#no artist is genuinely homegrown.

[changelingirl]

anyway. something something it’s pretty easy to stan the guy who’s been quiet since 2009. i’m sure ryan ross is a lovely guy and he’s a great artist but like. if he’d continued to be in the spotlight the past fourteen years he’d definitely have said SOMETHING that made y’all hate him.

patd tag is depressing tbh why does everybody get so much joy out of hating celebrities that are like. Fine Actually. is it because you think you can actually have an effect on them? i mean you do, sometimes. so uh. congrats i guess.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you. 

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos. 

That’s not your thing. 

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.  

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone. 

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image. 

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch. 

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow. 

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry. 

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender. 

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.” 

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice. 

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place. 

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices. 

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do. 

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis. 

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!” 

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job. 

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs. 

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you. 

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything. 

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.” 

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.” 

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?” 

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.” 

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.” 

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination. 

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.” 

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge. 

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions. 

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate. 

“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish. 

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.” 

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?” 

“And that means?” 

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.” 

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive. 

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people. 

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself. 

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?” 

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest? 

This makes you respect him more. 

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show. 

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.” 

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.” 

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what? 

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head. 

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start. 

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl. 

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason. 

His manager frowns behind him. 

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.” 

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.” 

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says. 

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car. 

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?” 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.” 

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road. 

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options. 

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.” 

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on. 

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision. 

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise. 

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance. 

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly.  “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.” 

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke. 

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?” 

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president. 

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table. 

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for. 

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely. 

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it. 

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself. 

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again. 

That’s not quite how it works out. 

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing. 

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.” 

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase. 

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more. 

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more. 

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him. 

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh. 

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.” 

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks. 

“Stop staring,” he says. 

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” 

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality. 

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork. 

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have. 

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet. 

A speech bubble pops up. 

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats. 

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well. 

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more. 

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word. 

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in. 

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able. 

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.” 

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking. 

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.” 

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you. 

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet. 

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if- 

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call. 

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one. 

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god. 

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol. 

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last. 

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege. 

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you. 

The second message comes a second later. 

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes  Attachment 

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen. 

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken. 

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee. 

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount. 

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers. 

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.” 

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?” 

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.” 

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.” 

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all. 

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.” 

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.” 

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that. 

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways. 

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.” 

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?” 

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead. 

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.” 

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you. 

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.” 

“You’re very confident,” you note. 

You have a weakness for confident men. 

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?” 

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him. 

“So?” 

“So it can get dangerous.” 

“Aw, you do care about me.” 

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.” 

“You scared?” 

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.” 

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however. 

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is. 

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him. 

“What’s with you?” 

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled. 

You fight a smile. 

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.” 

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t. 

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage. 

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it. 

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood. 

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music. 

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it. 

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now. 

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you. 

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm. 

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all. 

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on. 

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops. 

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red. 

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash. 

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!” 

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!” 

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him. 

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“ 

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.” 

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.” 

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.” 

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.” 

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?” 

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand. 

“What?” He says. 

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face. 

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“ 

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now. 

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles. 

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes. 

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet. 

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space. 

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic. 

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing. 

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time. 

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat. 

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you. 

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later. 

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel. 

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage. 

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?” 

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly. 

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter? 

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?” 

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.” 

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.” 

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose. 

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him. 

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.  

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.” 

“I didn’t need to know that.” 

“It was really hot.” 

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.” 

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out. 

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then. 

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.” 

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.” 

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.” 

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for. 

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.” 

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him. 

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you. 

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges. 

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says. 

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in. 

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.” 

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.” 

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.” 

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him. 

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee. 

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath. 

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it. 

“Sure,” you say. 

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face. 

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

[ectonurites]

For me an industry plant is "someone who may or may not be that talented, but they’re still pushed to stardom because they have an entire company marketing/investing in them" and using this term on a fictional character is kinda tricky, but I do think it can be applied to Tim, since *on average* DC's writers/editors tend to showcase him in a more positive light compared to other Batman-related characters due to their bias towards him.

Personally speaking, I have seen way more writers claiming that Tim is their favorite Robin compared to the other Robins (although Dick is a close 2nd) Which explains why they're desperately trying to make his whole thing be "he's the best Robin!" by always making him appear smarter/more capable than the others and why he is rarely treated in a negative manners by the narrative compared to lets say Damian or Cassandra, who had awful storylines with the goal of demonizing them for no other reason than "someone in a high-position in the company hates their guts."

Well I mean, if we're using different definitions for the same term then obviously we're gonna come to different conclusions about it sgdfdhgfjhg

Like when I hear 'industry plant' I can not separate that from the idea that their connection to the larger entity backing them is kept secret/downplayed—that just feels like way too large a piece of what the term actually means to be tossed aside. Every one of the multiple definitions for the term that I came across while searching includes something about that aspect of it. To include a few:

Noun. industry plant (plural industry plants) (slang, derogatory) A music artist associated with a label but appearing as if they are independent and self-made. (slang, derogatory, by extension) A music artist whose popularity is perceived to be due to marketing efforts alone. (x)

An industry plant is an artist who has Major/Indie Label backing their movement but presents themselves as a "home grown start up" label to create a pseudo organic following. They act as if things are miraculously happening for them based on their talent (via blog coverage, media coverage, mtv playing their vids, etc.) The reality is a low risk/high reward situation for labels looking to build the next "new star" (x)

The term ‘industry plant’ is a musical term derived colloquially from hip-hop which is understood to mean, “an artist who has a major/indie label backing their movement but presents themselves as a ‘homegrown start-up’ to create the illusion of an organic following”. (x)

Even in the early days, there was some debate about how best to define an Industry Plant. On a fundamental level, it is an artist whose development takes place away from the public eye. While the major label downplays its influence, it quietly hones the artist into a star. While their rise to fame might appear to be organic, it’s actually been meticulously planned by a major label. As a result, Industry Plants are usually regarded as lacking authenticity. In the eyes of genuinely DIY artists, the Plant is merely a puppet whose success results from someone high up in the music industry ensuring they have the best connections. The key element here is deception. (x)

So the lack of an attempt to deceive/downplay a connection to a bigger entity/character is what makes me really really strongly disagree with the term applying to him.

I also think there’s something else to address in what you’re saying, which is maybe another reason we disagree here:

I think it's totally fair to say that nowadays there is a bias from people at DC towards Tim which makes them prioritize him over others. I'm 100% in agreement with you on that part, and it's annoying the way they try to push him as the 'best Robin' and downplay other characters like Damian and Cass.

But that became a problem after Tim had already become popular.

