#rawk talks

[leembeanz]

i assembled a BRBA ita-pouch. starring my good friend Gus Fring

[nintooner]

🤨

[punk-rawk-pkmn]

his penif....

bonked by a ROCK TYPE. his BALS. HIS DUCKING PEEBIS

[redgbasp]

Hey, you think you can just smack-talk the Rawk Hawk? I DON'T THINK SO!

[artofkhaos404]

Hobie Brown is a fantastic character.

His design, concept, uniqueness and how HOT he is make him altogether very likeable. But all these things are not why I love him so much; it's what he represents that gets me.

The symbol in modern media he is for many different types of people. For one, he's pretty awesome for people of color to enjoy. Another black hero who can get down to business is always welcome, though it's nothing new for the Spiderverse universe with Miles Morales being our main protagonist. Having a British black character makes it all the more fun, diverse and interesting!

All that being said, the thing that warms my heart about Hobie Brown is what he means for the alternative community.

Im a punk. I'm also an anarchist.

Like anyone, I look for people in media who represent me in both appearance and ideals. As a plus sized person, finding people in media who look like me and aren't part of the toxic stereotype for fat people is uncommon. Chubby characters who don't make their weight part of their personality is unheard of.

Finding characters who properly represent my beliefs and ideals is nigh impossible in my experience. Seeing a punk in modern day popular media is rare. And when I say punk, I'm talking PUNK RAWK. Musicians with colorfully laced boots and symbols painted sloppily all over themselves. Gritty political activists in homemade clothes and piercings, fighting tooth and nail for what they believe in. In truth, I don't know if I've ever seen that in popular media; not authentically.

What do we get instead? Punk coded teenagers who don't really believe in anything, pissing people off for the sake of it. That ain't us. We believe in respect, love and morals. We believe in doing whatever is necessary to achieve the perfect world, whatever each individual believes that is.

The representation is even more insulting for anarchists. Everywhere are both mature antagonists and cartoon villains parading around preaching "anarchy" and completely misusing the word. Its to the point that my political belief is now more closely related to dictatorships (the literal OPPOSITE of anarchism!) or simply death and destruction rather than the true definition: no institutions, just people.

That word has been defiled. I've had people laugh at me and ridicule me when I share my political stance with them due to this stereotype. I've had people tell me I believe what I do just because it "sounds cool."

People that were uneducated to the concept in the first place have now been reeducated by an overlord walking across a battlefield of dead bodies in some movie screaming about "anarchy." Thanks Hollywood. Really appreciate that.

But Hobie is a punk. And he's an anarchist.

He's a hero. He's intelligent. He knows what he fights for and he fights well. That alone is revolutionary for the anarchist movement.

And in a MARVEL FILM. Millions of people watch Marvel films across the globe. Across the Spider verse has pulled in 1.35 Billion dollars. This is exactly what we need.

So, as a representative of my community, thank you Sony Pictures for this gift. I hope to see more like it. And while we're at it, thank you for all the diversity in this new film between all the ethnicities shown onscreen to putting someone my size in the mask!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

(also if anyone has any recommendations for realistic punk characters in media I'd love to hear em)

[mus1g4]

Who the first guy you met in real life who also liked prison like you, what did you guys do?

My first real person is known to many as Joshua Ryan. He writes prison stories and collects uniforms. He talked to me online for more than a year about prison uniforms and prison. He told me of many adventures and made me describe fantasies and prison scenes in minute detail.

After more than a year, he told me I should go to Prison and invited me to a roleplay prison in Anaheim, California, known as RAWK, formerly MCP or Men's Central Prison.

The story of our meeting is long and involved but ended with lovely dinners at The Mission Inn at Riverside, California and at Sir Winston's on the Queen Mary in Long Beach, California.

We still collaborate on uniforms and talk. I count him amoung my best friends.

Question about my First Real Prison Conversations

[kiwipineappleparasol]

TTYD Remake — Chapter 3, 4, & 5 Ramblings

I suddenly realized I forgot to post all my rambling here! And then I beat the game haha. But I will post my notes like I did not just Watch the Credits Sequence today . So do not fear! This is only for Chapters 3 4 & 5

I like when they show all the partners out together! Like at the Thousand year door or the blimp cutscene with them all riding together … That one made me unreasonably happy when starting chapter 3 haha.

I was . Literally kicking my feet giggling hysterically when I saw that the photo standee now actually does a little photo op??? I was sooooo happy oh my god . Noone asked for them to make the standee actually interactable to this extent but they did cause they could ! As a kid I would always pretend I was getting photos in it so this literally shot an arrow directly at my Child Self . This game is for meeeeee.

The fact your title screen has your Yoshi color on it! Suuuuuuper neat, I was quite surprised by it -- I just love the title screen in general . How everyone shows up as they join the cast! So fun. Another one of those details just added because they could ! I named my Yoshi Hot Dog by the way . And it was pink! I always wanted the pink one as a kid haha -- but I never got it.

I spent so much time talking to every NPC in chapter 3 it was embarrassing . And I don't think I even saw every piece of NPC dialogue despite my best efforts . Chapter 3 was such fun for me to go through I looooooove Glitzville . One of my favorite chapters for sure

I can appreciate how much foreshadowing there is for everything in this chapter now that I'm older… Bandy Andy and the Seven Wonders are an obvious example -- he directly foreshadows both Grubba's motive and his own demise. NPCs won't stop talking about Prince Mush, especially the juice shop lady -- who is obviously Jolene in disguise… My favorite might be this extremely obscure piece of dialogue if you talk to the freelance cameraman on the second floor, he tells you that Rawk Hawk used to be such a polite guy; he even sent Prince Mush a cake before their match! … Yep. Super Polite Guy! Bet that cake wasn't poisoned.

The way Bandy Andy's disappearance is like. All but unsaid is so cool to me. He just vanishes from the hallway and is silently replaced like nothing happened. But if you talked to him, you'd know exactly what he investigated that caused his disappearance. Loveee chapter 3.

