. I’ve never been a Car Person, and maybe because I’m not, I don’t have the contempt familiarity can breed. For me, a few cars have a mythic heft. The Thunderbird is one, and so’s the Dodge Challenger, which features in Last Exit. I can’t say quite what it is about the Challenger. It’s a haunting design. It’s the car that idles at the corner, as if waiting for something. It’s the car that the man in the hat drives when he comes to town.

Pancho and Lefty - Townes Van Zandt

I could write whole essays on Townes Van Zandt. He’s a tradition all to himself. Every one of his songs is a vision.

Across the Great Divide - Nanci Griffith, Other Voices, Other Rooms

It’s hard to write this entry now—I started and stopped and started and stopped again—because I haven’t come to terms with Nanci Griffith’s passing. Artists exist in strange ways. A writer you’ve never met remains as alive to you in their books as they ever were. We put on an album, and the ghosts sing to us. John M. Ford once wrote: the train stops, but the line goes on.

The Queen and the Soldier - Suzanne Vega, Suzanne Vega

In college, I was fortunate to take a class from John Crowley, and in an offhand way as he was trying to make another point in a lecture, he touched on the way certain words gather and hold power—ring, or cup, or sword. I’ve often wished I could go back in time and replay those five minutes of lecture—I knew I was hearing something important, but trying to hold it in my mind felt like trying to hold a river. This song is about that power, I think, and it communicates in those words—the dream we have of the world, and the distance between that dream and the world. There’s something young about the magic of those words. For a kid, the dream that a word like sword suggests can be clear and bright, even (especially?) because of its distance from the world we know. Do we ever look for the truth behind the dream? What happens when we do? Can we bear to leave the old world behind? Even as it strangles us?

Jack’s Crow - John Gorka, Jack’s Crows

This is a drifting dream-song for me, not so much the storm as the darkening on the horizon, that feeling in the air before things change. It’s autumn: not as the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, but as a season of coming darkness, as a season of threat and prophecy. For me this is a song for long stretches of road, for weeds and roadside gravel. It’s magic seeping out of the shadows. Calling us.

I’m from New Jersey - John Gorka, Jack’s Crows

To be honest, I like to end on a note of contrast. You can’t stay in grim prophecy all the time. I’m not from New Jersey originally, but my dad is, and we did some growing up in Ohio, so a line like—”I’m from New Jersey/it’s like Ohio/but even more so/imagine that”—I can’t resist it. But listening to it again now, I’m struck by the opening and closing line, which is more true than I expected to Last Exit, in its totality: “I’m from New Jersey/I don’t expect too much/If the world ended today/I would adjust.” The end of the world is coming. So: what can we do?

This isn’t the only playlist I could have made for this book—entire Mary Gauthier albums should be on here, for example, and Anais Mitchell’s Young Man in America, and there’s no Alabama 3 (which I think we’re now required to call A3 in the States for trademark reasons?) only because I was listening to them a lot at the time and I wasn’t sure how I felt about including a British project even if they have such intense Americana energy on projects like M.O.R. Tenacious D’s The Road belongs on here for pure contrast and humor purposes—I can imagine more than one character in Last Exit saying, “Why can’t I stay in one place for more than two days? Why??”

The music I wrote to, in the end, was silence, and the Mad Max: Fury Road soundtrack, and Makaya McCraven, and, in revision, the truly wild The Comet Is Coming album called Trust in the Lifeforce of the Deep Mystery. But as a mission statement, as a call to adventure, as a map—to the thematic territory, or just to the wall I meant to bash my head against—it did the job. It mapped a few of the cracks in the world. It gave me a cowboy and a car and it gave me loss, and absent friends.

And it left me looking for a tape deck.

╔═══════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ═══════╝

MAX GLADSTONE is a fencer, a fiddler, and the winner of the Hugo and Nebula Awards for This is How You Lose the Time War, co-written with Amal El-Mohtar. A two-time finalist for the John W. Campbell Award, he is fluent in Mandarin and has taught English in China. He is also the author of the Craft Sequence of novels—a Hugo Award finalist, a game developer, and the showrunner for the fiction serial, Bookburners. Max lives and writes in Somerville, Massachusetts.

[thesibfiles]

Courtney going on tour right after?

Theres a misconception that after Kurts death, Courtney went straight on tour right away. This is false. The album was already set to release a few days after and they couldnt change that on such a short notice. Promotion for the album was cancelled and she pushed back the tour 4 months.

