#me into a megaphone: I LOVE MY FRIENDS I LOVE MY FRIENDS I LO

[baddcop]

I’m gonna scream abt a few of my friends now bc I wuv them and this anniversary got me emotional a lil bit oop.

@urfaustus​​ / @fuckinurl​ !!! CYD !!!

Hewwo, we have been friends for like 7  years and I wuv u. I know you’ve been going through it recently and I’m really sorry about that, but I wanted to let you know I love you a lot and I love all the stuff we’ve developed on discord casually for these boys via short rp’s and talks in voice chat over a few games of Overwatch. (sidenote thank you for carrying me u_u I'm but a lowly Mercy main and I can’t Exist without u to protect me bc I suck at videogames) BUT!!! You’re always so much fun to write with, I like how we can casually shoot the shit and talk and develop muses casually and have short little rp’s with our three-thousand muses combined hsdjbfhsd. But seriously, I love you a lot, I love talking and playing videogames and watching movies together and I hope things get better for you soon. You’re the bestest thanks for putting up with me since 2013 ♥

@carbonandiron !!! MIDDY !!!

You’re one of the first people I’d followed and met in this fandom and you’ve always been absolutely delightful. I love you a lot and I hope you’re doing well, I love talking to you abt our boys and asking you headcanon questions and bugging you on discord and I’m !!! so happy for you and your comic !!! you work so hard and I hope now that the first issue is finished you can take a nice well deserved rest and get all the praise and attention you deserve for how hard you’ve worked. I have no idea how to manage comic book panels and make the eyes follow them like you did, seriously you’re so good, and your paintings and style are so well defined and recognizable and absolutely gorgeous. You’re doing amazing Middy, I love you and I hope you’re doing alright while on your break from Tumblr! ♥

@renzao !!! YZMA !!!

YOU !!! are absolutely so talented and I adore you ok. You’re a delight and seeing you on the dash makes me so happy, your writing is impeccable and so lovely to read and I love batting ideas back and forth with all our ships!!! I love how you don’t pull punches on how strong your Connor is, both mentally and physically, I appreciate the absolute vibe of power and sweetness he has and I wuv seeing you on dash. You’re super fun, you’ve got a wonderful sense of humor, you’re sweet and cool as hell, and your art is absolutely astounding. (srsly I can’t draw Connor for shit let alone any au’s for the mans how you do that op.) You !! are a delight !! and I appreciate you so much.

@deviatiions !!! SAM !!!

I wuv watching you stream and write for The Boy! You’re super chill and funny, absolutely a sweetheart and I love how much thought you put into Connor. He’s got a real vibe of having such tender spots while trying to remain strong on the outside, but he’s still got that sense of care and compassion and I love that for He. u__u I’m sorry Gavin bullies him I have no excuse it’s just Gavin being a brat. You’re super smart and a joy to talk to, I love the memes you send me !!! I’m bad at conversation and sometimes I’m sure it seems like talking to a brick wall but I’m just big ol shy but I wanted to say You !! are doing wonderful !! you’re doing amazing things working as hard as you are, and I’m glad you finally get a much-deserved rest after those finals!

@sgaradh​ !!! CLAIRE !!!

i !! love bugging youuuu and your Connor ok. Thank you for putting up with my prodding and curious questions. I worry I may bother you but I’m just interested in getting to know all about your boy! I adore your writing and portrayal, you’re a treat to see on the dash and I absolutely love the enemies to friends trope plan we got going for Gav and Connor. I see a lot of careful balance of his guard with his care for doing the right thing, and his slight nervousness that I notice in his demeanor at times. I enjoy that he’s got boundaries that he has hidden beneath the really in control calm demeanor he has, things that have to do with his intimacy that are really well written that would affect the way and speeds at which he bonds with others in that way. You put lots of care and love into him and it’s so very obvious by the way you write him and his character, plus you’re always an absolute delight to talk to over discord!!! I look forward to bothers you more about your portrayal with lots of questions and buggin you in discord with potential thread ideas and au’s for the boys to Bond™ in.

[stylesnews]

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

continue reading

[hlupdate]

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

[hldailyupdate]

This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)

[sorcererinthestars]

Let’s Go Steal a Yacht

[UPDATED 2021.] Written for the 2020 @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Sunshine event for @leftsmitteninbritain! Just edited for 2021. Safe now! Please enjoy some unrestrained summer fun on this lovely August eve!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569448

-- The sun over the Los Santos skyline was relentless. The heat this week hadn’t been less than 90 degrees and it scorched every citizen that walked down the roads, turning skin red and blistering and making everyone sweat. Like every smart citizen of Los Santos, the Fake AH Crew had been mainly squirreled away inside their frozen fridge of a penthouse apartment, air conditioning blasting.

But Geoff’s birthday was coming up and that required a big bash. Michael bent over the proposed plans, scrunching his nose up as he pointed at the phone where they had all scribbled down ideas.

So far, the list was pitiful. “We can’t go out to bevs, J,” Michael sighs. “He doesn’t drink anymore. That’d be weird, right?”

“Only as weird as you make it,” he shrugs, glancing to Gavin, Jack, Trevor, and Alfredo who were sitting lazily on the various penthouse couches, watching with various degrees of boredom. Geoff was out on an errand — they should have at least half an hour of uninterrupted time to discuss.

“What if we did like — a heist?” Jack asks, snatching the phone from Michael. Gavin just grins at his immediate pout, but Michael hands the phone over anyways. “Like, combine something fun with a little mayhem.”

“Geoff does love his mayhem,” Gavin nods. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a bunch of rich kids who are running a coke scam across the border out of their yacht,” Jack explains, gesturing to the map of the city and pointing at a spot on the Los Santos waterfront. “It’s a pretty low-bit operation. Not much drugs, but it’s sort of just an excuse for the Harvard whiz-kids to blow off some steam. But they do it off of a massive yacht. I’m talking three-floors, two hot tubs, helipad sort of shit. Mommy and Daddy must own it, but the kids run it.” She grins up at them. “Seems like the sort of thing Geoff’ll like, right?”

“So… you’re thinking that we make a run for the yacht, take it and the drugs, and then have a full-out bev party with their built in pool?” Gavin’s all smirks, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table.

“Not to be a downer or anything,” Trevor says smoothly, “but won’t killing the sons and daughters of some filthy rich people like — cause more problems than a few pounds of coke and a boat we could buy is worth?”

Jack shakes her head. “I know these types of kids. I’ve been scouting out the yacht on my morning flights. It’s not stocked for a fight. I think the kids know it’s a matter of time before one drug lord or another rolls them over for their stock. It’s not meant to be a long-term operation. It’s not like they need the money. I figure, load up on some guns, be intimidating, blare a megaphone from my attack chopper, and they’ll roll right over.”

“Give Geoff a fun day out without any actual violence,” Jeremy hums. “I’d like to actually shoot at someone, but it’d be fun to pretend, anyways.”

Jack chuckles a bit. “Can you live without blood and guts for one day, Rimmy?”

He huffs out an overexaggerated sigh, but then laughs. “Yeah. For Geoff.”

“For Geoff,” they agree. And the plan is set.

—

A few days later, on the day of the fight, Michael meets Gavin in the door of their shared bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, watching as the other gathers some of his camera equipment and places it in a waterproof bag. “So,” he purrs, announcing his presence. “Does that mean I get to see you in a skimpy bathing suit?”

Gavin doesn’t even have the decency to jump. But he does smile, moving over to the man as Michael shuts the door soundlessly behind him. “Guess it does. I’m sure you’ll like the view,” he grins back mercilessly.

“Don’t be an ass,” Michael teases, grinning with sharp teeth as he runs a finger down Gavin’s skin. Already tanned and lovely, Gavin really didn’t need much more sun. But his lips were still warm as he leans over to brush a kiss against Michael’s.

That wasn’t going to fly, and Michael shamelessly yanks him forward for a breathless kiss that leaves them both chuckling as they break apart. “And there’s more where that comes from later,” Michael demands as they step back. “I want no less than half an hour of uninterrupted Gavin time on a beach chair.”

Gavin laughs, eyes bright. “Is that so?”

“I want a frozen drink in one hand and my boyfriend’s hair in the other,” he says brazenly, laughing openly. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Sounds great,” Gavin smirks, eyes dancing, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Now get out. I’m sure more things need to happen and Alfredo’s going to need three people to tell him he shouldn’t bring a sniper rifle to a yacht.”

“Bet you fifteen bucks Jeremy is going to throw him into the pool and by the end of the night, neither of them are going to be able to stand.”

“Fifteen bucks. Jeremy can stand. We’ll have to fish a passed out Fredo from the pool.”

“You’re on.”

—

The best thing is that Geoff has absolutely no idea that half their heist prep bags are filled with birthday decorations, swim trunks, food and drink mixes, and all sorts of other goodies. He’s all gung-ho with the idea of shaking another drug gang from their territory and as far as the birthday boy is concerned, they’re going in loud and will return home for dinner and a movie.

They take a speedboat and a few jet skis out to the yacht, moored about a mile off shore in the deeper waters. As soon as they get close, they can hear shouting echoing over the waves. Probably emphasized by the whop-whopping sound of Jack’s blades overhead as she hovers in her copter.

“You have ten minutes to fully vacate this vessel!” Jack shouts. Only her boys can hear the glee in her voice as it echos, amplified by the speakers she has attached to the helicopter. The yacht erupts in chaos, scantily clad men and women racing around. Through the scope of his sniper, Alfredo can see drinks and things being tossed overboard.

“Leave the drugs and we’ll let you go,” Jack continues to order as people continue to scream and race around. Jeremy and Michael drive their jet skis in circles around the yacht, their screams of laughter erupting as shots pock the water around them. They’re going much too fast to be hit by an untrained hand.

“Should I take the shot?” Fredo asks lazily, gun in his hand. He doesn’t expect to receive a yes, and he’s right, Geoff waves his hand, just chuckling. It’s cooler out on the water, and if he spends his birthday just chilling and watching a bunch of rich bitches freak out, that’s fine with him. “Let ‘em squirm.”

After five or so minutes, they start to board the yacht. Any stragglers who try to fight them are immediately knocked out. There’s no need to kill, not in this adventure — that would bring down more trouble than it was worth. With any luck, the kids will tell this story to their friends back at their hoitey-toitey universities and no one will have to die.

Michael joins up with Jeremy as they’re wandering around the main deck. Jeremy has his obnoxious yellow ‘Bigness’ mask over the second part of his face and Michael has paint drawn like war lines across his face in a pattern he’s affectionately named ‘Mogar’. Lingering twenty-something’s spook as they see them, racing away.

At the end of the day, Jeremy only has to throw one sod overboard. He screams as he falls the six-something feet over the back deck, hitting the water with a thwap that seems painful. Michael screams jeers after him, Jeremy laughing warmly with pleasure.

They watch as the guy swims frantically towards the circling speedboat of rich kids, who pull him on board and race away.

“Did you see that idiot?” Michael laughs, spinning Jeremy around and removing that god awful cowboy hat. “He almost pissed himself when you grabbed him.” 

“Rumors of the Rimmy Tim go a long way,” Jeremy cackles. “I wasn’t even carrying my gun.”

“You’re a god awful eyesore, J,” Gavin’s voice filters through their coms. “I’ve disabled any tracking they have in the helm, plus gps positioning. Stand by, gents — this party is just getting started!”

Geoff, standing at the bow on the top deck, lazily wraps his arm around Jack and grins. “A very merry birthday to me,” he hums. “How much coke did we salvage?”

“About $50 grand worth, I’d say,” Jeremy says from the lower decks. “Not bad for an hour and no bullets.”

“Damn,” Geoff smirks. “I love to be King.” He runs his hand over the rail of the yacht. “Alright boys, let’s scuttle this thing and head home.”

“Scuttle?” Alfredo bursts, incredulous. “No, no. Everyone gather at the hot tub in the rear of the boat — ”

“Aft, Fredy!” Gavin protests. “Gotta be sea-worthy!”

Alfredo sighs and Trevor just kisses him on the cheek with a smirk. “I’ll throw him into the sea myself,” he whispers in his ear.

“....aft, then. Jack wants to say something.”

“Something you can’t say over coms?” Geoff asks with a raised eyebrow, but at Jack’s bright grin of insistence as she pulls on his arm, he laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming. But you better get this out past the twelve-mile marker soon or we’re going to have the LSPD on our asses.”

“Pulling out,” Gavin hums. “This thing is run entirely on auto-pilot. Auto-ship? What’s the correct word? Anyways, I’m steering it out now.”

Even as he says it, the ship starts turning and heading out towards the open waters. They all rock a bit, but quickly find their sea legs as they head towards the aft, where Jeremy is already pulling off his heist clothes to reveal yet another glaringly purple-and-orange outfit — this time a pair of swim trunks — and falling into the hot tub.

It’s sickeningly hot, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to take advantage of the bubbles.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive, Gavin poking at his phone to make sure they’re not going to crash into, like, an underwater bomb or something. Geoff glances around at all of them, specifically at Jeremy with swim trunks, and lets out a bit of a sigh. He can’t help but grin. “Guys…” 

“Happy birthday, Geoff,” Jack smirks from off to his left, pulling out something from her bag. It’s a firecracker, and with a tug, confetti and sparks fly out over the deck. “We’ve got snacks! Diet Coke! Party favors! And best of all…”

Michael moves over and, waving his arms in an elaborate parody, tries to encompass the entirety of the yacht they just stole. “A yacht, just for you!”

The others erupt into cheers as Geoff turns a bright red. Redder even than the sunburn that already marked his cheeks, anyways. “Boys, you didn’t have —”

“Stop,” Jack teases, shaking her head. “You know we did.” She squeezes his arm and pushes him towards the hot tub. “Now, relax.”

—

Two hours later, Geoff had discovered the massive built-in grill and was working on preparing his own birthday feast. They had protested, telling him this was his day, but he was having a blast. Gavin had hacked into the speakers and music was pumping. Currently, Jeremy and Jack were racing each other on jet skis around the yacht, screaming and yelling at one another as they zipped past with incredible speed.

Michael was focused on a different sight — namely, Gavin’s face as he leaned over him as they both sipped on fruity, icy drinks. The booze was sliding through their veins, making the world a looser, happier place, even if Trevor kept prompting him to drink water to keep him from burning in the sun. Their hair was both wet from their journey into the water, but now they were just relaxing in the warmth.

“You’re tanning,” Gavin teases, nosing into the side of his face and kissing his ear just a bit. Michael just laughs. “I’m fuckin’ from Jersey, man, what do you expect.” Gavin’s resulting musical chuckle makes him blush a bit.

“Whores,” Alfredo comments dryly as he strolls past, but his grin shows he’s only teasing. He’s got some fruit concoction in one hand and was making beeline towards where Trevor was waiting for him on another deck chair. Everyone knew he couldn’t resist making a playful comment, but it doesn’t matter. Michael was feeling real good, and teasing wasn’t going to stand. 

He lurches up, dumping Gavin unceremoniously from his lap. “What did you say, you ass?” he calls, stumbling after Alfredo, who bursts out into laughter and flees to the dock. Gavin sits up and throws something at Geoff, who turns from the grill with amusement.

“Catch me if you can, bastard!” Alfredo laughs, dodging his attempts at capture with dexterity that no one should be capable of with so much booze inside him. But Michael has the dogged persistence of a man who loved to cause chaos, and it’s not long before he’s captured Alfredo in a tackle hold that sends the other squirming.

“God!” Michael grumbles, “You’re disgusting, you ass, so fucking sweaty! Have you gone swimming yet?”

“No!” Alfredo shouts, struggling, and they grapple for a few moments, laughing, before they lurch towards the edge of the dock.

No amount of struggling and playful yelling could stop this — Michael chunks Alfredo unceremoniously over the side of the dock. He spirals, arms and legs akimbo, until he splashes into the warm water of the Pacific with a yelp.

Everyone on board erupts into laughter as he surfaces, sputtering out insults and making sure he didn’t get water up his nose.

“Dick,” Alfredo mutters as he climbs back on deck, sprawling into the sun as soon as he lands there, spitting out water. Michael leans over him with a playful grin. “Don’t call me a whore again,” he says with his roguish grin and returns to Gavin’s waiting arms, who was giggling the whole time.