Like, he certainly had a dip in popularity for a while (largely bc of the New 52) and one could argue there’s been a sort of artificial push to bring him back to popularity in recent times… but when we're talking about the idea of him as an 'industry plant' I think we need to be looking specifically at when he first rose to popularity like 30 years ago. Because otherwise we’re not talking about how/why he became popular in the first place, we’re talking about the effects (and ups and downs) of his existing popularity.

When Tim was introduced and first rose to popularity in the late 80’s/early 90's.... that was years before Damian or Cass as we know them (i say this because technically the baby that would become Damian existed but like, that is not the same character) were introduced to even compare to the way you’re talking about.

At the time he was created, DC wanted to fill the Robin/‘Teen Bat Character’ spot after readers voted to kill Jason because they didn’t like him… Thus, Tim was designed to fit a specific niche—DC knew there would be an audience for a new Batman sidekick as long as they learned from what happened to Jason and created a character different from him that would be better received. Back then it's not that he was 'the young Batman character that people internally decided they like more than the others and thus push more' it's that he was 'the young Batman character'.

He had the opportunity to become a popular character because of being Batman’s new sidekick and managing to be more well received than Jason. Like, that's really it. But that was totally out in the open—he was by Batman's side before he got his chance to go solo, and promo for his solo made a point of bringing up Batman and featuring him. The connection to Batman was always incredibly clear and highlighted.

When we're trying to apply these slang terms from other industries to comics, Tim's situation is just far closer to 'nepo baby' than anything else. He had the opportunity to become popular because he was designed to fill a specific niche connected to an already popular character.

[jlwilliams-us]

The Second-Greatest American Ballet Choreographer You Never Heard Of

[Originally published in October 1995]

Ask a balletomane to list some major American choreographers, and the odds are good that Lew Christensen will not be among the first that leap to mind. Thumb through a few general reference works — or even dance-specific ones — and you're likely to find him mentioned only as a secondary entry, if at all.

It's not that Christensen is obscure. Well-informed ballet enthusiasts know the story of Salt Lake City's three Christensen brothers — grandsons of an immigrant Danish balletmaster — who brought ballet to the western United States: Harold, the progenitor of Ballet West; Willam, the founder of the San Francisco Ballet; and Lew, its artistic director from 1952 until his death in 1985. Or they may recall Christensen as the nation's first homegrown premier danseur: the first American to dance the title role in George Balanchine's Apollon Musagète, and later principal dancer with Balanchine's seminal Ballet Caravan.

As a choreographer, though, Christensen seems to have drifted away from the reputation mainstream. Although he created more than 100 works — including a genuine historical landmark (Filling Station, 1938) and a much-loved minor classic (Con Amore, 1953) — comparatively few are staged today. And few younger choreographers, even those he brought to the San Francisco Ballet, chose to follow his stylistic lead, as Arlene Croce noted in a 1978 review.

"Oddly enough, their work — on this showing, at least — derives from everywhere but the Christensen repertory," she wrote. "Maybe he's just too eccentric, and maybe his mind does wander, but it is a choreographic mind of no small distinction. The Christensen ballets hold a provocative secret. They ought to be much better known than they are."

Today, Christensen enthusiasts still feel that his works deserve more recognition than they're getting. Among those trying to do something about it are two of his San Francisco Ballet alumni: Richard Carter, now balletmaster of the Miami City Ballet, who stages Christensen revivals throughout the country; and Robert Vickrey, now artistic manager of Pittsburgh Ballet Theater and former artistic director of Nebraska's Ballet Omaha company -- where he became one of the few contemporary artistic directors to build a Christensen repertory from scratch.

Between them, the two may know Christensen's works from more angles than anyone else alive. From the 1950s until Christensen's death, Carter served him at various times as dancer, ballet master, production manager and technical director. During his nine years at the helm of Ballet Omaha, Vickrey inaugurated the "Lew Christensen Project," introducing audiences to a rotating trio of ballets selected from the choreographer's early, middle and late periods: Filling Station, Con Amore, and Il Distratto (1967.) Both men are quietly but firmly convinced that Christensen was one of America's greatest choreographers — possibly the second greatest, after Balanchine, and entirely different in style and approach.

Carter, a sincere Balanchine admirer, nonetheless shows no reluctance to mention Christensen in the same breath. Often, he finds that the clearest way to illustrate a unique characteristic of Christensen's style is to point to Balanchine for contrast.

"Balanchine used to say that ‘ballet is woman.'" he said. "Lew Christensen must have said ‘ballet is man.' All his works are male-oriented. Balanchine glorified the female… Lew was more interested in the male dancing.

"The role of Mac [in Filling Station] he choreographed for himself, and no one has ever been able to do it like him. I've seen movies in the Library of the Performing Arts in New York, and it's incredible! He was a great male dancer. There was one step in particular where he'd do a series of turns in a circle, and he used to do them so fast that he'd lean into the circle. When he went to set the work on me – I couldn't do that! No one could do that! So he had to rechoreograph it. Of course I was really disappointed that I couldn't live up to his expectations – and then years later I saw that movie, and I thought, ‘My God! He was a strong, strong dancer.' As strong as I ever saw.

"Balanchine had become an American, but came from a European/Asian influence. He had his ideas set before he came here. But Lew was American from the very core. He grew up in Utah. The ballet Filling Station is the first *American* ballet – did you know that? Not very many people do. It had an American theme, American composer, American choreographer, American scenery and costumes, and was danced by Americans. There was not one European in it. It preceded Billy the Kid, which a lot of people think is the first American ballet, by about nine months.

"All Lew's works, I must tell you, have that same signature. Balanchine was able to choreograph Americana…he picked up things that he saw in America and put them, in an ingenious way, in a ballet. The "Rubies" section of Jewels – it's very American, jazzy. The last movement of Concerto Barocco starts with the Charleston step. This is Balanchine.

"Lew, on the other hand, didn't pick up and use tricks like that. His [movement] themes were very American to begin with. I don't know how to articulate the difference. I can feel it, but I can't tell you what it is. One of the differences is the flourish of the port de bras, the arms. Balanchine had a very rococo arm – actually it was French, wasn't it? He got it from Violette Verdy, very flowing. Whereas Lew thought that was too much, and he made it very square, very basic. And he wanted dancers to dance that way – not with all this affectation, if you will. That's one of the differences."

Another difference, Carter said — one that sometimes makes it hard for today's dancers to learn Christensen's style — is that his basic "atom" of choreography was different from Balanchine's.

"Lew choreographed in phrases," he said. "Like sentences, you know: da-dum, da-dum, da-da-da-dum – that was all one step, although it was a phrase of music. Balanchine didn't do that – Balanchine choreographed steps. It's hard to imagine the difference – but to a dancer, it's a world of difference.