Shellshock eating the cakes will never not be funny to me 🍰 that and him calling Mario "baby" is just inherently amusing to me. Mario is NOT your babygirl.... (End of Chapter 3 Notes)

THEY DID IT THEY CHANGED THE TRANSLATION !!!!! 🏳️‍⚧️ we looooooove you Vivian . I will give her The World . They also changed the translation for Jerry though too! Originally, he said he had to stop Luigi from wearing a dress ever again, but now he says he can't let Luigi fumble around in heels again because he might just kill someone . Jerry Character Development we love to see it .

I love the fact all the NPCs have different little voices it just adds so much … And I still can't get over all their cute little animations.

VIVIAN'S THEME IS SOOOOOOOOOOO GOOD!!! I will be listening to this Again . The spooky battle theme rules too . Such great Spooky Atmosphere they set with this chapters music and visuals .

Doopliss rocking in his little rocking chair was an absolute highlight for me . Look at him . I love his room so much . All he does is sit around, watch TV and curse the townspeople all day. He's bored!

the partner hints can be very silly . I really like how because Goombella DITCHED Mario for his poser in Chapter 4 that Vivian becomes the main partner hint girl for a time ! Love extra Vivian content .

I had the W Emblem badge when I got to chapter 4, but I was thinking that it wouldn't affect how Doopliss looked, let alone random NPC dialogue. But color me shocked when Doopliss stole the Wario Color Palette and the townspeople said he wore purple and yellow! This attention to detail is so cool.

The reveal at the end of the chapter ! How the paper ripped away to reveal his true form ! How Mario's shadow state was peeled off like a sticker! Finally a good use of stickers in Paper Mario . (Laughtrack)

My mother wasn't pleased that we had to beat Doopliss up because "look at him he's so cute he didn't do anything wrong." But she did say he should give up Mario's identity because his true form looks much better which is true. (End of Chapter 4 Notes)

Arfur saying he wants to talk to Swindell but he can't find him anywhere … You walk over two feet and see Swindell across the bridge. That got to me LMAO. That and Swindell calling some guy hopping into people's chimneys dashing. Happy Pride!

Mario tipping his hat to pay his respects to Scarlette …

FLAVIOS SINGING VOICE IS SO FUNNY. imagine being on a ship forced to listen to that for days on end.

The sequence of them all going overboard was Awesome love seeing everyone drown . But actually just so many of these cutscenes look so good in this remake !!! It's almost hard to appreciate them all because they set such a standard for them all!

Keyhaul Key looks so good actually. I mean I love all the new graphics in general it just really was hammered in here. Like wow. This game looks awesome. I love the battle theme here too.

Flavio and Pa-patch fighting over who's the Bravest Coolest Guy only for them to both quiver behind Mario is both entirely expected and very amusing. I Enjoy whatever is wrong with them.

(not) LORD CRUMP DOING THE FUCKING 👉👈 POSE??? hilarious. Also him Evilly Apologizing all the time. AND WHEN HE PICKED UP MARIO OVER HIS HEAD. why didn't he just drop him over the bridge and get it over with .

Koops saying "here I was feeling depressed … Mario, whack this guy" after they realized Bobbery wasn't dead . LMAO.

"Um. No. Not fair. I hate you all." Has got to be one of my top ten favorite lines from this game now.

The amount of joy Flavio riding on Yoshi with Mario brings is insane it's so funny to me. Two grown men piggybacking on a child . The only downside to the new pipe system is that you can no longer do the Flavio glitch and keep him forever.

Bobbery's partner hints are so full of personality… Also you can interact with the winch with every character and you bet I did that just to see what everyone said. I like how Koops didn't even know what the sluice gate was called, it feels very in line with him growing up in a peaceful village doing Nothing. Me too buddy.

I Can't Believe It Was Lord Crump This Whole Time! … Is what I would say if he hadn't told us earlier. I mean his disguise was flawless. Can you imagine Lord Crump doing this 👉👈? (Joking Statement)

CORTEZ SHAKING WITH RAGE WAS SOOOO FUNNY . He is SEETHING. also him eating the Skull Gem . Yum yum! I love this whole sequence with him and Flavio so much. His cabin is soooo pretty in the remake. They really went all out with the coins and gems here. I had to take so many screenshots !

THE SHIP FIGHTING SEQUENCE is great . I watched it twice just because I could .

I can't get over this dialogue from Pa-Patch after chapter 5 . The only explanations I can think of is 1: this is somehow offensive in Bom-Omb Culture or 2: he realized this sounded like he was flirting with a widower who just barely stopped blaming himself for his late wife's death. Bad look.

[wreywrites]

Wolf Songs

Jedi June Week 1

Prompt: Fun/Joy

A/N: Doing some extra scenes and some existing scenes from "The Protector," which is in final edits right now, so I'll start posting soon. Rather than first person from Ky's point of view, these will all be third person from other characters, kind of looking in at her life. Some of them will be Jedi, some won't. This week's comes at you straight from Creche Mom Le'Kal. Warnings: None AO3

Jedi Master Le’Kal Olto had raised three creche clans. Her first three she had made up little chants and mantras for, but this one, her fourth, she had decided to do something a little different. So the six crechelings of Wolf Clan howled.

They howled a lot.

They howled to the point where she sometimes wondered if she should apologize to the other creche masters, and Master Sinube, and Master Syssree in the laundry supply, and Master Yoda that day her half-dozen three-year-olds had burst into raucous howls at the end of their meditation session, and Master Nu when six five-year-olds entered the Archives as the model of respectful behavior and received a very stern talking to half an hour later for the same crime, and most of the Council, and—

Maybe she should issue a Temple-wide apology and tell her beloved creche that they must be polite with their howls, and save them only for game times.

