#nirvana is the best band in the entire world

[jinxhallows]

kinktober #oo3 | my turn

KINKTOBER 2023 || jinxhallows my turn (role reversal) || jisung x fem!reader summary: you have the coolest partner in the world, the literal rockstar Jisung of the band Eternal, and the best part? you knew he was one before the rest of the world found out. you two met over a shared love of music, and you let your dreams fall to the wayside to support his. but when jisung hears you with his band for the first time, the roles are reversed, and he becomes your biggest fan. warnings: rather fluffy for kinktober, plot heavy, pet names, established relationship, non-kpop idol AU.

word count: 3.2k masterlist - click here

You’re a supportive girlfriend, so it's your job to be the one front and center when your boyfriend performs at festivals, waving a big sign around like an average fan, despite the badge hanging from your neck indicating you were very much not an average fan, and had full and complete access to the artist.   Jisung is undoubtedly a rockstar, the charismatic lead guitarist and vocalist of the alternative rock sensation, Eternal. Following the blazing success of their recent single on the radio, their demand has skyrocketed, securing them bookings at renowned festivals with extensive media coverage.    But your unwavering enthusiasm for Jisung's music dates back to the days when it was just him and his band in a rented-out rehearsal room inside an old warehouse in your hometown. There, you'd watch him perform, feeling your heart swell with pride and admiration as he poured his soul into his music, singing about his tumultuous past. 

In the last two of your five-year relationship, Jisung has been urging you to step into the limelight with your own unique voice. He's convinced that your vocals have a distinctive quality, a gritty edge that perfectly complements grunge and rock music. However, you've hesitated, recalling your past as a pop artist that didn't quite take off. You're afraid of experiencing the heartbreak of the music industry all over again. 

It's been easier to live vicariously through Jisung's success, still being close to the music scene that makes you feel alive. Your dreams haven't faded entirely, but for now, they simmer on the backburner. 

  After a year of pestering you, Jisung manages to convince you to get on the microphone after you two have shared a few beers and a couple of shots in between runs of his set at rehearsal.  You’re barely walking, and he’s pushing you while you make an effort to lean back against him, half fighting and stumbling your way up.    Giving him a sideways glance, he winks at you and turns to his rack of three guitars. He selects his vintage strat, slides the leather strap over his head, taps his foot on his pedalboard with a dozen pedals, exchanges nods with his drummer and bassist, and begins strumming chords.   

As the chords fill the air, they feel almost deliciously right, which is no surprise. Jisung knows your musical tastes well—Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Staind, 3 Doors Down, Nickelback—and he's giving you something distinctly different from his usual style, something that resonates with your soul.  You close your eyes, furrowing your brow in concentration as you sway to the chords. Then, you open your mouth, and the words flow effortlessly:    My anxiety,    It just ain’t been getting down with your sobriety    As the words leave your lips, you're pleasantly surprised at how good they sound, both vocally and lyrically. 

Jisung signals the band to continue with a circular motion of his finger. He adjusts his playing to complement your voice, encouraging you to keep going. 

Closing your eyes once more, you raise the microphone to your lips: 

  My anxiety,    It just ain't been getting down with your sobriety    And I can tell how things are changin’ cause you’re just like me.    The next set of words come to you within seconds.    And I’m gonna take you to that place where you don’t wanna be, don’t gotta be.    You hear that familiar switch and whirr of the high pitched amp as Jisung switches pedals again, the sound harder, with more overdrive.  His strumming pattern has changed, and it makes you feel like a chorus should come out naturally.    Take me out onto the wide and open roads,    I’m just waiting for you to tell me when to go.    We can take it slow,    I don’t have to know.    But I can’t promise that you’ll find your way back home.    You're completely immersed in the world of your lyrics, lost in the music until you hear Jisung's whistle followed by hearty laughter as the band comes to a stop. 

Jisung steps on a pedal, deactivating the overdrive, and asks, "Holy shit, did you write that, y/n?" 

You shrug, "No, it just came out—the way you were playing, that's just what came out." 

He widens his eyes, brows raising in surprise. "Wait, you mean to tell me you came up with that off the top of your head?" 

You look at him, puzzled. "Jisung, we do this at home all the time. We freestyle together when we're drunk. I used to be a musician. Is this new information?" 

He clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes. "Don't be a smartass. You know I've never heard you with a live band. When we freestyle when we're drunk, you don't come up with stuff like that. That was... poetry." 

  Jisung steps back and adjusts his pedals, strumming lightly. "Do the same thing, but Troy, hold out that E string through the first eight bars." 

And so, your very first alternative rock song, 'Home,' was born during an organic jam session. It was so impressive that Jisung funded its professional recording in a studio and helped you release it as a single, under his publishing. 

  You landed 68k streams in the first week.    People were hungry for more.    The band lent their full support as you embarked on your first major project, a small EP comprising eight remarkable songs. The pinnacle of your excitement came when you received news that you were invited to perform at none other than the prestigious Coachella festival. 

Your excitement matched the enthusiasm radiating from Jisung. He couldn't contain his joy, and as the news broke, he screamed, hugging you tightly and even jumping up and down with sheer delight. When he finally released you from the hug, his eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as he looked into your eyes. "I get to be your groupie now," he exclaimed.    & Jisung meant that shit.    He purposefully schedules a leg of his tour to leave that night open so he can be free to attend and play for your performance, instead of the hired gun guitarist that takes his place when he has to prioritize his own band.  He’s headlining a top venue in the city the next night, but tonight is all about you.      But for tonight, Jisung is your guitarist, so he can’t wave a sign in the crowd for you like you do for him, so he gets a little creative.  As the band began playing the intro to your song, the stage lights transform into a dim, muted blue, and you gaze out at the vast, massive crowd before you. It is undoubtedly the largest audience you have ever performed for in your career. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jisung stepping up to his microphone, still strumming his guitar. "Tonight is special to me, to be playing for Y/N, really, it's an honor," he announced, causing you to cover your mouth and nose with your hands, concealing your wide smile as the crowd erupted in cheers, urging him to continue. 

  "I am her biggest fan, and it sucks that I can't be in the audience, watching you do your thing from their point of view," Jisung continued with effortless stage presence. Laughter and whoops filled the air as he spoke, still strumming his guitar. "You guys are some lucky motherfuckers." His stage presence is effortless as the crowd reacts with laughter and whoops.  He’s still playing, the band perfectly vamping the song in the background as he points to the front row, “So I gathered some fans to help me out tonight.”    Before your very eyes, signs go up one by one across the front.    M A R R Y  M E ?    You take a step back, your eyes widen as you squint to see. The crowd's deafening roar and the giant screen above capture the moment, alternating between the sign and your bewildered expression. It's a surprise you could never predict.   

"Jisung—" you begin to exclaim, but your voice breaks into sobs as he embraces you tightly. The band briefly pauses, and the crowd's cheers grow louder. 

"It's okay, baby," Jisung reassures you, laughing as adrenaline courses through him. He rocks you from side to side, and then, he pulls out a box from his back pocket, dropping to one knee. With tears in his eyes, he opens the box to reveal a stunning ruby ring surrounded by diamonds on a gold band. He wipes his cheeks, trying to maintain composure as emotions overwhelm him. 

Your shocked reaction, a mixture of surprise and joy, draws raucous laughter from the audience. You hadn't expected him to propose right then, and you had no idea he had a ring. You don't even know any of this has been planned. As you say yes, barely above a whisper, you nod and let him slip the ring onto your finger.  It rests perfectly between the silver carved wolf ring on your pinky and the owl eyes ring on your middle finger, with turquoise stones set into the irises.  It's a ring that proves he knows you well and listens to the things you love and want.  You hadn’t mentioned wanting a ruby engagement ring since you first started dating and it came up randomly when you two were at a mall together and happened to pass them by. 

  -  “Do you like this one?” Jisung asked.    “Nah, too traditional.  I love rubies.  I’d love a ruby one.” 

-    Now, you shiver with emotion, looking down at the ring and sniffing as he stands up to kiss you. It's a brief kiss, but you know there's more to come later. He steps back, never taking his eyes off you, and the introduction to your song begins once again. 

Through your tears, you laugh. "Now I have to sing the song, asshole," you tease.   

Jisung chuckles with the crowd and leans over to quip into the microphone, "Yeah, but you got this, rockstar."   

As you prepare to start singing, the crowd's voices join in unison, singing the opening phrases with you: 

"My anxiety..." 

You feel a surge of happiness and gratitude as you close your eyes and sing the lyrics, your voice soaring as the song reaches its climax and descends gracefully, like a plane landing smoothly. The audience erupts in applause, and soon after, you find yourself in the dressing room. You're sweaty, makeup smudged from tears, but you're buzzing with excitement. Your heart races, and it feels like a fluttering butterfly has replaced it, its wings sending a rush of blood through your veins. 

Your team rushes in, surrounding you in a massive group hug. Some of them hold bouquets of flowers, and your manager pops a bottle of champagne, filling flutes for everyone in the room. 

"Attention, everyone, I need to make a toast," your manager announces, raising her glass above the chatter. The room hushes. "To new beginnings!" she declares, and everyone cheers, clinking their glasses together. You raise your glass from where you sit on a makeup table, taking a sip as the room bursts into conversation again. 

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Jisung walks in, greeted by more whoops and cheers. He's visibly exhausted from his set and the emotional rollercoaster of the night, but Jisung plays along, accepting the enthusiastic welcome as he makes his way over to you. 

"Han Jisung!" you exclaim, shaking your head as he wraps you in a warm embrace. Your legs wrap around his waist as he hugs you tightly, planting a kiss on your lips and looking into your eyes. 

"It sounds even better now that it's gonna be your last name," he says with a grin. 

"Let's take this to the afterparty!" your drummer yells, and everyone starts gathering their belongings, excitedly agreeing.   

"Leo, we're playing Thunder Eagle tomorrow, don't get too messed up, man," Jisung says over his shoulder, calling out your shared drummer, who rolls his eyes.    “I’ll be cool Jay.”    “I’m serious.”    "I'll make sure they behave," Jisung's manager chimes in, patting Leo on the back and pointing towards the door, silently advising him not to argue tonight.  

Jisung is a Virgo, a perfectionist, and he wants his set to be flawless, even if it never quite reaches his impossible standards. She reassured him that everything would go according to plan so he could enjoy his proposal night.   

"Thank you, Rina," Jisung says. 

Rina nods. "Meet us back at the hotel. We need to go over tomorrow's itinerary." 

She knows Jisung has no interest in afterparties, especially not tonight. His social battery is drained as well. 

After Rina leaves, the steel door slowly closes behind her, and you and Jisung let out synchronized sighs, followed by shared laughter. Those sighs communicate everything you both feel—the relief of finally being alone.   

"Wow, I can't believe I got backstage with Y/N," Jisung teases, his eyes playfully wide. 

  "Got past security and everything, huh? You must've really wanted to meet me," you playfully comment.   

"Of course," Jisung responds, placing his hands on both sides of your face and looking into your eyes. "I told you, I'm your biggest fan." 

And then, Jisung kisses you for real this time, like he means every bit of it. Your head tilts to follow the rhythm of his tongue as it rolls over yours, and you give him a forceful shove backward as you hop down from the countertop. He stumbles back a few steps while you push his leather jacket off his shoulders. Eventually, he lands on the black futon, looking up at you with a crooked grin as you straddle him. Your knees sink into the leather, and you can feel just how aroused he is when you lower yourself against him. Both of you are still clothed, and you rest your arms on his shoulders, your breasts grazing against his chin as you start grinding in his lap. 

"You're my biggest fan, Jisung?" you inquire, your voice low and teasing. 

"I am," he confirms, his eyes lifting from your chest to meet yours as he answers your question. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down firmer onto his lap. 

You lean in close, murmuring in his ear, "Wanna be my groupie?"   

"Mhm, I do, I do," Jisung breathes, his hands gripping your ass. 

But then, you stop, lifting yourself up slightly.   “Let me fuck you then.” you say with a firm grasp of his erection. You stroke him a couple of times through his jeans, your lips hovering over his. You watch his expressions, the way his eyes cross, and his lids flutter, his vision blurred by the shockwaves your touch is sending throughout his body.    "Y-Yeah?" Jisung stammers, a reply that makes you both laugh, briefly breaking the intensity of the passion between you. How can you still have this effect on him? Jisung melts under your heat, and he always will.    “Take your dick out, I need to spell it out for you?”    You grant him a bit more space, allowing him to lift his hips and deftly slide out of his jeans. His brain finally clears the fog of desire, and he's acutely aware of how badly he craves to be with you at this moment. 

"Sorry," he stammers, "I'm like...star-struck or something." You straddle him once more, your thumb gently grazing his lower lip, the delicate almond-shaped acrylic nail tracing along his upper teeth. You observe the transformation in his expression as he shifts from awe to sheer desperation, all while you slowly lower yourself onto his throbbing anticipation. 

“Hmm,” You throw your head back with a blissful sigh of contentment, adjusting to his size. And Jisung can hardly believe it; he’s actually going to marry you and keep you in his life forever. He gets to feel this forever.   

The thought is making him impossibly hard as hips rock into you, emptying out those moans he’s grown to love so much. 

  “Jisung, you feel so good right now, baby,” you purr into his ear, his nails digging into your thighs to get a firmer grip as you ride him, writhing, whining hips giving him chills as you engulf him from every angle. 

“Goddamn,” He moans. “You do too.” 

When Jisung vocalizes during sex, it comes from some deep, carnal place that drives you absolutely mad. And then, he finds his second wind, snaking one arm around your waist, the other supporting his weight on the couch as he starts plunging into your pussy. You're losing composure, your choppy moans matching the tempo of his thrusts as your eyes roll back in your head, being fucked dumb over his shoulder.    When he tires, it’s like a perfect pass off, the way you grind against him.  He releases a guttural noise, head back against the futon as he slaps your thigh in encouragement, coaxing you to keep riding him just…like…that.    He looks up at you again, with stars in his eyes.  “I wish you could see yourself right now.”    “I can.” Your arm around his neck, fingers in his hair, you can see yourself in the reflection of the chain of mirrors along the wall behind you both.    “Oh, good,” Jisung says with a half-smile, your cunt still swallowing him up at this languid pace.  “See how pretty you look when you’re being fucked senseless like this?” He watches your face, the way your chest flutters with tiny gasps and your face twitches when you hit that certain spot.    "Yeah, I do," you barely manage to respond.    “Only thing prettier is how you look when you cum.” His praise pushes you further, two fingers sliding between your lips that you welcome, and Jisung closes his eyes, all of his senses overstimulated as he dangerously evades his orgasm, thanks to shutting out the sight of you absolutely wracked with pleasure, bouncing on his cock, with his fingers at the back of your throat.    You can’t speak, your mouth obstructed, so you begin to whine instead, and he presses on your tongue, making you gag over and over again as you unravel on him.  Jisung feels you cumming, he puts both arms around your waist as he pounds into you from below until he pulls you down a final time, his breath hitching as he allows his release to take over, cursing as he empties inside of you.    As your bodies slowly come down from the peak of ecstasy, you stay intertwined, breathless and sated.  The room is filled with a warm, intimate silence, broken only by the occasional soft sigh and the sound of your synchronized heartbeats.    Jisung gazes into your eyes with a tender expression, his fingers softly brushing a strand of hair away from your face.  “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he whispers.    You smile warmly in response, leaning in to kiss him sweetly.  “I feel the same way,” you murmur against his lips.  “Forever sounds pretty perfect.”    The two of you lay there for a while longer, basking in the post-coital afterglow and the knowledge that your love has reached a new level of commitment. The future seems brighter and more promising than ever before, filled with endless possibilities now for the careers of you both. 

Eventually, you two gather the strength to get up and clean up the evidence of your passionate encounter. As you help each other get dressed, there's a sense of contentment and serenity in the air.  With one last lingering kiss, you make your way back outside to catch an Uber back to the hotel, likely for a highly-anticipated round two.      What? You two are rockstars.  Did you expect anything less? 

[killersfool]

Chemistry | ELIJAH HEWSON

PAIRING: elijah hewson x original f!character

GENRE: mutual pining, high school days

SUMMARY: leah vazquez lives next door to the loudest band in the world—a band which includes the nightmare boy who’d asked her for help with chemistry homework. invited to a party by rob, a whole lot of truths come to light.