—

It’s truly insane just how much booze they get through, even if Geoff isn’t imbibing. The day trails on with a mixture of swimming adventures — Jack finds a few sets of snorkels in one of the unfortunate college student’s stuff — and launches into teaching a few very drunk boys the wonders of fish and coral. They are pretty decent swimmers even with a few bottles of booze inside them and only once does a rescue need to be made for Gavin, who is rapidly losing his ability to stand.

Geoff serves them an elaborate feast of steak, burgers, and dogs, supplemented with potato chips, potato salad, and regular salad. A true barbeque, and they eat like animals, ripping into it all.

Jeremy finds himself leaning against Jack at one point in the meal, and she gently puts more water in front of him and kisses him on the top of the head. She’s feeling good herself, nowhere near losing control but enough to be a bit more free with her affection.

She loves these idiots from the bottom of her heart. It warms her even more than the sun to see Geoff smiling so brightly, Gavin and him laughing about something foolish, Jeremy and Michael holding hands even as Michael tosses bits of bun at Alfredo to catch in his mouth, Trevor kissing him on the cheek every time he manages to catch one. Even if Trevor and Alfredo were their own little couple, they were family. They were her family.

Michael catches her smile and returns it. He looks tanner now, sunburn catching the tip of his ears and the curve of his shoulders, but it’s just great to see him so relaxed and happy.

They needed this. Summer just meant shorter nights which pushed for more intense heists with a shorter getaway period. She knew more than anyone the lengths to which they were working to be better, better, better. Geoff had said it themselves — they were Kings of Los Santos, but at what cost?

But today, it was a break from that. It was time for sun and surf, for snorkeling and barbeque dinners, for unrestrained booze (within reason, of course) and even less restrained smiles.

Her family. Criminals all, but criminals who lived and loved same as anyone.

—

As the sun sent cascading beams of color across the sky, Geoff rolls his shoulders and grins from where he was enjoying reading his book without assholes interrupting him every ten minutes. “This yacht is the best fuckin’ birthday present a guy could ask for. Better than dicks.” 

“What could be better than dicks?” Michael teases from where he was trying to see if he could balance on a surfboard in a handstand. Gavin’s request. Sometimes he wonders why he gets himself into this mess.

He drops into the water with a crash when a very sunburned Gavin turns to him. “Geoffrey, you’re going to miss the best part!”

“Best part?” He blinks, putting his book down a bit. “What do you mean? There’s more?”

Jeremy’s all grins. “Yeah. Fireworks.”

Of course there are fireworks. And not just any fireworks. Big ones, ones that are illegal all across the county and into California and beyond. Ones that could set forest fires. But for guys who play with real explosives, these are nothing.

He’s just about to ask where they are when Jack comes strolling back over to them, her Hawaiian shirt tied across her bikini top. He has to practically force himself to listen to her instead of losing himself in how pretty she is.

“I’ve rigged them,” she grins, shooting the Lads two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Alfredo helped.” His diabolical laugh when he comes out from behind them and how bright Alfredo’s eyes are is never a good sign for anyone’s safety.

“If anyone knows anything about rigging about thirty wires together in one long fuse, it’s Fredo,” Trevor teases from his place on the deck. Alfredo refuses to look ashamed, just grins like a loon. “Gonna be a hell of a show. Short, though.”

Geoff rolls his eyes, but they can see the smirk he tries to hide. “Okay, assholes, get going then. I’m not going to miss the giant fireworks show on my birthday.” The other Lads race over, following the Gents as best they can when they’re all pretty shit-faced. Michael and Jeremy need to hold onto each other, giggling as they try not to fall down, but with the help of one another they climb the stairs to the top deck and look across the way. There’s a bunch of rockets — nearly literal rockets, not fireworks — strapped to the roof of the rooftop deck across the ship, a good 100 meters away.

“Here goes nothing,” Alfredo says once everyone is assembled and looking up into the beautiful night sky. He slams his hand down on the button and watches as the fireworks erupt up into the sky, exploding in a burst of color and sound.

It’s not the most professional fireworks show. It’s loud and hot and they have to dodge a bit of flaming debris. Michael is literally whooping, jumping up and down, grabbing Jeremy’s arm. Gavin squawks, diving behind Geoff and watching with wide eyes as the leader of the Fake AH Crew watches the sheer destructive force his boys put together, just for him.

“That was awesome, boys,” he grins as it finally settles down. “Good as dicks.” The night air grows quiet and they’re left, just them, the ocean, and the sizzling debris in the water. Smiling at one another, sunburnt and heat exhausted and drunk and looking towards bed, they start turning as one towards the stairs.

[artificialqueens]

Good Morning Campers, Chapter 1 (Crystal x Gigi) - Gelato

It was another beautiful summer at Camp Blue Springs.

At the start of every June, hundreds of girls flooded to Kansas City, Missouri for seven straight weeks of fun in the sun. Filled with activities from sunrise to sunset, it was the ultimate sleep away camp experience.

Busses filled with excited young ladies, ranging in age from 12 to 17, pulled swiftly into the entrance of the sprawling camp that was nestled just off of Lake Blue Springs. It wasn’t long before thrilled campers began filing out, the once silent camp ground now filled with their voices as they unloaded their bags and reconnected with one another. Some girls were local, others having to endure lengthier trips to reach their destination via bus from across the state or country.

Others had the luxury of a first class seat followed by a private car ride from the airport, a certain leggy red head from California being amongst those few.

Gigi Goode had been a model camper since the summer of ‘84, and was practically bursting with joy at the opportunity to be a Junior Counselor for the class of ‘89. She not only adored the camp and the friends she had made over the years, but was even more thrilled for the volunteer hours she would rack up over the summer to add to her already impressive college applications.

She stepped gingerly out of her private town car onto the dirt road of the camp’s entrance and didn’t hesitate to fill her lungs with fresh, pine-scented air. It truly was her happy place, the great outdoors, the glistening lake,

The girls.

She quite literally shook that last thought from her head. What sort of upstanding young woman from Los Angeles would think such a thing?

It was easy to ignore back home. Spending all her time with school activities, her family, even managing to drum up a relationship with the captain of the lacrosse team. Oh yes, she had the perfect life down pat. The perfect daughter to her parents, a straight A student, the captain of the cheer squad, and a cute athletic boyfriend to match.

But she always felt something was missing deep down inside. A certain itch that needed scratching. Something that she busied herself to no end in order to forget. Something that became that much harder to ignore when it was quite literally in her face. Hundreds of girls, and one camper in particular that always managed to catch her eye.

Crystal Methyd from cabin 702.

She cursed herself after noticing she had been scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a wisp of blue hair amongst them.

“Is that Gigi Goode I see?” A chipper voice snapped her out of her trance. A curvy woman with perfectly quaffed hair and secretary glasses, complete with a clipboard in hand made her way to Gigi.

“Mrs. Davis!” Gigi exclaimed, happy to greet the camp’s director. They embraced briefly, Gigi overjoyed to see the woman that acted as a second mother to her over the years.

“It’s so good to see you, dear! We’re so excited to have you on the team this year. Well, so much to get started on. Once you’ve unloaded your bags we’ll all gather in the pavilion, so keep an ear out for bunk announcements!” Mrs. Davis instructed with a smile before disappearing into the over zealous crowd.

——-

Gigi had a carry on bag and two large suitcases absolutely stuffed with clothes, although they had a uniform code in place. She always accessorized her plain white camp t-shirts and shoes with cute tennis skirts, and of course hoards of fashionable casual pieces on hand to wear for other camp events. Others couldn’t really afford to travel so heavy, but luckily her family paid her driver handsomely to unload each bag with care.

She made her way to the pavilion, running into and latching on to her camp clique along the way.

Gigi, Nicky, Violet, and Naomi had been fast friends since meeting one another on the lake over the years. Each one hailed from wealthy families across the country, or in Nicky’s case, across the Atlantic, as she was the only international camper and traveled all the way from Paris to be here.

They all shared similar passions in excelling in both the beauty and brains department, and had luckily all been bunked together for the years prior, expecting this summer to be no exception.

“I can’t wait for the volleyball tournament, I’ve been practicing my serve all year.” Naomi shared, pleased for the opportunity to show off her athletic prowess.

“Speak for yourself. I can’t stand sweating. I’m just ready for the midsummer formal!” Violet interjected. Having spent all her time back home at an all girl’s catholic school, and summers at an all girl’s camp, she was more than ready for the one night a year that the Blue Mountain’s camp for boys across the lake merged with their own for a dance.

Gigi cringed internally at the thought. She loved the idea of dressing up, having brought several gowns to choose from for the event, but dreaded the idea of a sweaty teenaged boy approaching her for a dance. She barely danced at formals with her boyfriend back home for the similar reason of simply not caring for a man’s touch.

She was taken out of her thoughts by boisterous laughter across from where they were seated in the pavilion. Her head snapped toward the disruption.

Oh no.

The Strange Gang.

Camp wasn’t without its cliques. You put that many teenaged girls together and they were bound to group off with one another.

You had the athletic types, always on the courts and fields. The nerds, spending all their free times bird watching and studying plants and wild life along the lake. The “Heathers”, or so they had only recently been dubbed by their fellow campers the previous year since the movie had been released. Gigi and her friends figured it was better than the “Rich bitches”, and embraced the new name for their entourage.

And then there was the “Strange Gang”. A group of self proclaimed weirdos of the camp. And boy, did they live up to the name. They were often known for elaborate pranks and general mischief.

Crystal, Adore, Katya, and Evie. All grouped together, they were a mess of wild makeup, unnatural colored hair, and body piercings that they somehow got past the Senior Counselors. Gigi, having disdain for any sort of disorder or disruption, loathed them.

Especially Crystal. The loudest and most daring of the group. Breaking dress code left and right with her bright blue hair and gaudy accessories from head to toe. She was always laughing and smiling from ear to ear.

The cutest laugh and most beautiful smile Gigi had ever seen.

But she wouldn’t ever admit that.

“Great. You’d think after years of being social outcasts they wouldn’t bother coming back.” Gigi huffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes at the group.

Her eyes locked with Crystal across the pavilion. Had she been staring at her this whole time? Crystal quickly noticed Gigi gazing back at her and her smile grew even wider. She wiggled her fingers in a dainty wave toward the red head.

Gigi flushed pink and quickly averted her eyes. She hated how Crystal made her feel. Almost like she was teasing her. As if she knew exactly how she made her heart beat faster with every look her direction.

“Good morning, Campers!” Miss Davis captured the attention of the crowd with her megaphone from the center stage of the pavilion. The girls shouted a greeting in response.

“Let me just start off by saying how excited we are to have all of you here! We look forward to having the most memorable summer yet! Now listen closely for your bunk assignments. I’ll be starting with our Junior Counselors. As you hear your name, please gather your bags and make your way to the cabins. In bunk 700, that’s 7-0-0, we have miss Trixie Mattel, Courtney Act, Violet Chachki, and Naysha Lopez.” Mrs. Davis announced.

“What? We’re being separated? That can’t be right. I put in a request that we would be together!” Violet couldn’t contain her rage, gesturing between her and Gigi. She flagged down Mrs. Davis from the front row of the stage and pleaded with her to make a change.

“I’m sorry dear, bunk assignments are final until further notice. You’ll just have to make new friends until then.” Mrs. Davis apologized half heartedly before continuing her announcements.

“Hey, it’s alright. I have it good with Mrs. Davis, I’ll just talk to her about it in her office later, we’ll get it fixed.” Gigi whispered assuredly to her heated friend.

“Fine!” Violet exasperated, grabbing her bags and storming from the pavilion to the cabin grounds.

“Now for Cabin 701, that’s 7-0-1, we have Alexis Mateo, Brooke Lynn Heights, Gigi Goode-“

Gigi practically jumped from her seat and began to grab her things, excited to make her way to the bunks.

“- and Crystal Methyd!” Mrs. Davis finished.

Gigi froze.

There was no way. No how. This was some sort of sick joke. One of the Strange Gang’s pranks for sure. How could a trouble maker land a spot as a Junior Counselor?

Her head went dizzy, vision got fuzzy, heart raced, and palms began to sweat. She barely made out the bouncing, teal haired figure that bounded toward her from across the room, a Lisa Frank duffle slung over her shoulder, the stone necklaces around her neck jingling with every step.

“Hi roomie! Need help with your bags?” Crystal greeted warmly, her sweet voice dripping with sincerity and excitement.

Gigi tried her best to return to the surface, but was too late.

She fainted right there on the pavilion’s wooden floors.

———

Gigi’s eyes fluttered open and she let out a soft groan, immediately noticing a sharp twang at the back of her head. Her hand instantly darted between her head and the pillow it rested on to feel the tight knot that had formed from her nasty fall.

Her eyes stayed gazing up at the ceiling, realizing quickly from the florescent lighting and the smell of rubbing alcohol that she had been laying in the infirmary.

“The nurse said not to let you touch it.” A voice piped up next to her.

Gigi’s head snapped quickly to her side, dread quickly filling her once again as she noticed Crystal sitting cross legged in a lounge chair not two feet away. Her eyes zoned in on the flash of hot pink panties visible up Crystal’s skirt from the way she sat. She instantly blushed red from noticing and looked away.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sit that way with a skirt on? You can see right up it.” She partly fiend anger at the unexpected view.

“Oh, sorry.” Crystal giggled and untucked her legs from underneath each other to sit more properly in the chair. She straightened her back and placed her hands in her lap, her sweet smile never moving from her lips.

“It’s whatever. What are you doing here anyway?” Gigi continued, trying her best to sound more annoyed than elated. She secretly didn’t mind waking up to Crystal by her side, but she wasn’t about to let her know that.

“Mrs. Davis thought it would be best if you had someone to walk with you back to the bunks.” Crystal explained, bouncing up from her perch on the lounge chair and making her way to sit at the edge of Gigi’s infirmary bed.

Her backside sat flush with Gigi’s waist and without a thought, her hand rested on her thigh. Gigi inhaled deeply and tried to remain calm, swiftly sitting up and effectively pulling herself from Crystal’s touch.

“Well, you didn’t have to wait. I’m sure one of my friends will be here any minute to help me back.” Gigi huffed. She was still dizzy from the fall, otherwise she would have left right then and there on her own.

Crystal’s smile fell a bit and her brow furrowed.

“Are you sure? It’s been about two hours..” She replied softly. Her head tilted to the side as she gazed questioningly back at Gigi like a confused puppy.

Gigi’s heart broke slightly from the sense of abandonment by her so called friends, but warmed a little from Crystal’s obvious concern.

It was sweet.

She realized how difficult it would be to keep up this charade of hating her. But her reputation with her friends and the entire camp was on the line. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and emotions.

“Fine. I’ll just go myself.” Gigi replied, not daring to look Crystal in the eye before pulling herself out of the bed and heading straight for the door.

Sore head or not, she couldn’t stay in that room any longer.

——-

Crystal sat puzzled and stared blankly at the empty pillow where Gigi’s head once laid. She reached out and brushed her lime-green painted fingers across it.

It was still warm to the touch.

She really could have left long ago. Hell, she didn’t even have to follow the camp medics as they carried Gigi back to the infirmary. But she insisted on sticking by her side.

The little crush she had on the most popular girl at camp had blossomed into a full blown obsession. She looked forward to every summer spent here, saving every penny earned at the Springfield bowling alley to finance her camp expenses.

She had made great friends along the way, but in all reality she kept coming back for a chance to see Gigi.

“Well, that blows.” She whispered to herself with an exhale, popping up from her seat on the bed and making her way out of the cabin.

She was greeted right away by Adore who had been waiting at the doorway.

“How’d it go?” Her friend asked, raising her eyebrows in question, a coy smile playing at her lips.

“Struck out.” Crystal replied with a shake of the head.

“Yeah, I figured.” Adore laughed, making her way down the infirmary stares ahead of her friend.

“What? And why is that?” Crystal fiend offense.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something about how she practically ran out of here without you anywhere in sight.” Adore laughed uncontrollably, earning herself a playful shove from Crystal.

“I’m still hopeful!” Crystal exclaimed, jumping on Adore’s back for a piggy back ride.