Or, she thought, watching them line up for supper under the watchful and mostly helpful eye of Kit Fisto, the older Nautolan crecheling who often helped with their saber lessons and meditations, she could let it go on. There was no harm in it, and Master Yoda had simply chuckled at their antics, and Master Syssree had howled a raspy Trandoshan howl back to each of them individually as she handed them their new robes, and Master Nu… well, Jocasta could perhaps use a bit more levity in her life. Even if she was in charge of the Archives, and the Archives were supposed to be a quiet and respectful place of learning, and—

“Ready, little wolves?” Kit grinned at the six-year-olds lined up in front of him.

“Awooo!” they howled as one.

Most of one.

“Obi-Wan!” Keeli crossed her arms and bobbed her head at him, a Vurk expression of the highest disappointment on her face.

Obi-Wan barely looked abashed by this.

“You’re too serious!” Quinlan teased, turning around but not leaving his place in the immaculate line.

“I am the right amount of serious.” Obi-Wan held his head high, not looking at anyone in particular. “Being a Jedi isn’t all fun and games.”

Quinlan snorted, Keeli let out a rawk of disapproval, and Adi and Shaak, usually so strait-laced, actually stepped out of their places in line to look around Brallo, one on either side, and scrutinized poor Obi-Wan, who was perhaps now realizing his mistake.

“Being a Jedi is mostly fun and sometimes games,” Adi said, still leaning comically around Brallo.

Shaak, from Brallo’s other side, chimed, “Right, Le’Kal?”

Le’Kal smiled, took the briefest of seconds to arrange her thoughts, and said, “Being a Jedi isn’t all about having fun. However, it is important to have fun. It is much easier to find peace when you are happy and content, and it is easier to be content when you are having fun.” This, of course, being a teaching moment, she continued, “That does not mean you should howl all through meditations with Master Yoda this afternoon, but it does mean I want you all to be able to have fun with each other. It builds trust and friendship, and those things are important for Jedi. We are not meant to be alone.”

Le’Kal paused, looking at each little one individually, even Kit, who was feeling this divide more sharply than Wolf Clan, as the last of his own creche clan to not yet be a padawan. At fourteen, there was still time, but she knew it was hard for him, and she very much appreciated how well he put on a smile for her little ones.

She went on, “My creche-mates and I are still friends. We still share old jokes and stories from our time in the creche, and because we had fun together as children, we remain friends as adults and Jedi masters now, and because we are friends, we all know that we can call on the others for help and advice at any time. So…” Le’Kal paused, took a slow breath, and looked at each of them again, “being a Jedi is not all fun and games, but it is certainly harder without the fun and games.”

Wolf Clan looked at her with shining eyes full of awe, the Force’s current calm and cool and relaxed as they digested her words.

Kit, standing behind them at what had been the head of the line until they all turned around, smiled an almost disconcertingly soft smile when compared to his usual feral and toothy grins. If nothing else, he needed this.

Keeli broke formation first, bolting for Le’Kal and throwing her arms around the Mon Calamari’s middle in the biggest hug she could manage. Le’Kal barely had time to return the hug before the others swarmed them, surrounding her in a heartfelt group hug and warmth in the Force. Even Kit joined in, hugging her over Adi’s head.

Le’Kal simply radiated warmth back to them as she wrapped her arms around as many of them as she could reach.

Somewhere from the middle of the pile came a sigh and a quiet, resigned, “Awoo.”

“Awoooo!”

As the others started to howl with a vengeance, Le’Kal shifted one arm and ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair gently.

He smiled at her, looking a little rueful, then tipped his head back and howled again.

*****

Le’Kal’s datapad pinged. She glanced down at the table, confident that Shaak would alert her if something catastrophic happened as Brallo and Quinlan wrestled. They were usually careful, but she could never be completely sure. Thankfully, Shaak was responsible in the extreme.

It was a short message from Master Sinube: ‘Expect new initiate.’

She frowned. New? Six was too old, and any child younger than that would surely join one of the other clans, with children their age. She took a sip of tea and returned her attention to Quinlan and Brallo.

Next to her, Obi-Wan tensed and looked up with a sharp frown. “Is someone—?”

The door opened and there was Master Dooku of all people—soundly in the top five Jedi Le’Kal would never expect to bring new initiates to the Temple—and a girl, who did indeed look about the age of Wolf Clan.

She fed her flicker of surprise into the Force, smiled at the newcomer, and stood. “Master Sinube told me you were coming our way. Obi-Wan will welcome the company.”

Obi-Wan turned and shot what started as a shy smile but quickly became that famous winning grin of his at the girl. Le’Kal was quite sure her little wolves didn’t care about the species of their friends, but she also knew Obi-Wan didn’t always enjoy having to be careful of Shaak’s lekku and montrals, and Brallo’s lekku, and Adi’s tendrils, and Keeli’s head crest, and Quinlan was just different enough that Obi-Wan was always the odd man out. Another human would be good for him. Or at least give him a playmate whose head area he wouldn’t have to be so obsessively careful with.

The girl was grinning back at Obi-Wan.

Master Dooku inclined his head to Le’Kal. “Master Le’Kal, this is our hopeful initiate, Kylen Ydarra, of Vriis. Kylen, this is Jedi Master Le’Kal Olto. You will be in her charge for tonight.”

Le’Kal could feel cautious optimism from Dooku, and rampant excitement from Kylen Ydarra. It was a wonder the girl wasn’t visibly vibrating. “Force willing,” Le’Kal smiled, “for a few years yet. Let me introduce you around—”

Kylen suddenly spun around, reaching after Dooku, who had tried to slip out, as Jedi sometimes had to do when dropping off new crechelings. It was impressive how quickly most little ones became attached to whoever found them and brought them to the Temple and how little they wanted to be left with a group of strangers, even if those strangers were children their own age.

Kylen was staring at Dooku, the Force around her still overjoyed, but with the beginnings of anxiety churning beneath the surface. “You’ll come back?”

Dooku paused, then looked over his shoulder—very fondly, Le’Kal was surprised to see—and nodded. “I will see you at breakfast tomorrow, and then I will take you to the Council, and they will test you. After that, only the Force knows what will happen.”