WORDS: 6.8k

WARNINGS: kissing, alcohol, mentions of smoking

Being next door to the loudest band in the entire world was enough to make Leah want to throw eggs into their garden. Every day, from the small hours of the morning to the late evening, she'd hear that bleeding guitars and those crashing drums. The summer holidays were meant to be a period of rest and relaxation but all she could hear were those three irritating boys attempting to cover Nirvana. She'd see them with their smiling faces and instruments, making their way to the garage every day. They resided at Rob's house. Leah's parents were friends with Rob's so there were many family dinners. This was the longest period of not having one. Leah was thankful.

Leah was sat at her desk, head pressed to a Chemistry textbook, trying to wrap her head around electron configuration. The whole lesson at school was filled with sarcastic comments. No one understood a word leaving the teacher's mouth. Funny thing was that Elijah Hewson was in her class. One of the idiots who made fun of her if she got an answer wrong. He'd blame a bad grade on anything but himself. His favourite pastime was talking, constantly speaking his mind, even if it wasn't necessary at all. Teachers loved him, girls snapped him, attempted to make him laugh. He sat down with all the 'popular' people. A huge table of liars and attention-seekers who looked down on everyone else. Leah would glance at them from her seat, see him on Snapchat for the majority of free periods. The only time he'd spoken to her outside of class was when he was confused on the Chemistry homework. She had been sat down in the study room, chair under the circular tables and textbooks scattered all over it. She was trying to simultaneously finish a sketch for art and do exam questions as revision. It wasn't going well.

Elijah Hewson pulled out the chair next to her, plonked himself down without even asking her if he could sit there. He dropped his backpack. Unzipping it, she gave him a glare, slid her headphone off of one ear. She muttered, "Make yourself at home." She wouldn't move her textbooks to give him room. Anytime she walked past him in the corridors, he wouldn't even bat an eyelid or turn to face her. Now, he was pulling out his day folder and pencil case like they were best mates. As if there was nothing weird about this at all. "You know there's about eight free tables, right?"

Elijah glanced up. Gum in his mouth, curls falling over his forehead, almost so long they were grazing the table. He hadn't heard a word she'd said. His airpods were in his ears, blasting music.

"Hewson?" She tried. She was debating running to the doorway, leaving all of her stuff there. She could make an excuse and hide in the toilets. They were grimy though. Most of the toilet seats had fallen onto the ground, none of the doors would shut properly because they'd all been messed with. The floor of each cubicle was always covered with liquid — probably piss. You'd think that now that they were in high school the hygiene would have improved but it was actually worse.

Leah was a lot happier in the peace and quiet of the study room. Now it was just her and Elijah. No one else. Too quiet. She was cold. It was a cool Winter day and wind was trickling through the half open window. She could hear younger students doing PE outside — bucket hall — all freezing in just shorts and a shirt.

"Oh didn't see you there," Elijah muttered. There was an obvious smirk playing at his lips and a lilting quality to his voice that he always used when attempting to be mischievous. He peeled his calculator from his bag and the dreaded Chemistry homework that had been driving Leah mad. An insane asylum would be her best bet at the end of the year. Why did she even choose the stupid subject? And, still, why the hell was this eejit still here?

"Do you get the homework?" Leah asked. She'd given up with being confused. Maybe he could offer her some guidance. He wasn't the greatest at Chemistry though. He'd barely scraped a pass in the last assessment.

Elijah bit down on the end of his pen, held it like a cigarette, pressed it against his lips a few times. Her eyes fell to his pink mouth: the cupid's bow, the shaving nicks on his chin, the shadow of a moustache above his top lip. Her artistic eye always overanalysed people. She'd never been so close to him before.

"Miss Lane's shite teaching fucked me up."

There it was. Blaming it on anyone but himself. The target this time was their teacher. Leah agreed with him. Miss Lane had squeaky shoes and an even squeakier voice. When she told people off, no one could take it seriously. Students would laugh under their breaths, hands over their mouths to keep her from seeing. At one point, Elijah pretended to fall over so that he could hide under the wooden table and laugh. He'd seen the layers of gum left beneath it, stuck his own one there to add to the collection.

"I thought you could show me how to do it, seeing as you know your stuff."

"I really don't."

"You really do." He flicked to the Chemistry section of her folder, pressed his finger onto the test they'd just done. "You got the highest mark in the class on this." He tilted his head, hair now splayed across his cheekbone. She'd never realised his eyes were hazel or how he tapped his shoes when he spoke — a nervous habit. Was he nervous?

"That was pure luck. The multiple choice questions were stupid. I guessed all of them. Just put CBA over and over."

"I guessed all of mine and got them wrong."

"That's rough." Leah sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

She pulled out the homework from her folder, along with a whiteboard and periodic table. Elijah moved his chair closer to hers. Her head was close to touching his bare shoulder. He had a Joy Division shirt on, leather jacket hung on his seat and jeans that didn't comply with the dress code. His luck of being a teacher's pet and Bono's son meant dress codes hardly fazed him. The only time he'd been sent home was when he wore a crop top — 'midriff showing is distracting, girls and boys'. He'd kicked a chair in the cantine and dramatically slammed the door behind him.

Leah couldn't understand how he was warm. There were goosebumps all over her skin, every hair stood to attention. Elijah put his airpods into his case. She glanced down at his biceps, the sun-tanned skin, the beauty spots, the freckles, his large yet nimble fingers. The tiny airpods make them all the more gargantuan. Skin was flaking away on his index finger — that's how she figured he played guitar. He'd been picking at it, dried blood remained there. His veins were prominent and nails neatly cut. His hands were like the ones she'd draw in her sketchbook. She was analysing again — way too much.

"So, where do we start?" Elijah's voice cut her staring competition with this rather big mole on his arm short.

"What about the first question?" Leah smiled to herself.

"Never would've thought of that one. Wow." Elijah scoffed. He read over the inked words. "Spin diagram for Magnesium? What the?"

"I'll show you."

The free period was basically an entire hour of Leah drawing weird arrows in boxes, trying to get Elijah to grasp the topic.

She didn't meet his eyes for most of the time. She didn't like the look on his face. He was studying her weirdly. She hated when he'd slouch back on his chair, legs apart, head thrown back in frustration. Or when he'd yawn but really over-exaggerate it to the point where she'd roll her eyes and kick his shin to wake him up again.

By the end, he understood the topic better than Leah herself. He was teaching her at that point. Taking the whiteboard and showing her that she'd done the whole order wrong. They finally completed the homework, checked answers with eachother then called it a day.

"Do you get it now?" Leah said. She finally looked him in the eye. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He liked her dark eyes, her saccharine smile.

"Yeah, thanks." He packed his things away, drank a long gulp of water. He then asked, shoes bouncing again, "Are you cold?"

Leah could feel his gaze on her arms. Being part Spanish meant the great gift of dark hairs everywhere. At least they gave her some sort of insulation, Biology had taught her that.

"I'm fine. It's always a bit chilly up here."

Elijah stood up. He tucked his chair in, placed his fingers on the back of the wooden seat, stroking his jacket. She watched his fingertips, as he scrunched the material in order to pick it up.

The room smelt of him. His minty chewing gum was one of the strongest aromas. He carried such a particular scent along with him everywhere. It was as if there was a fairy hidden in his backpack, sprinkling his cologne in each corridor, each classroom.

He stopped, squeezed his lip between two fingers, played with the earring in his left ear. He wanted to say something but wouldn't spit it out. Running through all the possible responses to the question, a computer testing different codes, an enzyme trying to find its matching substrate.

"You can have my jacket," Elijah murmured, quiet. "It's a gift for all of your help."

"What? Forever?" She made a face, almost like she was going to throw up. That was the last thing she was expecting he'd say to her. She thought he was going to insult her, tell her that she looked like shit. Mornings were not her favourite time of day.

"If you want it forever?" He laughed, an actually hearty laugh that she'd never heard before. The glowing smile staining his lips was very different to his concentrated face before. The last time she'd heard him laugh like this was when they did a practical. A titration. He messed up the experiment at least five times and couldn't stop giggling.

"You could buy me something from the cantine instead. Them brownies are lush. I'm starving."

"I'll buy you something too. Just put it on. You might freeze to death."

Elijah had left the study room in a matter of seconds. Leah was still extremely and utterly perplexed. His jacket was resting on the seat. She looked around, made sure no one was there then put her arms through the holes. It was far too big on her. At first it was freezing against her skin but it gradually warmed up. His scent clung to it. His lighter had been left in the bottom pocket. And some cash.

Moments later, Leah's friend came running through the door, Polly. She was holding some tissues in her hands. Without a word, she plonked this tissued contraption onto Leah's desk and said, "Hewson gave it to me. Said it's for you. Since when the shit are you talking that bellend?" Polly had her arms crossed over her chest. She then looked at Leah's jacket. "You weren't wearing that in form. Is it his as well?"

"Poll..." Leah took a deep breath. "He was just being nice."

"Elijah Hewson? Nice? He'd throw paper aeroplanes at me and Rick every Music lesson and detuned my bass before the concert."

"That was a year ago." Leah didn't know why she was defending him. She was delirious. Tired.

"Well he's a player, you know that don't you? Snapscore's like five hundred thousand, dated almost every girl in our form—"

Leah put her head into her hands. She couldn't deal with this. Maybe he had been pretending. Maybe that whole thing had been a cruel game to him.

-

Leah's eyelids were heavy and drooping. Her pencil had broken, her pen had run out of her ink and her ruler had cracked into two separate pieces.

Then she heard banging. Drums. Guitar. Bass. Then that stupid jarring voice that her ears would somehow cling to. Nirvana was playing in her headphones, a way to drown out the terrible cover she'd heard the night before. Smells Like Teen Spirit by The Inhalers was bedlam. Pure bedlam. She needed Kurt Cobain to cleanse her ears. They were probably filled up with blood.

It had been months since the Chemistry incident. As she expected, he didn't speak to her again.

"Leah?! Rob's family are coming over for dinner tonight! His friends are coming too. I'm not sure if you know any of them. I heard Ryan and Elijah are lovely boys." Leah's mum had just announced the worst possible thing to ever happen. Jumping out of the window seemed like a viable option, or just locking herself in her room.

"You coming, Lee? It's paella, your favourite." Her Dad knocked on the door. "I know you don't like all their music stuff but they're nice boys. It would be good to get to know more people in your year, wouldn't it, sweetheart?"

Leah couldn't say no to her Dad. Or his cooking. "Fine. I'll be down in a second."

She heard the doorbell ring, then the click of the door opening. Greetings poured out of mouths and footsteps crashed all over the place. She had seen the three lads leave the garage, climb over Leah's garden fence and knock on the back door. Not scary at all. Definitely not the slightest bit worrying. She hated how perfect her view was from the window. She could see how long Elijah's hair had grown across his face and the white vest pressed against his frame.

Opening her closet, she saw that horrible leather jacket still hung up. She'd left the money and the lighter inside of it. She hadn't worn it since that winter's day and never had the chance to give it back to him. She didn't even know if he wanted it back.

She shrugged a cardigan over her dress then walked down the stairs. What's the worse that could happen? Well, for starters, Rob was showing Elijah the culmination of baby photos on the wall of the staircase. She worriedly ran towards them and pushed Elijah's shoulders to keep him away. He was finding it all quite hilarious. He was pointing to one of her crawling around as a baby, cookie monster toy sat beside her.

"Really funny, isn't it?" Leah sarcastically said. They were thankfully metres away from those pictures. "Almost as funny as you guys practicing for ten fucking hours a day."

"Geez louise, Leah. What's gotten you so riled up?" Rob's blue eyes struck her. He was so tall now. She hated it.

"Your shite playing that's what."

"It's not that bad." Elijah snorted.

"We are shite, Eli, she's right." Ryan appeared, the drummer. Leah had never spoken to him before. He was in her maths class.

Down the hallway, Elijah and Ryan had a prolonged discussion about whether they were good or not. Ryan kept telling him: 'there's a lot of room for improvement.'

"We need a lead guitarist. One that's actually good. Sorry Eli. You're alright on rhythm but lead..."

"I'm leng at lead. Shut up."

"Chillax mate. Did I strike a nerve?"

"Fuck you."

If not for the familiar scent of smoked paprika, Leah would've walked away from them. They were both sat at opposite ends of the table, fed up with each other. Leah's parents decided to sit in the garden to leave the four teenagers to their own devices. Rob was the only one making conversation. He was asking Leah about school and how she was finding her subjects. They weren't really close friends in school, but they'd gotten to know eachother through all the weird family gatherings. His buzz cut made her laugh every single time she saw him.

"Are you going to the party? Anna's one?" Ryan alerted Leah with a jab of his fork against his glass. A high-pitched note rung out.

"You really think I'm mates with Anna?" Leah had to put her cutlery down to laugh. She then started to scrape the rice around on her plate. She'd seen Rob's countless Instagram stories of her parties. Those red plastic cups and boys jumping on top of one another. She'd see all the worst people in her head, all bundled together in one sweaty room, twisting bodies dancing to terrible grime music. That was her vision of hell.

Ryan awkwardly looked between his friends.

"Uh.. we could bring you as a plus one," Rob offered.

"She was disrespecting our music ten minutes ago, is that really a good idea?" Elijah reminded his two friends.

Leah took a short sip of her coke, feeling the condensation of the bottle grace her skin. She watched the three boys whisper and argue. Her parents seemed to be relaxed in the garden, the complete opposite of the thick tension between the inner four walls. The sky was a pale shade of blue. Each passing cloud was larger than the last. There was one that looked a lot like Elijah. Even had the irritating strand of hair that he always left to fall over his forehead.

"I'll go if you put some decent music on." Leah could not handle the songs the partygoers had on their Instagram stories.

"Will always picks the music. He'll get pissed off if we change it." Ryan was unsure.

"Let's piss him off then." Leah downed the rest of her coke.

-

Anna's party was as messy as Leah expected it to be. Meeting Rob beside the park by Anna's house was already an ordeal. Her mobile data wasn't working properly and the massive house was in the middle of nowhere. The park had neon green swings with murky water dripping off of them. Leah felt bad for any kid in the neighbourhood. Although she doubted that anyone sane lived on that eerie, cobbled street. She was sure she'd knock on the door and a vampire would be there, floating midair with pearly white fangs. But no, it was Anna, the pick me girl of the year. Even when she had a boyfriend, she'd be all over the boys, whispering in their ears and putting on a baby voice whenever she wanted their attention. Leah couldn't comprehend the bee-like swarm of boys always huddled around her. Overhearing any of the conversations between them was enough to make Leah want to vomit.

"Rob! Hey!" Her baby voice came out as she trapped the tall boy into a bear hug. He looked uncomfortable, stood like a penguin. "And... Leah?"

"Hi." Leah tried to bring her hand up to wave but felt like a right numpty.

Anna could definitely see through Leah's fake smile but still said, "Come on in. The more the merrier I guess."

Music booming, teenagers jumping up and down, smell of alcohol thick through the air. The house was huge. Insanely. They were in the richest part of Dublin but still... Leah had to stop to take it all in. The multitude of people squished together made the house seem smaller. Cramped and sweaty. Leah could see faces from school every few steps. Most people there she'd never seen before. She didn't like it.

Rob led her through the kitchen, the living room and out to the garden. There was a swimming pool dug into the ground.

Dark, wet curls caught her eye. An iridescent smile. Elijah.

He was in the pool next to Ryan. They were splashing water onto eachother and messing around with floaties. Rob pulled off his shirt, trousers, leaving him in just boxers and jumped in. Cannonball. Water flying all over Leah's pristine, white dress. She bit back a shout or an insult. He laughed at the mess he'd created.

Elijah pulled himself out of the water. Leah wouldn't even glance in his direction — she could see how girls turned their hands to catch a glimpse. She didn't like how she found him beautiful. It was a problem. She would draw him on summer evenings. When her cluttered desk was looking down on her with disdain. There were times he'd leave the garage with a cigarette in hand, sat down on Rob's rope swing and blew smoke away. His silhouette would be dark but sometimes  —  when the fairylights strung along the fence lit him up at the perfect angle — she'd be able to see the intricacy of his features. She would sketch him. A way to drag her thoughts away from homework or any kind of stress pent up during the day. It had turned into an almost daily habit. It was the saddest hobby known to man.

She ran straight back indoors, into the kitchen and grabbed the first bottle she saw. Didn't read the label, didn't check the percentage. She'd never properly had alcohol before. It was strong and weird and disgusting. She almost drank the whole bottle before a wet hand pulled the bottle away.