“More like hopeless.” Adore replied jokingly, happily carting Crystal back to the bunks.

____

The Junior Counselor’s cabins had their perks.

Instead of the usual eight to a space, there were only four, meaning more space for each girl to sprawl out and personalize their areas. Gigi had been looking forward to choosing her spot in the cabin and making it her own, so you could only imagine her annoyance that she had missed out at first pick.

The only beds left were across from one another in the back of the cabin, no where near the bright bay window she had dreamed of laying next to at night to watch the moon.

Her bags had already been set next to the bed on the far left side. It sat in a corner under cobwebs and was practically in the dark compared to the other two across the cabin. She flopped onto it, burying her face in her arms and letting out a near silent sob, thankful that her bunkmates hadn’t been there.

This day couldn’t have gotten any worse, or so she thought until she heard now familiar footsteps followed by jangling, chunky jewelry. She quickly sucked her tears back in and wiped away whatever was left on her face.

Crystal slung her duffle bag on top of the empty bed across from Gigi. She hadn’t planned on sleeping this close to her, but did a happy dance in her head at how well it all worked out in her favor.

“Sorry, it’s the only one left.” Crystal apologized to Gigi softly before unloading her belongings onto her bed.

It was amazing how much she could fit into that Lisa Frank duffle. Clothes, shoes, endless necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. She even managed to pack a leopard print blanket and multicolored stuffed animals to decorate with.

Gigi still laid on her stomach, turning her head slightly at the noise Crystal was making while unpacking. She stared in awe at how the wooden walls of the room’s corner now exploded with color.

It had just then registered in her head what Crystal had said just moments before. She.. apologized? Gigi immediately felt guilty. She was a lot of things, but rich and beautiful didn’t make her a bully. That was more Violet and Nicki’s territory. Crystal had really been nothing but sweet to her this whole time, her reputation as a trouble maker aside.

“I’m sorry.” Gigi stated plainly.

Crystal looked back at the red head, confused and taken aback at the unexpected apology.

Gigi sat up.

“Thank you for waiting with me. I guess I was just in a grumpy mood after waking up. I should have thanked you instead of being such a bitch, huh?” Gigi laughed slightly, hoping to God that there were no hard feelings.

“You weren’t a bitch.” Crystal laugh along with her, turning around completely and walking over to Gigi’s side to plop herself beside her.

Their laughter died down and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Gigi took all of Crystal in.

She hadn’t noticed how long and beautiful her legs were. She had a sun-kissed complexion, a stark contrast to Gigi’s milky white skin. Her blue hair, that Gigi once thought to be tacky, actually suited her and tied in well with her dark, almond shaped eyes. She had sharp cheek bones that balanced perfectly with a slender, yet soft face.

Her full, pillowy lips were next. Painted a baby pink with a swipe of shimmery gloss. Lips she had always daydreamed about feeling on her own. How would those lips feel on her neck? Her chest? Between her legs?

They inched closer, slowly bridging the gap between them.

This was happening.

This was real.

Gigi looked into Crystal’s eyes, almost as if asking permission. For what? She had no idea. Maybe just to keep moving closer. Crystal bit her lip lightly and nodded her head slowly. Her eyes locked onto Gigi’s lips.

The door busted open, Nicki and Naomi storming in. Gigi quickly backed away, realizing only then how close her and Crystal’s lips were to touching.

“There you are! See, Naomi, I told you she would be back here by now.” Nicki said, gesturing to Gigi who now hurriedly stood from her bed.

Crystal snapped out of her state of shock at both what had just transpired between her and Gigi and the sudden intrusion.

“Well, that one said she wouldn’t be up for hours so excuse me for thinking she was still in the infirmary.” Naomi rolled her eyes and gestured flippantly at Crystal.

Gigi’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wait, you came for me?” She asked her friends, suddenly realizing that they hadn’t abandoned her after all. She looked sharply at Crystal, who was now flushed red.

“Of course we came for you. But your little.. friend wouldn’t let us wake you. She said she would see you back herself.” Nicki continued, her brow raised and she crossed her arms.

So Crystal had lied, Gigi thought. For what? She wondered. She shook her head clean of that thought. And with it, shook away everything that had just happened between the two of them in the cabin just then.

“Let’s get out of here.” She sneered, shooting a dirty look in Crystal’s direction before storming out of the cabin with the other two Heather’s in tow.

Crystal sighed and beat herself up mentally for thinking she could get away with stretching the truth earlier. She chastised herself for being so selfish.

Back to square one.

[brokenbuttonsmusic]

Eleni Mandell: L.A. Singer-Songwriter with Smoky Chrissie Hynde Vocals and a flair for Tom Waits’ Influenced Experimentation

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 5, side A). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the L.A. singer-songwriter, Eleni Mandell, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Apple, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Have you ever bought the wrong record? Like, you intended to buy something that sounded like one thing and you accidentally grab something that sounds very different. 

I don’t know if this happens anymore, but I believe it was quite common years ago. Imagine hearing an artist on the radio and being blown away. You go to the record store, find the plastic divider with the name of whom you’re looking for, but you can’t remember the name of the album, or even the song. Remember, you don’t have a tiny computer in your pocket. You’re too nervous to ask the store clerk for fear of looking stupid. So you roll the dice. 

“I know it was someone called Neil Young, but there are a thousand Neil Young records here.”

“Hey, this pink one looks cool.”

That exact scenario didn’t happen to me, but that album, Neil Young’s Everybody’s Rockin’, happened to be the most played Neil Young album in my house growing up, so for years I thought Neil Young was a rockabilly revival act. In reality, that was one of several oddball records Young released during a tumultuous period with his record label to fulfill his contract demands. I still love that record. 

Eleni Mandell did live out the scenario of buying the wrong record though. She shared the story during a segment of the show Bullseye with Jessie Thorn, where she describes seeing Tom Waits on MTV late at night—back when MTV still cared about music. It was either 120 minutes or IRS’ The Cutting Edge. This would have been around 1984 or 1985, so right around the time of Wait’s masterpiece Rain Dogs. When she went to the record store though, she picked up the 1976 Tom Waits’ Asylum release, Small Change instead. Now Small Change is still a great Tom Waits album, but it sounds nothing like the drastically reimagined sound and musical approach he had begun to employ starting with 1983’s Swordfishtrombones. Something Tom Waits called his “junkyard orchestral deviation.” The spare, off-kilter percussion. Moaning trombones and muted trumpets. Marimba. Plenty of marimba. Experimental instruments mixed in everywhere. Megaphones and CB radios. Trash can lids. 

This is the sound Eleni was looking for. 

Instead she got lush strings. Delicate piano. Cinematic swells and a melancholy wail. 

She got this.

Still awesome, but not the same. She credits the experience with changing her life. She grew to love both sides of the Tom Waits coin. The jazzy piano man in the smoky, whiskey-drenched nightclub and the eclectic, experimental carnival barker that she had her first encounter with on late night MTV. 

You can hear that deep appreciation and influence for the full Tom Waits spectrum injected and swirling through Eleni Mandell’s own spectacular catalog that spans more than 20 years now. 

She’s got plenty of experimental Waits, especially in her early catalog. 

And quite a bit of the jazzy nightclub vibe.

There’s also plenty of folk-y Eleni mixed in, and even some country.

You’ll notice that Eleni’s voice doesn’t sound like Tom Waits though. Did you notice that? It’s less of a deep, gravelly howl and more of rich Chrissie Hynde croon. Spin compared her to Chrissie Hynde and PJ Harvey. Rolling Stone compared her captivating melodies and witty lyricism to early Elvis Costello. 

While she doesn’t have the Tom Waits’ wail, she does specialize in his particular brand of character song-study. Like this first song we’re going to hear. The first track off of Eleni Mandell’s second album Thrill. Released in the year 2000. This is Pauline. 

Pauline, from Eleni Mandell’s second record, Thrill. So how did this remarkably unique singer-songwriter get her start and pull together so many interesting influences to create the sound we just heard.

Eleni grew up in the Sherman Oaks region of the San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles. She started playing music when she was just 5, beginning with the violin and then piano. Eleni didn’t love playing either, but continued to take lessons until she was thirteen. She remembers wanting to learn to write songs early on, but didn’t have the first idea of how to approach it, especially on violin. She jumped from violin and piano to guitar as a teenager. Her parents exposed her to a variety of musical styles. Her mom would take her to musicals and her dad, a serious record collector, played her Hoagy Carmichael and plenty of jazz standards. She loved the Beatles and remembers Diana Ross making an early impression. 

Another early life changing moment came when she discovered the Los Angeles punk band X.

X were huge in LA, and their first album (called Los Angeles) was the first record Eleni ever owned. Or maybe the first she asked to own. The first record she was ever given was Shaun Cassidy’s greatest hits for her 4th birthday. The first she ever purchased with her own money was X’s third release, Under the Big Black Sun. She tells a story of when she was out record shopping at a place called Aron’s Records, located on Melrose, and to her utter befuddlement came face to face with John Doe, lead singer of X. He was shopping for records too. She quickly snapped up a copy of the band’s third album and asked John to sign it. He did. She still has the signed album, which reads “Yours” complete with a big X “-John Doe.” That was the last autograph she ever asked for. It was not, however, the last time her path would cross with that of the band X. 

When she was a little bit older, she met Chuck E. Weiss, songwriter, rock n’ roller, beat poet and peculiar Tom Waits associate. Also the subject of the song, Chuck E.’s in Love.

Yes, that Chuck E. Weiss. Waits was in a relationship with Rickie Lee Jones. Waits, Jones and Weiss all lived at the seedy Tropicana Motel in Los Angeles. One day Weiss up and left out of nowhere. Some time later Chuck E. called the apartment where Jones and Waits were living. He explained to Waits that he had moved to Denver because he had fallen in love with a cousin there. Waits hung up the phone and announced to Jones, “Check E.’s in love. Rickie Lee Jones liked that so much that she it turned it into the song we just heard. 

Who is this episode about again? Oh, right. Eleni Mandell. Anyway, Eleni Mandell met THAT Chuck E. Weiss when she was not yet 21. Still, she had a friend who was able to get her into The Central, a Sunset Strip club that would later become The Viper Room. This would’ve been around 1990. Weiss was playing there every Monday. 

Here’s how the write up on Eleni’s original website describes her first encounter with Weiss.

“The first time she ever saw Chuck E. Weiss perform, he walked right up to her and smiled like a cross between The Cheshire Cat and an escaped mental patient. She met him a month later at Musso and Frank’s.”

Eleni says she was at the famous Hollywood restaurant and recognized Weiss. She worked up the courage to approach him and told him how much she loved his show. He asked if she wanted to accompany him to meet up with a friend at Canter’s Deli. She agreed. When they settled into one of the landmark eaterys iconic red, vinyl booths in walked her hero. Tom Waits. What a night. Tom asked Chuck how he and Eleni had met. 

“Hebrew school,” he declared. 

Here’s a tune from Eleni’s debut album, Wishbone, released in 1999. This is Sylvia. 

From Eleni Mandell’s first album, Wishbone, that was Sylvia. 

Under Chuck E. Weiss’ mentorship, produced by Jon Brion and self-financed by Mandell, Wishbone, as well as her next several records, received strong reviews and drew comparisons to Waits and PJ Harvey in style. 

Before Weiss mentored Mandell, he hired her as a door person at his club. She said he would test her to see how tough a door person she was by trying to grab money out of her hand. Weiss would continue to mentor Eleni over the years and they’re still friends to this day. 

For her fourth album, Mandell shook things up by diving into traditional country. A mix of covers and originals, 2003’s Country For True Lovers is an exciting update to her sound. And one of her life changing moments came full circle. Weiss introduced her to former X guitarist Tony Gilkyson, who produced the project. She also stacked the sessions with all star players, including Nels Cline from Wilco, and another X hero, drummer D.J. Bonebreak. 

Eleni continued to mix and mesh genres on her next release, 2004’s Afternoon. 

From the No Depression review of that album:

“Last years Country For True Lovers found Los Angeles chanteuse Eleni Mandell turning her sights on twang rather than her previous more PJ Harvey-oriented material, and she received plenty of critical acclaim in the process, sharing the LA Weekly 2003 songwriter of the year award with the late Elliot Smith.”

“On Afternoon, her fifth album, Mandell combines her love of various genres, including country, pop, jazz and rock, to stunning effect. Produced by Joshua Grange, who also lends his considerable talents on guitar, pedal steel, Hammond organ and piano, Afternoon mostly takes the slow and sexy approach. I’ve Been Fooled and Can’t You See Im Soulful give Mandell the chance to show off her breathy but passionate alto, which can devastate in a heartbeat.”

“Mandell does rock out from time to time, as on Easy On Your Way Out, which has a grungy Elvis Costello-gets-on-with-Liz Phair feel to it. I wanna be your afternoon/I want you coming back for more, Mandell sings on the sorta fun/sorta sad title song.”

She can also write catchy singles. Like this song from Afternoon, “Let’s Drive Away.”

That was Let’s Drive Away from Eleni Mandell’s fifth album, Afternoon, released in 2004. That song was also featured on the TV show, Weeds.

And here comes the challenging part of covering an artist like Eleni Mandell, who’s put out consistently solid albums for over two decades. There’s not enough time to feature all the good stuff she’s produced, but trust me, over her eleven albums, she always delivers. From the diverse shifting sounds of Artificial Fire [play clip] to the smooth and breezy Dark Lights Up [play clip], Eleni whirls a magical combination of jazz, folk, pop, country and rock, with just enough experimental twists to keep everything fresh. 

She’s also branched out from her solo artist gig to release two albums with her band The Grabs. The Grabs allows her to exercise more of her pop side and features Eleni on vocals, Blondie bassist Nigel Harrison, and Silversun Pickups’ drummer Elvira Gonzalez. 

And, she’s also released records with the Andrews Sisters inspired supergroup, The Living Sisters, with Inara George, Alex Lilly and Becky Stark.

I’d recommend checking out all of this. 

So now that we’ve established that the Eleni Mandell road is paved with the goods, let’s skip ahead to focus on her most recent album: 2019’s Wake Up Again.

Here’s what Eleni and her website have to say about the latest release: 

“For two years or thereabouts,” Mandell says, “I taught songwriting at two colleges and a women’s prison.”

The prison gig came about via Jail Guitar Doors, the organization founded by Wayne Kramer, guitarist of the vaunted Detroit band MC5, in partnership with English musician Billy Bragg. “I don’t know why exactly I was drawn to that work,” Mandell says. “But I had a family member who had been in prison in the 1940s. He wasn’t around when I was growing up, but that sort of fascinated me and I was always curious about what kind of person disappears and what kind of person commits crimes — what are they thinking?”

Working with the inmates also provided many epiphanies for her as a person, and proved fertile for her as an artist, as captured in the 11 songs on this album, her 11th studio release. In many ways it’s the culmination and fulfillment of all the strengths as a writer and performer going back to her start under the tutelage of Chuck E. Weiss, Tom Waits and other top chroniclers of people in the shadows.

“I really enjoyed it,” she says. “I was inspired by the stories, and surprised by the laughter I heard there. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, by how many different kinds of people were there: teachers, lawyers, nurses, and also people who grew up in poverty.”

Here’s a song about one of the woman she met during those songwriting classes she taught. This is Evelyn.

Evelyn from Eleni Mandell’s most recent album, Wake Up Again. Another great addition to her expansive, impressive catalog. The album is filled with rich character studies and deeply personal self-examinations.

Her early Tom Waits inspiration continues to ignite and propel her, even after 11 albums. Only now she can call Tom a longtime friend. 

And she went from obsessive punk rock X fan to counting a member of X as a member of her own band. What a cool, thrilling ride she’s had so far. Eleni Mandell. 

References and other stuff:

Eleni interview with Luxury Wagers

Eleni interview with Mr. Bonzai

Eleni interview with Tyler Pollard on Timeline

The bio from Eleni’s current website has a great write up on her most recent album and I quote from it in the episode.

No Depression review of Afternoon that I quote in the episode

Here is the original bio from Eleni’s old website that is now archived. I also quote from this

Eleni has been featured on NPR segments over the years. I did not use anything directly from these, but they are good and informative

Pop Matter review of Dark Lights Up

Good L.A. Times article about Eleni teaching songwriting to female inmates and her latest album

[content-to-convert]

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR...