"The steps that Balanchine created are phenomenal. Absolutely phenomenal. He did things such as, just a simple chaîné turn, just a chain of turns: in one ballet he would do it turned out, then in another ballet he would do it turned in, then in the next ballet he would do it in first position, next ballet he would do it in fourth position. It was incredible – he would take steps and do them in a different way, and that's the miracle of Balanchine. It was incredible the way he did this.

"But Lew related directly from the music – it came from the music. I don't know if Balanchine ever tried to do that – he never tried to explain the music. He went beyond the music, into another level. Lew tried to explain the music, the phrasing."

Getting dancers to grasp this key difference is a major challenge in staging Christensen's choreography, Carter said. "It's hard to get them to dance in terms of phrases," he said. "That's very difficult. The last company I was [staging a work] in, for the Russians it was like pulling teeth. In the Russian training, they do a step, and stop. They do another step, and stop.

"This isn't that way. Each time you bend your leg, that's a preparation for the next step. You go up, you come down, you go up again. And then you go up again. You just keep going. Russians aren't used to that. They're used to going up, down, and stop; and then you start the next step – up, down and stop. I had to get very angry and insist, and carry on, and create quite a scene to get these people to understand what I was talking about – that you can't adapt the work to you; you have to go to the work. You can't change ballet to you – you've got to become a dancer."

Even Christensen's methodical working style was diametrically opposed to Balanchine's, the two recalled.

"He'd always try to plan his patterns absolutely." Vickrey said. "He'd come into rehearsal with specific plans.'

"…Which was absolutely anti-Balanchine," said Carter. "Balanchine asked Lew to do a work; it was called Pocahontas. Lew was very enthusiastic. He came in with all these reams of notes and everything. He came into the studio – and Balanchine came and took his notes! ‘Now, dear,' he said, ‘just paint.'

"And Lew said, ‘What?!' He couldn't believe it! Lew told me this on the Q.T. – we got drunk one night, and he was telling me - he said, ‘I used to write the stuff on my shirt, and sneak it in when Balanchine wasn't looking.' He couldn't remember all the stuff!

"Balanchine was just the opposite. I used to watch him, and he was a genius. He used to come into the studio and say [imitating his voice] ‘Now, dancers, here's what we're going to do,' and then WHOOSH! The stuff would pour out, and people were trying to remember it, and it was crazy – it was coming out so fast you couldn't memorize it. And he'd get irritated if he had to go back. He was overwhelming, really.

"But Lew wasn't that way. Lew would come in, and everything was sort of planned out – he'd have worked it out at home, and he knew what he was going to do when he got there."

That preplanning extended beyond choreography to every aspect of theater, Carter said:

"He used to build [model] theaters, with lights and everything. One of his in-laws invented Celastic…it's a plastic-impregnated cloth. You'd put acetone on it, and put it over something, and it would take that shape. You could make almost anything with it. He used to make molds and then cast these proscenium arches; he'd have a whole theater, complete with fly curtains and everything, and he'd even have little spotlights made out of flashlights. And he used to manipulate these and work out his ballets.

"He knew a lot about theater. If you look at any of his ballets, they're very carefully thought out. He had a lot of background in technical theater – he knew a lot about lighting, he knew a lot about backdrops, props and all that kind of stuff. Did you ever see A Masque of Beauty and the Shepherd? It's lost now – I mean, I could reconstruct it, but… anyway, it was a charming work. It was about the Judgment of Paris – the apple, and the three goddesses vying for the apple. At the very end of this ballet they constructed a big ship, right on the stage, in front of your eyes, that happened so fast it was just BANG – ‘What? How'd you do that?' It was incredible, actually incredible. He knew how to do these things.

"Balanchine, you know, was just the dance; he didn't like a lot of scenery and costumes. He didn't do that until later, when he got into the State Theater, and it looked awfully bare. But Lew incorporated all these various theatrical things at all times, and used them in an intelligent way. He was interested in that kind of stuff, and ways that he could use it in dance."

Christensen himself attributed some of his theatrical savvy to his pre-ballet days on the vaudeville circuit. And it was there, Vickrey thinks, that he picked up another trait: his willingness to make his ballets entertaining. This accessibility, he said, makes Christensen's repertory ideal for artistic directors who need to program both for artistic quality and for audience-building appeal.

"A lot of what I always liked about his works is that they are so accessible," he said. "I think a lot of that goes back to his vaudeville history, to pleasing an audience. Trying to be intelligent about his work, and trying to get his ideas across choreographically – but always knowing that he needed to please his audience. Especially in a situation like San Francisco, where he had to sell those tickets – people had to come back."

"I read a review that said, ‘An intelligent person can see the San Francisco Ballet and come away rewarded,'" Carter said. "But I think an unintelligent person can go and see some of Lew Christensen's works, and come away rewarded too. It sort of hits you at all levels. It's not so esoteric that it's only for aficionados."

Another Christensen asset for artistic directors, Vickrey said, is flexibility. Most of his works don't demand a large corps of perfectly-matched dancers, because Christensen seldom had that luxury himself.

"He didn't necessarily have what San Francisco Ballet has now as a standard of style, or what New York City Ballet has that's come out of their school," he said. "He would have a group of dancers – some from the school, some from here, some from there, some from everywhere – and he would just work with what he had, and make them look brilliant. Some of them were brilliant, don't misunderstand me. But…"

"He worked with the people who were available to him," Carter said. "Who he had in Ballet Caravan…weren't the finest dancers in the world. They had certain capabilities, and that's the way the steps came out.

"Now, the beauty of that is that you can take a work like Filling Station and go almost anywhere with it. You have two central roles, Mac and the Rich Girl, who are dance roles. You have to have some ability to do those roles, you see? The rest of them, you don't! The last company I was in, I actually had a girl do the State Trooper and a girl do the Thief – dressed up as a man. The truck drivers – one of them was a Russian, more of a character dancer – he came from the Moiseyev [folk dance company.]  He didn't even have ballet training. And yet we were able to set it on them, because these steps are more universal, and it's more acting than actual dancing."

So why is it that this versatile, accessible, creative, decent artist ("He was a gentle man," said Carter; "a nice guy, really a nice guy.") is not more famous as a choreographer? Carter has a blunt answer:

"The reason Lew is not more famous is that he left New York! And went to San Francisco, and that's 3,000 miles away. The center of dance has always traditionally been New York. It hasn't been until recent years, with jet airplanes, that it's been simple to get to the West Coast. In the ‘50s, on a propeller plane, it took about 14 hours – it was a long, harrowing trip.