"Holy shit, Leah. That's way too much." It was him. The fountain of her inspiration. The embarassing muse. The wet-haired, dog out of water, hazel-eyed boy who now had an arm around her shoulders.

"I can drink as much as I want, dickhead." Leah pushed him away. His white shirt was glued to his chest and a denim jacket clung to his shoulders. His eyes scanned along her face, checking she was okay. She was attempting to reach for another bottle. He stopped her.

"Could we have a walk?" He breathed. "That will clear your head better than this will." He shook the transparent liquid around, contents splashing.

Leah felt the hand on her spine. Her backless dress meant that his calloused fingertips were cold against her. He'd never touched her before. She could sense how his hand caressed her gently, massaging to calm her down. The drink was already making her senses more heightened, making her focus only on his touch, how his lips were moving as he whispered, how her shoes crashed against the floor. Her body felt too heavy and the room felt too big. The music was becoming more bassy, slowing down until it was like she was moving in slow motion.

Elijah didn't even wait for her response. He knew that she had to be taken somewhere quiet. He managed to guide her to the gazebo in Anna's garden. It was unoccupied, thankfully. He had to peek over the door to ensure that he wouldn't walk in on anything weird. Leah sat down at the end of the wooden hexagon, stumbling around before she plonked herself down, legs stretched out completely. Elijah sat down opposite her. He watched her hold her head between her hands and groan.

"Why do people like drinking that? It's —" She couldn't even speak properly. Her words were slurring, the lights above her were simply hues of colour, Elijah was a blur.

"You drank half a bottle of vodka, love. It's not the tastiest first drink." Elijah couldn't believe what this evening had turned into. The boys had been fools for dragging her along. She'd be much happier at home, doing whatever she normally did on a Friday evening. He pictured her sat down at her desk, headphones on her ears and paintbrush in hand. He would purposely leave band practice to see her through that thin piece of glass. His view was far from remarkable and his excuse was slowly getting less believable but he missed being able to see her every day. Across the cantine, across the chemistry classroom or at the weekly assemblies. He would make it his mission to look for her in any crowd — no matter how big or how small.

Leah, the smartest person he'd ever met, the most geniune person stood on the soil of this very earth (in Elijah's most accurate opinion) was now sprawled helplessly across the splinter-inducing wood, eyes glued shut and teeth chattering. Somehow she was always cold. Elijah couldn't understand her at all.

"Are you hungry?" Elijah attempted. He knew his chance of a response were almost nil. But he'd try anyway. Anything to get her to talk, to open up to him. He'd been an idiot for distancing himself from her for the past months. She was an angel. Especially with her flowing white dress and endless black hair, he couldn't look away, couldn't even take his mind off of her.

He pulled out a box of pizza from under his arm. He'd stolen it from the house before they went outside. He slid it across the wood. She took off the lid. It had pepperoni all over it.

"You know I'm a vegetarian?" Leah grinned at his kindness. He seemed so proud of himself. His features drooped down at her comment.

"Sorry," was all he could manage to reply. He closed the box and moved it away.

"You can eat if you're hungry." She nodded towards the pizza.

He scratched his head. "I'm stuffed. Just ate about five slices of cake. It's my birthday."

"Shit? Is it? Seventeenth of August, right? I still remember those primary school birthday hats they'd give us. I wish I had one I could give to you."

Leaning back, he watched her smile as she reminisced. Those days felt so close yet so far away. He could hardly remember anything about primary school. Maybe flashes of teachers, or the world book day's where everyone would come in the strangest costumes, fingers crossed they'd win the prize. The birthday hat was something that had completely drained from his head, down to the sewers of memory. But Leah bringing it up made him remember when the teachers forced them to do a 'birthday dance' infront of the entire class. It made everyone dread their birthday every single year. People would skip school just to miss it.

"Do you remember on your eighth birthday Bono came in for a singalong?" Leah couldn't think straight anymore. She was spouting random thoughts out now, just hoping to get a reaction out of him.

He rolled his head back, adams apple shifting as he scoffed. "Don't even."

"I'm never going to let you live that down."

Elijah knew that his face was warming up as Leah looked at him. She was staring. Eyes drifting along his skin, biting down on her bottom lip. Then she was crawling towards him, seemingly finding it very difficult to move and plonked herself next to him.

"I never gave you your jacket back," she muttered. Her head was on his shoulder, her hair smelt like roses, strands were grazing his collarbone. Part of him ached to pull her even closer, to press his lips to her forehead but he was frozen. "Do you still want it?" She looked up at him, nose on his chin.

"I did leave my lighter in it, didn't I?" His whole plan at the beginning had been to plant that lighter in as a kind of bait. He wanted to have an excuse to talk to her, to ask her if she could give it back to him. He never built up the courage to go up to her. He was left borrowing Rob's lighter that hardly even worked. His final plan was to ask her when they got back to school, or to jump Rob's fence and try to muster up as much Romeo energy as possible. He'd imagined himself climbing up the pipe to her window, confessing how he felt toward her, how much she made his heart strain and palpitate. He had his chance now. To use the bait he'd created. To follow through and actually be honest with her. To tell her how he hadn't stopped thinking about her since he got full marks on that homework, only due to her help.

"You did." She recalled. He was warm. His chin was stubbly, his perfect mouth was centimetres away.

"I think I should take you home." Elijah's final decision was to make sure she got a good night's sleep. She was about to drift off there and then. He would let her. But he knew she wasn't comfortable.

"No...no don't. This is nice." She closed her eyes. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her. She traced his bicep softly. His cells weren't working. His brain wasn't working. She was killing him. Beneath her he was just a mess of flesh and bone, breathing into her skin, moulding into her touch.

He stroked her hair, fingers raking through the layers. Her dark eyelashes were long and blinking.

"I think I've got splinters." Leah pulled up her hand to find a thin piece of wood piercing her finger. It was swollen and red.

Elijah held onto her hand and tried to squeeze the piece out. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. She was seething against his arm until finally he caught it between his nails and threw it out of the gazebo.

"Thanks." She sucked onto her finger, draining the metallic flavour out. "I think that's our sign to get out of here. You should be in there having fun. It's your birthday. Go on. You're seventeen! You can listen to Dancing Queen and relate to it on a whole other level. I'm not ruining today for you."

"I'll walk you home first."

"No you won't. I'll go on my own."

"I'm going with you. End of."

"Hewson—"

"Come on. Get up. We can listen to Dancing Queen on the way there." He took out his airpod case from his jean pocket.

Leah gave up with arguing. He was being polite. Offering to keep her safe. It made her warm and fuzzy inside. In truth, if she'd tried to go home on her own, she would've gotten lost amidst the crooked streets of Dublin. It was hard enough to make her way their in daylight. Now, in the darkest part of the night, it would be all the more difficult.

Elijah helped her to the front door. He ignored any of the people called his name, only focused on finding the way out. It was hard to squeeze through the amount of people in there. He had to ensure he kept her close or he'd lose her.

"Eli? Leaving so early?" Anna caught the pair as he opened the door. She looked between the two of them with two raised eyebrows. "Is she drunk? She looks pissed. Holy shit. Are you okay taking her or do you need any help?" Anna had lost the baby voice. She actually sounded concerned... how strange.

"I'll get a taxi. It's okay." Elijah thanked Anna for inviting him. "I'll see you at school."

"See you. Make sure she gets home safe."

"I will."

-

Elijah had to carry Leah from the taxi to her front door. He was pacing back and forth with her in his arms, trying to figure what to say to her parents. He had to ring the doorbell about five times before they answered. Her dog was barking extremely loudly and kicking at the door. She looked so peaceful as she slept, her skin a ghostly white under the bright light of the entrance.

The lurid red door shot open to reveal two stupefied faces. They were both in pyjamas. Leah's mother grabbed onto her daughter, falling into hysterics with tears stinging her eyes, "Is she dead? Oh my God. Dear Jesus—"

"No! No, Mrs Vazquez. She isn't dead!" Elijah worriedly shouted. "She's just very tired." Definitely tired. Not black out drunk.

Her Dad took his daughter from Elijah with a kind smile. She was still wearing his jacket. "Thank you, my boy." His strong Spanish accent rang out though Elijah's ears like a sweet melody.

"No worries." He stepped away from the doorway, glad to see the family back together. The puppy had been biting his jeans like they were slippers. It was a wild beast. Probably not suitable for domestication. It'd be better off in a forest with a pack of wolves. It was tiny though. Pocket-sized.

When the door closed, Elijah sat down on the bottom step leading to the house. His head fell into his lap, his thoughts were far too loud. He wanted to bang his head down onto the pavement. He wanted to scream out curses up at the clouds. He wanted to lay out his heart on a silver platter and deliver it straight to Leah's bedroom. Everything was driving him crazy. The whistling wind, the flashing streetlights, the honk of cars at the roundabout.

He walked to Rob's house. Tomorrow he would become Romeo. Tomorrow he'd either fuck everything up or make things the slightest bit better.

-

Leah awoke with a a burning headache. She couldn't feel the pillow beneath her head or the duvet on her body. Her bedding smelt of Elijah. She was wearing his jacket. She was still breathing in that scent that followed her everywhere.

Then a knock at her window. She gasped and pulled open the blinds. She looked up. It was that face again. Hewson. He was outside her fucking window. How long had he been there? How the hell did he get up there? Too many questions. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to leave him there, probably not in a very stable position. She unlocked the window. He crawled in.

"What the fuck?" She rubbed a hand over her eyes. There was too much light shining into the room. She was a vampire. Sat down in her very own coffin. Probably just seeing hallucinations. Until she was proved wrong by the bed dipping under his weight. He'd made sure to peel off his shoes and throw them onto her floor before he jumped down. The springs squeaked, silence echoed.

Leah knew she looked a mess. Her hair was probably frizzy, eyebags made her look like a zombie, there was sleep in her eyes that she was trying to pick out.

"Thank you for taking me home," she said. Why was he looking at her like that? It was 9 in the morning. Grey clouds brimmed the sky. Birds sang in Rob's garden. A few were eating from his bird feeder.

In just a white vest and sweatpants, Elijah seemed so bare. He was always in jeans or band shirts. This was different. Too intimate. She was glad she wasn't in pyjamas.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He finally opened his mouth. She blushed beet-red, her eyes wide.

"Hewson, the actual hell?" She tried to wrestle with the fact that this was real life. That he was actually sitting only a metre away from her. That the eyes watching her weren't just part of a daydream. He had just said that. He had just scanned her whole frame and let those six words fall from his mouth like they were just milk to a cup of coffee, a sugar cube to a cup of tea. Something you don't even think about doing, something you just do without overthinking it.

"What's that on your wall?" He pointed up at one of the drawings above her bedpost. It was one of him. He was sat on the rope swing, smoke curling around him, lips around a cigarette.

She jumped to the side, leant back against it to keep it covered. This was not happening. This was not happening. She should've left him out there in the cold. Why did she even open that window?

"Is that me?" He tried to look over her shoulder.

"What are you talking about? You? Where?" She tried to laugh. It came out as a very nervous laugh.

He started to properly laugh. He tried to catch her off guard by throwing a pillow at her. She dodged it. That left the painting in perfect view.

"Elijah... it's not what you think it is." She saw him smile up to his ears. A cheshire cat. Elvis-like. Cheesy. His eyes crinkled at the corners, dimples forming. "You're just always there. I know it's creepy—"

"It's not." They were sat like they were the night before. But this time he had his head on her shoulder. "You're not only really fucking smart but also great at painting."

She was still blushing. More with every passing second. His hands were warm against her thighs. He just let one hand linger there. She stared at it. The dextrous fingers, the veins, the rings.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper. She kissed his forehead without even thinking about it. His heart was pounding. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" He watched her grab her duvet, threw it over them. The whole room smelt only of her. He wanted to stay in that position forever. Feeling each movement of her shoulder, feeling her heartbeat against his ear, feeling her play with his hair.

"To embarrass me." She was referring to the painting. She pulled it off the wall and dropped it beneath her bed. Her plan was to throw it into the fireplace and watch it burn.

"That and something else." Elijah was now tracing over her silky dress, along her stomach, across her back.

"What's that?" She felt the weight of him drift away. He moved back to look at her.

"For you."

Then both of his hands were on her cheeks. They were cold. Her skin was boiling. Still bright red. He'd never seen her blush like that. Sure, whenever she got an answer wrong in class, she might stare down at the textbook and have a little splatter of pink graze her ears. But this, this was completely different. He lowered his head, parted his lips. He was taking his sweet time. She grabbed onto his vest and pulled him straight onto her, making their lips crash together in the movement. Hands on his waist, nose bumping into each other, his smile wide in the kiss. She couldn't believe what this had all turned into. Thinking was one of the most difficult things to do as Elijah Hewson pulled her onto his lap to get her even closer. His mouth fell down to her neck, peppering kisses along her collarbones, tasting her skin like it was a delicacy that had never once been tasted before.

"Leah! Are you awake! Breakfast is ready!" Knocks crashed on her door.

Elijah and Leah both stared at each other with complete terror in their eyes. She jumped off of his lap and dragged him straight into the closet, leaving him to pull his lighter out of the leather jacket. He also found that extra cash that she'd never used. He left it there for her instead of taking it.

Leah's mum gave her daughter a pointed look. "What was that about last night?"

"Nothing, Ma. I was just at a party. I got really sleepy."

"I bet you had fun with Elijah. You're always talking about him—"

"Ma!! No I don't." Leah snorted. Her words came out really loudly.

"Ever since primary school you've been talking about him. Don't lie, Leah. He's a handsome boy. I get it."

"Ma! Stop!"

"Breakfast. Chop chop."

Leah nodded. She stared at the closet. "Let me just get my clothes on."

Her mum looked around suspiciously. "Alright."

The door closed. Leah wanted to lock Elijah in the closet. She knew exactly what the look on his face would be when he got out.

He jumped out as quickly as possible.

"None of that was true. She's a compulsive liar."

"Sure, sure." He rolled out of the closet and jumped back onto her bed.

Then they were kissing again.

What he wouldn't tell her was that he had liked her since he was eight. Since the stupid Bono singalong. She'd wished him happy birthday as they stood in the lunch queue. Plastic trays in their hands, trying to look for their friends in the crowd of seated people, glancing over the dessert options with excitement. He had never known he could smile so much. Or so widely.

[the-fighters-of-foo]

DAVE GROHL' ONE GOLDEN RULE TO LIVE BY: While all rock stars are rock enthusiasts – or at least should be – Dave Grohl seems to be the most humble and reverent.

Like the musical Keanu Reeves, the Foo Fighters frontman never shies from applauding his fellow musicians, whether it’s The Beatles or an unknown teenage band in Washington trying to make their first mark on the world.

From the days of his youth, keeping his parents awake as he drummed along to Led Zeppelin albums, Grohl dreamt of becoming a rock star. When he joined Nirvana to replace Chad Channing in the run-up to Nevermind, he achieved just this but was seemingly never blinded by fame and fortune.

It is difficult to say how much the hardship of Kurt Cobain’s 1994 death influenced Grohl’s down-to-earth, humble demeanour. What we can be certain of, however, is that the tragedy had an irrevocable impact on the young musician’s life, most evidently in encouraging him to re-establish his career as a singer and songwriter in Foo Fighters.

Speaking to the NME in a past interview, Grohl reflected on his eureka moment while mourning Cobain’s death. “That was a funny time with me musically because I just didn’t really want to hear any music,” he said. “Then I realised, ‘Oh wait, it’s music that’s going to heal me. What am I doing? I should be listening to music. I should be making music that will make me feel better.’ And it did.”

Over time, Grohl worked exceedingly hard to reconstruct his career, battling against stressors in his personal life. In 2022, he once again endured unspeakable tragedy when Taylor Hawkins, his longstanding drummer in Foo Fighters, passed away during a tour stop in Colombia.

The endurance of pain is a fact of life, and it isn’t distributed equally. During such times, it is nigh on impossible to divine a positive, yet, as Grohl has shown, hardship and resolve create the perfect environment for wisdom. People who have had to deal with certain issues are usually best equipped to offer counsel and support to those enduring similar woes.

When Grohl looked to form the Foo Fighters in late 1994, he received an outpouring of support from fellow musicians, including Tom Petty, who offered him a place to drum in his band, The Heartbreakers. In a recent interview with Fearne Cotton, Grohl reflected on his decision to stick with the Foo Fighters plan.