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR it just made him dress nicer 

By Pat Mellon 

Speaking of your brand evolving, PODCASTS are now a wise bullet to have in the arsenal of promotional weapons. In the early 2000's, for instance, you didn't have the option to record and distribute a PODCAST. The technology didn't exist to even IDENTIFY, much less create one- if you typed PODCAST into an email in 2002, it would have been flagged as a misspelling. 

But now, thanks to Audioblogging, re-branded as PODCASTING thanks to the iPOD, you can reach a targeted captive audience in a car on a long commute, with content that they've actually sought out. It's essentially a radio infomercial for the lifestyle of your product, without the PAID-PROGRAMMING aftertaste. Plenty of people have been slow to warm to the idea of such self-promotion and have waited to see if the technology and its effectiveness sustained or if it waned, the way QR codes did, or video discs did until the invention of the DVD. It can be an amazingly powerful part of your brand. 

Many rejected podcasting, as I did initially, as a waste of energy. In fairness, early on when there were no networks for podcasting and its business model was less focused than now, it smacked of self-congratulatory volunteer work. I saw it as an infringement on my profession. I have 15 years of radio hosting experience. I saw podcasts as competition. In my short-sighted view then, I didn't see the full potential of a podcast. I just saw it as people wanting my job. But as time went on, I began to see the ways, at least in terms of in-car entertainment, that podcasting was the future. And like the cryptic fortune cookie says, "Kill Your Darlings". Or maybe go with the less-confusing, "Reinvent Your Business Constantly. The End Goal May Be The Same But The Tools and Methods Evolve Constantly" which is a Ken Tucker quote I saw on a Snapple Cap. Or even the more direct, "You Have To Reinvent To Stay Fresh and In The Game" which Madonna said once. 

But early on, I saw it as the enemy - the way news journalists must have felt when FREELANCERS started getting a lot of the work in the late 90's. I thought, "If all you need to broadcast is a computer and an opinion, why the hell did I major in Broadcasting? It's like everyone becoming a Youtuber or a Social Media Influencer (seriously, that is NOT a good name. It's just saying what you're doing. It lacks creativity, like naming the glass thing you drink out of a "glass". Or the room with the bed a "bedroom". Or the thing you swing on a "swing". Or the... Sorry-I'll move on.) Anybody can become a Social Media Influencer these days, (and if they're under 14 and haven't been trying for half their lives then you might want to make sure they're breathing) and that means fame, sometimes money, but more important: LIKES. I overheard my 8 year-old playing with her friends and they were pretending there was a genie or something granting wishes and one girl asked for a pony, and another asked for a house of chocolate, and my daughter asked for a million LIKES on her video. LIKES are currency for pre-teen popularity. And LIKES or even merely PAGE VIEWS can be currency in the grown-up world of business. My point is that anyone with a computer and a camera can make money on Youtube if they hustle. It's simply the new normal. It's great, if not dangerous. We've yet to see the fallout of a generation raised on Youtubing, unless, of course, you count cautionary tales like Logan Paul or Jo Jo Siwa, both of whom are rich. It's simply another entertainment option for kids. I kinda thought podcasting was that, but for adults who only wanted quasi-fame; to show-off. But it's bigger than that.

If you're a plumber, for instance, and you want to maximize business, you probably want a decent social media footprint, some solid YELP reviews, and maybe even a podcast. Toilet clogged? Click here for an interview with master plumbers from all over. It's not the ONLY thing you should do. It's ONE of the things you should do.

On the consumer side, you have to realize that traffic, especially the bumper-to-bumper kind, is GOLD to a radio talk show host. People listen the most in their cars, so DJ's in New York and Los Angeles, the #1 and #2 radio markets depending on who you ask*, for instance, who entertain on the radio, are always on their toes to stay funny and relevant because it's so easy to push a button and change the station.

Then suddenly there was a new game in town. People were bypassing the radio altogether and plugging external sources into car sound systems, removing the commercials and unwanted Morning Zoo shenanigans, and rendering my entire college education and training void. My only hope was wishing death to the podcast movement, which I think I did a couple of times on the radio accompanied by a sound effect of a toilet flushing (Take THAT, Podcasting!). It didn't work. I kept hearing the word. Podcast. (eerie voice) PODD CAAAST! My head was in the sand. People would say to me, "you should do a podcast" and I'd cringe and wildly swing fists at imaginary ghosts who were accusing me of "Resting on your laurels" and "Holding on too tight.”

It took a while, but I get the appeal and, more importantly, the power of the Podcast. It's like a book-on-tape for the 21st century- 10 times as cool, though, because it's technologically relevant, and can be different every time you listen. So we agree that podcasts are real. And we acknowledge that there is room for many things on the dashboard of a car, be them outlets, or additional buttons. And we agree that the the way we do business is always changing and we have to adapt to some degree. So why all the hub bub? Because we can't have an intelligent conversation about the delicate existence of Podcasts without talking about Shane Gillis, the comedian who was hired and fired by Saturday Night Live in the same week last year. We need to understand the power of what it was that torpedoed his streetcar (tune into Mixed Metaphors with Pat Mellon Tuesdays on The Podd Couple, right after Poddamnit at 8, and Pod of Thunder with Gene Simmons at 8:17) He and a buddy do this show, this podcast, it's like a radio show but you don't listen to it on your grandpa's Victrola, you tether your MP3 player to the radio inside grandpa's Camry, and there's bad language, which there never is on traditional, boring old dumb talk radio, so right away, it's awesome (honestly, the only difference between Howard Stern on radio and Howard Stern on satellite is the F word) and the internet allows curses and take that, Mr. Suit and Tie, and this is going to be amazing. And on one particular show from 2018, Gillis said "chink" when describing someone in Chinatown. Not a huge scandal, but I guess you'd have to ask Roseanne Barr if the internet can get you into to any kind of trouble. She was exiled from the the entire US for a social media post that mentioned race and monkeys. And the same new normal that allows John Q. Anybody to do a podcast ALSO watches everything you do online and will sink you if it sees something it does not like. America can be confusing that way. Freedom of speech and freedom of complaining about freedom of speech are always at each other's throats, it seems. And you can't have it both ways. The guy who alerted the world to Bill Cosby's dating rituals online is loved by many but is also shunned by others, but that guy knows what he did and he knows not to complain about the ones who, well, complain. It's the price you pay.

The point is, you need to constantly be hustling and using all of technology’s modern tools to get your product out (they’re not burning DVD’s anymore) and maybe one of those avenues is a podcast with salty language, and maybe that podcast exists among your body of work that clients can enjoy whenever they want.

But we live in a new age of retroactive outrage. Eddie Murphy was on SNL and is arguably the most talented person the show has produced. He did a stand-up special in which he explores “What if Mr. T were a Faggot?” It was inflammatory and it was insensitive and it was homophobic (though that buzzword was still a decade from conception) because the premise of the joke- the attribution of homosexual behavior to a big, strong, black man being marginalized as solely predatory sodomy - crossed the line. When I spell it out like that it looks horrible. But it’s a simple comedic device: assigning unlikely behavior to someone for comedic purposes. It’s the fish-out-of-water gag. It’s why we had Mork, and Alf, and Balkie from Perfect Strangers. It’s Freaky Friday. It’s why The Rock playing a babysitter or a tooth fairy is funny. Murphy did this AFTER he was on SNL. But if has been released before he auditioned, do you think he’d have been hired? 

  Of course he would have. Because the Mr. T thing was a small part of that special (though, I recall, an extremely quotable part) and the people who didn’t like or appreciate the language didn’t have the bionic megaphone of the internet so they could get their outrage all over your conscience. The point is that your podcast is a reflection of your brand. You have to weigh your desire to speak freely and loosely with your desire to keep the Cancel Culture at bay. At a MINIMUM, though, you should keep things clean for your clients, listeners, and most importantly, your potential customers. Shane Gillis missed out of being on SNL and fame, instead on infamy because he broke one of society's biggest rules:he said something controversial out loud. Granted, it was in bad taste, but if that were a crime half of us would be in jail. It's just important to remember that your language on a work-based podcast should be professional, which I realize cannot be defined easily, but maybe stay away from slang and cursing. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD.

[youngbloodseavey]

stay golden // corbyn besson

this is my “thank you for 2k followers” post. i’d like to say thank you, because i never thought this would ever be happening when i started this blog. thank you guys for supporting me and this blog, even when i don’t post or i don’t follow through with my projects. thank you. thank you for 2k. it means the absolute world and more to me. i love each and every one of you with my entire heart and more.

request: Requests are open! Yay! I have some requests that I've been storing up  just waiting for this moment. So let's say that Corbyn had this childhood friend who was also his neighbour and one day when they're like 14/15 she moves to the other side of the country and they get disconnected. She always had a crush on him and so when she finds out he's on tour like 4/5 yrs later she gets limelight tickets bc wow she doesn't think he remembers her and then they reconnect and like probably fluff who knows         

i have no fuckin idea how limelight works so like bare with me kids, and also corbyn is SINGLE in this story. S I N G L E. christina is not corbyn’s girlfriend in this story so keep that in mind tHANKS

pairing: corbyn x fem!reader

triggers: none

“why do you have to leave me?” corbyn pouted at his best friend y/n, as they laid together in the grass fields by their houses. 

the fifteen year-olds had been best friends since diapers, and had found out recently that y/n had to move all the way across the country from their home in virginia to california.

“corbs, i don’t want to move. i wanna stay here with you, and graduate, and live my life here in virginia. but my dad got this new fancy-ass job, and i can’t get out of moving,” y/n rolled over onto her stomach, now facing her blue-eyed best friend.

“trust me, the last thing i want to do right now is to leave,” she whispered, feeling the familiar sting of tears rush through her, and her eyes became watery.

“no, please don’t cry y/n,” corbyn rushed out, immediately sitting up and taking the girl into his arms. “if you cry then i’m gonna start crying.”

 the two teenagers held each other in an embrace for what felt like an eternity, not even bothering to speak to each other. all they did was enjoy each other’s presence, because soon they wouldn’t be seeing each other for a long time.

“i love you so much corb,” the girl whispered, burying her face into corbyn’s shoulder. she took in a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent that was her best friend. 

“i love you too y/n.” corbyn was near tears, but was determined to not show his weakness to his best friend. he gently pressed his lips to her temple, lingering for a few seconds before he pulled away.

“y/n! let’s go!” the pair jumped apart at the sound of y/n’s parents, who were loading the car with their luggage. the rest of their stuff would come later in a u-haul. 

“one second mom!” y/n yelled at her parents, who were beginning to look impatient. “hey, before i leave, i wanted to tell you something that i’ve been keeping a secret for a long time,” y/n began to start, taking corbyn’s hands in hers.

the boy’s heart began to race, as he stared into the eyes of his longtime best friend (and admittedly, his longtime crush).

“i really li-” she began, but was cut off by the honk of the car’s horn, beckoning her to go to her parents.

“i’m really gonna miss you.” a sad, tearful smile painted itself on her face. “stay golden besson, because i have no doubt that one day i’m going to see you on some big fancy billboard because you have a number one album. i know i will.” she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, squeezing his hand in hers before running off to her parents and hopping into the car. “never stop chasing your dreams. because they’ll become a reality. don’t forget me okay?”

and with a sad smile y/n y/l/n was gone, leaving a tearful corbyn besson alone in a grassy field.

||

it had been four whole years since y/n had seen corbyn. after y/n left and corbyn began to seriously pursue music, it was a bumpy ride for their friendship.

and soon enough, their friendship simply didn’t exist.

it wasn’t a malicious falling out, there was no foul words or cruel gestures. there was simply just silence. and the two of them had to deal with an empty line, a static crackle of nothingness on the other side. 

of course the thought of the other was always in the back of their minds, but both y/n and corbyn were far too scared to try and reconnect. what if what they had wasn’t the same as before?

so when y/n saw that a band called “why don’t we” was going on tour, she was immediately intrigued. and when she saw her blue-eyed ex-best friend on the front cover of the poster, only one question plagued her mind.

does corbyn remember me?

so in an attempt to answer that question and rid her head of the incessant nagging that had been continuous for the past four years, y/n took out her debit card and bought a limelight ticket to their los angeles show. 

so that’s what brought y/n here. standing near the front of the line at the venue. it was only 3:00 and there was already a line wrapped around the block, which warmed y/n’s heart to no end.

you made it corbyn, i knew you could do it.

her stomach began to tie itself in knots as time went on, each second seeming to pass on like a minute.

y/n pulled her phone out of her back pocket, her foot tapping on the pavement as she checked the time for what seemed like the thousandth occasion. 5:00. they should be letting people in for limelight soon.

she began to scroll through her phone, managing to somehow scroll deep into her camera roll. she stopped across a photo of her and corbyn from the 9th grade, smiling wistfully at their goofy grins and wide eyes. 

it was crazy to see how much had changed in four years. corbyn was now touring the world, and y/n was finishing up her first year of college. 

“oh my god, you’ve met corbyn?!” y/n was shook out of her daze by an excited voice squealing from behind her, and she turned around to see a girl no older than 16. the girl was wide-eyed and excited as ever, another girl whom y/n assumed to be her friend looking equally as hyped. y/n was irked that the two girls were looking at her phone screen without her permission, but decided to mask her irritation with a smile.

“yeah,” she began, trying to think of an excuse as to how she knew corbyn. she didn’t want people to know she was corbyn’s childhood best friend, it might cause unnecessary drama. “i met him a few years back. i’ve been a fan of him since the beginning, and i’m so insanely proud of him and i want to support him in any way possible.” well, at least she wasn’t lying. the two girls nodded.

“well what’s it like to meet him? is he nice?” one of the girls asked, and y/n began to smile. childhood memories of her and corbyn began to flood her mind, causing a warm feeling to ball up in her stomach.

“he’s the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. i miss him to absolute death, and i can’t wait to see him again.” y/n almost became choked up as she spoke, memories of her and corbyn overwhelming her mind. 

the girls opened their mouths to speak, but were interrupted by a man with a megaphone beginning to yell over the crowd.  

“people with a limelight ticket, please come to the front of the crowd! stand in front of the entrance doors, we will be letting you in very shortly.” y/n’s pulse began to race, and she said a quick goodbye to the girls she was talking to before making her way to the big, double-door entrance.  

her nerves were as high as they could be as she was let in through the doors, taking out her id for security to check and having her ticket scanned. 

soon enough, y/n found herself waiting on a couch in a large room, fifty or so fans milling about the room. her stomach was in a million knots, and she began to play with her fingers as a nervous habit.

she took out her phone and began to scroll aimlessly, checking her social media in an attempt to sway the nerves from her stomach. she couldn’t even focus on the posts and tweets she was looking at, instead her head was swarming with nervousness and thoughts.

what if he doesn’t remember me? what if we don’t click like we used to? what if he hates me?

the last thought absolutely terrified y/n. she knew that they fell out, but she didn’t hold any ill feelings towards corbyn for it. hopefully he feels the same way.

“oh my god they’re here!” y/n heard the high pitched squeal of a teenage girl, followed by a flurry of screams. they’re here. this is it.

“hey guys!” she heard a deep male voice, and she traced the voice back to a tall, brown haired boy. she recognized him as jonah, who was the oldest in the band.

y/n had decided to do some studying up on the rest of the band and their music before coming, just so she didn’t look like a complete idiot. and she had to admit, they made some damn good music.

the screams soon died down, morphing into loud conversation. the band members began to mill around, speaking to fans and taking photos. the couch y/n was sitting on was in the corner farthest from the boys, which she was grateful for.

she began to formulate four years of regret and apologies into a single sentence, which proved as hard as it sounds. 

y/n saw that the band began to come closer, talking to the fans and taking pictures. she was a few feet away from daniel, and she decided to push her nerves to the side and walked up to the blue-eyed boy, who was clad in a floral button down and black pants. 

daniel caught y/n’s eye, and finished up his conversation with the girls he was with to approach the nervous girl.

“hey there love!” daniel’s tooth-gap was on full display, his joyful aura almost immediately soothing some of y/n’s nerves. he enveloped her into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of her head. 

y/n hugged back, feeling oddly comfortable in daniel’s arms. she pulled away after a few seconds, taking in a deep breath.