"And I think that one other problem with his fame [or lack of fame] was that he himself was more of an introvert. He was a shy man; he never tooted his own horn."

One consequence of this neglect, Carter said, is that Christensen's ballets are gradually disappearing.

"The Christensen legacy has really been lost in the San Francisco Ballet, in a sense," he said. "What they tend to do now is throw on a token Christensen work for the season, and so these works are in danger of being lost. There are a couple, I'll tell you, that are lost, and will never be done again; one of them was one of the finest works he ever did, Don Juan. It was phenomenal."

In this, as in other areas, the Christensen story is eerily reminiscent of another Dane's: a man of the theater, a champion of the male dancer, a lover of musicality and humor; famous in his own time, but later obscured by geography and shifts in critical taste; his legacy now imperiled by neglect in his "home" company. Could Christensen be America's 20th-century counterpart to August Bournonville?

Bournonville, at least, was rediscovered eventually. Christensen, his admirers believe, is still waiting for the renaissance he deserves.

[jminter]

Vancouver Folk Music Festival returns for the 46th year with an impressive line up

The 46th annual Vancouver Folk Music Festival returns this July 14-16 at Jericho Beach Park, thanks in no small part to audiences’ huge support and a groundswell of support. The 2023 edition of the Vancouver Folk Music Festival carries on the great legacy of musical excellence and eclectic discovery the annual summer tradition is renowned for bringing to the park.  From July 14-16, some of the world’s finest traditional and contemporary folk, world and roots music artists will spend the weekend bringing their works to friends, fans, appreciators of music and those who love the magic of this festival are invited to gather again to celebrate.

Board member and Programming Committee Chair, Fiona Black says: “This festival is a touchstone in the lives of so many of its far-reaching community: long-time and new audience members, out-of-town visitors who come year after year, volunteers, donors, sponsors, artists and so many more. I think this year everyone appreciates this iconic festival a little more. None of us take it for granted. For the VFMF, “folk music” is an inclusive term that encompasses as broad a range of roots-based music from around the world as you can imagine. The beauty of this festival is that it brings such an extensive range of artists together for three days of connecting with each other, inspiring unique collaborations and making lasting memories for the amazing gathering of folks that unite every year to celebrate life, community and music. That tradition continues this year with these artists, and we welcome everyone back to the park this summer to be part of this joyful experience.” Some 40 music acts from 10 countries, 6 states and 8 provinces will be found performing on the Festival’s three daytime stages and an evening stage over the summer�� weekend. Additional artists will be announced shortly. The festival’s gates open at 3pm on Friday, July 14, and music runs on Saturday and Sunday, July 15 & 16 from 11am to 11pm. This year's lineup includes a number of acclaimed artists known to many in the festival’s audience, including: Arizona’s Tex-Mex outfit Calexico, women’s music icon Ferron, the multi-faceted Joachim Cooder, the award-winning William Prince, and two genuine music legends, Joe Henry and Albert Lee. Music from around the world takes centre stage at the festival as well, including a towering figure in the world of traditional Persian music, Kayhan Kalhor and, among other international visitors, three groups who live for the music of the dance. From Italy’s Kalàscima, teaming up at the festival with stunning singer, Andrea Ramolo comes the passion and energy of the tarantella; the Cláudio Rabeca Quartet with special guest, Serena Eades play forró, the popular dance music of Brazil, and; we’re exciting to share the remarkable collaboration in the Melón Jiménez & Lara Wong Flamenco-World Trio. From south of the border, a number of artists are slated to bring the sounds of the US to the Jericho stages. Including one of zydeco and Cajun music’s great accordionists, Cedric Watson, who performs with fiddler Jourdan Thibodeaux; East LA’s Las Cafeteras’ son jarocho tunes will sure to bring folks to their feet; and folk music treasure, Aoife O’Donovan, brings her beautiful voice. Emerging artists are also on the roster including the Berklee College vocal trio and internet sensations, Tiny Habits; a strong and clear voice for social justice, Tré Burt, and BC’s own hip hop adventurer, Ruby Singh and The Future Ancestors. Homegrown talents are well represented on this year’s roster, including Jim Byrnes, The High Bar Gang, Jill Barber, The Sojourners, Ceileigh Cardinal and Newfoundland’s Rum Ragged and many more. This year's Vancouver Folk Music Festival curates an event that offers a truly global spirit, broad and eclectic in range, with something for everyone of all ages. In addition to whetting your musical appetites, the Vancouver Folk Music Festival offers a wide range of ways to feed you soul with food and artisan vendors as well the festival prides itself on its environmental awareness, sustainability initiatives, and accessibility.  With over 30, 000 people expected to descend upon the park get your tickets soon. Find the full Festival line-up and information about performers, vendors and artists at thefestival.bc.ca https://youtu.be/G_tDW04H6P0 Read the full article

[musicarenagh]

Meet Luxo: The Beat Wizard Making Waves in Tech House Let’s hit the dance floor as we investigate Luxo, a Portland resident that has been making waves in tech house for almost ten years. This electronic trip started by Luxo in 2014 is not an ordinary DJ. The tracks have settled with some of the coolest tech house labels as Night Service Only, Space Yachttt and Hood Politics creating a style that combines different flavors of House music. Luxo’s beats are not just some tones; it is an experience. Having residency in Portland’s 45 East, and a passport that reveals cities such as Los Angeles, Seattle, Raleigh and Miami he is considered the hottest artist of Pacific Northwest. And guess what? Next year will be his, as he has new releases all through it that’ll energize your speakers. However, who is the person behind these beats? In this exclusive interview, Luxo spills secrets. From being a homegrown musical weirdo to feeling inspired by crowds of people, Luxo’s life is as natural as his productive niche. In the non-music world, he is all about nature and enjoying a good meal. Thus, hold on tight because Luxo packs some serious heat with their turnt up beats and plans to collaborate in the future with friends namely SADYOUTH & Max Low. And to his fans eagerly awaiting new music, Luxo sends a simple yet genuine message: This year can’t come with fast enough because I have so much new music that wants to share it out there. Listen for Luxo! Listen to Chrome below https://open.spotify.com/track/1MwOIwpxfqZtsnaBx9tswz Follow Luxo on Facebook Spotify Soundcloud Instagram What is your stage name: Luxo Where do you find inspiration? It’s always been about live shows for me, whether i’m DJ’ing or just going to see artists I love. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? Music was my outlet Are you from a musical or artistic family? My parents forced me to play multiple instruments as a kid, I hated it at the time but looking back i think it’s been a blessing now Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? When I was younger I’d go to raves and I knew then I wanted to be a DJ! [caption id="attachment_53814" align="alignnone" width="1000"] When I was younger I’d go to raves and I knew then I wanted to be a DJ![/caption] How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I was self taught What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? Styx when I was 8 years old How could you describe your music? Tech House but I love pulling from different influences Describe your creative process. It’s very organic What is your main inspiration? Playing my own music out live and seeing people’s positive reactions What musician do you admire most and why? Too hard to choose Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Yes, when I first started out, I was making beat scene music but quickly found my love for house music Who do you see as your main competitor? Myself What are your interests outside of music? Outdoors, food If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? Probably something in marketing or business What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? The amount social media plays in your career https://open.spotify.com/artist/3ECUg6kTV5tp9vJ2UFNYZ9?si=2gu6l3UBS7-fVY8Cxk8CzQ What are your plans for the coming months? I’ve got some big releases planned on some of my dream labels. I can’t wait! Do you have any artistic collaboration plans. Yes, a few tracks with my homie SADYOUTH and Max Low that i’m excited for. What message would you like to give to your fans? Can’t wait for this year to unfold, I have so much new music that I want to share with everyone