In his reasoning, Grohl revealed his golden rule for a life without regret and the key to satisfaction. “I usually steer myself towards things that I’m not entirely sure I can do,” he explained. “Because it’s so much more fun. There’s no safety net. Why the fuck not? Life’s too short to just do the thing that you know how to do all the time. Fuck that. Let’s do something that we have no idea what’s going to happen.”

Later in the conversation, the Foo Fighters frontman remembered a punk band from Washington, DC, called The Bad Brains, whom he adored as a teenager. The band promoted the idea of a “PMA, which was positive mental attitude”. Grohl recalled always feeling that he could achieve what he set his mind on. “I do believe that if you put the thought or that energy out there, there is some sort of return,” he added, importantly. Concluding the point, the pair agreed that childhood dreams fall to the flames of adulthood fear. Presumably, the trick to a happy and rewarding life is to dream like a child and throw logic to the wind.

✍️ Jordan Potter

📸 EMG

[hanasnx]

general headcanons.

WC: 0.8k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, reader NOTES: current personal headcanons for anakin that i carry with me through every piece of content i write for him. may misalign with canon content i haven’t read WARNINGS: sexuality details | cursing | mentioned: nudity, media pieces from irl

updated 12.10.22

he wears contacts for battle, but has wire reading glasses he uses alone at home. is no longer ashamed of them as he was when he was a boy, but he has no reason to bring them up in conversation therefore not many people know about them (link to full version)

won’t wear a shirt if he can help it. shirtless when at home, or working out. sleeps naked or in just sweatpants. goes commando. doesn’t like the way clothes feel on his skin especially if the fabric is rough

is capable of cooking, but does not cook or eat for taste. it’s an enjoyable experience to fill his stomach and no longer feel hunger, but the taste of food means nothing to him and eats for nutrition. his meals are bland because he doesn’t care

the only time he is picky when it comes to food is the texture. he’ll not eat something if he disagrees with the texture. things slimy will not enter his mouth. however, he would eat a bug randomly for a “battle pick me up” and say its because theyre “full of protein and nutrients” and he really likes it when it catches people off guard. likes it even more when they’re visibly disgusted

he loves drinks though. at one point he’s introduced to a magenta-colored fruity drink that is not made on any other planet. he’s surprised by how much he likes it, and gets it every time he’s on world.

will not say no to a hot chocolate but it must be prepared a very specific way

his dorm is messy, but he knows where everything is

the genre of music he likes the most and most frequently listens to would be called “90’s alternative and indie rock” in our universe. bands like muse, switchfoot, radiohead, rage against the machine; a little of u2, linkin park, nirvana, deftones, remy zero, vertical horizon. would venture into snow patrol, coldplay. etc.

there’s a song he can’t stop listening to, from a holo-film he can’t stop re-watching called i’m still here from treasure planet. he doesn’t fully understand why. it moved him so deeply he’d have dreams of running through a field and feeling the wind in his hair, using the full extent of his powers in an uninhabited environment to be reminded of what he’s capable of without his life or the lives of others on the line

listens to music when he pilots his squadron on his ship because he feels like it “pumps them up”

heavyweight on the mats, but lightweight when it comes to drinking— is embarrassed of that

he finds himself jealous of people with loving families, but quickly snuffs it out.

loves working out, loves endorphins, loves blowing off steam. makes the room shake when he uses the punching bag. has broken one off the chain with his metal arm when he forgot to pull his punches

uses grown people as weights to bench press as a party trick

sings well but does not sing in front of other people. it’s very gravelly and light as a feather. he doesn’t know how to put power behind his voice, but its pleasurable to listen to if one is lucky enough he hasn’t noticed one in the room

is not a gifted dancer. rhythm does not come easily, nore dance moves. he’s stiff and uncomfortable doing it. and will sit out the entire night during a celebration that features a dance floor and blaring music— however, noble dances with rigid movements and steps he can memorize? considerably better at those

is not the best conversationalist because he lacks a certain class with it. he skips pleasantries and gets straight to the point. direct, blunt, and impatient. lacks a filter.

his sexuality eludes him for the most part, it’s not something he takes a lot of time thinking about. he’s demisexual, so he can only be attracted (sexually or romantically) to someone he knows and has spent time with. anatomy doesn’t matter to him, but he’s more inexperienced with amabs as opposed to afabs. that’s purely coincidental

he’s uncomfortable with emotional conversations and physical touch because he always assumes the other person is uncomfortable with/during it. he struggles with physical attention the most to the point where people avoid touching him because they believe so steadfastly he does not like it. he’s much more reserved when it comes to people that aren’t within his inner circle of companions

as said previously— he has a way of conversation that’s very direct which aids him when he’s inspiring those like his troops and ahsoka. he won’t hide things from them, and he’ll say his honest piece. and he’ll inspire those around him doing it

doesn’t like pets; likes droids bcos “there’s not a mess to clean up”

programmed c-3po to care because he wanted his mom to be cared for and worried about

any vehicle he uses is used until it’s barely holding together. he doesn’t waste, and that includes swapping ships out for a newer shinier one when his latest model can be fixed with a couple new parts and some elbow grease. besides he’s named it, and once he names it, he feels obligated to keep it running til it dies

has a very specific brand of humor and when he finds something funny it’s usually something odd or unusual. his laughter is contagious and sometimes the surrounding circle laughs simply because he’s the one laughing first

acted like a fuckboy when he was a virgin, used it for attention. however he can’t flirt for shit when he’s talking to someone he actually really likes

insomniac. not just because of premonition dreams, those came later. he has a hard time staying asleep

hobbies include: working out, eating a bantha’s share, searching for a cheap thrill like a fix, learning languages, working on ships and droids that require it when he has the time, sparring

x reader hcs. —

he’s gross and he will take your gum from your mouth with a kiss

likes it when you ask him to open things for you or grab something from the top shelf out of your reach

[sunburnacoustic]

The First Great British Guitar Band of the 21st Century

(NME, October 1999 after the release of Showbiz)

Oh the angst! The Pain! Searching for truth in a meaning less world.. Such is life in Teignmouth. Just ask Muse, three lads who've escaped small-town hell to be the toast of America. This just looks silly.

Three 21-year-olds from the sleepy fringes of Devon, lording it up in a glitzy Manhattan hotel lounge, chomping gleefully on tree-trunk cigars like they've just shagged New York senseless and eaten the entire music business for dessert. Any minute now these straggly indie-kid interlopers are sure to be turfed out on to the sidewalk with all the other guitar toting losers, back to their Transit van world. See ya. Keep dreaming, suckers. Except this never happens. Because even if they remain just above toilet-gig level at home. Muse are trainee rock royalty in America right now. Madonna herself beat half-a-dozen bidders to sign the youngsters to her Maverick label last November. Which is why the Teignmouth trio are billeted in New York for three weeks of back-to-back promotion for an album that hasn't even been released yet.

When British record companies sniffed around Muse, they declared them 'the new Radiohead' and shuffled away. When American labels saw them in New York's CMJ in November, they declared them 'The new Radiohead!' and formed a queue to sign their asses on the spot - cultural differences or Brit snobbery? Probably a bit of both, as Muse are more than the new Radiohead - they're the new Pixies, Nirvana, Mansun, Queen and Guns N' Roses too. And in their own broody intense way, they are about to explode.

Matthew Bellamy (singer/guitarist), Chris Wolstenholme (bass) and Dominic Howard (drums) were thrown together in a dark place of stagnation and decay, despair and degradation. It's called Teignmouth. Just below Torquay on the English Riviera, Teignmouth is a black hearted realm of eternal torment from which few souls emerge unscathed. Beneath its sleepy surface of genteel retirement homes and crazy-golf ranges, something deeply wicked festers in the remorseless south Devon sun. Possibly. "It's sort of like Torquay without the nightclubs" shudders Dom. Sounds pretty sinister. Like one of those elegantly shabby red-brick English towns where it's forever 1952 apart from the raging crack problem... "I think the best way to describe Teignmouth would be if we sent you the article that was printed on the front page of the local paper," sneers Matthew. There's a picture of the mayor of Teignmouth putting our CD in the bin because apparently we said in some interview that Teignmouth is a boring place, full of drug-takers. He said "I don't know who these drug-takers are, no-one takes drugs here...' Hahaha! That gives you an idea of what the town is like." Naturally, growing up in a stifling backwater run by rock-hating killjoys straight out of Footloose, the Muse boys were sometimes suicidally bored. They even resorted to doing 'dodgy stuff' on occasion.

There was a whole lot of nights when there was nothing to do and the only stuff that was fun to do was music," recalls Matthew. "You ended up doing dodgy stuff like breaking in to swimming pools, just because that was something to do. Most of the friends we had have either gone to University or become drug dealers." Ooh, the mayor will love that. Picture a bonfire of NME's outside the town hall. But at least the nascent Muse had something to kick against. And kick they did, starting with their debut sixth form gig five years ago. "The first gig we ever played together was a Battle of the Bands contest," says Matthew. "We wore loads of make-up, played loads of trashy punk stuff and got the crowd to invade the stage and smash all our gear. And we won! That's the weird thing. Because we beat all these bands that were really technically proficient, bands that sounded like Jamiroquai. People were shouting, you fucking cunts!' That totally affected our view of what music's about - it's not necessarily about music, it's about really believing in what you're doing."

So Muse kept plugging away, ignoring their critics, trashing their gear, dreaming of the big league. They eventually signed with a West Country management company and won a UK record deal with Mushroom, home of Garbage. And now, five years later, Madonna owns their souls. Sweet revenge on snobby old Britain and tight-arsed little Teignmouth, right? "That's what started us but I don't think that's what we're doing now," says Matthew. "The stuff we write now is more of a realisation of what the world's like. It's easy to blame stuff on a small town but then you go out there and you realise that some of the attitudes that you thought were just in your small town are actually all over." Muse's debut album is called 'Showbiz'. Oh yes. Most first albums contain two or three half-great peaks padded out with fillers. 'Showbiz' has a dozen tracks. ALL of which are heart-wrenching Wagnerian uber-anthems with fiery Spanish rhythms seismic meta-choruses and bile-spewing ultra-lyrics from the scabrous depths of Matthew Bellamy's charred-black heart. In other words, it's fucking great. But, bloody hell, is it miserable. Not trouser-fumbling hey-nonny-no Belle and Sebastian wistful nor chest thumping Daddy-never-loved-me Pearl Jam feel-my-pain self pity. Not even beautifully desolate and fragile like Thom Yorke, but aaaargh! post-apocalyptic heart-on-skewer Nick Cave tormented and urrrgggh! self-lacerating edge-of-darkness Ian Curtis fucked-up desperate. Heroically, bracingly, cathartically tragic. Hooray!

And yet Matthew seems like a pleasant well-balanced chap in person. Why the long face Sadboy-Slim? "Erm.... is this the time or the place?" Matthew wonders nervously "I don't think it is. Aren't we all tormented in some way? I've always had trouble.... I think it's like existentialism or something. The problems I'm having, if everyone else is having them the world's a scary place." Is miserable music some kind of perverse comfort in a cruel world? "All I can say is some of the music I listened to when I was young was like how we sound," shrugs Matthew. "That emotional deep stuff was what made me feel good because someone else out there is saying things the same as me. I used to listen to a lot of blues - Robert Johnson, Ray Charles I think that music was way deeper than I could have understood but for some reason it spoke to me."

Of course, Muse will be roundly mocked for taking themselves so seriously. But cynics said the same thing about Nirvana at the end of the '80s. Remember these boys are only 21, hurtling into a new millennium with their emotional wounds wide open. "I think things pick up generally towards the start of every decade." nods Matthew, spotting light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel. "In 2000 or 2001, people will start getting more positive. There's a lot of fear hanging around which people are trying to deny but there is. And when that's over hopefully there will be a positive thing. Either that or extremely negative, hahaha! And it will all be over..." The first great British guitar band of the 21st century has arrived. Enjoy them while there's still time.

[huesohnobro]

You Don't Love Her

Chapter 4: Be Mindful

Content Warning: Interrogation, electrocution, mentions of murder and cult manipulation tactics, cannibalism

Your head felt as though it was going to split open as your eyes finally opened, blinking slowly to clear the haze from your vision. You tried to rub your eyes, but found your hands bound to the chair you were seated in, looking down to see them wrapped in thick manacles with glowing lines through them. It was reminiscent of Natalia’s hands from before, but that would be no matter. Taking a deep breath, you attempted to pull yourself into the space between worlds to escape your uncomfortable positioning. Instead of escape you were met with a violent shock, your body locking into place as the currents ran through you. Coughing, you tried again. And again, and again, and finally one more time. Each attempt was met with a brutal shock that had you practically coughing out your lungs from pain; your breathing labored and your tail- why wasn’t it moving… Looking down you saw your tail pressed against your left leg with metal bands like the ones on your wrists, all glowing a dangerous blue.

They bound your tail. Of course they did, they bound it but they couldn’t bother to clean you up a bit? There were still flecks and streaks of deep burgundy and brown caught in the thin line of fur that coated the appendage. This was no way to treat someone of your station, did they have no idea the influence you held? You were the grand creator, you allowed for your followers, for your family, to reach nirvana; you brought people higher than even yourself- figuratively of course, no one could be higher than yourself. You had to be more prestigious if you wanted to complete your goals. It was almost law at this point. Deciding to distract yourself, you elected to take in the drab nature of the walls that surrounded you. There was nothing particularly interesting about them, aside from the mirror in front of you, the door to your right, and the table you were seated at; you don’t remember interrogation rooms being this boring in all honesty. Where was the intimidation? The blood stains on the concrete floor, the wall of tools and various other accouterments meant to coax information out of captives, it was all missing. Glancing at the mirror in front of you, you couldn’t help but smile. They had been rather nice to you throughout this entire process, you could even feel gauze wrapped around your torso under the fabric of your bespoke suit. A suit that was stained in both yours and Captain America’s Blood, a sight that made a morbid sense of pride swirl in your chest. You had always looked good in red. Hearing the click of a lock, you turned your sharp grin towards the person who was walking in; your eyes began to burn with excitement at the sight of fiery hair and eyes the color of pine. “Natalia, cariña. How’s your head?” Her eyes were cold as she took a seat at the bare table, her arms crossed as she glared at you. “That’s not my name anymore, Y/n. It’s Natasha.” Shrugging your shoulders the best that you could, you give her your best apologetic grin. “My apologies then, Natasha. I was not made aware of your new name, I didn’t mean to upset you, araña.” If correcting you had given the spy any satisfaction, she didn't show it; instead she leaned over the table and looked you over, her eyes gaining a smug glint when she saw the bands running down your leg. “If you cooperate, maybe we can see about changing your restraints out for something with a little less voltage.” Scoffing, you flexed your wrists and looked down at the blue energy that coursed over the dull metal. “Only a little? How generous of you. So what are you here for araña? I doubt it's for my charming wit.” “Charming is a nice way to put it. About a week ago a village was raided, two of your followers were kidnapped from there. What were they?”

You chuckled at the question, the answer was obvious was it not? You waited for Natasha to give some signal that she was joking, that surely the Avengers of all people could understand, but no. All that came from your wait was silence. “You’re a world renowned spy and you can’t tell when someone has become enlightened? Maybe I was wrong about your-” Cutting yourself off, you took a moment to think. You suppose that the Widow wouldn’t necessarily know what someone who had reached enlightenment had looked like, she had never seen it before. Then again, there was a god on her team, a man who controlled thunder and lightning; so why couldn’t she understand the state of your children? Clearing your throat, you looked back to Natasha, watching as she tried to process what you had said. “If they’re enlightened, then why send them off to some village in the middle of nowhere?” Chuckling, you licked over your teeth and raised an eyebrow, you looked almost smug. “I thought you wanted to know what my followers were, not my intentions with them. Please Natasha, if you’re going to interrogate me, try to stay on subject.” “The subject is whatever we need it to be, so try to cooperate while we’re at it?” The Widow’s voice was borderlining upon becoming strained, her eyes flickering to the bands around your leg. If looks could kill, she’d be shocking you into cardiac arrest. “So your followers were enlightened, as you call it, and then captured by Hydra footsoldiers. Clearly they aren’t as divine as you make them out to be.” Clenching your jaw, your gaze hardened into a bit of a glare. It seems that questioning your supposed divinity was a good way for one to get under your skin. Perfect, Natasha finally had something to exploit. “I’ve seen gods, Y/n. I work with one, and he could’ve taken out those foot soldiers without a problem. Your men are weak, with or without you. It won’t do anyone any harm to let it slip to me how you made them.” Weak.. Weak?! Your followers were far from weak, you had birthed them from sanguine rituals, had sicked them upon both mortals and the enhanced with high degrees of success, had ensured their fortitude and capabilities. Your children weren’t weak, the Nazis just played dirty. You’d have an especially fun time ripping them apart with your bare hands for what they’ve done.