“so what’s your name?” daniel asked, plopping down on the couch that y/n was previously sitting on. y/n took seat next to him sinking down into the fabric. 

“y/n,” she responded, moving herself into a comfortable position.

“well that’s a gorgeous name,” daniel responded, turning his body to face y/n. “where are you from?”

“i live in los angeles now, but i used to live in fairfax, virginia.” y/n explained her heart warming at the thought of her hometown.

“fairfax? that’s where corbyn’s from!” his bright eyes widened at the realization, and y/n nodded. “did you used to know him?” y/n nodded.

“we used to be best friends actually,” y/n mumbled, feeling a sudden amount of wistfulness wash over her.

“woah wait, really? no way,” daniel looked shell shocked. y/n nodded yet again, taking out her phone and pulling up a picture of her and corbyn from their 8th grade formal. she showed the photo to daniel, whose jaw seemed to drop even more.

“i’ve known him since we were in diapers, and we were best friends until i moved to california when we were 15,” y/n explained, pulling up another picture of her and corbyn for emphasis. “after that we kinda just, lost touch i guess.” y/n shrugged, and daniel nodded.

“so is that why you’re here? to see corbyn again?” daniel asked, and y/n moved her head up and down in a nod.

“i’m terrified though, like what if we don’t connect like we used to? i don’t know, maybe i’m overthinking things but it has been four years,” y/n trailed off, her eye catching a tuft of bright blonde hair from across the room. her heart skipped a beat at even the tiniest sight of him.

daniel was silent for a few moments, and y/n could see that the boy was deep in concentration.

“let’s go say hi to him.” daniel stood up, reaching a hand out to y/n to help her stand up from the couch. 

“w-what?” y/n stammered, her heart beginning to race.

“let’s go see him right now. you need to rip off the band-aid, and he needs a boost of confidence and energy. tour is taking a lot out of him, and maybe you’ll be the thing to give him that boost.” he replied, gesturing once more to signal for y/n to take his hand.

“fine.” she took his hand, standing up. “but if he doesn’t remember me, you have to get me out of there immediately okay?”

“deal.” daniel smiled, and began to walk with y/n over to where corbyn stood with a crowd of girls around him.

“i’ll distract the fans, you go talk to corbyn.” he gave her a bright, reassuring  smile before sauntering over to the group of fans, sending the group into a frenzy. he walked a couple steps to the right and the girls followed him and began to talk animatedly, leaving corbyn standing alone.

y/n attempted to shake the butterflies from her stomach, but to no avail.

deep breaths, deep breaths.

she walked over to corbyn, who turned to talk to another fan. she took in another breath, before raising her hand and tapping him on the shoulder.

“hey there besson.” she breathed out, staring into the same clear blue eyes that she adored so much. the same blue eyes that were filled with tears the last time she saw him four years prior.

“y/n?” his eyes scanned your face, not believing for a second what he was seeing. was this really her? was it his best friend? the girl he was so deeply in love with for practically his entire life?

he couldn’t help himself, and scooped her into a bear hug. she wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her head into the crook of his neck. he smelled of cologne, mixed with the familiar scent of him that she remembered from oh-so long ago. he smelled like corbyn.

“i missed you so much,” she mumbled feeling tears make their way to her eyes. she clung onto him like a koala bear, savoring every millisecond of the hug as if it made up for the four years of not talking to each other, and she could tell corbyn was doing the same.

“i missed you more.” his voice shook with emotion, and he too was near tears. y/n pulled away from the hug, her legs still wrapped around his waist.

“impossible.” she smiled, locking eyes with corbyn. the bright blue orbs blazed with emotion, and she could see the tears that brimmed on his lower lash line.

she looked over corbyn’s shoulder for a second, seeing that daniel was looking at the pair with a wide smile plastered on his face. he shot her a thumbs up and she laughed, burying her face in corbyn’s shoulder once more.

after a minute or so of just enjoying each other’s presence, corbyn gently set y/n down onto the ground, his hands still placed on her waist. the smallest reminder that he was still there, he was real, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“i’m so sorry for everything,” she mumbled, the tears that pooled in her eyes beginning to fall down her face in delicate strokes. “i should’ve tried harder to make our friendship work, but i gave up.”

“it’s not your fault. half of the blame is on me too. it’s both our faults, but nothing is gonna change our mistakes from the past. what’s important is that we focus on the future. our future.” he gently cupped her face in his hands, wiping away the tears with a simple stroke of his thumb.

she smiled, placing her smaller hands over his.

oh god, i really want to kiss him.

the thought ran through her head, and she almost immediately pushed it aside.

it’s been four years since you’ve seen him y/n, don’t just go kissing your old best friend and crush in front of a bunch of his fans with cellphones in their hands.

he looked into her glittering eyes, feeling the pull that he felt towards her four years prior. it was as if nothing had changed in his heart and soul.

i’ve never wanted to kiss someone more. his heart longed for her lips on his.

he slowly began to lean in, and y/n sucked in a breath and began to weigh the options in her head.

fuck it.

she leaned in, melting into his gentle touch. y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, corbyn’s doing the same. their lips were four inches apart.

three inches.

two inches.

one inch.

“okay guys!” y/n and corbyn jumped apart, both blushing a bright crimson. they had failed to notice the crowd that had formed a circle around the pair. “sadly it’s time for us to go, but we want you all to know that we love you guys so much, and we hope you enjoy the show tonight!” jonah’s voice boomed, sending a smirk in corbyn’s direction.

“i-i guess i have to get going now,” corbyn mumbled, his hand going to rub the back of his neck.

“yeah, you probably should,” y/n began to fiddle around with her fingers, rocking back and forth gently on her heels.

“i hope you enjoy the show, i’ll see you after? i can send someone out to come find you, so you can come backstage if you want?” he proposed, and y/n’s heart set alight.

“i’d love that,” she smiled shyly at the blonde boy. “break a leg besson.”

“see you later y/l/n.” he paused for a beat. “i hope i make you proud.” he bent down and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek, the spot where his lips touched tingling after he pulled away.

he shot her another heart-melting smiled before walking away, a bounce in his step.

i have no doubt that you’ll make me the proudest i’ve ever been when i see you up there corbyn. i always knew you’d make it.

[billion-heartbeats]

Money Matters and Love cares!                                                                                                                                                       M- Momentarily O – Owned                                                                             N- Not                                                                                                                                                                         E- Eternally Y- Yours                                                                                                                                                               Love and money are two extremely complex subjects in their own right. When they're mixed haphazardly, it could be a recipe for disaster. Money and love, is the glue that keeps lives together. Money symbolizes security and happiness. Without love, everything you do seems meaningless. Without love, you will live empty inside. Without love, you will feel like you are incomplete. More importantly, there will be no one to celebrate with you even if you are rich and have all the money in the world. Does this make love the more important than money? Money is important, but not the most important, because it is tangible. At heart we always crave for the intangibles - God, Grace, Devotion, Blessings, love, satisfaction, praise, liberation, pleasure, fragrance, oxygen etc. Things desired but difficult to get are precious. That which is ultimately sought after, yet remains beyond reach, beyond actual touch, that which could only be felt is invaluable. E.g. - Oxygen! Money- what it can and what it cannot!                             Money can buy you medicine and not Health. Money can buy you amusement but not happiness! Money can buy you books but not wisdom. Money can buy you a bed but not sleep. Money can buy you food but not the Appetite. Money can buy you a companion but not a friend. Money can buy you a house but not a home. Money can buy adulation but not respect. Money can buy services, but not loyalty. Money can buy flattery, but not self-esteem. Money can buy designer clothes but not the inner beauty. Money can buy an expensive watch and not the Time! Money can buy jokes but not a sense of Humor. Bottom line: It is good to have money and the things that it can buy, but it’s good too, to check up once in a while and make sure you haven’t lost out on the things money can’t buy. Money talks The adage-Money makes the world go round is more than true. When you have Money with you, you forget who you are! When you do not have money, others forget who you are! Money Is the Megaphone to Identity! Money gives you power, dignity and honor.   Money by itself is neither good nor bad. Usage of money makes it good or bad. Choice is yours; Money is just a tool. Eighty percent of the world’s money is with twenty percent of the population, while the rest 20 percent of the world’s money is with eighty percent of the population. In the pursuit of money many of us lose our values and ethics. Having money for the greed is criminal but earning money in the right way is spiritual and is your right. Steve Jobs once said: I don’t care to be the richest corpse in the cemetery! We lose our health to make money and then lose money to restore the health. We live as if we will never die and die as if we never lived. The want for more never ends. Everyone dies, but almost no one really lives. Money can never be the ‘be all and end all of life’. So is everything else! Life is more important! Having lots of money can be like being high on drugs. It can make you feel powerful and giddy. It makes you feel invincible. Money makes us feel that we’re better and more important than we really are. Money fattens our ago! It has power to bring people together and also tear them apart. You can’t escape money - the more you chase the more you get it! The more you get the more you want! Money is rightly said- is an Aphrodisiac! Money is not acknowledged and appreciated the way it should be. Human lives are a tragic enclave of contrasts. There seems to be a statistical disconnect between money and happiness. If you are able to enjoy what matters- love, relationship, compassion and empathy, which is what money can't buy, Money is secondary! Once we escape the trap of poverty, levels of wealth have an extremely modest impact on levels of happiness. The central assumption of modern society is- more money equals more pleasure. We've been led to believe that dollar is a delight and the currency rules! To go after money is greed. To have money and flaunt it is vulgar! To spend it is reckless! But giving it to others in need is dharma and takes you straight to god! In practice there is grudging but overwhelming admiration for those who make lot of money. Society envies you! if you have In addition, good qualities it adores you. Love cares Love gives us the assurance that we are not alone in the world. You are not rich until you have something that money cannot buy! Love is when the want is more than the need! A simple question! Who has changed the world more- Bill Gates or Mother Teresa or Borlaug? My vote is for Bill gates and Borlaug! I agree it is not how much one gives, but how much love we put in that act of giving is what matters. Bill Gates used the power of money to change the world and Mother Teresa used the power of love to change the world. Borlaug, father of the Green Revolution used agricultural science to reduce world’s hunger, has been credited with saving a billion lives, more than anyone else in history. All three are great in their own spheres. You decide who is more powerful! Healthy, wealthy and may be- wise! This is no package! Wealth is an enabler, a catalyst and even validates of your wisdom. The beauty of the wisdom is that it belongs to you forever. Look around you: There is abundance of ignorance! The very notion of ultimate wealth is fallacious and misconceived. • When you are battling poverty, money is the ultimate wealth. • When you are sick, immunity and health is the ultimate wealth. • If you are lonely, love is the wealth you need. There’s something inherently disturbing about thinking of wealth as obscene. For, such a perspective not only limits our understanding of one of the most important and powerful criteria of human progress.   We need to rekindle the law of love within us, and within our children. Let me tell you a conversation I was witness to. My grandson, my son and I were relaxing at home. A neighborhood boy came home and was playing with my grandson. The boy had “I too want that toy looks”. My son told my grandson to give him one of his toys. After some pleas, he finally agreed to give.  He picks up a toy - his least favorite toy!"  My son told him, No dear, not that toy, Give him your favorite toy. At this point, grandson instinctively protested, but then looking at his father's stern-yet-compassionate look, he grudgingly goes to the door to give away his favorite toy. Naturally, I figured that my son will have to console his son when he returns; lo and behold, much to his surprise, the grandson returns with a hop in his step. With an innocence befitting to an 8-year-old, he looks his Father in the eyes and says, "Dad that was amazing. Can I do it again? This is the law of love, and may we all keep doing it again and again and again. Indeed Love cares. Money and Love                                                                                     A lot of women prefer to marry rich men. They prefer a husband who earns more than they can spend. Ever heard of The World’s Most Loving Couple? No. How about the World's Richest? Bet you have. Would you rather cry in a Porsche or on a bicycle? Choice is yours! Dr N prabhu dev Former VC Bangalore University Former- Director Jayadeva institute of cardiology. nprabhudev@gmail.com

[pogueman]

Inside the world's greatest scavenger hunt, Part 3

GISHWHES stands for the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen. Teams of 15 have one week to complete a list of 200 difficult, charitable, or hilarious tasks. They prove they’ve completed each item by submitting a photo or video of it; their $20 entry fees go to a charity, and the winning team gets a trip to an exotic location.

This is Part 3 of our five-part report on the hunt. Here’s Part 1, and here’s Part 2.

Part 3: GISHWHES for Good

Each August, as the world’s largest scavenger hunt is under way, the general public is usually unaware—except when teams perform their tasks in public places. Recent tasks have included:

Hug someone you love, motionless, in a very crowded location, for 20 minutes without moving—and time-lapse it.

Stand in a crowded public place. Ask people to sign a petition to Save The Endangered Unicorns.

Get everyone on a subway, bus, or train car to sing “Over the River and Through the Woods.” There must be at least 8 passengers (random commuters, not your friends).

But each year, the list also includes challenges to perform acts of kindness. For example:

Write and mail a thank-you letter to a teacher or mentor from your past that you never sufficiently thanked.

Have a tea party with a special-needs child or pediatric cancer patient, dressed as a character from “Alice in Wonderland.”

More than 10% of veterans returning from war suffer post-traumatic stress syndrome. Post an image of you next to an armed serviceman, with you holding up a sign with a message of gratitude to them and soldiers worldwide.

But for hunt creator Misha Collins (a star of the WB series “Supernatural”), neither GISHWHES nor acting were part of his life’s original master plan.

“[After college,] my objective was to go to law school and somehow try to make a positive impact on the world,” he says. “I thought probably the best way to do that was to go into politics. This was, you know, my 20-year-old brain.

“I was interning at the White House, but I just didn’t love the machine that I saw. I was very naive. I was exposed to this weird environment of, like, nepotism and yea-saying that I wasn’t inspired by.”

So he switched paths.

“I had this great get-rich-quick/make-an-impact scheme: ‘I’ll just go to Hollywood and I’ll become an actor and I’ll get famous enough that I can then leverage that celebrity into doing things.’”

Off he went to Los Angeles. “I thought, like, I’d be the next Leonardo DiCaprio in a couple of months. It took me 10 years to get on a TV show.

“And once I’d achieved a certain modicum of, you know, C-list celebrity, that desire to try to use my celebrity for some other purpose resurfaced.”

GISHWHES was born: a list littered with acts of kindness that tens of thousands of players attempt to fulfill every August.

Crowdsourcing for refugees

In the most recent hunt, item 175 is a perfect example:

“#175. According to the United Nations, 4.8 million people have fled Syria since the civil war began in 2011. Many of these families are living in tent cities with few resources and difficult lives. Let’s change the lives of one family that’s in particularly dire circumstances. The GISHWHES Item is to create a fundraising page for your team, where family, friends and others can donate.”

“We identified one particular family with a heartbreaking story. The mom had been shot in the spine tending to her garden. She was paralyzed, she’s been in a bed in this tent for two years. And we said, let’s just change this one family’s circumstances,” Collins says. “Let’s get them a house, and let’s get her medical care, and let’s pay for the kids’ school. And I woke up the next morning to see, oh my god!”

By week’s end, GISHWHES teams had raised close to $250,000.

“So we added another family, and another and another—by the end of the hunt, we materially changed the lives of four different families. We’ve been getting photos from these families, like them moving into their apartments that we just paid for. It’s just such a lovely thing to be a part of.”

The space balloon, continued

For Team Raised From Perdition, though, there are 174 other items to complete if they hope to win.

My daughter, Tia, also participated in GISHWHES. Several days have passed since she launched a weather balloon into space, bearing a child’s note to the universe. It came down into a nearly inaccessible Connecticut forest; she’s unable to retrieve it even after hours of searching. Item 175 is worth more points than anything else in the hunt; for her team, it will have to be marked “incomplete.”

But teammate Christine has no intention of giving up on the balloon’s precious footage. She tells Tia that she’ll just drive over to the forest to help look for it.

From Chicago.

Fifteen hours later, she, her husband Vince, and their children arrive, laden with gear. After hours of shaking, throwing things at, and yanking at trees, Christine’s 13-year-old son Josh climbs the tree. After an hour and a half, he dislodges the balloon. Item 175 is in the can!