[nycartinstallation]

Investigating the Magic of the Manhattan Art Installation

Get a sense of the ever-evolving art world by visiting the Manhattan Art Installation. In the bustling metropolis, where it demonstrates ingenuity, this unique artistic endeavor is situated. We offer plenty of vanguard shows and contemporary show-stoppers, ensuring a visual banquet.

Features

Diverse Artistic Expression: It presents a broad collection of imaginative styles, giving guests the chance to dive into a genuine embroidery of inventiveness.

Interactive Exhibits: Intuitive displays give potential open doors to individual commitment to the work of art by means of establishments that rise above the conventional limits among watcher and maker.

Local and International Talent: Investigate the imaginative manifestations of both homegrown and global illuminators, changing this exhibition into a kaleidoscope of innovative signs.

It is a vivid encounter that transports guests to the focal point of creative advancement; it isn't simply a display to finish up. Regardless of one's degree of imaginative mastery or simple interest, this establishment guarantees a permanent investigation of the powerful craftsmanship scene in Manhattan.

[chorusfm]

Joseph Luca – “My Best Dancing Shoes” (Song Premiere)

Today is a great day to share the latest single from Alt-Pop artist, Joseph Luca, called “My Best Dancing Shoes.” With a style that fits somewhere in the realm of Prince, Jeff Buckley, and Miguel, Luca showcases his depth as a talented songwriter. Speaking on the track, Luca shared: ”My Best Dancing Shoes” is a poignant musical narrative that encapsulates the intricacy of an unrequited love story. It weaves the tale of an individual grappling with the acceptance of their authentic self, compelled by a love that remains un-reciprocated. The song beautifully metaphorizes dancing shoes as a symbol of embracing one’s purest and most genuine identity despite facing adversity. It speaks of patiently waiting for a kindred spirit to arrive, a partner willing to join in the dance of life as true equals. The latest single comes from the newly announced EP, PART 2: Ouroboros (Death), that will be released everywhere music is sold on February 16th. I was also able to catch up with Joseph Luca for a brief interview below. PART 2: Ouroboros (Death) is the second installment of your new three-part series examining Love, Loss, Life & Death. Where does this EP fit within this narrative, despite the obvious deriving from its title? Every song on this EP acts as a reality check aiming at my previous naive and optimistic nature. We all deserve to have a wide-eyed perspective in seeking the beauty and mystery of life however at times this privilege can take us places we could never have previously expected. Places with real life consequences. This EP (within the overall narrative) captures the ego death of an individual seeking to step into their most powerful authentic self regardless of the growing pains.  You noted that your new track “My Best Dancing Shoes” portrays “dancing shoes as a symbol of embracing one’s purest and most genuine identity despite facing adversity.” Can you describe where this idea came from, and how you went about executing it lyrically? The idea simply came from the struggle of having to accept and share my fluid sexuality. You can’t choose who you fall in love with and this song depicts my first queer love. Unrequited, messy, fearful, and surprisingly transcendent. The love never came to be yet forced me to accept the fact that if I was ever to truly be in love I would have to accept myself fully first. By revealing who I was in totality I could truly give someone the ability to love me in return for all that I am.   In your musical catalogue, a huge cornerstone seems to be authenticity — how did you grow to a place where embracing your most authentic self comes so easily?  Music aside what matters to me in life is resonance. How can something truly resonate without authenticity. As an extension of myself directly to the audience I like to see myself as a farm to table artist. What you get from me is homegrown life experience formulated into pop music in hopes that it will give the audience the ability to move in their life from a place of resonance. And the truth is that it doesn’t came easy. It’s just simply necessary for what I do. --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/features/joseph-luca-my-best-dancing-shoes-song-premiere/

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 3 February 1955

Another two songs, both with some fairly generic titles compared to last week. That doesn't mean they're bad, per se, but I swear we've already had a song called Give Me Your Word (?). Ah, well, it looks like they at least both reached number 1, which, while not a guarantee of quality, is probably a guarantee that they're at least memorable.

Softly, Softly - Ruby Murray (peaked at No. 1)

Okay, perhaps what I said about being memorable was a little hasty. I'm writing this quite close to bedtime, and the overall effect of this song is pretty soporific. It's slow and seems to slow down as it goes down. Add to that the lullaby-like "softly, softly" refrain, and you've got a recipe for snoring.

It's not boring per se, but it's very deliberately gentle and inoffensive. I can imagine grandmothers everywhere finding this perfectly palatable - from the instrumentation, to the sentiment, to Ruby's very clear, generically British-sounding enunciation. It's genuinely a shock to learn that she was Northern Irish - not a touch of Belfast here!

There's a touch of Doris Day to the lyrics - in particular, it reminded me of If I Give My Heart to You as Ruby exhorts her love to "Handle me with gentleness / And say you'll leave me never". The only difference is that Doris has a slightly livelier style. I can't imagine this feeling quite so slow or gentle if Doris were singing it, even if it literally went at the same pace. She'd bring out the vulnerability of it all, or a sense of having been burnt already. Which I don't really get here, to be honest. It's not bad, but it's a much gentler, softer affair than it could have got off with being.

There really aren't many lyrics to this one, either - I'm looking at them, and they're shockingly thin on the ground. Really, it's a verse and a few lines of chorus that seem to have exactly the same tune and half of the same lines. Literally half the lines in the whole thing are "Softly, softly turn the key / And open up my heart". Which is a fine metaphor, I guess. It does the job and doesn't hang around too long.