Making eye contact with Natasha, you tilted your head up as you spoke. “My followers are far from weak, as you likely saw the rats at hydra used a tranquilizer, not completely dissimilar to what you all have done to me. And, your god friend is one of strength and force, I am a deity with a less brutal nature by comparison.” “You? Less brutal?” The redhead smirked for a brief moment before returning to her stoney exterior. “Don’t make me laugh, tell me how you made the demons Y/n, or else you’ll be finding out that you aren’t immortal the hard way.” You laughed, throwing your head back and letting it rest with your throat exposed. Rolling your neck, your head finally rested on your shoulder, a smirk plastered on your face. “Do it then, you know I can take it cariña. Hurt me, tap into that killer instinct you seem to have lost.” Sliding her chair from the table, you watched as Natasha exited the room, plunging you into a comfortable silence for all but 5 minutes. The hinges of the door creaked again, but instead of red hair coming through the doorway, you instead saw a red leather jacket.

“If you’re here to lock away my powers, little red, I’m sorry to say that someone else was ahead of you.” The brunette looked thoroughly unimpressed as she stood in front of the interrogation room table, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at you, red miasma swirling in her irises. You only knew her as the woman who had managed to drag you from your temple, a temporary set back brought forth by your weakened state in all honesty. That… interaction… meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, you were still far superior to the witch. At least thats what you’ve been telling yourself. “I’m not here to lock away your powers, and if you were a god then you would think much quieter no?” The brunette’s head tilted, a cloying smirk playing at her lips as red tendrils of unknown energy swirled and writhed around her fingers. “My thoughts are loud so that even my most attuned devotees can hear my gospel, that makes sense to you doesn’t it? If not I can always put it into simpler terms for you.” You smirked, and if you had your full range of motion your tail would have been flicking with amusement. “I’m sure the big green brute can’t be the biggest idiot on your team both physically and mentally, can he?” Rather than dignifying your taunting with an answer, the witch’s magic whipped out and surrounded your body, lifting both you and the chair you were not-so-delicately placed in half a foot off of the ground. You could feel her power whispering in your ear, trying to slip through the cracks of your brain in order to dig into your deepest thoughts, to read your deepest secrets, to hear your most unholy desires. Clenching your jaw, you glared down at the woman before you, your gaze daring for her to proceed. “I have nothing to hide, little red. Feel free to dig away, maybe you will understand who I truly am after you do.” Scoffing, the witch turned her hands and flexed her fingers, dropping you to the ground as crimson swelled and rippled across your body, forcing you to black out for the second time in 24 hours.

Wanda finally had access to your thoughts, she would be in control and protected from your razor of a tongue. Looking back at the two way mirror, Wanda smiled softly before allowing herself to dive into your thoughts as if they were an ocean.

Your thoughts were like the winds of a tornado as Wanda entered your brain; swirling and disorganized, nigh impossible to sort through as shouts of terror and mania called out to her. Reaching out she felt for memories of the demons seen in the clips that Fury had shown the team, an image flying forward into her hands before Wanda could control it.

Wanda watched a dark room form before her, two unknown women before you. They looked young, college age even. You watched with shiny eyes, filled with pride at the sight of the two lovers resting by the wall. One, who wore a pristine dress now tarnished, was crouched over the other. She cupped her floored partner’s face dearly, blood running down her nose and ribs from a previous altercation as she held onto the leather fabric of her partner’s jacket. She looked so alive, so happy as she held her partner, stained in a similar crimson to Wanda’s magic. As the witch took a step to better look upon the young couple, her eyes began to widen with terror filled obsevation. The girl wearing the jacket, the girl who rested against the wall, was far too cut up to be okay. Vermillion stained her torso as her lover caressed her cheek and whispered sweet nothings to her, blood pooling below them. Her head rested against the shoulder of her jacket, hanging unsupported as the warmth beneath her skin faded. Smoke hung in the air as the girl in the tattered dress began to shake, her gaze fixed onto the cloudy and lifeless eyes of the woman beneath her, reaching into the leather jacket of her now gone partner. Mascara dripped down her cheeks as she dug in the pocket, pulling out a metal case stained with a ruddy hue, taking a cigar from it and lighting it. Taking a deep breath, the girl’s eyes began to take over as she looked down upon her lover, leaning into the corpse’s touch as she choked back sobs. Throughout this lethargic wake, hazed over by fumes and psychedelics, you watched with well practiced pity. It wasn’t every day that someone’s girlfriend died after all, so you offered to allow her the consolation of seeing the corpse. As the girl’s sobs echoed in the room, Wanda could see the upturned corner of your mouth as your tail tucked a silk covered knife further into your belt.

Throttling forward through your cerebrum, Wanda was thrown into another memory. The atmosphere was different than before, a wide open field with two teenagers sitting on a hill. One was a deep sapphire, the other had dark coiling hair and constellations of freckles from being kissed by the sun. The blue furred kid with the tail wrapped around the other’s waist was you, that much was clear, what Wanda didn’t know was who the other was, or why she was brought to this memory. Wanda didn’t quite know why she saw the first one either, but her stomach was still doing backflips from the images it wrought. Your assumed friend was talking passionately about something as the two of you held hands together, your lovestruck gaze glued to her as she babbled on about fighting-game strategies that she couldn’t wait to try against you. You laughed at her excitement, your eyes lit with a now foreign sense of joy. You were infatuated with the person sitting next to you, that much was clearer than the sky after a storm. Gently squeezing her hand, you stood and pulled her up with you. You cleared your throat, a hesitant look spreading across your face as you spoke. “I’ve um- I’ve been practicing. I think I can do it now.” “It?” The other woman asked, receiving a nod in response. “It.” The black haired woman grinned eagerly, stealing your breath out of your chest as she rubbed your knuckles. “Let's give it a try then, shall we?” Taking a deep breath, you nodded as smoke surrounded both of your feet, creeping up your legs to your bodies until eventually the two of you disappeared into a cloud of smoke. It all had happened in less than a second, Wanda would have missed it if she had blinked. As Wanda watched the two of you, she couldn’t help but wonder what had changed from then, of what had become of your crush.

The smoke in the field orbited the brunette, plumes of midnight blue and ash gray rising to form walls and shelves, to form surroundings that your mind seemed rather pleased with. A shiver went down Wanda’s spine at your comfortability in the room that had formed, filled with people strapped to chairs. They weren’t struggling against their bonds, they had even seemed appreciative of their current situations, perhaps even dignified as chains surrounded their wrists and ankles. Walking into the room, Wanda watched as you brandished an unfamiliar tool: a surgeon's scalpel. As you twirled the stainless steel around your fingers, you smiled with benevolence at the group before you. You were proud of them for understanding what was necessary for the good of the family, of how they could use this moment to lead those weaker than them by example. Endless praises spilled from your lips as you cut into your arm, blood dripping into a stone bowl as the blade worked upwards into your skin. Laceration after laceration was made until you had removed an inch of skin for everyone before you, a haze beginning to cloud against your now injured arm. Praise continued to flow as you placed each piece of meat between the lips and teeth of your followers, the blood acting as a chaser as they chewed and swallowed your flesh. “This is the prize of devotion, becoming enlightened, being able to see how I see. Partake of my flesh and become whole, I welcome you to paradise.” As your words bounced off of the walls, your subjects began to thrash and froth at the mouth, eyes rolling back into their skulls as they choked on a foul mixture of their own blood and spit. Blue patches burned their way to the surface of the skin, eyes crying grisly tears as the pupils slit and the irises stained themselves topaz.

Bile rose within Wanda’s throat at the vulgar display, her eardrums threatening to burst as the memory amplified screams of horror and pain. It was too much, far too much, why had Natasha and Fury asked her to do this? Why was Wanda the only mind reader on the team? Fury had spewed so much bullshit over the course of her stay, stories of heroes and secret underground agents who had used their meta-powers in order to aid the organization. Why couldn’t she just be some normal girl in Sokovia with her brother- no… she knew why. She and Pietro had asked, begged for this life, and it was too late to turn back. Of course you had done such despicable things, what had she expected from you? Reason? Logic? No. All that she had received from you so far was blood and ritualism, even your brief moment of light had been tainted by the smoke that always seemed to pervade the air around you. You were sick, a demented boogeyman of a person from god knows where.

Vomit had fought its way through her throat, the witch crashing out of your brain as the contents of her stomach spilled onto the floor. The room filled with the acrid smell of puke as Natasha had rushed in, escorting Wanda out and ignoring your morose smile and bloody nose as you sat with your head hanging. As Natasha’s arms wrapped around the witch, leading Wanda through the halls of the compound, she thought to herself.

You were broken. There would be no fixing you, no redemption as there had been for her, she would ensure it.

[lowpantsnochance]

Is it a coincidence that Flipper and Guns n Roses both took 16 years to release new albums?   

If you were around during the Reagan Years and bought Generic, Flipper's 1982 debut album, one of two things probably happened: 

 A: You threw this curiously yellow LP on your turntable and then spent a half hour switching back and forth between 33 and 45 rpm, trying desperately to figure out what was wrong with your stereo speakers and why this music sounded so goddamned slow, after which you promptly returned it to your favorite punk rock record store and exchanged it for, say, the new Exploited album. 

Or B: Beneath the feedback and over-driven bass sludge you had an epiphany of sorts, your ears slowly attuning to the strange life-affirming sense of catharsis lurking beneath the cacophony of wrong notes that immediately elevated this record above the by-the-numbers fuck the world nihilism of the average punk band. It resonated with you perfectly, even though you had never heard anything that sounded even remotely like it before. It may have changed your life, possibly even for the better. 

That may be overstating Flipper's impact a bit, but just barely. Generic was indeed that important; a droning, feedback-laden slap in the face to the hardcore scene's harder-faster-louder aesthetic, and it was genuinely one of those polarizing albums that you either "got" or you didn't.  It cemented their reputation as the genuine article and influenced countless musicians, but the band never lived up to it's promise. Their sophomore album, Gone Fishin', was decidedly more experimental than their sloppy debut and critically underrated, then the band ground to a sudden halt after the death of co-vocalist/bass player Will Shatter in 1987.  The surviving members reunited briefly in the early-nineties, then seemed to disappear again overnight amid vague rumors of mismanagement, bad blood, and drug addiction. Until this year, their entire catalog (including Generic) was out of print, and if you heard their name it was usually in the context of someone they influenced. If there was ever a more unlikely contender for a comeback, it was Flipper.  

Well, Flipper is back after 16 years with not one but two new albums, one recorded live and one in the studio. Love, the studio disc, is a fine offering from this legendary group of reprobates and delinquents. You're not going to find anything as anthemic as "Way of the World" or "Life" here, but the new songs more than hold their own against the band's considerable history. All the elements that defined Flipper and made them stand out like a sore thumb are present and accounted for: the monolithic bass rumble (played here by Krist Novoselic, filling in for the late Will Shatter), Ted Falconi's ambient wash of guitar noise, Steve DePace's cavernous drums, and Bruce Loose's venomous vocal attack. Co-produced by the band and Jack Endino (Nirvana, Mudhoney, et al.), Love sounds more like a throwback to the mid-nineties Sub Pop Singles Club era than the group's original work on the Subterranean label in the eighties. While unmistakably Flipper, songs such as "Triple Mass" and "Love Fight" would not sound out of place on Bleach or Incesticide. This is not necessarily a bad thing, and it makes sense that in a band where the bass guitar is the lead instrument, the bass player would have a certain amount of influence on the songs. They just happened to record this album with the former bass player from Nirvana, so I suppose you would have to expect some cross-pollination. 

Love really succeeds when it sticks to what Flipper does best: slowing the pace down to a crawl and dragging you through the dirt with them. "Why Can't You See" sounds like "Dazed and Confused" without all the dick-fucking around with the violin bow and "Old Graves," the album's closing track, may contain Flipper's most genuinely horrifying lyrics; over one of the band's trademark bass dirges, Bruce Loose paints a simple story filled with images of childhood innocence that slowly builds to a violent climax. While not on the level as "Shine" or "The Lights, The Sound," this is what you listen to Flipper for, and no one can wring more emotion out of three notes than Flipper. 

Love is not a perfect album. It's difficult not to miss Will Shatter's sleepy, junkie-next-door vocals, which on earlier albums played as a perfect counterpoint to Loose's punk sneer. But as I said: it ain't 1982 no more. It's doubtful Love will win many new converts or break Flipper out of the artistic ghetto they've been relegated to. Flipper was never about courting popularity, and you would probably be hard pressed to find another band that so consistently went out of their way to alienate their audience and shoot themselves in the foot in the process. But there was always an affirming catharsis lurking beneath the wanton self-destruction set them apart from the average punk band. It will be interesting to see how they go over on the Van's Warped Tour (note: did that actually happen?) It will be great to see Flipper still bringing the noise and annoying the youth of today.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Hey, did I ever tell you people about that time my friend died, and for the next few weeks, for some reason the only music I could listen to was Nirvana, The Clash, and Lucinda Williams? I’m really not sure why it was those three, but they were the only things I could listen to that didn’t immediately make me want to cry. Specifically, the albums Nevermind (obviously), London Calling, and Car Wheels on a Gravel Road.

I think The Clash and Nirvana may have occurred because I was just finishing Never Mind the Buzzcocks at the time, and those were featured at some point, reminding me that those bands existed so I decided to start listening to them again. Not sure why Lucinda Williams came into it. She was just there.

I saw her live for the first time ever last summer, which is a bit surprising given all the time I’ve spent at folk festivals throughout my life. But I’d never been at a festival when Lucinda Williams was also there. She came to town last June, and I saw her with my father, and it was awesome.

I know it was June because it was the weekend after they overturned Roe v Wade, and I was so depressed about everything that I almost didn’t bother going. I often don’t like how much American politics affect the general mindset in Canada. How something big can happen in the States and the next day everyone here is talking about it, while big things happen in Canadian politics and people barely notice. I don’t want my mental state to be tied to American things, I try not to be.

But this was marked out because it was so monumental. A massive, incredibly difficult to overturn shift that will touch everything and everyone there. I don’t like the way Canadians tend to care more about what happens in America than what happens here, but that doesn’t mean I have no empathy. I have friends and family in the States, not to mention the ability to care about people even if I don’t know them. Also, all the toxic stuff that happens in America makes its way up here. When I saw Russell Howard live and he discussed the trucker protests, he asked us if it was a “wave of stupidity” that blew north from America, and he was joking, but yes. Yes that is what happened, if by “wave of stupidity” you mean “lots of American money and disinformation campaigns to spread their dangerous rhetoric here”. Canada tends to pretty consistently five or six years behind the States that way, though that one was accelerated. So yeah, even selfishly, Canadians have reason to be worried about the Roe v Wade thing.

Lucinda Williams acknowledged it a bit in her set, as it had just happened, and was on everyone’s minds. She declared “This song is for the U.S. Supreme Court” before playing You Can’t Rule Me, which was a nice sentiment even if it’s demonstrably untrue; she’s an American citizen and they 100% rule her.

At the end, she left the stage, and then came back amid giant cheers. I went through which of her best songs she hadn’t played, trying to guess at her encore. She didn’t play of her own songs, she played Neil Young’s Keep on Rocking in the Free World. Something that fairly clearly made a point, given its verse about the young woman who gives birth to a baby she can’t care for.

The crowd, up to that point, had been fairly subdued. This is because while we weren’t technically at a folk festival, it was a folk festival crowd. My dad, at age 64, was one of the youngest people there. Folk festivals are populated almost entirely by people older than my father, who were hippies in the 60s and 70s and now they sit in fields and listen to the sort of music that used to represent this. They don’t tend to do a lot of physically demonstrating their enjoyment, because they’re tired.

But something genuinely cool happened during that last Lucinda Williams song. The whole crowd got really into it. All around me, people stood up. Men and women with long grey hair – nothing says “folk festival” like a man with a tie-dye shirt and a grey ponytail, the aging hippie – started dancing. People were raising fists in the air like that probably meant something once. And I’m pretty sure every single person in the field was singing along.