“I know what will happen.” The girl did bounce on the balls of her feet this time. “They’ll let me stay.”

Dooku chuckled, then stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Le’Kal gave the girl a moment to process this. The lesson of no attachments had to be taught early and reinforced often, and Kylen was already behind—though, at six, she must have chosen to come to the Temple rather than stay on Vriis with whoever was raising her. Selfishly, Le’Kal was interested to watch her grow, if only to see how her unique experiences would shape the Jedi she became.

“Kylen?” She spoke gently.

The girl turned around to face her. “Yes, Master?”

Le’Kal smiled. “You may call me Le’Kal. All the others do. What would you like us to call you?”

“Ky.”

“Very good.” Le’Kal gestured the others forward and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder before gesturing to the others in turn. “Now, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Shaak Ti, Adi Gallia, and Keeli Andrell. And my wrestlers are Brallo Kitari and Quinlan Vos.”

*****

Ky was right. She passed the Council’s test with flying colors and became the seventh member of Wolf Clan, and she howled along with the others at moments both opportune and otherwise.

Eight years later, Wolf Clan’s six padawans and one youngling stood from their table as one, howled, and scurried from the dining hall. Quiet, good-natured laughter followed them, and a fair few Jedi shot fond looks at Le’Kal.

Across the table, Ashda chuckled. “What mischief do you think they will get themselves into today?”

“I suspect a game of hide-and-seek tag in the West Garden. In fact,” Le’Kal stood and picked up her tray, “I may go and watch, for old time’s sake.”

Ashda nodded with a smile. “Have a fun afternoon.”

“I will.”

She did.

She did not arrive in time to hear the cackling laughter that came when Adi pushed Obi-Wan into one of the fountains to gain an advantage in their race to the circular bench on the far end of the garden to see who would be the seeker for the first game.

She did arrive in time to see Shaak jog by, smearing mud on her face to camouflage her brightly colored skin. The young Togruta smiled at her, then ducked into the trees. Le’Kal sat on a nearby bench, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, letting herself drift into the current of the Force.

The Force was bright and warm with their joy and excitement, each of the children a bright spot, flaring nearly white against the peaceful green of the life in the garden. Le’Kal smiled and watched them through the Force. Brallo counted, his voice quickly slipping into the soft monotony of meditation. Keeli hid near one of the huge tree forts, grown for games just such as this; Quinlan on the walkway on the top level of the garden with Ky just below him on a fountain’s broad shelf top; Adi and Obi-Wan on a pair of small floating hedge mazes on opposite ends of the garden; Shaak climbed high into a boga tree and nestled herself into a crook in one of the larger limbs.

Le’Kal stayed on the bench for three wild games of hide-and-seek tag, basking in the warmth of Wolf Clan’s joy and laughter, smiling in the knowledge that no matter what happened to them, her little wolves would always have their pack.

Jedi were not meant to be alone, and these little ones would never be.

*****

It had been twelve years since the fountain incident, twelve years since Ky had finally become a padawan, and now she was the last padawan of Wolf Clan, the others all knighted and given responsibilities that made Le’Kal proud—Brallo a healer, Obi-Wan master to his own padawan already, Shaak a creche mom. It was that very creche that led to one of their wildest games of hide-and-see tag yet. Shaak’s Rancor Clan was on Ilum for the Gathering, leaving her with what Le’Kal knew could be a very overwhelming amount of free time. Obi-Wan’s padawan, who was a sort of honorary member of the creche clan since he was their age when he came to the Temple, had gone along, leaving Obi-Wan with an equally overwhelming amount of free time. Rather than use that time for napping and truly peaceful—rather than educational—meditations, the silly wolves had rounded up their creche-mates for an afternoon of chaos.

Le’Kal treasured it. She sat in the West Garden and observed their games through the Force, today a riot of color with their joy. She laughed aloud when Obi-Wan finally evened the scales and sent Adi tumbling into the fountain. When she went to supper a few moments after Wolf Clan, her heart was light and her spirit rejuvenated from the simple happiness the little wolves had exuded into the Force.

After supper, she followed them to the much quieter East Garden, where they settled in one of the grassy open spaces in a small circle, and, still smiling, began to meditate. She couldn’t resist.

“May I join your meditations, little wolves?”

Their eyes lit up as they opened them and saw her just outside their circle. They scooted closer together, looking oh so much like the six-year-olds they once had been, staring adoringly at her as she told them bedtime stories, only now, at twenty-six, they were, to a man, taller than she. But the way Ky and Obi-Wan grinned happily at each other, the way Brallo bounced in place, the way Shaak repositioned her montrals for optimum comfort—none of these things had changed in twenty years. They were still the little wolves of Wolf Clan, still prone to howling at inopportune moments, still so strong in their bonds of friendship and their dedication to the Jedi Order and all that it stood for, still warm lights in the Force, surrounding her and reminding her of the simple joys of life and the peace that those joys brought.

Le’Kal smiled and sat in the gap they made for her, between Adi and Quinlan. She knew they didn’t need her instruction any longer, but she couldn’t resist.

“Close your eyes, little wolves,” she said, voice soft and melodic.

They all drew a slow breath as one, eyes drifting shut, peace swelling in the Force, and still, underneath, that contagious joy bubbling up.

“I’m one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”

Another deep breath.

“I’m one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”

Seven voices, much less shrill and somehow both quieter and louder than they had been twenty years ago, joined her.

“I’m one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”

How could she feel anything but joy, surrounded by these bright lights that were the future of the Jedi Order? How could anyone worry when they heard the howls and laughter of Wolf Clan ring through the halls of the Temple?

Jedi were not meant to be alone, and as if to prove that they had learned that lesson well, Wolf Clan slept in a pile in the short grass of the East Garden just like they had when they were crechelings, and the Force danced around them.