“Live Through This was supposed to provide Love an opportunity to step out from her famous husband’s shadow. “It’s annoying now, and it’s been annoying for nine years, Love said in a 1999 Jane Magazine interview of always being connected to Cobain. Released four days after Cobain’s body was found, the album’s promotion was put on hold. Rather than retreat from the public eye, Love openly mourned and helped fans of Cobain and Nirvana make sense of the singer’s death. She sat with grieving teenagers gathered outside the couple’s Seattle home and recorded a reading of parts of his suicide note that was played at the singer’s memorial that gathered near the Space Needle. In the days following his death, Love showed a very raw and emotional side and admitted that, like many fans, she didn’t have all the answers. 

It was, and still is, impossible for people to discuss Live Through This without noting the irony of the album’s title. Love has said the name was not a prediction at all, but instead a reflection of all she had endured in the months leading up to its release, including a very public custody fight with the Los Angeles Department of Family Services over daughter Frances Bean. Rumors suggested that Cobain had written much of Live Through This (it’s Miss World, not Mister, just FYI). “I’d be proud as hell to say that he wrote something on it, but I wouldn’t let him. It was too Yoko for me. It’s like, ‘No fucking way, man! I’ve got a good band, I don’t fucking need your help,’” was Love’s response to critics in Spin’s oral history of Live Through This. Love and Cobain often shared notebooks and lyrics with each other, and while there is talk of Cobain’s influence on Love’s work, or the writing of all of it, less is mentioned in the press of her impact on his lyrics and music. Rather than sucking all the life out of Nirvana or threatening the success of the band, like many assumed she would do, she inspired Cobain. Fun fact: In Utero, Nirvana’s last album, was named after a line from one of Love’s poems.

Sadly, songwriting rumors would be replaced by other rumors. Women are often vilified and condemned for the deaths of their male partners. Love, like all women, was supposed to save her partner from death and addiction. Fans of Cobain projected all their anger and resentment over the loss of the Nirvana front man onto Love, and soon she was blamed for not only his addiction but also his death. There are even two movies devoted to the theory that Courtney killed Kurt: the awful Soaked in Bleach (2015) and the equally awful Kurt & Courtney (1998). If you think we’ve come a long way, baby, sadly we haven’t. 

One year after Anthony Bourdain’s death, Asia Argento is still being blamed, and in September 2018, Ariana Grande had to take a break from social media after fans blamed her for the death of her ex Mac Miller. A few months later, she would be blamed for new beau Pete Davidson’s mental health and addiction issues. It’s amazing she finds the time to write hit songs what with all the dude destruction she has going on. When women are not being blamed for the deaths of the men in their lives, they are being attacked for not grieving properly. “She wasn’t crying. She’s got $30 million coming to her. Do you blame her for being so cool?” a hospital staffer said of Yoko Ono following John Lennon’s murder in 1980. 

About four months after Cobain’s death, Love went on tour to promote her new album. Some questioned and judged why she would go on tour so soon, but Love has said it was a necessity. She had a young daughter to support. She needed to work. She also, sadly, still needed to prove herself. “I would like to think that I’m not getting the sympathy vote, and the only way to do that is to prove that what I’ve got is real,” Love told Rolling Stone in 1994.

Twenty-five years later, Cobain’s death still hangs over Live Through This. In the days leading up to the anniversary of Cobain’s death, former Hole bassist Melissa Auf der Maur wrote an open letter to music magazine Kerrang saying she “would not stand for Kurt’s death overshadowing the life and work of the women he left behind this year.”

“We were extremely well designed for each other,” Love has said of her relationship with Cobain. In a letter reprinted in Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love, she calls him “my everything. the top half on my fraction.” The two had similar upbringings, both came from broken homes and spent childhoods shuttling between relatives and friends. They both grew up longing for love and acceptance. When we tell the story of Kurt and Courtney we talk about drugs and destruction, but we don’t talk enough about love.

The two also shared an intense drive and ambition. “I didn’t want to marry a rock star, I wanted to be one,” Love said in a 1992 Sassy interview. Evidence of her drive can be found in the many notes and to-do lists she kept, some of which are collected in Dirty Blonde. There are reminders to send her acting résumé to agencies, to write three to four new songs a week, to “achieve L.A. visibility.” A scene in the documentary Kurt & Courtney features an ex of Love’s reading from one of her to-do lists, which has “become friends with Michael Stipe” as the number one task to complete (not only did Love do this, but he is her daughter’s godfather). This ambition is not surprising from a woman who, when she was younger, mailed a tape of herself singing to Neil Sedaka in hopes of getting signed. Love knew what she wanted at an early age, and what she wanted was fame.