I did not stand up, because I can talk a lot on here about loving things like that, but have difficult actually expressing these things in in-person situations. Also, I was next to my father, to whom what I just said applies tenfold. He is not the stereotypical “emotionless father”, because he’s quite liberal in his political views. He was, in fact, a hippie in the 70s. He has stories about seeing both Neil Young individually, and Crosby/Stills/Nash/Young, in their heyday, and it sounds awesome. But he doesn’t have long grey hair now. He grew up to be a pragmatic government worker.

I think he did sing along a bit to Keep on Rocking in the Free World, but only at a reasonable volume, from his lawn chair. So I followed his lead. To be honest, I had a lump in my throat from the outpouring of expression around me, all these people with hands in the air and yelling along to this song and just looking for something good, after everything. I think I saw tears in the eyes of a few people around me. I had to make sure I did not follow suit, what with being in public and my father and everything.

At the end of the song, Lucinda Williams yelled, “The people have the power!” before leaving the stage for good. The crowd erupted in renewed cheers at that, and my father just muttered, “No they don’t.” He didn’t mean the people shouldn’t have the power. He just meant, you know, they don’t. Like how the U.S. Supreme Court can, in fact, rule its citizens. Of course it can. Grow up.

I told my dad that maybe these people just want to feel some power for a few moments, in this field where it doesn’t mean anything. And wasn’t he one of those people out there, “rocking in the free world” to Neil Young songs back in the day? “Exactly,” he said. “Back in the day. Come on, what are these people doing? They haven’t rocked in years.” My dad has one hell of an ability to ruin a moment.

Anyway, whether or not we agree that the people have the power, my dad and I did agree that it was a fantastic concert. For me, the encore was the highlight, but I was disappointed that she didn’t play Metal Firecracker, which was the main song I played over and over for three weeks, two years ago, when my friend had died and there were only a few things I could stand to hear.

Someday, I am going to get my life together enough so I can afford to fly to the UK and see things. In person. When that happens, I am going to play that last song on repeat for the entire flight, even though I am aware that taking a tourist trip to London to see comedy and comedy-related locations was not exactly what The Clash were writing about when they crafted this song.

[mikecuenca]

Trash Heap Souvenir No. 7

Punk Rock & Horror Shows.

October 10, 2022

I call my mom to verify facts.

“The teacher had you write an essay about your parents and your home life and you typed up a whole newspaper,” she tells me then laughs.

“Wait, what?” I vaguely recall this. I mean, I don’t even remember where I park my car half the time.

“You were in second grade. It was supposed to be a blurb and you brought her a stack of pages!”

On that typewriter in my dad’s office I started making up stories. And I went above and beyond on creative school assignments. Math and history assignments? Horrible. Get me to pay attention in class and you’d receive a medal. But when I was given wiggle room I’d go to town.

“That’s what happened. You had a teacher and you showed her that her statistics were wrong. School officials noticed and that’s why you were taken out of high school.”

At fourteen or fifteen I was placed in a dual enrollment program at Santa Ana Middle College High School: you’d take college courses and also receive high school credit. And it happened at the best time. Because I took a film history class. And that changed my entire world. It really did.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Since the reason I had a social worker it’s ‘cause I had gotten arrested.

“You started wearing all black, and spiking your hair and dressing the way you did. Which was shocking. Neither of your brothers turned out that way and we didn’t know why you did. They sent over a social worker who told me and your dad that you’re a good kid. ‘He’s intelligent and has high grades. You just need to see what he has on the inside; not what he wears on the outside. You have to accept who he is.’ And because of what she told us we did. And I’m not calling you out now, you’ve made your decisions, but you received three scholarships, mi niño —three scholarships and you turned them all down because you didn’t want to go to school anymore. You said for what you wanted to do, you didn’t need it.”

Jesus Christ.

===

1996-1998.

To say I was peculiar is a nice way of putting it. Misguided. Upset. I was a Freshman in high school and nobody, not one soul knew I was dating a popular cheerleader a grade higher. Especially not the boys who picked on me; athletes Liliana hung out with. It was as cliché as it gets. They would gang up on me and mock me and spit on me in gym class. So I started carrying a huge knife in my backpack. Next time I get shoved around I’m gonna stab a motherfucker.

I got this ghoulish preoccupation with vampires. One kid in school, whose name totally escapes me, would go to the Barnes and Nobles in Costa Mesa and steal a shit ton of books and flip them at a huge discounted rate. In some way, similar to what I used to do with my bootleg music tapes. I had him nab me almost a dozen books on bloodsuckers.

“Secret destroyer, hold you up to the flames.”

My favorite band were The Smashing Pumpkins (MELLON COLLIE being the one CD my dad ever bought me, a double-disc set too). I spent many late afternoons lying on my bedroom floor, staring at my glow-in-the-dark-star covered ceiling, listening to that album as darkness enveloped the room. And soon their goth-pop masterpiece ADORE would be released. The song “Bullet with Butterfly Wings”, as popular and overplayed as it is, carries a title that perfectly describes exactly what that band is. How they feel. Which is how an eccentric, angsty yet hopeful teenager feels. And Pumpkins fans, actual Pumpkins fans, are very special people I’ve come to find out. Nirvana fans were angsty and rebellious, but their time had passed, and now this band was the most popular in the world. Sure, they too were angsty and rebellious, but they were also romantic and mystical and covered an array of styles, reflected in the hearts of their listeners.

SCREAM had been released and I watched it about six to eight times in theatres. I wanted to hear what people would say when the killer was revealed. This one guy during one of the showings goes, “Who is that in there?” I think about his frustration all the time. It made me chuckle at the moment. SCREAM lead me to pay close attention to HALLOWEEN and PSYCHO; Hitchcock becoming my favorite director. It was easy. He was a household name. I was fucking blown away by PSYCHO. The goddamned dialogue. The pacing. That music. And then one nite during a SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE commercial break I’m flipping channels and I stop on PBS and it’s showing this old black and white movie with an eerie, chilly score. I don’t know what it is but I am captivated. A brother is taunting his sister at a cemetery telling her that they, whoever they are, are coming for her. I couldn’t stop watching. And when the ending hit it fucking hit, let me tell you. I was in shock. Couldn’t believe it. But I fell in love with NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. I immediately brought it over to Alex Solis ‘cause I showed him everything.

“Dude, we gotta watch this!”

“Whoa, this is just like RESIDENT EVIL [the 1996 video game]! But better!!!”

My mom was a horror nut. I say was ‘cause now she hardly goes near them due to her health issues. She gets too involved with them. But that’s all she ever watched: Spanish soap operas and horror movies. My dad? Hated ‘em. So when he was off gambling on Sundays my mom would sit on her throne and marathon all the horror programs UPN would screen: THE PUPPET MASTERs, HELLRAISER, CUJO, the FRIDAY THE 13THs, this one flick whose ending haunted me forever and I recently learned was BURNT OFFERINGS, and so forth. But no vampire movies at nite. No way. They gave her nightmares and she’d always wake up checking her neck for fang marks. Nite or day, you couldn’t trouble me with any that stuff. At five years of age I’d hide under the coffee table when the Freddy’s coming for you song would play on the TV. I was such a ‘fraidy cat.

Until I got a taste of the real thing.

1994. There was a burglar, maybe serial rapist preying on our neighborhood. It was a Sunday. My dad was off who knows where and my mom was marathoning her horror shows. There’s a knock at the door. This is right when we had moved to Seventeenth Street. We didn’t have a peephole. After this we did. I look through the blinds covering the window to the left of the door. I see a white tee, blue jeans, kind of like a greaser/mechanic, and I immediately associate the person with Luis, my brother. He usually visits late Sunday afternoons after he gets out of the car shop.

I don’t know how she sensed it from the entertainment room on the other side of the house. Call it instinct. I go to unlock the door and my mom flies in like a bullet screaming, “No! NO! NO!”

The guy kicks the door open and my mom throws herself right at it as he rabidly swings his arm through the crack, trying to grab at her.

“Call the police!” she screams.

I panic. She’s shrieking. The guy is yelling angry nonsense.

“CALL THE POLICE!”

The rotary phone is literally next to me. I can’t think clearly so I run across the entire house, through the entertainment room, into my dad’s office and phone from there. I’m yelling at the cops about what’s going on. I run back to the living room, to the front door of the house and my mom is on the floor in tears. The door has been shut.

My mom, who is far from an athletic woman, found the strength in her to protect that entry. The guy gave up and ran away. Of course, it took the cops a good hour before they showed up. And by that point Luis had arrived. I told the cops I thought the guy was my brother. They give Luis a hard, suspicious look. I gave them one too. The following week a neighbor a street or two down wasn’t as lucky. I was too young to care to learn if the criminal was ever caught.

Enter: THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE.

You know when you never hear or know of something and then you come across it and now all of a sudden you’re noticing it everywhere? That’s what  happened with CHAINSAW. I was eleven and I kept seeing the name TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE everywhere. So I rented it and watched it with my parents, my aunt, my uncle, my cousin (all who lived with us at the time), super late at night. It was the greatest, most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. It was beautiful. And I was scared for my life. The whole time I’m sitting there convinced it’s a true story. And I can’t believe this happened. Months later when we’d go on a cross-country road trip my heart raced as we drove through Texas at dusk.

The movie ends. I’m trembling, making my way to my sleeping quarters (I no longer had a bedroom). My dad stops me and goes, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“…whu--- huh--- what?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Sunday night.” I blink my eyes at him a few times. He concludes, “Take out the trash.”  

The garbage men come by on Monday morning. I forgot.

Uhhhhh………..

It’s two AM. I’m dragging the garbage bins out. And as I’m making my way to the sidewalk from a distance I hear… bbrrrrrr… BRRRR… BRR! BRR! What sounds like a fucking chainsaw!!!! I am not kidding here. I fucking hurl the trash bin, all the garbage falls out, and bolt inside the house in terror!

My dad, “What in the hell…?”

Turns out it was our meth head neighbor down the block who was mowing his lawn in the middle of the night.

But TEXAS got me cinched. And I delved into horror.

So here I was, a freshman, the Smashing Pumpkins on my discman, meat clever in my backpack alongside a stack of Dracula books. And no friends.

The way Saddleback High worked is that the freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors all had different lunch hours. Hence, nobody knew I was dating Liliana. Which I was actually relived by because she was cute and I was a lot younger (adding that I was a year ahead in school) and a skinny-bone-Jones and a dweeb and no one would believe their eyes anyhow. But because of the school’s offbeat scheduling you just never crossed paths with anybody anymore. My nerdy MacArthur junior high friends all went to other schools and I never saw them again. And our schedules clashed so I rarely saw Solis outside of our Saturday hangs which were becoming less frequent.

But when we did hang Solis and I would goof off with our large assortment of action figures. We’d have them get into adventures and I’d tape the whole thing. Listen, this is as dorky as dorky gets. I spent many hours in my bedroom, yeah, playing with action figures until I was about eleven years old. But I’d make up stories and give the toys dialogue. With Solis now puppeteering I could actually record this.

And this is not long after I gathered the school kids who made that video homework assignment. If they could make a movie, I could make a movie. So I wrote some sort of script. My memory doesn’t serve me well so I have no idea what it was about. But I rehearsed them and started taping them with my camcorder. We got into a verbal fight, never spoke again, and I never finished the thing.

A year later is when I was dropped into Middle College High. I was supposed to be a high school sophomore but instead I was on a college campus! Chris Pierce and Jonathan “Deez” Saldovar were my best friends. I’d gone to grade school with them but we didn’t actually become friends until Santa Ana Middle College High. There was this punk rock kid named Max in one of our classes. And Max always wore a Circle Jerks shirt and Sex Pistols patches. I inquired about those bands and he gave me shit. Typical punk. Chris and Max became friends and in the blink of an eye Chris was an anarcho-punk.

I was either in a history or who knows what class. There I met Megan. “It’s pronounced Me-Gan,” she’d say. And Me-gan had a boyfriend, or someone, can’t remember, who was roommates with Travis Barker. And this was when he was still with The Aquabats. Just some random trivia. I see Me-Gan working on this cool poster. She’s drawing this punk with spiked hair (“They’re called liberty spikes.”) who’s protesting and there’s a bullet going through his head. I asked her what that is. She said it’s from an album by her favorite punk band. “Do you listen to punk?”

“Punk? What’s punk?” I asked her.

“Here,” she reached into her backpack and slammed a CD case on our shared school desk. “You can borrow it but bring it back. If you don’t I swear I’ll beat the shit out of you.” I put this scene into SCENES FROM OBLIVION, my abandoned first feature film.

I didn’t quite get the Subhumans. But I tried. I played THE DAY THE COUNTRY DIED over and over, reading along the lyrics. I gave Me-Gan back the CD and eventually nabbed Subhumans - EP/LP and Crass – CHRIST – THE ALBUM (next to BEST BEFORE, certainly the weirdest and most inaccessible Crass album) from a grimy (and nifty) Tower Records at the Anti-Mall. The rest is history.

By the time I was supposed to be a junior I dressed like a walking newspaper.

The first concert I’d ever been to was Green Day opening for Madness. With Chris and Deez. And then the first show I ever went to was also with Chris and Deez at The Showcase Theater in Corona; Narcoleptic Youth and Atomic Bombs on the bill. I always thought musicians were like Gods; you could never meet them in real life. They were ants on a stage and that’s as close as you got. And here they’re right in front of your face, playing loud, playing fast. After their set they’re selling their own band tees and patches at a booth in the venue. They were so approachable. This is what punk meant to me. These musicians were real people like you and I. That night I came home a tad late without calling in. My dad lost his shit and hurled me against the closet door. And our callous feud began.

I got into politics. It was 2000. Chris, Deez, and I were about to head off to the Warped Tour. I was gonna pass out all these flyers. The flyer had a drawing of Christopher Columbus on it and at the top in bold black letters it read “RAPIST”. I made about fifty to seventy copies but I also made a big mistake. I left the original flyer in my dad’s photocopy machine. And when he saw that shit, oh my God. He flipped his lid and accosted me, yelling that this is communist propaganda.  

A year later when I was trying to get a band together, this girl Monica, a guitarist accomplice of mine, we were working on songs in my room. She had parked in our driveway and on her rear windshield she had a decal of Che Guevara. My dad saw that and— let’s just say Monica left exasperated and sobbing. No commie anything around my dad. Nothing, nothing near him that resembles the country he was forced to leave.

Our collective parents gave us so much shit. Deez’s parents were chill but Chris’s were conservative Christians. They’d scoff at our “anarchist leanings”. We were fledging and naïve and thought we could change the world. We couldn’t even change our band patches without leaving huge holes in our clothing. I was dressing now in all-black with sewn on patches everywhere and political logos, raiding record shops for anarcho or crust albums.

I picked up The Adicts’ SONGS OF PRAISE from Black Hole Records thinking I was in for some crusty stuff and then I was shocked to hear this dude that reminded me of Robert Smith belting out the catchiest punk singles I’d ever heard. Still one of my favorite bands. They all are. I’ve never abandoned anything I grew up listening to.

What I consider one of the greatest coming-of-age summer days of my life, one which I intended to loosely replicate in BOYS ABOUT TOWN and wasn’t able to, is when Deez, Chris, and I hit up Bionic and I bought two albums that forever shaped me: Rudimentary Peni’s DEATH CHURCH and The Adolescents’ blue album. That afternoon I met my future second girlfriend Amanda #1 aka Chris’ cousin. A couple rounds of truth or dare later and I was beguiled. With time, me being with Amanda would cause my friendship with Chris to dissolve. Went from best friends to full on enemies. We patched things up as adults.

Liliana had been the girl next door, personality-wise. She actually lived at the opposite end of the block. We didn’t have much in common except for sharing first experiences. She was my first everything and I was with her from the ages of twelve to fourteen. Amanda was definitely not as conservative as Lily. She was into punk. And movies. She most definitely loved SCREAM and its trail of teen slasher knockoffs and watched BUFFY regularly on TV. She was offbeat. Adventurous. And loved to cover her face in glitter. That was the first thing I noticed about her. That and her radiant cat-like green eyes. I found her really beautiful and she even shared a prominent resemblance to Katie Holmes, a compliment she got a lot; DAWSON’S CREEK was all the rage amongst young teens at the time. Amanda also went to school in an entirely different district. In Fullerton. And get this: she too was a cheerleader.