[thisaintascenereviews]

Camp Is An Underrated Masterpiece: A 13th Anniversary Retrospective

Modern renaissance man Donald Glover put out his last album under the Childish Gambino moniker this past Friday. Entitled Bando Stone & The New World, the album serves as a soundtrack for a film of the same name, and it’s a fitting exit for the longtime moniker. Childish Gambino was started in the late 00s as Glover was working on his burgeoning comedy career, whether it was posting videos on YouTube with Derrick Comedy, writing for 30 Rock, or starring in Community, and having some standup specials, Glover also somehow made time for music. He released a few mixtapes in the late 00s, but 2011 saw the arrival of his debut album, Camp, and this album was a game changer. Not only did this album introduce people to his music, and how Glover could literally do almost anything, this record changed my life in a big way.

To put it bluntly, Camp was the reason I got into rap. You see, I was 18 when Camp came out, and by that point, I had only gotten into classic rock and metalcore / post-hardcore. Rap music was foreign to me, despite seeing stuff on TV and the radio. I was a fan of Community when it was on, and Glover was always one of my favorite actors on it, so I was psyched to learn when he had music out. I didn’t know or expect it to be rap music, but I remember being in my room and listening to “Bonfire” for the first time. It was one of those “this is what [insert genre] is??” moments, because I was surprised in the best way.

You have to remember a few things, too, because this was at the time when it was cool to hate mainstream pop / rap, and there were a lot of pop music reviewers on YouTube who looked down on that type of music. I wasn’t outright with it, but I just didn’t get into pop, rap, or anything like that, because it just didn’t seem interesting to me. I wanted my music to have guitars, as most “tr00 rawk” guys do, but as I got older, I wanted to expand my tastes a bit. I began listening to indie rock, and diving into stuff that was out of my comfort zone, especially something like Camp. I was in the mindset that a lot of rap was of the “money, sex, and drugs” variety, and had nothing to say outside of that, which is such a close minded thing to think, but again, I was a teenager who liked rock and metal music. What do you expect?

Camp surprised me by having a lot of things to say, whether it was about Glover’s racial insecurities, especially as a Black man that’s also “nerdy” (this was right around the time when being a nerd was becoming cool, instead of niche and weird), his relationship woes, talking about his career thus far, and trying to make a name for himself. There are plenty of clever, fun, and entertaining pop culture references. Some of these references have aged well, and some of them haven’t, but this was also in the time of what became known as “punchline rap,” where rappers would basically be standup comedians by using a line to build a setup and then end it with one word or a phase, usually some kind of pun. It was also known as “hashtag rap,” and a lot of rappers at the time did this. This was the rise of the blog era, too, as lots more people began using social media, so the Internet was booming.

At its core, though, Camp is essentially a pop-rap / alternative rap album, and aside from being Childish Gambino’s debut studio album, it’s also known for having one of the harshest Pitchfork reviews, and for a long time, Pitchfork really didn’t like Donald Glover’s music. Nostalgia aside, this record is a harmless pop-rap album, and if it works, good for you, but if not, there’s no harm in that, either. This record has a lot of solid hooks, good one liners, and production that’s held up over the years (despite how its sound is very influenced by Kanye West and Lupe Fiasco, who were both huge at the time).

It’s awesome, too, because not only Glover’s music would improve tenfold on other albums, but so would his lyricism, rapping, and singing. It’s pretty good here, but you can tell he’s getting into his own groove. This is a solid debut that you can look back at in retrospect and appreciate where he came from, but that Pitchfork review is still out of pocket all these years later. There are plenty other albums that could have made for a better “first rap album,” but Camp is still a great album. I have a lot of nostalgia for it, and it still holds up today, even if some of the language and references don’t hold up now or they’re just dated. This is the record that put Donald Glover on the map, and while his later albums would bring him more success under the moniker, this record always has a place in my heart.

[realindevelopment-returns]

Ask 18 and 24

a couple of tough ones here, thanks for the ask :) \m/>.<\m/

18:A song from the year that you were born

down at precinct 49, having a tear gas of a time. also just this year read a book about how important 10cc were in setting up a major recording studio over in manchester which broke the mold of all the fancy studios being in london (i'm not from england i just have a fondness for the manchester music scenes over the years. paul hanley's book 'leave the capital' is a cracking read for music nerds)

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

tough one as most bands from my peak are either on non speaking terms, filthy rich, dead poor or still touring in with or without significant members involved.

so this is really tough because i can't think of one band that i wished did one more - i can think of plenty of bands that probably should not have made the last one better; so i'm going to tackle this with bands that i think got a little fucked over by the front person. and there's 2 that spring to mind straight away.

talking heads

tina and chris, the bassist and the drummer, the engine room of talking heads i think got a little bit stiffed by david byrne calling time on the band. (jerry i think was more on wages than the other three founding members but i could be wrong)

silverchair

i'm not even into silverchair but this was a great song and showed they could have gone anywhere if they were on the same page. similar to talking heads, when the front says it's over there's no real recourse, i've got the other two's book (ben and chris - love & pain) on my wishlist for when i'm rady to tackle the rawk n roll memoir set again

[leembeanz]

been wanting to post a compilation of Louie pics from my instagram but waited til i could get some pictures of her with arizona teas...i've fed her many treats and got a goth-y lanyard to substitute as a leash so she can go on walks Safely. it is really fun to swaddle her.

cannot wait til Olive gets sent out so she can join in on adventures 🥺

[theluckywizard]

Hiii Lucky!! Rawke you say, hehehe - "Boots soaked through, toes going numb" from Winter is Coming. Bonding over how much the world seems to hate you today, is the best kind of bonding. XD

Thank you Wren! For @dadrunkwriting I whipped up this bit for my distraction fic during which Rose and Hawke's mothers try to fix them up during DA2, Act 2. I'm not working on it chronologically anymore, but here's the first part from last DADWC! Rating: Teen WC: 1355 CW: None

Hawke stares, his jaw seldom agape this way, astonished to see the fussy looking ingenue tenuously descending a drainpipe from her guest bedroom balcony. Gone is the stiff green dress. Gone is the perfectly pinned hair. Instead it streaks down past her left shoulder in a long splintering braid. Dusting off her hands, Rose Trevelyan looks up the length of pipe she just climbed down, turns to stride into the night, and then walks straight into Hawke’s chest.