The Haves and the Have-Nots

Not everything on the GISHWHES list is as exasperating as lost space balloons. Item 15, for example, sounds like fun:

#15. This is the final showdown between the Haves and the Have-nots. Show up at Dolores Park in San Francisco, dressed either as executives or in blue-collar apparel. At exactly 12:10 PM, the ultimate water balloon battle will ensue.

Nearly a thousand Gishers show up. They stand in two long lines, facing off across the park. They’ve taken the day off from work, driven for hours, even flown to San Francisco for this battle.

At the stroke of noon, GISHWHES volunteer Tone raises her megaphone, ready to announce the open-fire.

But at that moment, a San Francisco park ranger runs onto the field.

Ranger: “Hold on! Hold on! You can’t do this! Not without a permit! Anytime you have X amount of people in a park, you have to have a permit.”

“This is like a 10-minute situation for charity,” Tone pleads. “It’s a flash-mob type situation.”

“Yeah, you guys can’t do it without a permit.” (A CBS News camera picked up the audio.)

The two armies can’t hear this, but they see that there’s a problem. It’s not the first time that GISHWHES stunts have tested the patience of society’s overseers.

Will they be deprived of their balloon battle because of paperwork?

Suddenly, a second park manager arrives.

Incredibly, he’s persuaded. “Here’s the thing,” he says. “You have enough people to get this cleaned up?”

“I will personally guarantee it,” Tone says.

“You should have a permit. But if you can make an announcement like that, and get everyone to agree, then OK.”

Tone lifts her megaphone.

“I know and you know that you guys are going to be responsible for these pieces of balloon when this fight is over! Is that right?”

The crowd roars in agreement.

“This can’t happen���unless you guys repeat after me: I solemnly pledge to pick up every last piece of balloony plastic thing on the ground! And I will throw it all away in the proper receptacles!”

The crowd roars.

“Haves and Have-Nots… Commence the water-balloon melee!”

The battle is on.

This time, at least, the forces of merry mayhem win the day.

More from David Pogue:

Inside the World’s Greatest Scavenger Hunt: Part I

Inside the World’s Greatest Scavenger Hunt: Part 2

The David Pogue Review: Windows 10 Creators Update

Now I get it: Bitcoin

David Pogue tested 47 pill-reminder apps to find the best one

David Pogue’s search for the world’s best air-travel app

The little-known iPhone feature that lets blind people see with their fingers

David Pogue, tech columnist for Yahoo Finance, welcomes nontoxic comments in the comments section below. On the web, he’s davidpogue.com. On Twitter, he’s @pogue. On email, he’s poguester@yahoo.com. You can read all his articles here, or you can sign up to get his columns by email.

[k1spiegel]

i’m so sry if ur on mobile, but

here’s the post of my favorite lyrics from Los Campesinos!’ Sick Scenes (2017) bc whatever, i never post anyway, it’s midnight, who cares:

Renato Dall’Ara (2008)

All I want tonight is a friend and a fight Say it to my face if it satiates your appetite 

only a part-time grass, but a full-time asshole

Renato Dall’Ara, living off 2008 Renato Dall’Ara, once up then back down again

Sad Suppers

Don't call it a come-on, in spite if not because of whatever If extent of my ambition is a lawn to mow, a charger to tether

Clever compromise, I replant potted history

You can't eat from spinning plates Can't lick clean the mess it makes Seen all there is to be shown Darling, I'm coming home

Still flutters pitter patter Feeling embittered, battered Behold the once and future me Sad suppers for the saudaddy

Save you epiphanies for the sea level. Save them for the Broadsands Save them for throwing out time at Scribes West. Save them for chucking up in your own hands.

I Broke Up in Amarante

I co-piloted the swift Dreamt I'm anchoring that midfield Like the anchor in my midriff

(It seems unfair) To be a rotten horn of plenty (It seems unfair) To be cadaver for a curse (It seems unfair) To be an overflow for empty (It seems unfair) To try your best but feel the worst

Strength between the clicking crickets' knees Enough to crush my skull

You really can't complain It's just a holiday You fill a wall chart out Thirty-one days away

Seems unfair To be... (Nah, I'm gonna need you to help me out here)

A Slow, Slow Death

Those with the means for the megaphone, will always provide us the soundtrack

I got your initials inside a heart tattoo We two in vermilion, we two a lovers' coup

In time will I have to lie these memories are mine, not in fact my father's A schoolboy hero replaced, domestic disgrace, a sad sack, a martyr

We here are common as dirt, 3 lions on our shirt, with high expectations

The Fall of Home

Left your home town, for somewhere new Don't be surprised now it's leaving you Another weekday night alone The rise of rent, the fall of Home

5 Flucloxacillin

Five Flucloxacillin rattle in the pit of my purse Among the ones and the twos, I never finished a course

A peloton of OAPs cycling up behind me Shouting, "Step up your paces, we've got places to be"

Am I a piggy bank of obsolete currency? An order of merit from country known for tyranny? Another blister pack pops, but I still feel much the same Thirty-one, and depression is a young man's game

Damned be the knowledge that's it, now you have tried 'em all

Here’s to the Fourth Time!

We fell out of bad on the first night that we tried for the third time, over something in between

And all we got's the need to breed before we rot When all is spent and all is lost, when all is said and done

We lay cross-legged on a mattress, no questions about us, she serenaded me

All these sick scenes played out in my memory

Got Stendhal’s (which sounds a lot like What Death Leaves Behind from No Blues, but,)

Venus in steel toes with fake furs in hand Your doorstep, first place podium I stood in awe, carrier bag of cans

I assembled former ghosts at a seance Said I missed 'em, you only have to say it once What I truly fear, maybe selfishly When I finally rest, someone will summon me

Two shadows in the middle of a square Mistold when thousand years have passed

I don't know, I don't wanna know now Trusted heart pumps blood around a monolith that lets me down I don't wanna know, I don't wanna know

At least when we're encased in concrete we'll be safe

A Litany/Heart Swells

For lovers who line the beach whom moon entertains There's always waxing while our crescent wanes

Now I feel the misery in your breast and mine is one and the same and I feel close to fine

Your hand is on the pen but you can't sign the pact I'm shouting out a litany an echo calls back

Hung Empty

They're singing Bread of Heaven but they're baking it with our dough Living as common criminal, but acting local hero

He's playing dickhead's advocate and every date's a house show

My vision is fading, it's blurry. There are finger prints all over the sun We're glad to be loved but we're lonely and we feel like we're the only ones

Hung empty, hang onto me, and we'll quarantine the gloom

We kneel at different alters but we all desire the same: For someone else to seize the bow to find a truer aim

Feels like I've been waiting on it, nearly all my life But what, if this is it now, what if this is how we die?

[gwynnew]

Lin-Manuel Miranda on His Oscar-Nominated 'Moana' Song: "You Start By Thinking, Don’t Write 'Let It Go'"

Lin-Manuel Miranda at a ‘Moana’ screening last fall (Photo: Karwai Tang/WireImage)

It’s unusual to schedule an interview during the last quarter of the Super Bowl, but Lin-Manuel Miranda is somewhat pressed for time these days. Miranda, the Oscar-nominated writer-performer-musician whom it’s impossible to describe without at least two hyphens, flew into Los Angeles late on Sunday to attend Monday’s Oscar Nominees Luncheon. There, the man who wrote and starred in the Broadway sensation Hamilton will celebrate his nod for Best Original Song for the stirring ballad “How Far I’ll Go” from the Disney animated adventure Moana. Then it’s back on a plane to London, where he’s filming the live-action Disney musical Mary Poppins Returns. (Emily Blunt plays the title character, and Miranda co-stars as a lamplighter named Jack, a spiritual descendent of Dick Van Dyke’s character from the 1964 film). “I’m singing and dancing all day and it’s really fun,” Miranda told Yahoo Movies of the Poppins sequel.

While he may not have been in the stadium last night, Miranda was well-represented by original Hamilton cast members Renee Elise Goldberry, Phillipa Soo, and Jasmine Cephas Jones, who sang an opening performance of “America the Beautiful” with an added nod to sisterhood. Miranda paused the big game in those nail-biting final minutes to talk with Yahoo Movies about his method for writing a great Disney song, the decision that helped him find Moana’s voice, whether he plans to celebrate his potential EGOT (the acronym for winning an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony, of which Miranda is missing only the Oscar), and the thrill of bringing his two-year-old son to the Mary Poppins set.

 Watch the “How Far I’ll Go” scene from ‘Moana:’

  So great to see the Schuyler sisters at the Super Bowl!

Yeah, it was thrilling, wasn’t it? I thought they did great. I Facetimed with them afterwards — they’re all in a box watching the game. And I I found out the same day everybody else did. I was talking to Renee and she was like, “I’m on my way to rehearse with the girls!” And I was like, “Aaah!” So I just feel like a joyous, proud friend.

The “sisterhood” lyric was a perfect touch.

That was a nice addition wasn’t it? That was very sweet. I was surprised by that, too.

So we’re talking about “How Far I’ll Go,” which is Moana’s big song in the film — what musical theater people call an “I want” song. And writing one for this movie seems like a really intimidating assignment, because when I think about the greatest song in this vein, I think about Disney songs like “Part of Your World.”

You and me both, sister.

So when your job is to write that song, where do you start? 

You start by thinking, “Don’t write ‘Let It Go,’ don’t write ‘Let It Go,’ don’t write ‘Let It Go.’”[Laughs]  No I mean honestly, it is daunting. And I think the only way to get around that, especially if you’re a Disney geek like you and I are, is to just double down on how specific your character story is, and just get to the most honest and specific moment you can. Because that’s actually what you love about the other “I want” songs. What we love about Ariel and “Part of Your World” is not the lyric “part of your world,” it’s those lyrics like “what is a fire and why does it — what’s the word — burn?” It’s those that are so specific to who she is and where she is, that they couldn’t be sung by anyone else. So the only way to not psyche yourself out is to be like, “None of these other great Disney songs are telling Moana’s story. You have to tell Moana’s story. So quit thinking about ‘Let it Go’ and do it, Lin.” [Laughs]

I saw a press screening of Moana two days after the election, and I almost didn’t go. But it made me feel so good about the U.S., the art that we make here, and the things that bring us together.

It is seeing a nice young woman save the world without needing a boyfriend at the end of the movie. She’s just gotta save the world — she ain’t got time for that!

And it’s very respectful and celebratory of Polynesian culture. When you were working on the film, did you have certain values that you wanted to convey with this movie?

We were very aware that we were representing a part of the world that doesn’t see itself onscreen very often, and Disney has a big megaphone. We worked with a story trust and people on the islands at every major point in character development, making sure we were being authentic and truthful to this world. Speaking for the musical department, [co-songwriter] Opetaia Foa’i was our touchstone. Opetaia has made a career out of representing his ancestors and speaking to them through his music. And so every rhythm that you hear in this movie is vetted by him, and the harmonies have to be true to that part of the world as well. So we took all that very seriously. And then you have fun with your characters and you figure out your story.

So that was the fun of the journey, because the thing we fell in love with about Pacific culture is this lost art of navigation: navigating without compasses, and reading the sky, the stars, the way the waves are falling, and what birds signify. The metaphor knocks you out, but it’s literal here, which is: You actually have to keep where you’re from in your mind at a fixed point to get to where you’re going. So you always have to remember home. That’s the way the system of navigation works. It’s called wayfinding. And what better metaphor could there be for our character and her journey than remembering where you came from, so you can go to the next place?

Were there early drafts of “How Far I’ll Go” that had different hooks?

Yeah, and actually you can hear them on the deluxe edition of the CD. There was a song called “More” that was sort of my first crack at it. And it’s a great tune, I’m very proud of it, but at the same time it wasn’t specific enough. And I think the turning point for this song happened when we realized: Moana’s not bored with her island, Moana loves her island and she loves her people, and she wants to be the daughter of the village chief, and yet there’s this voice. And I think that’s a much more interesting and subtle distinction to make: I love it here, I love my people, I know the role I’m supposed to play, and yet there’s this voice that the further I push it down, the harder it asserts itself. And I think that’s’ very relatable and specific at the same time. So that’s sort of the extra step we took to find “How Far I’ll Go” — this notion of everyone here knows what they’re supposed to be doing, and I know what I’m supposed to be doing, and yet there’s this voice that’s telling me “run to the sea.”

It’s something that really sets Moana apart from other heroines: She finds herself without running away from her home and culture. In some ways it seems like a bolder choice.

I had a similar thing when I was working on [Miranda’s first Broadway musical] In the Heights. I got a lot of notes from producers, who didn’t end up being involved, being like, “You gotta give Nina stakes! What if she got pregnant at school? What if her boyfriend beat her?”

Oh my God!

Believe me, that’s not the worst of the notes I got. Not from our actual producers, but from people who would see the show in process. And what we were trying to accomplish was so much more subtle, which was, this is a young woman who’s been built up to be the star of her neighborhood all her life, and then she goes to a place where everyone’s the star of their neighborhood. And so she sort of comes home with her tail between her legs. And we fought for that. Even though it was more subtle than a more soap-ish plotline, I can’t tell you how many young Latina and Latino men and women have come up to me saying, ‘I was the first in my family to go to college, and Nina spoke to me.’ Because we reached for the more subtle storyline, the more specific storyline than “some dramatic event happened and I couldn’t hack it.”

When Frozen songwriter Robert Lopez got his Oscar for “Let It Go,” his daughter made him an EGOT necklace.  

Oh I know, I remember!

Does your family have any arts-and-craftsy EGOT plans if you win?

[Laughs] I don’t think so! My son is only two so — I was going to say, hopefully I’ll get a performance of “How Far I’ll Go,” but frankly I get a performance of “How Far I’ll Go” about 20 times a day from my son. That’s his default chorus to go to. It’s that and Daddy Yankee. So yeah. That’s what I live for, is the fact that he’s grown up singing these songs because he heard them first.

And is he with you in London?

I actually brought him to set for the first time yesterday so he got to see Daddy singing and dancing. And he heard my voice on the playback when he was still outside the studio and he went, “That’s Daddy! Daddy’s singing!”

How are things with Mary Poppins? Is there anything you can tell me?

Not too much I can tell you, other than It’s a full-on musical and it will be out Christmas of 2018. So it feels like a very long time to wait. But we’re going to be filming most of the year, so it’s really exciting to be a part of it.

Watch Dwayne Johnson talk about his jitters singing for ‘Moana:’ 

Read More:

Why ‘Moana’ Is the Movie We Need Right Now

‘Moana’ Doesn’t Have a Prince Charming — and That’s a Big Deal

‘Moana’ Costar Jemaine Clement on His Crab-tastic David Bowie Impression

[artificialqueens]

I Don’t Know Him (ABC) - Lemonade

AN: In all honesty, this story was originally inspired by someone’s text post about their ‘Biadore heart’ after Bitney had their date night. I started thinking Danny having the same reaction to the pictures would make a good fic, then I realized their dinner was the same night Adore had a show for the first time in a bit, then this happened. There is mentions of Danny’s anxiety throughout, but if you want to skip the brunt of it avoid paragraphs 8-11 (count the paragraphs broken up by text messages, but not the texts themselves.) I’m planning on writing a second part to this, so don’t worry!! The ending is definitely not the end.

Danny’s heart thumped erratically in his chest. He was bursting with excitement and choking on nervousness. The first few shows of his new tour had went rather well, they were more fulfilling and electrifying than he could have possibly imagined. Performing as Danny instead of Adore had ignited a fire inside of him. A new, raw passion that he thought he had lost on the way. He felt vulnerable, and grimy, and ugly. He felt beautiful, and alive, and genuine. The atmosphere of those shows definitely did help. He booked a few intimate venues in Seattle for the first handful of performances. It felt at home, safe, and cozy. He embraced his new city rather quickly. The vibe of the towns around him, the welcoming, warm, and cool as shit people helped him settle down with ease. He was happy and comfortable there, but he wasn’t in Seattle anymore.