Huh. Apparently this song was a French number originally, called "La Tamise et mon jardin" ("the Thames and my garden"), and was only adapted into English by an exec at the BBC. So at least it's a homegrown British affair, not some translation of an American original. And you know what, I can admire that.

Give Me Your Word - Tennessee Ernie Ford (1)

Well, after a homegrown British artist and song, Tennessee Ernie Ford has about the most American name possible. The song is pretty American too, though not as American as the other Tennessee Ernie Ford song that I know off the top of my head.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, we've got Give Me Your Word, which, true to its title, starts big and dramatic with a massive string ramp-up. I feel like when we're getting into "solemn vow" territory, you kind of have to go big or go home. And Ernie definitely commits to the former.

Once the big old string intro is over, we get a dramatic, deep voice, proclaiming to his lover that they should "Give me your word / Your love will never die". It's quite the performance, all forceful and passionate, and its perfectly underscored by some rather classical-sounding piano and some strings lifted straight from a James Bond soundtrack. It's great, very melodramatic.

And then, once your attention is suitably grabbed, we drop into a warmer, slightly less intense rhythm with some bass going on. It's a little more chill, but the lyrics do not let up, with Ernie imploring his love to "Give me one hope to guide me" and other such intense clichés.

It's not quite explicitly steamy at any point, but I feel like lines like "Give me your lips / And let your lips remain" are certainly skirting a line. If nothing else, it's definitely hinting at some proper making out, which isn't something we've come across yet. So there's that, I guess. I mean, I could be reading too much into it, but I like the idea that we've hit our first song about snogging already, in 1955.

We seem to be then building to a classic Big Old Ending. In particular, Ernie hits the word "Alwaaaaaays" with enough vigour to sell it, before dropping down for "give me your word". It's terribly effective, especially after such a big opening, since it sort of flips how songs usually work. You open with a closing line, and that lets the song sort of peter out gracefully, with an orchestral swell and a glorious timpani roll, fading then into a thrill of flutes and a hazy sort of resolution that's lovely to listen to. More songs should end with a quieter line and then this sort of hazily unfinished cadence - genuinely! I think it's neat, what can I say?

Well, there's a clear winner for me this time round. As much as I love the narrative whereby the homegrown British favourite beats out the big, American, glitzy song, I just can't overlook the quality and sexy instrumentation in Ernie's song. So...

Favourite song of the bunch: Give Me Your Word

[threehundredsixtyninehertz]

AY23.24 CTS B Week 4

Do I feel like I am part of the history of my discipline?. Yes. As a designer and artist, I am letting all ideas flow through us on the constant, through time and circumstance.

When visiting the National Gallery, a space of traditional art with a history spanning years and years of homegrown local artists. However, after analyzing the paintings as a now-growing designer, I'm able decide easier if the style of painting is something I would like to take inspiration. I only find a few interesting.

Man and Environment 1988

The theme of man, society, and the environment has been recurrent with Chng. This particular work, however, is an exploratory piece for Chng and is the culmination of her experiments of manipulating different materials such as paint, fabric, paper pulp, and plaster to produce textures, reliefs, and painterly qualities. The main characteristics of this style come from her experience in printmaking and exploration of using different materials in her composition. What I find interesting about this work is the ability to maintain hierarchy within the “mess” of elements. In my opinion, it is a genuinely magnificent concept of mixed media. This abstract work reminds me of an individual who is so sucked into his own environment and work that it allows ideas to flow through easily.

This piece of work inspires me to push further into my exploration of my ideas for any type of design. If I can use the lesson taken away, I can push the boundaries of my ideas and concepts.

Word Count: 255

References: https://www.roots.gov.sg/Collection-Landing/listing/1034838

[ianrossi]

❛ I DO, ACTUALLY, ❜ Ian replied, a spark of interest igniting as he turned to face her. ❛ She has this soft spot for impressionist landscapes, especially nightscapes—something about the colors and the way they capture light just speaks to her. The bigger the canvas, the better. ❜ He stepped closer to one of the pieces, his gaze wandering over the brushstrokes as if searching for the perfect match.

He listened to her description, a grin forming. ❛ It sounds like you’ve got a treasure trove of talent in here. Nice to know that I’m supporting homegrown artists while I’m at it. ❜ His enthusiasm was genuine; the idea of finding something unique made the hunt feel less like a chore and more like an adventure. ❛ So, what do you recommend? Any pieces that really stand out? ❜ He leaned in slightly, a hint of playful mischief in his tone. ❛ Or are you going to keep me in suspense and let me figure it out on my own? ❜

Addison perked up. Clearly here was an actual customer who was meaning to buy something. Not a bored pedestrian who was only interested in looking. “Do you know what kind of art your mom likes?” Addison asked. Art, like clothes, were varied in taste for each person. Hopefully he could point her in the right direction. “It is!” She revealed proudly. “We pull artists from New Bellevoux, New Orleans, other towns in Louisiana. And even a few from Texas.” There were even a few artists she had discovered and brought in herself.

[mrsurenderkumar10]

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[coochiequeens]

Jane Kaufman was making minimalist paintings in the early 1970s, spraying automobile paint on huge canvases. To be sure, the paint was sparkly, so the canvases shimmered — “lyrical abstraction” was how one reviewer described her art and that of others doing similar work — but they were firmly of their reductive minimalist moment. Hilton Kramer of The New York Times approved, giving Ms. Kaufman a nod as a “new abstractionist” in his mostly dismissive review of the Whitney Biennial in 1973.

Then Ms. Kaufman made a sharp turn.

She began stitching and gluing her work, using decorative materials like bugle beads, metallic thread and feathers, and employing the embroidery and sewing skills she had been taught by her Russian grandmother. By the end of the decade, she was making first luminescent screens and wall hangings, then intricate quilts based on traditional American patterns.

In celebrating the so-called women’s work of sewing and crafting, she was performing a radical act, thumbing her nose at the dominant art movement of the era.

Ms. Kaufman died on June 2 at her home in Andes, N.Y. She was 83. Her death was confirmed by Abby Robinson, a friend.

Ms. Kaufman was not alone in her focus on the decorative. Artists like Joyce Kozloff and Miriam Schapiro were inspired, as she was, by patterns and motifs found in North African mosaics, Persian textiles and Japanese kimonos, as well as by homegrown domestic crafts like quilting and embroidery. It was feminist art, though not all its practitioners were women. (One of the more prominent ones, Tony Robbin, is a man.)

The movement came to be known as Pattern and Decoration. Ms. Kaufman curated its first group show in 1976, at the Alessandra Gallery on Broome Street in Lower Manhattan, and called it “Ten Approaches to the Decorative” (there were 10 artists). For the exhibition, she contributed small paintings she hung in pairs, densely striped with sparkly bugle beads.