“Oh!” she cries, clutching her nose as he steadies her reflexively, unable to contain his laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he manages. “I saw you scrambling down from up there and thought perhaps— well I don’t know what I thought. I—” Staring at Rose, her hair loosely braided, he feels that same whisper of familiarity, but it’s more potent. It couldn’t be. He picks up her hand on the off chance, turning it over. But there’s nothing.

“I’ll have that back, thanks,” she says, a little put out by his strange reaction.

“Forgive me,” says Hawke, watching her tug on some gloves. He purses his lips and decides to pivot the conversation. “So. Climb down a lot of downspouts?”

“A few,” she answers, the corner of her lips turning. That can’t be all. He presses for more.

“Off somewhere special?”

“Not really. I thought I’d wander around a bit.”

“At night… in Kirkwall,” he says, the doubt in his voice concealing his utter amusement.

“Well I can’t wander around during the day. Mother would pitch a fit,” she says, annoyed to be prodded. “I overheard you say you were going someplace called the Hanged Man. Can I come?”

Hawke’s brow lifts in surprise. It’s not as though he isn’t surrounded by surprising companions, but his mother’s never tried to fix him up with any of them.

“Look,” she starts. “I’m sure you’re off to see your lover or whatever. And we don’t need to pretend that either of us are actually interested in settling, let alone with one another. But if you’re headed that way, perhaps you wouldn’t mind me tagging along. I can take care of myself once I’m there. I’d do anything for a moment out from under my mother’s vigilant bloody thumb.”

“So you’ve bought the rumors,” he chuckles. “Wild Fereldan man beds half of Kirkwall.”

“They do tend to get more ridiculous with each pass, I suppose,” she answers, donning that blazing smirk again. He gestures in the direction of Lowtown and she falls into step beside him. Peeking over, he notes the handsome leathers she wears under an enormous cozy looking knit wool cowl.

“What if your mother finds out you’re gone?” he asks.

“Oh I’ll blame you,” she says. “Obviously.”

A snicker snuffs through his nose.

“Do you always bring your sword and shield to the tavern?” she asks. Hawke stifles the next laugh, clutching his hand over his mouth before peering over at her. She looks up at him without a speck of irony, genuinely curious.

“I’m surprised you’re unfamiliar with the perils of Kirkwall. Given the fact that your mother expects you to live here…”

“I’m sure she conveniently forgot,” replies Rose. “She’s been trying to get rid of me for nearly five years now.”

“Must be desperate if she’s pawning you off on the ne’er-do-well son of an apostate.”

“Nonsense. She’s more than happy to overlook your rapscallion ways if there’s enough money and prestige involved.”

“Rapscallion?” Hawke grins. “I suppose if the shoe fits…”

“So how did you get talked into this monstrousness?” she asks, brushing her braid over her lips as if in thought.

“Unlike you, I don’t seem to be able to tell my mother no. I knew it would make her happy to see an old friend. And to at least look like I’m trying,” he says.

“That’s—“

“Adorable? I know,” he cuts in, flashing a smile that he hopes is marginally dashing for this surprising lady.

“I was going to say a little pathetic.”

“Oh. Well. That too of course.”

As they make their way through plazas and tree lined boulevards, he notices there’s a swing in her step that belies her upbringing. It’s graceful in its own way, but hardly the delicate glide he would have expected from someone of her background.

“So you’re a treasure hunter?”

“You do something one time,” he mutters, letting his head fall back. He fixes bright eyes upon her. “Yes. I went on a treasure expedition. And yes, it made me outrageously wealthy. But— that’s not what I am.”

Rose seems to be waiting for him to say more.

“Well, you can’t leave me hanging. What are you then?”

“Bit of this and that,” he answers with a shrug.

“This and that?”

“It was different when I needed to pay the bills. Mercenary work. Smuggling. Whatever brought the most coin without making me hate myself at the end of the day. And now…”

“A mercenary? You killed people for money?” she asks. He can’t decide if she looks galled or fascinated. Perhaps a bit of both. 

“That would be an assassin. I— made sure people paid their debts mostly. But I wound up spending my own money half the time when the people in question turned out to be down on their luck. In too deep with the wrong sorts trying to carve out a life in this infernal place. So I suppose that makes me a terrible merc.”

He sees her lips twist in a smile she’s fighting.

“And what do you do now that you’re fabulously rich?”

“Drink and carouse mainly,” he says with a grin.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole of it.” Rose stares expectantly, crossing her arms.

“Solve the odd mystery. Run errands. Stick my fingers into pies I later regret.”

“Stick your fingers into pies?” she asks, raising her brow. “And do the pies feel the same regret?”

“Andraste’s blazing— Isabela’s going to like you.”

“Isabela. Was she the tall one wearing half an outfit under her coat or the quiet Dalish one?”

“Captain Half-an-Outfit herself.”

Hawke finds himself telling her all about his friends, a motley collection who barely get along unless they’re drinking or Varric is around to help him smooth everyone’s ruffled feathers with distractions. He’s not sure who exactly will feel up for the Hanged Man after the kerfuffle with Dougal and his goons, but he’s counting on at least a few of them being there and this poor woman had best be prepared for the madness.

As they saunter down the street, they’re accosted by a sudden burst of snow, falling in a sideways waltz on a wet breeze kicked up from the harbor. The flakes cling to one another and then to Hawke and Rose, their hair and clothes quickly dusted with it. It doesn’t take long for the streets of Hightown to grow perilous for leather soles, but Hawke consoles himself that soon the carefully laid cobbles will  dwindle away and then disappear entirely as they make their way into Lowtown. When she nearly slips, recovering herself in an awkward dance of flailing limbs before clinging to his arm for support, he makes it a point to slip a few minutes later, landing on his arse hard enough that he’s sure it will bruise.