Danny’s next few shows were scattered across California, his first couple in Los Angeles. The same place he had escaped to find his niche in the world, he was shoved back into. Danny never liked the energy of L.A. It was bougie and he always felt like a piece of meat to be gawked at when he was there. The more he thought about it, the higher his anxiety for the show grew. These were his fans, they loved him, he knew it, but he couldn’t help but have negative thoughts about the upcoming event: What if they don’t like the music? What if they don’t get me anymore? What if they’re only there to be able to say they saw ‘Adore Delano’ with no care for the music whatsoever? What if they try to pull or grab me?

Danny had worked himself up into a frenzy of nervous energy, his hands immediately reaching for his phone. The one thing he was looking forward to was his friends being there. They hadn’t had the chance to see him perform as just himself, and hear his new music in person yet. Knowing they’d be there watching and supporting him from behind the curtain let a calm wash over his anxious being.

1:15pm

Danny: You bitches are coming to my show tonight right???

1:16pm

Greg: Wouldn’t miss it!!

1:17

Danny: I’m so fucking excited man

Danny waited. And waited. And waited. It wasn’t unusual for Roy and Shane to be the last ones to reply to the group chat. It seemed especially so whenever it was Danny who had been the one talking. They weren’t always the worst texters in the world, but since they started dating  it was like they couldn’t find time for anyone but each other.

4:25pm

Roy: SHANE AND I CAN’T MAKE IT

Danny’s heart plummeted at the decline. Roy’s texting in all caps usually added humor to whatever he was saying, but this wasn’t funny. Danny really needed his friends to be there for him tonight. The thought of Shane in the wings clapping and jumping, Roy bear hugging him right as he got off stage, had helped calm Danny’s increasing anxiety. Now they wouldn’t even be in the audience to watch him perform. His chest tightened at the realization, the disappointment becoming a physical ache.

Shane: Stop typing in caps lock Shane: We’re so sorry Danny!!! Shane: We’ll make it up to you I promise!!! Shane: We love you good luck baby 💞 Roy: EVERYTHING SHANE SAID Roy: GOOD LUCK CHOLA ❤️❤️❤️😘😘😘

Roy dropped his phone on the nightstand after sending his last message. “I feel like shit for doing that to him.” He informed Shane, who was sitting on the floor in front of their closet, legs crisscrossed, and clothes that had been deemed unworthy for their long awaited date night scattered all around him. “He’ll be fine.” Shane said matter of factly. There was no wavering in his tone. He really didn’t see the big deal. They had cheered at a countless number of Adore’s concerts, why couldn’t they skip out on one show to focus on their own relationship? “He was excited for us to be there, Shane. It’s all he’s talked about in the group chat for a month.” The slight sting of guilt had turned into a gut punch of it. Roy swallowed down the queasy feeling in his stomach. “I think we should go.” Shane stood straight up from the floor, popping up so fast and sudden he was like a pop-tart being ejected from a toaster. “No!” His voice took on that shrill tone Roy fucking hated, he rolled his eyes at it reared it’s ugly head. “Listen, I love Danny. You love Danny. Everyone fucking loves Danny. He’ll be fine if we miss one show out of how many other’s he’s playing? We can go to any one of them-” “And we can go out to dinner any day of the week.” Roy interjected. Shane’s complete disregard for Danny’s feelings was shocking. Out of the two of them, Shane had always been the more empathetic one. “No, we can’t Roy! It’s taken us how many weeks to plan this? You’re never home, and when you are home, I’m not. Why can’t we be selfish and take care of us for once? You know, our relationship?” Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to fall but Shane refused to let them. Roy had crawled across the bed to get to the other side of the room where Shane was standing. He climbed off and immediately enveloped him in an embrace. The anger bubbling up inside of Shane told him to push Roy right off of him, but the pain pricking at his heart made him squeeze his boyfriend as tightly as he could.

“I just want us to have this night.” Shane finally spoke after minutes of just hugging and swaying back and forth in each other’s arms. One of Roy’s hands came up to cup Shane’s cheek, the pad of his thumb running across his skin. “I feel awful for abandoning Danny too, but remember what we said?” This had been an ongoing problem in their relationship from the get-go, trying to balance a romantic relationship between the two of them and their friendship with Danny as a whole. They would either neglect themselves for the friendship, or unintentionally ice Danny out entirely. It was an exhausting, hurtful pattern for Danny; He was sure neither of them understood what that did to him or how it made him feel. “Relationship above friendship. We both agreed, but you don’t seem to be holding up your end.” It was no secret Roy had a soft spot for Danny. He loved the kid. Maybe he did tend to put Danny before Shane, but Danny needed him in a completely different way than Shane did. He didn’t want him to feel like he was useless now that he and Shane were together. “Fine,” Roy’s hand dropped from his face. He wasn’t going to bother arguing with Shane. It would be an unnecessary headache he’d rather avoid. “but we have to make it up to him, not just say that we will. He doesn’t even live in L.A. anymore, it’s been months since we’ve seen him without a screen cutting through.” “I promise the both of you, we’ll go to his next show with flowers and signs and megaphones. We’ll make it up to him.” He agreed with Roy.

—–

This crowd had to be the worst Danny had ever dealt with. They screamed over his singing, yanked him down roughly when he reached his hand out, and had no respect for him or his music. Every minute on stage felt like another hand wrapping around his throat, constricting his air flow until he couldn’t breath anymore. Why was this happening? He never had anxiety attacks on stage. This was his safe place. This is where he lost all control and could exist without the world echoing in his ear.

They didn’t care, and he needed to get off stage before he made a scene. The absolute last thing he wanted was to collapse in a hyperventilating mess in front of a crowd of people with their phone cameras pointed directly in his face. Danny managed a strangled “Thank you.” before scurrying backstage. The audience was confused, he had only made it about halfway through his setlist. The abrupt ending caused the audience to breakout in a roar of his name, which he heard backstage and only worsened the panic coursing through his body. Danny dropped to his knees a few steps away from the curtain he had disappeared behind. One hand pressed against his chest as if it would help him catch a breath. Tears didn’t threaten to fall, but rained down his cheeks like a storm. He was a mess, a damn train wreck. This wasn’t suppose to happen. Not with this tour, not with this music, not with the person he was growing to be.

“I can’t breathe.” He gasped to the person who had knelt down in front of him. Danny didn’t look up, he couldn’t face anyone like this. Greg put both hands on Danny’s shoulders and ran them up and down his arms. “What’s the matter, Danny? What’s going on?” He didn’t understand. Basically all of Danny’s friends knew he had anxiety, only a few could relate, and only one knew how to calm him down as much as possible (or enough to get him off of whatever floor he had slumped onto). Roy knew to hold both his hands, Roy knew to make Danny focus on him and nothing else around them, Roy knew to demonstrate proper, exaggerated breathing so Danny could copy, he knew to pick him up off of the ground if he couldn’t stand, and he knew to press a cold washcloth to his face when it was all over. It wasn’t romantic or cute, Roy learned to care for Danny because he couldn’t bare to sit back and watch him suffer helplessly. He needed that right now, even a FaceTime call had been enough to pull him through an attack in the past.

Of course, Roy wasn’t there, and Danny wouldn’t attempt to interrupt him while he was with Shane. Ever since they started dating Danny felt less and less important to them individually. Eventually, Greg and John (Danny’s cousin) managed to get him up from the dirty floor and to his dressing room. The rest of his night was full of shallow breath, shaking hands, desperate sobs, and people who really didn’t know how to handle him.

——

Shane rolled off of Roy and cuddled into his side. An arm wound around his waist and pulled the blond in closer as a pair of lips pressed against his forehead. “See?” Shane practically sung as he traced odd patterns against Roy’s chest. “Aren’t you glad we stuck to our plans? We would still be at Danny’s show if we had went.” Roy looked down at him, shifting uneasily under his body. He had completely forgotten that they essentially ditched Danny’s show, a show so important to him he’d been beaming about it from the moment the date was finalized, to have dinner…and fuck. A pang of guilt revisited his stomach. “I still feel bad about that.” “I told you he’ll be fine, pussyface. Besides, the next three shows he has in California we’ll be the most obnoxious fans there.” Shane declared. Despite not necessarily seeming like it, he did feel crummy about choosing not to go to Danny’s show, but he had decided when he and Roy started dating that they would be his priority. Danny had other performances, Shane only had one shot at being with Roy. He pushed himself up to press his lips against Roy’s. “Round two?” He purred in his ear, nipping at his earlobe to persuade him. Roy answered by flipping them over and pinning him to the mattress. In the back of their minds they both knew they should at the very, very least text Danny to ask how his gig went, but this quickly took priority. The rest of their night was full of heady kisses, needy touches, choked moans, and two people who knew each other’s body’s better than anyone else had.

—-

Danny woke up mid-afternoon with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and a pounding headache. Last night was an absolute disaster, the unruly crowd getting the best of him. He groaned at the memory and pulled his blanket over his face, turning over so he could grab his phone from the other side of the bed. He didn’t want to see tweets from concerned fans or any mean spirited comments on his Facebook page; He wanted to talk to his friends. As the reflection of his lock screen illuminated his eyes, he realized his friends didn’t want to talk to him. He had one private text message from Greg asking how he was after last night, and none from Shane or Roy. They hadn’t even gotten around to asking how his show went. He felt that same sinking disappointment in chest as when Roy initially told him they wouldn’t be making it. “I am so fucking sick of this.” He muttered bitterly under his breath. He was beginning to feel like more of an inconvenience than a friend.

It was a petty, bratty thing to do, he thought, but Danny unlocked his phone and went to check their social media to see if they had posted anything since the last time he had spoken to them. Just as he suspected, they did. His Instagram feed was flooded with pictures from Courtney and Bianca’s accounts. The last update from Courtney, three hours ago. It was a picture of him and Roy in bed together with some cheesy caption about waking up to ‘the love of his life’, Danny nearly gagged as he read it. That was the final straw. Since they started dating they also started dodging his phone calls, taking hours to respond to texts, not contacting him when they were (by some grace of God) in the same city, and denying every offer to hang out as a group Danny presented to them whenever he was in L.A. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be treated like this anymore, not by the two people he considered to be his closest friends.

Danny quickly responded to Greg’s text from this morning, letting him know that he was thankful for him being there last night and checking up on him today. When that was done, he started a new group chat with just Shane and Roy.

Danny: Glad to see you two had fun last night!!! My show went great btw!! I had a full blown anxiety attack in the middle of it :)

If there was one thing Danny wouldn’t stand for was his friends not supporting him. He could almost forgive everything else if they had just showed up this one time. They knew about this show. They knew how Danny had been bursting at the seems to start this new chapter in his career. They knew how much this meant to him and how much their support meant to him. Still, they chose a dinner date they could have rescheduled for any other day of the week over something that was so important.

Roy was the first to check his phone, seeing as Shane was in the shower. His eyes widened at the text. Fuck! He had a lingering feeling of forgetting something since he had awoken, but couldn’t put his finger on what exactly that was until Danny texted him. The now familiar feeling of guilt deep in his gut had returned. No doubt it was worsened by the knowledge of Danny having an anxiety attack. He knew they should of went, at least he could have been there to hold his hand through it.

Roy: DANNY I’M SO SORRY!!! ARE YOU OKAY???

Shane’s eyes were captured by Roy’s harsh features as he entered their bedroom. He stared down at his phone, his eyebrows laced together as he looked like he might be sick. “Baby?” Shane’s voice was soft as it called for his attention. Roy’s head snapped back to look in his direction. “What’s wrong, Roy?” “We completely fucking forgot to say anything to Danny about his show last night and now he’s pissed…He had a panic attack.” “What!? Just because we didn’t go?” Now that tinge of guilt Roy had become accustomed to punched Shane right in the face. He should have listened to Roy, they should have went to Danny’s show. “No. At least I don’t think so.” Roy shrugged his shoulders. “It happened at the gig, now he’s not answering me.”

Just as he finished his sentence the phone in his hand lit up with a FaceTime request from Danny. “It’s him.” “Danny?” Shane leapt onto the bed, losing the towel he had wrapped around his waist as he hurriedly crawled across the surface and into Roy’s lap just to grab his phone from him and hit answer. Danny’s face didn’t have time to load on the screen before Shane was shouting for him. “Danny? Danny? Are you okay? What happened?” Roy looked over Shane’s shoulder as he waited for Danny to speak. “I’m fine no thanks to either of you.” His tone was harsh. “Danny, we’re sorry.” Roy chimed in, half hidden by Shane’s body in front of him. His voice was gentle and comforting, a complete contrast to Danny’s. “Yeah, Danny, really. We promise next time we’re gonna be there with signs and balloons and a confetti machine if that’ll make you happy.” “It’s not even fucking about that!” Danny snapped at them. How could they not see it? How could they not understand this was just the straw that broke the camels back? Did they really not understand they were making him feel like a burden?

“You guys have been treating me like shit since you started dating. Like I don’t matter to either of you, like I never did! Like all I’ve ever done is get in the way of you two being together, and now that you are there’s no use for me!” “Danny, that’s not true.” Roy spoke up. He wasn’t argumentative for once, he didn’t even believe what he was saying. Did either of them really feel like that? Hell no. Were they treating him in a way that would make him feel like those were their true thoughts? Absolutely. It hurt to hear, but they had to be aware of how they were making him feel. “Yeah Danny, we love you.” Shane added. “You have a shit way of showing it! You guys never answer my call or texts, you never want to hang out anymore, you ditched my fucking show! You guys ditched a show that you’ve know about for months! A show you knew was important to me. This was the real kickoff of my tour, my music. My fucking music that means the world to me, and you two weren’t there like you had promised ten times over! Roy, I went to so many of your gigs when you were on tour I could recite your whole goddamn act to you right now. Shane, I literally got you fucking booked in Seattle so I could see you! Meanwhile you guys can’t even bother to text me? I don’t deserve to be treated like this!” “Alright, you’re being a little fucking dramatic now.” Roy shocked even himself with his words; He was sick of hearing Danny insinuate that they didn’t care about him, or support him, or whatever the fuck he was getting at. “We have a relationship. You can’t expect us to drop everything just because you want our attention.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” Danny yelled through the phone, if there weren’t a screen between them he wasn’t sure his hands wouldn’t be around Roy’s throat right now. His blood was beyond the boiling point. “Is that what you fucking got from all of that? Really Roy? Just because I want attention? I wanted my best fucking friends to share this experience with me. I wanted my best fucking friends to support me while I exposed a huge piece of my soul. Me, Danny. Not Adore. This is so special to me and you guys don’t even get it! You don’t get me, because you haven’t talked to me properly since you started sucking each other’s dicks–You know what? I’m fucking over this. I promised myself this would be the year I take care of my mind, and cutting off friends who can’t seem to make more than two minutes for me is a great way to continue that. Don’t contact me unless one of you is dying.”

And with that the call ended. Roy and Shane stared at each other almost speechless. Shane shook his head as he removed himself from Roy’s lap. “That did not just happen. Did he just cut us off? He cut us off!” Shane senselessly rambled, pacing back and forth ass-naked trying to make sense of the situation. Were him and Roy really neglecting Danny to the point he thought cutting them off would be better for himself than their friendship? What the hell was he gonna do without Danny? His best friend! Who was he gonna ask for advice and call up drunk at four in the morning when Roy was passed out?

As Shane walked a rut into the floor Roy sunk into his own world. Him and Danny had never fought. In all honesty, Danny was the best friend he had in his forty one years. He’d seen him blubber like a baby, he knew things about him that no one else in the world could claim. What the hell was he gonna do without Danny? He shouldn’t have snapped. Maybe if he didn’t snap they could have talked this out. It was all his fault.

Danny threw his phone across the room, the device making direct impact with the wall and the screen shattering in front of his eyes. Well, they definitely won’t be contacting him now. Danny plopped down on the hotel bed, head in hands. He tugged at his hair in frustration. Was this his sensitive heart acting on pure emotion or was this his bossy brain trying to protect him from people that weren’t good for him anymore? Either way, he made his decision, whether impulsive or not, and he had to deal with the consequences of that. Today would mark the first day in years that Shane and Roy weren’t Danny’s ‘ride or dies’. Though, it seemed like they willingly relinquished that title ages ago.

[theparaminds]

It’s those behind the curtain who truly run the play, it’s those behind the camera who control the emotion, and often, it is those behind the music that truly create and discover the sonic playgrounds we explore. This is the life of Idaho based producer Billy Lemos, a sleuth in search of new artists and ideas that he can help develop and grow with his own flair, all while allowing for the spotlight to be the least of his worries.