“The paintings are small because they are not walls, they are for walls,” Ms. Kaufman wrote in her artist’s statement.

Other galleries, like Holly Solomon in New York, began showing the Pattern and Decoration artists’ work, and it also took off in Europe before falling out of favor in the mid-1980s. Decades later, curators would scoop up artists like Ms. Kaufman in a series of retrospectives, starting in 2008 at the Hudson River Museum in Yonkers, N.Y.

“It’s funky, funny, fussy, perverse, obsessive, riotous, accumulative, awkward, hypnotic,” Holland Cotter wrote in his review of that show in The Times. The Pattern and Decoration movement, he wrote, was the last genuine art movement of the 20th century, with “weight enough to bring down the great Western Minimalist wall for a while and bring the rest of the world in.”

Ms. Kaufman was born on May 26, 1938, in New York City. Her father, Herbert Kaufman, was an advertising executive with his own firm; her mother, Roslyn, was a homemaker. She earned a B.S. in art education from New York University in 1960 and an M.F.A. from Hunter College. She taught at Bard College in Annandale-on-Hudson, N.Y., in 1972, one its first female professors. “She was famous for telling her female students, ‘You are all brilliant and you are all going to end up at the Met,’” said the arts writer Elizabeth Hess, a Bard graduate.

From 1983 to 1991, Ms. Kaufman was an adjunct instructor at the Cooper Union in New York. Her work is in the permanent collections of the Whitney Museum, the Museum of Modern Art and the Smithsonian Institution. She was a Guggenheim fellow in 1974 and in 1989 received a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. Her “Crystal Hanging,” a glittering sculpture that looks like a meteor shower, is in the Thomas P. O’Neill Federal Building in Boston.

In 1966 she married Doug Ohlson, an abstract painter. The marriage ended in divorce in the early 1970s.

No immediate family members survive.

While Ms. Kaufman was extremely serious about her work, she was also a prankster dedicated to political activism; for decades, a pink penis poster she created was featured at marches for abortion rights and other women’s issues. Its last outing was at the Women’s March in New York City in January 2017.

She was a member of the Guerrilla Girls, the art-world agitators, all women, who protested the dearth of female and minority artists in galleries and museums by papering Manhattan buildings in the dead of night with impish posters like “The Guerrilla Girls’ Code of Ethics for Art Museums,” which proclaimed, “Thou shalt provide lavish funerals for Women and Artists of Color who thou planeth to exhibit only after their Death” and “Thou shalt keep Curatorial Salaries so low that Curators must be Independently Wealthy, or willing to engage in Insider Trading.”

Membership was by invitation only, and most members’ names were a secret (they wore gorilla masks in public). Many Guerrilla Girls used the names of dead female artists, like Käthe Kollwitz and Frida Kahlo. But Ms. Kaufman did not.

“Jane had a wicked sense of humor, the ability to get right to the center of an issue and the courage and principles to confront the powers that be,” the Guerrilla Girl who calls herself Frida Kahlo said in a statement. “We will never forget her. We hope that Jane is also remembered as a wonderful artist who tirelessly worked to break down the conventions of ‘craft vs fine art’ and later combined her meticulous handwork with biting political content.”

Ms. Kaufman’s later work, Ms. Hess said, was as political as her decorative work had been, and dealt with religious and social divisions. But she was unable to find a gallery that would show it. An embroidered piece from 2010 announced, in metallic thread on cutwork velvet, “Abstinence Makes the Church Grow Fondlers.”

“She was an artist who floated under the radar,” Ms. Hess said. “She was underacknowledged, though she had curated the first Pattern and Decoration show. Her work came out of her interest in women’s labor, but I think the real revelation to me about Jane’s work was its sumptuousness and beauty.”

In late 2019, a retrospective called “With Pleasure: Pattern and Decoration in American Art 1972 to 1985” opened at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles (it is now at Bard through Nov. 28). Anna Katz, the show’s curator, chose a multicolored velvet quilt by Ms. Kaufman for the exhibition. Inspired by traditional crazy-quilt patterns, Ms. Kaufman had used over 100 traditional stitches, some dating back to the 16th century, in the piece, which she finished in 1985.

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Truthfully speaking, every idol in kpop is an industry plant... they train for years with a company to be put in the industry. If that's not an industry plant idk what is. What that guy said was mean but not entirely wrong.

(ok so full disclaimer this is too long and if you don’t read all of this I don’t blame you)

That’s true! I’ve joked that industry plants are just American K-Pop idols in the past and that people who act like they’re the worst thing to happen to music need to realize that every artist you’ve ever discovered and loved is because the music industry interfered i’m their career at one point or another unless you listen to really really obscure music. I was basing my argument off what I think the average perception of an “industry plant” artist is in the American/Western music industry.

So that would be:

someone scooped up by a label and crafted to appear as if they were an indie artist coming up in the industry, with a homegrown/“organic” following. (In contrast with K-Pop, it’s well-known that these groups are processed and did not come together like how bands are “supposed” to form)

who may also be be given an entirely different persona in comparison to who they were genuinely –think Tramp Stamps or Babygoth. (This does absolutely happen in K-Pop too, i’m just pointing it out as a pattern i’ve noticed amongst western industry plants)

But what I dislike about the western perception of K-Pop the most is that I’ve noticed people act like because these groups are manufactured by labels that they don’t work for their fame. People know they train for months/years, but I don’t think it fully connects for some people exactly how much the average K-Pop idol has to sacrifice to get a shot at debuting.

I also think that someone who may not be familiar with K-Pop may think that all labels are rich and powerful and that debuting in a group is equivalent to immediate success. The stuff smaller K-Pop groups (like BTS once was) go through to try and promote their bands is 100% comparable to what a struggling band or artist in the western music industry might do to try and further their career. We all know how some K-Pop labels are seemingly incompetent at managing their artists, so even if there is a label managing an idol group’s career, it’s not nearly as cushy as what I imagine the average American industry plant’s experience might be like. Especially since a lot of western music labels are owned by a few large companies.

Focusing on BTS specifically, there was a lot that contributed to them becoming the most successful K-Pop group to exist currently. Hard work, the cultivating of a fandom that feels especially connected to and defensive of them (even compared to other kpop fandoms), social media, the previous success of other K-Pop bands giving them more momentum to fully break into international markets, but their success was never guaranteed. BigHit wasn’t a big label when BTS first started, they had no big groups before BTS to help build a fandom off of, and if you look at material that came out from their early era’s you can tell the budgets were significantly lower. They did have to earnestly grow their following from nothing to something.