Rose extends him a hand, reaching for him, a pitying smile brightening her face. He can’t help but admire it from his spot in the slop on the ground. The soft indigo gray of her wide eyes, the spray of freckles all over, the way she looks at him.

He had seen her before. In that haunting blazing dream of his. 

“You,” he utters softly.

“Me?”

“I mean— you— look rather fetching in inclement weather,” he says, burying the thrill that hums inside him.

“You don’t owe me any sort of compliments, Messere,” she says, pulling him up with surprising ease. “We don’t have to pretend.”

“Right. Good. Terrible look on you anyway, snow. Does nothing for your complexion.”

She laughs, hiding it behind a fist tucked inside her jacket. In spite of the dream, in spite of his sudden certainty, Rose Trevelyan looks perfectly darling.

“I think the slush is seeping into my boots. Can we get a move on before my toes go numb?”

“By all means,” he says. They carry on bantering about all manner of things, passing the time so agreeably that he stumbles into the nexus of Lowtown that contains his favorite haunt. He smiles at this adorable creature as he considers this farce of a matchmaking scheme might not be the dreck he though it might be. 

And then he remembers all his friends who could be at the Hanged Man. Their brutally impertinent looks. Their filters carried away on vapors of Antivan Sip-Sip. All the rancid gossip and nonsense they might foist upon her.

Oh fuck.

[t-underneaththeradardancing]

post pablum

wait i mean - anyway - apres as well also that ends 

well - it did that at the very least - end onna high - notez that matters - but 1st ok - tried an unfinished instrumental that i didnt quite and faltered but nothing dreadful - and then idk but not bad and then maybe a bit better 

then drama which kinda blocked everything but keeping connected for a minute - an almost altercation at the bar and helter skelter and a guitar on purpose thrown and smashed maybe unfixable but a woodworker will try - no not blondie tho a reminder to take a little/lot more care - and quick restore connection and clarification 

gettin towards the end of performers - still a ton of time - carla hostess / performer ( it wuz her new cheap guitar ) asks  if i wanna play a song w her and would it be ok for another performer to perform again first - yah - cool af its nice to b wanted - then an intermission - we talk for a minute about wat to play - i sez i can play x in my sleep and have doubts about y which i havent even thot about since we lst played it a month ago and we wuz dead on w no rehearsal together but both had prepped -  and sed “ wish i had some distortion - it hides a lot of sins - we laff then after a bit of thot - gawd s hate a coward so i sez lets go for y - and we rawked it - no vid that aware of duznt matter  

so the show as always goes on cuz it must even if offstage - alls well that ends well 

i did trust guitar and mostly fingers -also  ego tho brought on by fear as usual 

[piers-official]

piers im so srs this has been so terrifying for me i think if i look you in the eye at your next show arceus will just snipe me Have Mercy pleas.se. IM NOT A WEIRDO I PROMISE.

-@punk-rawk-pkmn

Figured ya weren't, mate. Lotsa people have celeb crushes and shite, so ya not alone. Anyway, I don' think Tropius meant t'call ya out or anythin', she's a kid and likes makin' friends with similar interests, ya know?

Ya should come talk t'me after a show sometime, I'll get ya a free shirt or somethin' if ya like.

[vancilocs]

30-39 for any blorbos you have 0.5 seconds away from bursting out of your nogging?

my parents ambushed me and took me out to get some chicken nuggest. also you get the vampire n the king

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

Raven makes sure to move a bit every day, usually a few pushups and crunches and plenty of stretching, and goes on nighttime walks with his cat. No difference from how he acts.

Fenrir mainly just walks around the castle or goes horseback riding, mainly to work out his anxious energy, if he's very twitchy he will go out for an hour or so and be more relaxed. He's banned from riding saddleless and he's a bit pissed about it.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Drinks very little because his liver is already so fucked up, at most he will have a tiny bit of wine. If drunk, lays around and cries. If hungover, lays around and cries. Not a fan of looking after drunk or hungover people either, but won't complain, will hold their hair back and say nothing.

Drinks a bit too much though he has cut back a whole lot from his youth, still will down a bottle of wine in a night three times a week. When drunk he's sleepy and cuddly and giggly, when hungover he's like a bear that's been shot in the ass, don't talk to him. Gently makes fun of drunk or hungover people, especially if they're his kids

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

Mainly wears black work clothes, buys from any retailer that has clothes that fit at a reasonable price. Sleeps in a hoodie and boxers. Wears eyeliner and eyeshadow on gigs, keeps his hair mid-length and clean, tucked behind ears or swept back

Wears the finest finery, embroidery, leather, jewels, velvet cloaks and gold buckles, but adds his own rougher style with leather gloves and chokers and needless straps and belts. One good part of being king is that people can't tell you what to wear. Always compensates his tailors well, so while he doesn't buy new clothes often, when he does they're the best quality. Sleeps with just pants on. His hair's real long and luscious, good for braiding and buns and ponytails if he's feeling sassy

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties?

Simplest black boxers money can buy

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body?

Tall (like 190 cm), thin, kinda sinewy? He's a bit too skinny compared to how much muscle he's built. He doesn't particularly like his body, mainly because he's so chronically ill, but weight and heightwise he's fine.

Also around 190 cm and way more built, he's got some chunk ontop of the beef, no abs here no sire. Thick boi, can't knock him over with a pail of water. He thinks he might have gotten a bit too fat but that's nonsense.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Sleeping with Vikas is a guilty pleasure, as is sometimes smoking (he only does when very stressed). Unguilty pleasures are sleeping late because he has a night shift and just laying in bed petting his cat

Smoking and drinking are guilty pleasures, old bad habits die hard. Feels no guilt over delegating small responsibilities to his underlings and laying in bed with his wife or spending time with his toddler, like bitch why do you think I hired you

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

He is a singer and a keyboardist, very good at both. Doesn't have the energy for other hobbies.

The best horserider in the castle (closely followed by Rawk), pretty good at swordfighting. Not a great singer.

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction?