Remember Angie? The stoner who was into the Doors, Misfits, and Smiths at Middle College? Well, she hung around this other group of kids who I wound up getting along with really well. And these kids were very much into ‘60s and ‘70s rock. There was this girl Kat. She was into Janis Joplin. Boom. Off I went and got The Big Brother & the Holding Company’s albums and Joplin’s PEARL from Columbia House. I didn’t know shit about this music. How could I? My parents only listened to old school Spanish stuff. There was no such thing as dad-rock, a term that used to send me laughing. “Yeah, dad-rock to me is Julio Iglesias.” Because of my Janis Joplin deep-dive I thought Robert Plant was a woman. I got lent Zeppelin’s first album and I’m playing it in my mom’s car as we’re driving away from the video store and “Whole Lot of Love” comes on and I thought, “Man, this chick sure knows how to belt!” I got Led Zeppelin’s entire discography in box set form and played it endlessly in my room. Amanda and I would spend hours on the phone talking. She’d ultimately get aggravated and tell me to put some other music on in the background because it’s been five months of NON-STOP LED ZEPPELIN. Her dad chimed in, “What’s wrong with that?”

And I must have played Sabbath’s PARANOID album about eight-thousand times. That album is the most addictive album of all fucking time. And soon I got into Donavan and Dylan and Jefferson Airplane and Creedence. And MORRISON HOTEL, the Doors’ best album, IMO. I was hearing all these things for the first time. And one day I go into Bionic and I buy a Dystopia album along with the Beatles SGT. PEPPER’S. The middle-aged clerk gave me a puzzled look, “These both are for you?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a very strange kid.”

That Beatles album knocked me out. When I’d take over the stereo in my parents’ car while they were driving, as any teenager should, that’s the album I’d pop on ‘cause I knew they both wouldn’t get annoyed by it.

I just got reminded how I caught my mom humming along to my NEVERMIND CD.

“What’s your favorite band, ma?”

“Los Bukis.”

So I got into all this different kind of rock music all at the same time. Some of the ’70s loving schoolmates also dug the shit out of the ‘80s and soon I was drowning myself in The Cure and Depeche Mode and New Order, Bauhaus and Siouxsie. Goddamn, man. To be a teenager and discovering all these worlds and really marinating in albums. Really marinating in them. I would give anything to experience all those tunes for the first time again.

Rewinding back to the first year at Middle College High. 1998-1999. Deez, Chris, and I bonded over our love of Korn. Uh-huh. Those first two albums. But the third one was the bait-- Todd MacFarlane of SPAWN animated one of their music videos. But we hit it off like you would never believe. The two had been childhood friends and now I had joined the party.

I was so damn angry right before we had become friends. So pissed off. Tired of being bullied around. Ignored. Cast aside. Here I was at this new school and I didn’t know anybody. I ended up befriending this shifty tall kid named Rikk. And Rikk had major chicken pox scars. And he was super deep voiced. There definitely was something odd about him. And we talked a lot about our love of slasher movies. And soon we were talking about the kids in school we hated. Specifically, which ones we would kill had we the chance. This gets very dark here-- we’d go over how we’d murder with knives. And it got to the point where we’d act it out. Soon we were drawing maps of where we’d commit these acts. There was this outdoor elevator right by our school bungalows. Boom. We’d get so-and-so there. And I’m not kidding when I say it started to get too grim. And me? I just went, “Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck everybody.” But my moral compass sounded off. No way was I actually going to do any of these things. I stopped hanging out with Rikk. Instead, because of my love for horror movies I started writing a slasher script where two school kids do exactly what we were jokingly going to do and they film the whole thing and release it. But I don’t know anything about making movies. Maybe I should start taking this seriously. I was on a college campus and there were a ton of film courses! What am I waiting for?

But my friendship with Deez and Chris and all the shenanigans we got into distracted me from my goals. One afternoon we caught this new music video. It could have been CKY.  And the music video is made up of pranks done on a camcorder. Remember when I used to hurl rocks at cars from my rooftop? Now I was like, “Dude. We should do pranks and I’m gonna record it.” And we did. Cut to Deez pushing Chris in a shopping cart down Seventeenth Street during rush hour and he’s mooning all the cars. Got it on video. That school elevator? Pissed in it. Got it on video. The Taco Bell drive-thru sign? Kicked it down. Got it on video.

My neighbor was Elvia Palacios. My mom’s friend. Also Cubana. Her son Gilbert was a handful of years older than me, Deez, and Chris. We gave him dough to nab us beer from the local 711. And we got Tequiza. The first beer I ever had. And actually, I didn’t even drink much of it. I downed about two-and-a-half inches worth. I just didn’t see the appeal. I didn’t know what being drunk was. I didn’t know that’s the reason people drank. Chris finishes his beer. We’re on the Santa Ana college campus now; I lived three blocks from it. We’re in the lunch area on the second floor and I think it’s a weekend so the whole school is deserted. Or so we deem. I see this group of cholo-looking kids walking below us. I grab my camcorder and look at Chris. “Dude. Throw it.” Deez chuckles. I turn the camcorder on.

Chris doesn’t even think twice. He gets the beer bottle, and I think I even get one too, and we all hurl them at the mini-cholos. We don’t even wait to hear the bottles break. We high-tail it, laughing our asses off, camera still running. We run into that famous elevator laughing so damn hard. I tape us having a grand ol’ time in there. We hit the bottom floor, the elevator doors open, we rush out and --- WOOOOOOOP! Campus security corners us.

They take my camera. They sit us against a wall. The cops show up. They take a good look at the three of us. “What gang you in?” Santa Ana used to be riddled with gangs. We don’t say a word.

The other cop takes a look at our shoes. “Huh. Never seen a gang wearing Chucks before.”

Campus security hands them my camera. “They have this.”

They look through my recordings. “Oh,” the cop chuckling. “This is incriminating.”

There it was, all immortalized: all the vandalizing, the pranks, and if you rewound far enough, footage of Solis making his action figures hump (“Hey, make sure you don’t see my face!”).

And on our persons? The rest of the Tequiza bottles.

Oh, man. Oh, man. We were in hot shit. We’re cuffed. Thrown into the back of a police car. Neither of us is able to mutter a word. My dad is going to fucking kill me. My dad is going to shit. My dad is going to fucking shit my skeleton out through my mouth. I glance over at Chris who looks as upset as I feel. We realize the cops are playing The Offspring in their vehicle. Welcome to OC.

“I’ve got a bad habit.”

My dad and I had been getting into it bad. My mom had been away in Cuba that past summer and my pops without my mom around was a wreck. He didn’t know how pick his own clothes, couldn’t handle laundry, kept forgetting to eat, kept forgetting to shave. And we would get into yelling matches all the time. It was terrible. One day he caught me, Deez, and Chris paired off with girls (me with Amanda), doing some questionable sexual activities in separate rooms of the house and he threw me out. I had to go stay at Amanda’s parent’s place.

Now we were in a juvenile holding cell awaiting our murky assignations with our parents. We thought we were going to do time. In juvey. We didn’t say anything for a while. I then said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if there was a zombie attack and all the cops get eaten and the zombies can’t get in here and we’re just like here watching them die?” We started to laugh. Cheer up.

I was the last one to leave. And I sat there by myself for a very long time, shitting bricks. Apparently, they showed all our parents the footage. Ay caramba!

The cops, “They won’t say how they got the beer.” I grew up around my dad’s love of gangster movies. I knew better. Rats don’t make it past the front gates. Mum’s the word.

It’s my turn to go. My parents have zero expression on their faces and they’re there with my niece Karina. She just gives me a look. I get into the back seat of the car. No one’s said a word. We get home. No one says a word. Definitely not what I expected. My parents are very colorful and dramatic but now they’re on silent. I go to my room. My dad comes in. And he just says to me, very low-voiced but stern, “All the times I invited you to have a drink with me and you never did. Instead you vandalize and get wasted with a bunch of delinquents.” And he walks away.  

I wish I knew what happened to that tape.

[twistedtummies2]

The Devils I Know - Number 15

Welcome to “The Devils I Know!” For this spooky time of year, from now till Halloween, I’ll be counting down My Top 31 Depictions of the Devil, from movies, television, video games, and more! We’ve reached the Top 15! Today’s Devil can be summed up thusly: if rock is the Devil’s music, he’ll prove it. Number 15 is…Dave Grohl, from Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny.

“Pick of Destiny” is, in my opinion, one of the best musical comedies of the past couple decades. I’m not sure how well it was revered in its own time, but he seems to have gained a significant following over the years, if nothing else, and I think it’s well-deserved. The movie was made as a cinematic vehicle for Jack Black and Kyle Gass, playing their respective characters of J.B. and K.G. (a.k.a. Jables and Kage), from their duo band Tenacious D. The story tells of two wannabe rock stars who go on a quest to find the mythical Pick of Destiny: a legendary guitar pick (no, seriously) formed from one of Satan’s own teeth. Unbeknownst to them, Satan himself is trying to find his lost tooth, also, as apparently he has plans to take over the world. However, he can’t do it till he is complete again.

Inevitably, after many colorful and bizarre encounters, the duo do, indeed, encounter the Devil, played by former Nirvana drummer and founder of Foo Fighters himself, Dave Grohl. Upon retrieving his lost fang, Satan prepares to first kill the rockin’ pair and then enact his plans for world domination…but Jables challenges the Devil to a rock-off, a challenge the arch-demon cannot decline. If the Devil wins, Kage’s soul and body will belong to him (and only Kage, because Jables threw him under the bus there). Otherwise, Satan shall be banished back to Hell…and be forced to pay the pair’s rent at their apartment, because hey, might as well make the most of that bargain, right? The rock-off with Satan – a song called “Beelzeboss” – has become one of the most popular and beloved scenes and songs from Tenacious D. It’s easy to see why: the song is, in a way, a modern, raunchy reimagining of things like “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” with the fate of a soul hanging on a musical competition with pure evil. Much like that song, the Devil’s section is a grandstanding production piece, while Tenacious D.’s is more simplistic and heartfelt…ironically, however, for this same reason, the Devil actually WINS the competition, and it’s only by pure luck that Kage and Jables are able to beat him after the fact. I really love that comical twist on the formula. Grohl’s Devil is only onscreen for about five minutes, but they’re the best five minutes of the entire freaking movie. The musician is completely unrecognizable in the makeup and costume, which actually only adds to the power of his performance. Underneath it all, he plays and sings his heart out. There’s no subtlety to this Devil in any respect, but that’s really what makes this Satan a lot of fun: it’s like a cartoon character brought to life, and I say that with all the best connotations. The “Beelzeboss” number has been reprised live in concerts for Tenacious D. a few times, with different performers playing the Devil, but none have been able to match the intensity and pure fun that Grohl delivers in the movie. For many, this remains an iconic depiction of the King of Evil…and coming from a movie that ends with the two heroes turning his broken horn into a bong, that’s probably as hilarious as it is ironic. I, for one, wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 14! HINT: He’s a Trans-Siberian Menace.

[clickvibes]

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill takes No. 1 spot on Apple Music's 100 Best list

Apple Music’s 100 Best Albums list culminates today with the much-anticipated reveal of the top 10 albums of all time and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hillcrowned No. 1.Upon receiving the news, Lauryn Hill told Apple Music, “This is my award, but it’s a rich, deep narrative, and involves so many people, and so much sacrifice, and so much time, and so much collective love.” #image_title #image_title #image_title 10. Lemonade (2016), BeyoncéBeyoncé’s genre-obliterating blockbuster sixth album is furious, defiant, anguished, vulnerable, experimental, muscular, triumphant, humorous, and brave — a vivid personal statement, released without warning in a time of public scrutiny and private suffering. Every second of Lemonade deserves to be studied and celebrated. 9. Nevermind (1991), Nirvana Nevermind and its opening salvo “Smells Like Teen Spirit” didn’t just mark an unlikely breakthrough for the Seattle trio, it upended popular culture in ways never before and never since. Punk became pop, grunge became global vernacular, industry walls broke into rubble, and lead vocalist Kurt Cobain was anointed the reluctant voice of a generation in need of catharsis — all seemingly overnight. 8. Back to Black (2006), Amy WinehouseAmy Winehouse’s presentation and otherworldly, timeless vocals make her music feel different — not so much an attempt to re-create the past as to honor the music she loved while still being true to the trash-talking, self-effacing millennial she was. The sound of Back to Black might appeal to retro-soul fans and jazz classicists, but the attitude is closer to rap. Yes, she was funny. But she wasn’t kidding. 7. good kid, m.A.A.d city (2012), Kendrick LamarKendrick Lamar’s sophomore album good kid, m.A.A.d city is one of the defining hip-hop records of the 21st century. West Coast hip-hop elders like Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre anointed Lamar to carry on the legacy of gangsta rap, and the legacy of this album is a crucial example of American storytelling that established the future Pulitzer Prize winner as perhaps his generation’s most accomplished writer. 6. Songs in the Key of Life (1976), Stevie WonderIn 1974, Stevie Wonder was the most critically revered pop star in the world; he was also considering leaving the music industry altogether. So when Songs in the Key of Life was released two years later, demand was so high that it became, at the time, the fastest-selling album in history. The album, which runs nearly 90 minutes, is effortlessly melodic, broad in scope, and deeply personal. Sonically, culturally, and emotionally, Songs in the Key of Life is much more than a gigantic collection of songs — it forms an entire worldview. 5. Blonde (2016), Frank OceanThough Blonde packs 17 tracks into one quick hour, it’s a sprawling palette of ideas, a testament to the intelligence of flying one’s own artistic freak flag and trusting that audiences will meet them where they’re at. They did. And Ocean established himself as a generational artist uniquely suited to the complexities and convulsive changes of the second decade of the 21st century. 4. Purple Rain (1984), Prince & The RevolutionWith half its track list comprising top 10 singles, this soundtrack is what truly turned Prince Rogers Nelson into one of the most instantly recognizable and distinctive pop artists ever. Prince often drew comparisons to Jimi Hendrix for the way he mixed music that felt Black and white, sacred and profane. The reality is that he had no precedent then and no comparison now. 3. Abbey Road (1969), The BeatlesThe Beatles’ Abbey Road is an ageless, unmatched collection of songs by a world-changing band at their creative peak. The band’s 11th and penultimate album sounds like nothing more or less than four extremely gifted humans playing one indelible song after another in the same room together. 2. Thriller (1982), Michael JacksonThere are few pop albums, or even works of art, that denote a wholesale shift in time and space the way Michael Jackson’s Thriller did in 1982. It did nothing less than define the modern pop blockbuster and redefine the scope and reach of music. Seven of its nine original cuts were top 10 singles, and it became one of the bestselling albums ever made. 1. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (1998), Lauryn HillLauryn Hill’s debut — and only — solo studio album was a seismic event in 1998: a stunningly raw, profound look into the spiritual landscape not just of one of the era’s biggest stars, but of the era itself. She was, and remains, a once-in-a-generation talent whose inspiration and innovation can be heard through the decades. Artists exhaust long discographies hoping for a cohesive piece of work resonant enough to reshape culture and inscribe its creator into the pantheon; Lauryn Hill did it in one. Read the full article

[creativemorningsvirginiabeach]

Accomplished singer, songwriter and entrepreneur, Nakia Madry-Smith, lives VIBRANT!

“Your gift is not for you. It’s not doing anyone any favors gathering dust in your closet.”

On an otherwise cloudy Virginia Beach morning, Nakia Madry-Smith championed creativity and confidence – encouraging a dozen attendees at our May 17 Creative Mornings VB gathering, hosted in The Garage, to share their gifts openly.

But standing up before a crowd of fellow creatives to share her own gifts didn’t come easily. “I am sweating!” Nakia admitted, acknowledging that networking is often the hardest thing for creatives to do. Believing that one’s gift is a responsibility, however, Nakia effervescently shared where and when she feels most VIBRANT.

Nakia has always felt most lively when surrounded by music. A preacher’s daughter, she first found her voice in the church choir. As the only Black girl in an all-white school in Connecticut, she was heavily influenced by the likes of Nirvana and No Doubt and felt most comfortable in combat boots. Music was something she felt she not only wanted to pursue but also needed to.