I could be 100% totally wrong and just spewing hot air at this point, and I don’t even like BTS very much anymore, but with the original comment I read that caused me to start thinking about this you could just tell OP was very much a “HURR DURR BOYBAND BAD!!! OLDER MUSIC GOOD!!!” type of person. K-Pop has a lot more nuance than people give it credit for and I want nothing more than to be able to talk about it like how someone would talk about other genres of music.

[with-the-same-tattoos]

i was never much into lotr, but your grima posts are genuinely so lovely and i really enjoy hearing you talk about him. i know everyone's been asking but share some more of your thoughts on him, especially if they're about a certain hobbit... i am wiggling my eyebrows right now. also, i saw your garden posts and... please plant some strawberries if possible. harvesting and eating them right after is what makes the world go round. eating homegrown strawberries and shoving rocks into my pockets is a very nostalgic memory, I hope you have lots of fun with gardening.

; . ; u have no idea how happy that makes my stupid little heart. He is my current weakness and I'm just. So thankful. That people r so willing to listen to & support me w whatever bullshit I get into......

Umm UMM UMM LETS SEE I COULD. I SHOULD PROBABLY SPARE SOM THOUGHTS.

Bc of COURSE i have been wondering. I've been trying 2 figure out a "plot" type situation BECAUSE I DAYDREAM and I LOVE THEMES n such and I've just... been trying 2 decide what the situation where my self insert hobbit & grima could actually meet.........

Unrelated but a random doodle i just did w half empty head bc i got back from school. Idk kinda "first meeting" vibes so whatever.

I could just go with a standard "idk theyr a hobbit artist who happens 2 be there painting for the court" but i am a man of adventure... itd be kinda neat 2 force my way into the main plot of the books.... BCS I DAYDREAM LEAVE ME ALONE... Idk maybe one extra hobbit that breaks off from the crew and ends up in Rohan a bit earlier or smth via weird travel antics? And yk. Falls in love w the grimy slimy tall man immediately bc hes so pretty and yeah.

Im honestly not quite sure how to story-this-up!!! I am ofc open to suggestions, if anyones interest goes THAT far.

Aside from my thoughts about how pretty HE is, I'm almost kinda regretting using a self insert here bcs my instinct is to think he would find me repulsive, and I really struggle to make up any of his brooding lovey dovey thought / action hcs based on a self insert of myself bcs i have. Issues. Byt 😭😭😭 honestly im wondering if i should just have used an oc.

Also- I WILL ABSOLUTELY DO THE STRAWBERRIES U R BIG BRAIN THANK U FOR THE IDEA

[chaospanics]

⇢ DECEMBER PLAYLIST ⇠

Also: my best of 2021 playlist (it has a lot of crossover with what’s posted monthly here).

This was a nice project for me to upkeep the past year! I’m not sure if I’ll keep doing this to the same extent in ‘22 (posts will probably look like August’s) but having a little archive of one of the most eventful and fulfilling years of my life (despite the circumstances) through music is really cool. 😊 Thanks for joining me xoxo Faves as usual:

Bearwear - The Incomplete Circle

Bearwear is an indie / alternative rock band formed in 2016 by Kazma and Kou. In 2020, their 1st full album The Incomplete Circle, which was selected for Fuji Rock "ROOKIE A GO-GO 2020", will be released. It is an iconic work that realizes a modern sound production that resonates with the current global indie scene. As a vocalist, "Miraco (fluctuation)" and Singaporean artist "Celine Autumn (Sobs)" also participated in the singing.

ROCK - ROCK

Twitter, that great big ball of online hate, is bad for many things but the occasional joyous interaction seeps through the rancour. Such as the time hip-hop and electronica whizz MALK sent out a tweet from his Philadelphia lair asking for interested vocalists to make contact. The only reply was from Chris Adams (Hood/Bracken) and it was cryptic. Cue two years later the duo unveil the results of their hook up and it’s pretty damn spectacular. They’ve called themselves ROCK which is of course the best name for a band ever and if it’s not a total cliche snarling opener ‘Shimmering In Freeform’ ROCKS and swings as if the duo had something to get off their chest after all this lockdown nonsense. Over increasingly distorted guitars and a sludgy rhythm, Adams wails near indistinguishable rhymes that never quite reveal themselves. It’s a stunning call to arms which sets the tone for the unique blend of ‘90s lo-fi, hip-hop and electronica that is slung out throughout.

shedfromthebody - To Hold The Ripened Sun

Shedfromthebody is an independent doomgaze / alternative metal artist from Espoo, Finland. Her music paints a distorted, ethereal landscape, through which she carries her songs with hauntingly beautiful vocals and lone, wailing guitars. With primary roots in doom metal, doom folk, and early 2000s alternative, Shedfromthebody's music varies from grim to comforting, from crushingly heavy to light and airy. Suvi Savikko, the brains behind this one-woman project, has been active since 2018 and released her debut album, A Dead and Aimless Hum, in May of 2020. She has roots in visual art, and the same aesthetic sensibilities have greatly influenced her music. She has also produced darkwave music under the name 1X4X44R, and composed music for Perfect Garbage Studios' game Love Shore.

Leftovers:

HOO - We Shall Never Speak

What or HOO do you get if you mix members of Slowdive, Beechwood Sparks with uncompromising folk angel, producer-songwriter and organic gardener with a penchant for wah-wah, Nick Holton? The answer is the wide-screen, heartbreaking glory of HOO’s second album We Shall Never Speak. A more song filled leap forward from debut Centipede Wisdom’s post-rock electro adventures. The detail and texture is extraordinary. A glorious hybrid of an album that over eight songs builds into something unique. Epic and homegrown. Upbeat and melancholic. Questing and questioning. Haunted by loss but future-facing. It’s a genuine marvel. Holton’s roots grew from the now re-eulogised ‘90’s Reading shoegaze scene. In its wake founding DIY 4 trackers Coley Park for three exquisite, prescient albums of country psych. For the ensuing 25 years he’s been a constant collaborator/provocateur to many of the scene’s diaspora. Most recently as one third of Black Hearted Brother with Neil Halstead and Mark Van Hoen. 

Kraus - View No Country

Part noise, part electronic, part gaze, all experimental… but not in any derogatory sense. Too often an artist will tag “experimental” to cover for the idea that ‘what you’re about to hear is inaccessible and offputting.’ The truly great artist will make the experimental accessible, grab your hand, and take you along a journey. That’s the path the one-man project Kraus has been hewing with great results, and earning much adulation along the way... Nobody expects quietness from Kraus, it’s just not in the sonic palette. It’s at this point we celebrate the forthcoming album, View No Country, due 22 October on a Terrible Records sub-imprint of the same name. (DKFM)

(cover image credit)