His mission is that of holding a megaphone to the mouths of those without a voice, allowing for stories to be told and for cultures to be shared, all through the universal language of music. With no style defined in his own mind, Billy is just adjusting himself to every situation necessary, producing to multiply the strengths of his peers while strengthening their, and his own, confidence in self.

Billy’s a one of a kind individual in the music world, one whose intentions are pure and positive, and who’s ready to truly bring all those who deserve it to the top with him, all while blessing every ear he encounters along the way.

PM: Ok, so first question as always, how’s your day going and how are you?

BL: I'm doing pretty well just working out through a bunch of shit and getting stuff done.

PM: To begin why don't we kinda look at who you are because you’re a very behind the scenes sort of person. Who would you say Billy Lemos is as an artist and how has that changed over the time, as you’ve met people and grown?

BL: I think I’m more of a curator than anything… I try to look at my work as 60% curation and 40% production, but a lot of people think I do the vocals. Some people don’t look into it, like at all, will think I do the singing and shit and ask me to do features on their songs which is funny. I consider myself to be the curator and I try to find new people SoundCloud who aren't getting any attention right now and just work with them, I remember when I worked with Victor he was super small, Omar was really small when I worked with him as well. I try to find new people who just deserve a spotlight.

PM: Is your job when you produce to make something that best shows off their talents and skills so that they are given the recognition?

BL: Yeah definitely, like a lot of the time I'll take a demo or I’ll ask people if they have any and I’ll build off that. I'll try to flesh out if they’re starting out and haven’t figured their sound 100%. I try to put my style and flair on top of what they're doing sonically as well and then make sorta my own stuff but also incorporate a lot of their stuff so when people check them out they can hear their influence clearly.

PM: For sure, and would you then say that your also creating a connection with them that you sustain and that your ability to help them grow as an artist and do some artist development, not in a manager way but in an artistic way?

BL: Absolutely, with the people that I work with, I talk to them casually. It’s not some like business shady shit. Like I’ll be friends with a lot of the people that I do features with.

PM: And that obviously is important to you… like being more than just a producer, being a close associate. Do you find it helps you work with them, helps you make stronger music?

BL: Yeah I feel like it’s more relaxed like if I’m comfortable with the person I’m working with it's way easier for me to make a bunch of songs with them or like send them stuff and bounce ideas around.

PM: You talked a little there how you have your own musical style and voice, where would you say this kinda came from growing up? How did your experiences lead you into your musical stylings?

BL: I think I watched a lot of videos of Mad lib and Jay Dilla sampling and beat making videos. For a while, I was making bad EDM and then some lo-fi, but then eventually once in the indie scene, I was making hip-hop influenced stuff that’s still alternative in nature. It came to be how it is over a lot of time, and a lot of failure.

PM: Was it that hip-hop influenced that you were most inspired by or did you find other artists to be important to you as you found your voice?

BL: As I found my voice I found more who helped. I love Tame Impala a lot and seeing videos of Kevin working, Kanye obviously, Tyler as well. Just anyone who inspires any young creatives right now.

PM: Would you then hope to inspire other creatives in the same way you have been before?

BL: I just want people to know that you can literally do this shit with nothing. Most of my stuff is made with a 400 dollar drum machine, save up and you can make almost everything yourself. If you just go on SoundCloud and find people to work with, then your job is to just work at making sounds and keep going.

PM: When you’re on SoundCloud curating, looking for this one special new artist, what to you is the most important aspects of knowing someone is going to get bigger and has a lot of potential?

BL: If I listen to a song and it doesn't hit me in 5 seconds or if I'm skimming through the tracks and I don't feel it immediately I know it’s not the one, but I will take time and listen to everything in a discography to be sure.

PM: Would you say there's a type of artist you see a lot of potential in right now that you hope others can see the magic in?

BL: I think the community of artists with Hispanic roots like Victor and Omar. They’re amazing right now and so supportive of each other. I remember seeing Cuco support victor a lot at his beginning and it was surreal how tight-knight they are.

PM: As someone with a hand in that scene, why do you find yourself drawn towards it? Is the DIY aspect that you sort of share?

BL: For sure, when I found Victor he was making music on a really shitty computer and just seeing them all do whatever they can with whatever is available is actually beautiful.

PM: As well, if there is a scene to put you in, you’re definitely growing in that Chicago scene with Family Reunion and victor, what is it about that group in that city that you have found yourself to connect with?

BL: It’s funny because I’m from Iowa but I’m gonna be moving there so soon just to be around all the talent and everyone there. It’s a special place LA can't compete with as people are just trying to make it by and doing whatever it takes. It’s a huge scene people haven't caught yet.

PM: Looking at the larger picture, as an artist, what are some larger long-term goals you hold for yourself and what is it you hope to get out of this experience?

BL: Long-term I would love to make a label and provide for smaller artists in a way that's honest and supportive. I want to put on poor and struggle artists without resources. That's the huge issue for a lot of people. It's not that they won’t do it, they just don't have the chance. I'm trying to also make a lot of collaboration projects, not as much solo material, I’m working with this one rapper right now on a non-trap type project. It's just different, there’s always new projects that are collaborative and thematic.

PM: Another big thing in music is live shows, you did a show with Victor a few months ago and soon you'll be doing a solo DJ set, what to you is important about the live setting that a record can’t give to a listener?

BL: I'm still so nervous about it, but I just want it to be 45 mins of new unheard music of really underground and unique artists. I want people to go home with new artists and new songs to listen to and to support going forward.

PM: What would you say is the best live show you've ever been to?

BL: I went to this Tyler show when he came to Iowa a long time ago. Even though the crowd was terrible seeing him so high energy and into it was inspiring as hell.

PM: Now, what about your favorite movie and album of all time? How did they affect you?

BL: Movie is easily the Grand Budapest. I fuck with the aesthetic so hard and I love stuff that's stylized and uniform. I love how playful and quirky the characters and dialogue are and it’s probably Wes Anderson’s peak of both of that. Album is probably College Dropout, which is a goofy ass choice, but when I was learning and getting into shit I would watch so many videos of Kanye making beats and It really brought me into the path I’m on with drums and patterns.

PM: And finally, as someone who’s been watching and seeing a lot of young artists grow and make it, but also stumble and not, what would you say is the most important things young musicians should look for in themselves while trying to make it?

BL: People just need to be talking to other young artists doing similar shit, I feel like collaboration is the most important aspect right now and seeing people work together they pick up skills and knowledge from each other and in turn, it helps them in their work and journey. Especially the ones not getting enough attention, if you're gonna work with someone they'll promote you and the work. Be confident in your work and trust your guts. Be picky with your work and only allow your best work to be out right now so everything you put out is something that people will notice and keep attention to

PM: Do you have anyone or anything to shout out or promote? The floor is yours!

BL: There’s this one artist whose super slept on right now named Junior Messa, he's so fire, but also I put out the stuck single with Family Reunion and I have tons of stuff being worked on. I'm being slow with my releases but things are comings soon.

Follow Billy on Instagram and twitter

Listen on Spotify and Soundcloud

[caveartfair]

This Artist Builds High-Tech Robots—Then Has Them Attack Each Other

Running Machine and Spine Robot. Courtesy of Survival Research Laboratories.

“I love wasting technology,” Mark Pauline tells me. “I love it when you take something that’s really practical and do something ridiculous with it.” We’re standing in the middle of Marlborough Contemporary, a white cube gallery in New York’s Chelsea district that has suddenly been converted into what appears to be a near-future auto repair shop. The heady tang of gasoline and grease fills the air. A crew of assistants is performing last-minute surgery on a variety of large-scale machines—inspecting welds, checking voltages—and Pauline roves around the space, the crew-cutted foreman overseeing this high-tech madness.

Nothing here resembles a contemporary art exhibition, but Pauline isn’t really in the contemporary art business. He’s the founder of something called Survival Research Laboratories (SRL), an outfit he launched in 1978 with the intent of creating chaotic live performances featuring remote-controlled robotic creatures. Or, as he bills them, “dangerous and disturbing mechanical presentations.”  

This is SRL’s first proper New York outing in over two decades. (The group is now based in Petaluma, California, a bit less than 40 miles from San Francisco.) Back in 1985 they participated in a show at the now-defunct nightclub Area, pitting various machines against each other in a sort of industrial boxing ring. One of the kinetic assemblages was “driven” by a guinea pig named Stu, Pauline’s pet, who controlled the device from a small command center embedded within it. (“I spent a long time training it so it didn’t panic around the machine,” the artist affirms.)

Mr. Satan Head and the Dual Muel. Courtesy of Survival Research Laboratories.  

SRL’s exhibition at Marlborough Contemporary won’t involve any live animals, but there’ll be plenty of the machine-on-machine violence that the group has become known for. There’s nothing subtle or understated about what Pauline has been up to over the past 40 years, as he’s put technical know-how to absurdly entertaining purposes. A typical SRL creation stomps and shudders on metal legs, perhaps while belching thick tongues of flame; others have been programmed to wield bats and stab things. Their public appearances are orgiastic celebrations of fire and noise in which things are broken, intentionally or otherwise.

Pauline admits that SRL’s aesthetic might not be as immediately shocking as it was in the 1970s and ’80s. “Nowadays, robots are considered to be a harmless part of popular culture—after Robot Wars and everything,” he says, referring to the British reality TV show in which participants build machines that fight each other. But shoehorned into the normally polite context of a gallery, SRL promises something different, and perhaps uncomfortable.

Given the bombast of what he makes, Pauline comes across as an understated guy. He seems fairly unfazed by the last-minute tinkering required before the opening of the exhibition (which bears the unwieldy title “Inconsiderate fantasies of negative acceleration characterized by sacrifices of a non-consensual nature”). The preparatory scene has a science-club vibe, if everyone in that science club oversaw an engineering research department and built race cars designed to speed across the Black Rock Desert on the weekends.

Part of SRL’s spirit, Pauline says, is simply a West Coast thing, a symptom of California’s unique social fabric. “When I came out to San Francisco, you’d go to a punk-rock party and there’d be all these weirdos—but also full-on scientists,” he tells me. “The spark that started the tech revolution out there was that people didn’t differentiate between creative artists and creative scientists.”

Installation view of “Inconsiderate fantasies of negative acceleration characterized by sacrifices of a non-consensual nature” at Marlborough Contemporary. Photo by Walter Wlodarczyk.

SRL’s performances attracted fans and hangers-on, people who wanted to take part and contribute knowledge. (They also attracted a steady stream of dumbfounded cops, whose presence is basically a given in any video documentation of the group’s shows.)

The total team of collaborators now numbers around 40, with some of the members having been on board for decades; the eclectic crew can start to seem like the cast of a very niche, oddball sitcom. There’s Kimric Smythe, for instance, who collaborates with Pauline on props, among many other things. “All the shit he builds looks like the Unabomber made it,” Pauline says. At Marlborough Contemporary Smythe is busy assembling kinetic robots that will flap their arms and legs on the floor. “I do the jet engine work on occasion, too,” he tells me, mildly. Smythe used to be part of the pyrotechnics crew at Burning Man—“before it became, in my opinion, a clusterfuck of techno”–and he also helms what’s billed as “Northern California’s only full-service accordion store” out of Oakland.

Knee-deep in a machine on the other side of the gallery I meet SRL collaborator and computer master Christopher Brooks. He’s on the faculty at UC Berkeley, and is also the executive director of something called the TerraSwarm Research Center, charged with “addressing the huge potential (and associated risks) of pervasive integration of smart, networked sensors and actuators into our connected world,” which sounds both incomprehensible and deeply frightening. At the moment he’s troubleshooting an enormous robot with a flailing claw-hand that, on Saturday, will engage in a remote-controlled brawl in the middle of West 25th Street.

Pauline himself is an autodidact without any academic training in how all this stuff works. He’s previously described how, growing up in Sarasota, Florida, he taught himself to repair the expensive cars and boats of his wealthier peers (who generally lacked any technical skills themselves). In his late teens, Pauline worked for an Air Force contractor in Florida, and later studied the visual arts at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida. He now supports SRL’s operations by, in his words, “buying and selling tech companies”—often acquiring complex equipment on the cheap, refurbishing it, and reselling it. (He’s previously bragged about how SRL’s early days were facilitated by more extra-legal acquisitions of goods.)

Installation view of “Inconsiderate fantasies of negative acceleration characterized by sacrifices of a non-consensual nature” at Marlborough Contemporary, with Mark Pauline at left. Photo by Walter Wlodarczyk.

Pauline’s proud of his talent for spotting underpriced, semi-broken stuff that can be rebooted to work strange magic. He shows me a bulky robot that was evidently used in the planning stages of the 2013 film Gravity, outfitted “with a camera that they were using to prototype the moves to make people look weightless.” SRL bought the broken equipment for $1,400 and fixed it; Pauline says that it’d now be worth about $15,000 on the open market. At Marlborough Contemporary, it’ll be used to mount (and move around) a 55-inch monitor running a documentary loop of previous SRL shows.

SRL doesn’t have many connections with the mainstream art world, though Pauline’s wife is the executive producer for artist Leo Villareal, represented by Pace Gallery. As for contemporary art in general, Pauline seems fairly lukewarm. “I’m always interested in weird stuff,” he says, “but it’s hard to take it seriously—especially tech art.” He mentions Jordan Wolfson, creator of (Female Figure), a 2014 animatronic sculpture of a grotesque pole-dancer. “My friend in Los Angeles, his company built it,” Pauline says. “It’s a cool thing, but [Wolfson] didn’t do anything—he just ordered it. I’m not into that kind of art. People at least have to put in sweat equity of some kind. That’s my problem with the art stuff: It’s either not that interesting, or the so-called artist doesn’t do anything, or doesn’t know how to do anything.”

Pauline, on the other hand, is clearly a doer. And right now he has to figure out if there’s a working carbon monoxide detector in the house, and where they can buy extra gasoline to run the Pitching Machine, a contraption that’s designed to decimate 2x4s by shooting them into a reinforced cube at around 200 miles per hour.

Installation view of “Inconsiderate fantasies of negative acceleration characterized by sacrifices of a non-consensual nature” at Marlborough Contemporary. Photo by Walter Wlodarczyk.

The Saturday after my first visit to Marlborough Contemporary, Pauline’s Spine Robot (2012–14), with its flailing, articulated claw, squares off against the Running Machine (1992) and other machines in the wintery slush of West 25th Street. A large crowd circles the action as if cheering on some permitless mechanical cockfight. After the herky-jerky battle, the audience pushes its way back inside the gallery. A team member warns passerby not to get to close to Mr. Satan Head  (2007), the machine still hot from earlier previous fire-belching. The gallery is a squall of industrial aroma and noise, much of it unpleasant, most of it courtesy of Squirrel Eyes With Rotating Jaws (1987), a whirring maelstrom of grating metal teeth, ornamented with taxidermied rodents.

Pauline is wearing an olive green, military-style jumper, yelling about entropy into a megaphone. The crew is revving up the Pitching Machine (1997–2017), his D.I.Y. sculpture-weapon that uses a rapidly spinning truck tire to turn wooden planks into projectiles. Prop-master Smythe’s series of handmade “Boogie Bots” are spasming on the floor nearby: pop-eyed skeletons and humanoids, time-consumingly rendered despite their inevitable demise.

Which would be sacrificed first? The audience settles on a hapless skeleton, which is hauled up, awkwardly, via a hitch, and lowered into a rectangular cube that’s roughly the size of a Manhattan bedroom. Pitching Machine is switched into high gear, the tire squealing, and a quiver of planks is loaded into its chamber—soon to be fired at enormous speed into the skeleton sculpture, which does a heroic job of taking all that impact.

Pauline and SRL will continue the process, slowly destroying the bots, and turning Pitching Machine’s receptacle into a graveyard of wood chips and mechanical parts. (The cube itself, and its exploded contents, is for sale.)

The overall vibe is something in between a rock concert and a public execution. It’s unlikely that any other art gallery in Chelsea has ever smelled this strongly of burning rubber.    

“We do a lot of work,” Pauline had told me, shrugging, “then go destroy it.”

from Artsy News