She was certainly living by the “do not hurt yourself, destroy yourself, mangle yourself to get the football captain. Be the football captain!” motto she championed in the 1995 documentary Not Bad for a Girl. Ambition is often a dirty word when it is used to describe women and Love is no exception. She has been repeatedly described as calculating and controlling when she should be rewarded for her blond ambition and viewed as an inspiration. Critics and the press often call her a gold digger who only married Cobain for fame and money. They fail to mention that when the two met Pretty on the Inside was actually selling more copies than Bleach, Nirvana’s debut album. Even post-Kurt, Love’s intentions were always under scrutiny. On the Today Show to do press for The People vs. Larry Flynt, Love refused to talk about her past drug use, despite the host’s repeated questions, saying the topic was not an appropriate fit for the show’s demographic. She was right, but it didn’t stop a writer from describing the move as “calculating” in a 1998 Spin piece.

Cobain was ambitious too; he was just much slyer and more secretive about it. He was known to call his manager and complain when MTV didn’t play Nirvana’s videos enough, and he would correct journalists who misquoted the band’s sales figures in interviews. While success is typically celebrated and rewarded for men and it certainly was for Cobain, he also had to be mindful of the slacker generation that loved Nirvana and greeted success — and especially mainstream success —

While female celebrities like Love are criticized for their rebellion, male celebrities, like Cobain for example, are celebrated and mythologized for it. Cobain and Love both struggled with addiction, but it is Love who is repeatedly vilified for her drug use. “She was vilified for being a mess, for being a drug addict, for not being a great parent — in other words, all of the things we expect in a male rock star,” said Bust magazine in a piece in the magazine’s 20th anniversary issue, which featured Love on the cover.

We make jokes about the drug antics of male celebrities from Keith Richards to Charlie Sheen, idolizing their debauchery and depravity. The new Netflix/Lifetime movie by Jack Daniels, The Dirt, about Mötley Crüe, takes the band’s excesses to almost comic levels. Check out crazy tourmate Ozzy Osbourne snorting a line of ants by a hotel pool! Such zany antics! I would love to see Lindsay Lohan try to get away with that. We never allow women to live down their arrests and their addictions, but we repeatedly allow men to have a redemption arc. Robert Downey Jr. was in and out of jail and on and off drugs for much of the mid to late ’90s, but we rarely, if ever, talk about his past.

When Love isn’t being attacked for her addiction issues, she is being judged for her parenting. Love’s first unflattering press was “Strange Love,” the much publicized 1992 Vanity Fair profile by Lynn Hirschberg. While the piece talks at length about Love’s drug use and constantly questions her parenting ability, it doesn’t paint Cobain in the same light. “It is appalling to think that she would be taking drugs when she knew she was pregnant,” says one close friend in the piece. Hirschberg relies on many unnamed sources and focuses often on the tabloid-like aspects of Love’s life and addictions. “Courtney has a long history with drugs. She loves Percodans (‘They make me vacuum’), and has dabbled with heroin off and on since she was eighteen, once even snorting it in Room 101 of the Chelsea Hotel, where Nancy Spungen died,” she writes. “Reportedly, Kurt didn’t do much more than drink until he met Courtney.” (Even when it is reported by Kurt and Krist that Kurt tried heroin in 1989, way before Courtney, It was also known that he smoked weed and used caugh syrup to get high in 1989 and 1990.)

This double standard was common in coverage of the couple. In Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck, the 2015 documentary by Brett Morgen, Love asks her husband, “Why does everyone think you’re the good one and I’m the bad one?” Later in the film we see a scene of Frances Bean’s first haircut. The child sits on Cobain’s lap while Love searches for a comb and scissors. The camera shows Cobain nodding off, and while he maintains that he is just tired, it’s clear he’s not. The scene is painful to watch, especially because those around Cobain carry on like nothing in wrong, giving the feeling this is just like any other day in the Love-Cobain household. The scene is a reminder of how the press treated Cobain’s addiction when he was alive. They just carried on like nothing was wrong, instead directing all their judgement at Love.