Inspired by her father to “dream big” and reminded by her mother to “make sure you also get a job,” Nakia set her sights on earning her music engineering technology degree from Hampton University, a place she had only heard about but one that seemed like it was where she belonged. Yet, the transition proved challenging, as Nakia struggled to fit in.

Eventually, she was reminded of her purpose and made a choice. “Being vibrant and being happy is a daily choice. That’s a perspective that came with time, with maturity,” Nakia reminisced.

Becoming the lead singer of The Fuzz Band, a fusion of Funk, Jazz and Soul, allowed Nakia to figure out who she was, creatively and personally. The best, as they say, was yet to come. Nakia would go on to perform across the country and internationally, perform at private functions for Tommy Hilfiger, and serve on three USO tours to the Middle East, Europe, and the Mediterranean.

Every day since joining The Fuzz Band has provided Nakia with the opportunity to be exactly who she wants to be. This includes being the creator and bandleader of Rocky 7, all while serving as Executive Director of three Regional Higher Education Centers at Old Dominion University, where she has had a 14-year tenure and earned her MBA.

And these opportunities are not ones Nakia takes for granted. In fact, she considers gratitude one of the surest ways to feel VIBRANT. The others? Daily affirmations! Every morning, Nakia tells herself who she is – and who she will be: “I am a Grammy-winning, multi-platinum singer-songwriter… I won’t bore you with the whole thing, but you get it. Don’t allow the fear of success to hold you back. When you find the thing that brings you joy, make space for it.”

And that she has! Nakia’s vibrant career has also included opening for Living Colour and performing on The Stephen Colbert Show, Jimmy Kimmel Live, BET, and Good Morning America as a member of Pharrell Williams’s Voices of Fire gospel choir, an experience she considers “the craziest thing I’ve ever done!”

Ultimately, Nakia believes that whether we accomplish our dreams is entirely up to us. “Don’t miss your moment. Take the leap of faith. The only time you fall fail is when you don’t try.”

No doubt we all left feeling more empowered after hearing from Nakia. I imagine many of us woke up the next morning reciting an affirmation to ourselves, too.

_

Join us every third Friday in 2024 as we explore, along with 236 other cities in 69 countries around the world, 12 new themes in a face-to-face community format. Past themes have included Rhythm, Endurance, Simplicity, Pride, and Treasure. June’s theme is Pattern, and our speaker will be Empowered Plant Cakes' artisan baker / owner Paige Welch of Virginia Beach.

CM also has virtual field trips and a database of previous talks to enjoy and explore at home.

-Blog by volunteer Valeria L. Palmertree

[thebandcampdiaries]

Steve Albini passed away at 61.

It is with great sadness that we report the passing of Steve Albini, an audio engineer, artist, and producer, at the age of 61. Today, the music world has lost a talented, knowledgeable, and generous music maker who not only made significant contributions to some incredible records but also led the way for a more ethical approach that helped define the moral, aesthetic, and practical principles of alternative and indie music.

Steve Albini is best known for his work on albums such as Surfer Rosa (Pixies), In Utero (Nirvana), as well as recent indie bands such as Cloud Nothings. He will be deeply missed by his fans and the music industry as a whole.

Albini has been an inspiration for an entire generation of recording engineers and artists. His philosophy is to stay true to the sound of the artist, rather than creating a commercial product just for the sake of sales or streams. Although his uncompromising attitude has caused some controversy in the past, his integrity has left an indelible legacy of passion and attitude that will be hard to match.

[takashimakato]

Happy Birthday

In the early 1990s, amidst the fervor of Nirvana's dominance and the global embrace of grunge culture, today marked a singular occasion: your boyfriend's birthday. Determined to orchestrate an unforgettable celebration, you embarked on a mission to make it the highlight of his year. With excitement bubbling within, you arrived at his doorstep, anticipation dancing in your heart as you knocked eagerly, calling out his name, "Damon, my love, wake up! I know you're lounging on the couch!" Damon, roused from his slumber, emitted a weary groan before begrudgingly making his way to the door, his expression tinged with annoyance. Undeterred, you greeted him with an exuberant "Happy birthday!" and a wide, goofy grin, silently hoping he wouldn't hold your interruption against you. "Thank you, love," he muttered, his tone softened by your gesture, though his weariness still evident. Sensing that conversation wouldn't commence until he invited you inside, Damon relented, granting you access to his domain. As he shuffled back to the comfort of the couch, you followed suit, shedding your shoes and joining him. "How about I whip up some breakfast for you, baby?" you proposed, your voice laced with affection, only to be met with a gentle but endearing groan from Damon, indicating his reluctant acceptance.

As you bustled around the kitchen, preparing breakfast for Damon, you reached out to turn on the radio. The upbeat melody of "Boys and Girls" by his band, Blur, filled the airwaves, infusing the room with an infectious energy. A grin spread across your face as you glanced over at Damon, who couldn't help but crack a smile at the sound of his beloved band serenading him on his special day. "Isn't that sweet, baby?" you remarked, your voice tinged with amusement, knowing that even his grumpy morning demeanor couldn't resist the charm of a birthday shout-out. With a newfound pep in his step, Damon rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom, his spirits lifted by the unexpected birthday acknowledgment. As he disappeared behind the bathroom door, you continued bustling about the kitchen, the lively tune of the radio providing the perfect soundtrack for the day's adventures that lay ahead..

With the radio serving as the backdrop to your culinary endeavors, you hummed along to the catchy tune, feeling the anticipation of the day building with each passing moment. The host's cheerful voice on the radio, wishing Damon a happy birthday, added an extra layer of warmth to the morning air, as if the entire world was joining in on the celebration.

As the last notes of the song faded away, you plated up a hearty breakfast spread, complete with all of Damon's favorites. The sound of sizzling bacon mingled with the chirping of birds outside, creating a symphony of morning sounds that set the stage for a day filled with laughter, love, and unforgettable memories. With breakfast ready and a smile on your face, you eagerly awaited Damon's return, knowing that the best was yet to come on his special day.

"Hey, you know, we could hit up the fair, or stroll down to the boardwalk just down the street," you suggested, setting a steaming plate of breakfast in front of Damon. The tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked food filled the room, tempting his taste buds as he eagerly dug in. "That sounds nice, babe," he replied between mouthfuls, savoring each bite while patiently awaiting your decision.

With breakfast swiftly devoured, you sprang into action, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your bag, your excitement palpable as you urged Damon to join you. "Come on, you lazy bum, let's head to the boardwalk!" you exclaimed, a playful glint in your eye as you hustled him out the door. With a laugh and a shake of his head, Damon followed suit, the promise of adventure and fun awaiting you both just around the corner.

As you stepped out into the morning sunlight, a gentle breeze danced through the air, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and cotton candy from the nearby boardwalk. The sky stretched out above you, a brilliant canvas of blue adorned with fluffy white clouds, promising a perfect day for exploration and fun.

With Damon by your side, you made your way down the street, the sound of seagulls and distant laughter guiding your path towards the bustling boardwalk. Along the way, you passed quaint shops and charming cafes, each one beckoning with the promise of adventure and discovery.

As you reached the boardwalk, a wave of excitement washed over you, the vibrant energy of the bustling crowd engulfing your senses. The air was alive with the sound of laughter and chatter, the joyful melody of carnival music drifting from nearby attractions.

With wide smiles and eager hearts, you and Damon dove headfirst into the sea of excitement, indulging in games of chance and rides that spun and twirled high above the ground. With each moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a whirlwind of joy and laughter.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the boardwalk, you found yourselves nestled on a bench overlooking the ocean, the sound of crashing waves providing a soothing backdrop to your shared moment of bliss.

With contented smiles and hearts full of memories, you and Damon savored the last moments of daylight, knowing that no matter where life took you, days like these would always hold a special place in your hearts. And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, you knew that the magic of this day would live on in your memories forever.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the boardwalk, you noticed a familiar group of figures approaching. Damon's bandmates from Blur emerged from the crowd, their faces lit up with smiles as they joined you and Damon on the bench.

With a mischievous twinkle in their eyes, they began to serenade Damon with a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday," their voices blending harmoniously with the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore. Passersby paused to listen, joining in with claps and cheers, adding to the festive atmosphere.

Damon's eyes widened in surprise, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he soaked in the unexpected birthday serenade from his friends. You joined in, your voice mingling with theirs in a joyous chorus of celebration.

As the song came to an end, Damon's bandmates enveloped him in a group hug, offering heartfelt birthday wishes and laughter-filled camaraderie. The moment was perfect, a snapshot of friendship and love that would be cherished for years to come.

With the echoes of the birthday song still lingering in the air, you and Damon exchanged smiles, your hearts overflowing with gratitude for the wonderful day you had shared together. As the evening stretched out before you, filled with endless possibilities, you knew that this birthday would be one to remember, forever immortalized in the melody of laughter and friendship that surrounded you.

Happy Birthday Damon Albarn

[nirvanamerchstore]

Nirvana, the iconic grunge band of the 90s, left a lasting legacy on the music industry and pop culture. But their influence extends beyond just music; Nirvana merchandise has become a staple in the fashion world as well. From t-shirts and sweatshirts to posters and accessories, Nirvana merchandise is not only a way to show off your love for the band but also a versatile addition to your wardrobe. In this blog, we'll show you how to style Nirvana merchandise in your everyday outfits. 1. The Classic T-Shirt Look One of the simplest and most classic ways to incorporate Nirvana merchandise into your outfit is through a t-shirt. The iconic Nirvana smiley face logo is instantly recognizable and can be paired with anything from jeans to skirts. For a more casual look, go for a loose-fitting t-shirt and wear it with ripped jeans and sneakers. If you're feeling more daring, tuck a Nirvana t-shirt into a leather skirt and wear ankle boots for a grunge-inspired outfit. Access https://nirvanamerch.store/collections/nirvanamerch-t-shirts/ to explore more about Nirvana T-Shirt today! 2.Layer Up with a Sweatshirt When the weather gets colder, a Nirvana sweatshirt can be the perfect way to layer up your outfit. Pair it with jeans and sneakers for a comfortable and casual look. Or, for a more fashion-forward outfit, layer a Nirvana sweatshirt over a collared shirt and wear with tailored pants and ankle boots. Own these stylish sweatshirts here: https://nirvanamerch.store/collections/nirvanamerch-sweatshirts/ 3. Accessorize with a Poster Nirvana posters are a great way to add a touch of rock and roll to any room, but they can also be used as an accessory in your outfit. Frame a Nirvana poster and use it as a backdrop for a mirror selfie or wear it as a statement accessory by tying it around your waist or draping it over your shoulders like a scarf. Locate https://nirvanamerch.store/collections/nirvanamerch-posters/ to purchase Nirvana Poster today!  4. Go Bold with a Hot Pink Sweatshirt For a statement piece that's sure to turn heads, try a hot pink Nirvana sweatshirt. This unexpected color choice adds a pop of brightness to any outfit and pairs well with dark denim or black pants. Wear it with sneakers or ankle boots for a fun and edgy outfit. Visit this page to see the whole world of Nirvana Merch: https://nirvanamerch.store/ 5.  Add Edge with a Long Sleeve Tee A long sleeve Nirvana tee is perfect for those in-between weather days when you need a little more coverage than a t-shirt but don't want to wear a full sweatshirt. Pair it with high-waisted jeans and sneakers for a casual look or dress it up with a skirt and ankle boots. To view Nirvana Merch's entire catalog, go to this website: https://nirvanamerch.store/ In conclusion, incorporating Nirvana merchandise into your everyday wardrobe is a great way to showcase your love for the band and its music while also expressing your personal style. From t-shirts to sweatshirts, posters to phone cases, there are plenty of options to choose from. When styling these pieces, it’s important to balance out the grunge vibe with more polished elements to create a cohesive look. Remember to have fun and experiment with different combinations to find what works best for you. With these tips, you’ll be able to rock your Nirvana merch with confidence and create unique outfits that truly represent your style. No time to search for a different store to wear at Nirvana store via https://nirvanamerch.store/  

[nekrowitch666]

Sarcofago- Brazil

Sarcofago was a Brazilian extreme metal band founded in 1985, and is considered one of the most highly influential metal bands of all time.

Founded in Belo Horizante by Wagner Lamounier and Geraldo Minelli, the group sought to create the most extreme music that the world had ever encountered, and drew musical inspiration from other extreme bands like Slayer and Celtic Frost, along with groups from the Finnish hardcore punk scene.

Sarcofago made their first appearance on a 1986 split album titled "Warfare Noise I," contributing the tracks "The Black Vomit," "Satanas, " and "Recrucify." At this time, the band consisted of "Antichrist," (Lamounier, vocals, ex Sepultura, ) "Butcher," (guitars,) "Incubus," (Minelli, bass) and "Leprous," (Armando Sampaio, drums.)

The groups' extreme lyrical content and Satanic imagery drew them a sizeable amount of attention, and shocked the country with their openly blasphemous lyrics.

In 1987, the band released their debut album "INRI" with drummer D.D. Crazy, who would become widely renowned for his excessive use of blast beats. This album is highly regarded as the first official representation of black metal, both in sound and imagery. Sarcofago's use of bullet belts and corpsepaint influenced many other bands, most notably in the Norwegian scene, (much to Lamounier's confusion.) Soundwise, Sarcofago is considered the epitome of first wave black metal, and is highly influential to the war metal scene.This album alone is considered highly influential on the black metal genre, and is considered a huge milestone in the evolution of extreme metal.

While the release of this album reached legendary status, Lamounier himself was displeased with it, citing inner conflict and the recording quality for his dissatisfaction.

Sarcofago briefly disbanded after the album's release, with Wagner going off to study economics. Meanwhile, Butcher and D.D. Crazy left the band, with D.D. going on to contribute drums for Sextrash's 1990 debut, "Sexual Carnage."

In 1990 Sarcofago returned to release their first EP, "Rotting," this time with session drummer "Joker" joining the lineup.

This record differed drastically from the legendary INRI album, replacing the hyper speed black metal with influences of cross over thrash.

The founding members would also undergo a change in aliases upon release, becoming "Wagner Antichrist" and "Gerald Incubus." They also abandoned the use of spikes in their stage appearances, as they were difficult to perform in. Additionally, Wagner would pick up the guitar for this record, and contributed many of the album's riffs.

While Rotted was the first Sarcofago release to boast international distribution, the band found conflict with Maze Records from the U.S., when they released a censored version of the album and placed a sticker (without agreement from the band,) that read:

"Featuring the Original Lead Singer of Sepultura."

Sarcofago sued them.

The band would release their second album, "The Laws of Scourge" in 1991. This record was another radical shift in Sarcofago's musical sound, and is considered one of the first technical death metal releases in the history of Metal. This new sound was partly influenced by the band's new members, "Jhasko" (guitars) and Lucio Oliver (drums.) The album would become Sarcofago's best selling record, and resulted in their most robust touring schedule in their entire career.

The band would release a third album in 1994 titled "Hate." This album would cause controversy over the band's use of a drum machine, though Lamounier had no respite with its use.

At this time, the band also cut their hair short in protest of the grunge music scene that was taking the world by storm. Wagner stated that they had no issues with bands like Nirvana or Pearl Jam, but that their defiance was directed towards "jumping the. Bandwagon," or trends, which they believed stripped people down of their intelligence through massification.

Sarcofago would release a compilation CD in 1996, which included rare backstage pictures and demo versions of their early song.

The band would release their fourth and final album in 1997, titled "The Worst." This record saw a considerable change in tempo compared to it's speed infused predecessor.

Around 2000, Sarcofago released another EP called "Crust," and was supposed to serve as a preview for their next album. However, the band split up before recording.

While the band had parted ways, Geraldo Incubus and Cogumelo Records would collaborate on a comeback show in celebration of Warfare Noise's 20th anniversary. The lineup for the event would feature Minelli, Jhasko, Joker, and an old time friend named Juarez "Tibanha" to cover vocals. Wagner himself did not participate due to his disinterest in performing professionally. The event took place in 2006 at Belo Horizonte, and was recorded.

The last appearance of Sarcofago would be in 2007, when they played alongside Possessed for the Black Shadows fest in Santiago, Chile.

In 2009, Sarcofago was rumored to reunite, and make appearances at well known music festivals like Wacken and perform in various cities like New York, Los Angeles and Tokyo. Wagner exposed these rumors as false.

The band is still split up, having been inactive since 2007. There is one final compilation released in 2015, titled "Die... Hard."

Wagner now works as an economics professor, and has a crust punk side project titled "Commando Kaos."