He enjoys some reading, especially gothic poetry, writes some songs himself so those are inspirational. Likes to take his time reading and analyzing. Sometimes indulges in nonfiction.

Doesn't like reading and is slow at it but also doesn't destroy books on sight anymore. Mainly reads important letters and documents, sometimes children's books for Nepheli.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

Admires assertive people (Lyssa shutting Orion up made her a legend in his eyes) and wishes he was better at managing his own emotions. Unfortunately your upbringing left you with some attachment issues

Doesn't understand how people can stand long meetings without going insane or falling asleep. Or how people like reading. Or how his wife can talk with people with a smile on her face and then later say that she doesn't actually much like that person

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging?

Communicates via text always, receiving a letter would be kinda romantic tho.

He doesn't write letters because his handwriting is ass, he dictates them instead

[thesinglesjukebox]

BENSON BOONE - "BEAUTIFUL THINGS"

WE ARE SO BACK once again, with a theme day too! Can you guess what it is?

[3.71]

Kayla Beardslee: "Beautiful Things" evokes a desperate, heartfelt plea to a higher power that I, too, often find myself asking when the things I treasure are under threat: that is, Jesus Christ, how do we keep letting men get away with this? [2]

Taylor Alatorre: So much for "Thy will be done," I guess. "Thy will be done, as long as it means I get to keep this hot piece by my side" just doesn't carry the same moral or lyrical weight. Boone's hairless hair metal wailing may bring to mind the nu-glam crossover smash "Lips of an Angel," but even a pro-adultery power ballad with that title manages to avoid being as theologically challenged as this one. Anyway, religion talk over. This is a gawky, lumbering Frankensong whose body is grafted together from the three or four types of rawk music that are allowed on pop radio this decade, and the only reason the score isn't lower is that I'm constitutionally incapable of going below a [2] on a song that prominently features palm-muted guitar. [2]

Julian Axelrod: I didn't know anything about Benson Boone's backstory until I read TSJ Legend Katherine St. Asaph's writeup in Stereogum, but suddenly "Beautiful Things" made perfect sense as an audio origin story. You can hear the American Idol also-ran in the earnest six-string swell of the verses; the Imagine Dragons protege in the pained wails of the chorus; and the years in the TikTok trenches in the way he strings together several 30-second snippets into a semi-coherent whole. I had no idea he was a rollerblader until two days ago, but if you told me this song blew up soundtracking inline skate tricks I would absolutely believe you. [5]

Joshua Lu: It's easy to write this sudden chart-topper off immediately when you see the words "TikTok" and American Idol in Benson Boone's biography, and the familiarity of every component of "Beautiful Things" doesn't help its case. Rarely, however, does a Big Explosive Chorus actually feel earned — Ryan Tedder has been trying to create that exact climax for over a decade — and the ease with which Boone slides into that emotional outpouring tingles my brain. [6]

Jeffrey Brister: Definitely not the most distinctive song, but there’s something in the execution. "Beautiful Things" has momentum: always pushing forward, anchored around Boone’s capable vocal performance. It drops out at the right moment and then absolutely EXPLODES in the chorus. It's like an ideal version of the vaguely bluesy folky hoot-stomp music of the early- to mid-10’s.  [7]

Rachel Saywitz: A mishmash of all our worst musical impulses from the 2010s: Ed Sheeran’s melodramatic pop lilt, Imagine Dragons’ overprocessed and underbaked rage, being inspired by Jon Bellion. I’d have a bit more fondness for “Beautiful Things” if it fully leaned into the Christian hard rock that its hefty chorus pulls from, but Boone’s melodies are already much too drab. Add any more weight, and the cliff he’s standing on would crumble instantly. [3]

Katherine St. Asaph: I kind of like this! Seldom does someone unmarried come off as this much of a Wife Guy. [6]

Isabel Cole: The verses are fine, I guess, but the chorus is so unpleasantly shrill that it zooms right past anxious and even beyond desperate, all the way into the realm of the guy who will physically block the door to keep you from leaving. [2]

Aaron Bergstrom: I have spent far too much time trying to parse these lyrics, and I am no closer to unlocking Benson Boone's theory of relationships, personal or supernatural. There's a simple chauvinist reading here: girls are "things," lacking in agency, given to men by God. Then again, chauvinism requires a belief in male superiority, and Boone seems to ascribe even less agency to himself. His mindset is something akin to learned helplessness: these "things" may be taken from him on the capricious whims of forces wholly outside his control. It's not exactly Calvinist, as the future is still in flux, but there is nothing he can do to win or lose God's favor. In the later verses, Boone gestures at acceptance: the idea that peace and sanity will come when he stops trying to exert his will in relation to the "things" is vaguely Taoist. Of course, this is immediately undone by the theatrical outburst of a chorus, pleading simultaneously with a girl who can't help him and a God who won't, and we're right back where we started. So "Beautiful Things" is either a studied meditation on the human mind's ability to entertain multiple contradictory thoughts at the same time, or it's a lazy, jumbled mess of a song that I have now spent more time thinking about than Benson Boone ever did. [2]

Nortey Dowuona: The first verse is bland, unobjectionable pablum of the Noah Kahan variety, then the pre-chorus is a slimy plea for her continued presence. Then, apropos of nothing, Boone pleads to God not to take the beautiful things he has. He can't grasp the fears that make him believe he could lose his girlfriend, parents, fragile sense of self -- he just pleads with an imaginary figure to hold onto the very real relationships he has, which he refers to as things. Things are cupboards, chairs, chips -- creations of those who need them to be fed, to rest, to store food and clothes and sentimental trinkets. They can be beautiful, but they cannot be taken away by a God, simply forgotten or destroyed by people. Boone's plea, which feels more like a demand, feels shrill and weak, unable to carry the sentiments it is supposed to express. The blustery, frustrated delivery of the chorus is appealing but feels out of nowhere -- Boone is plaintive, even ruminating as the first verse trickles forth. The second verse is more compact, but its brevity sucks the power of the second chorus, since we are launched into a bellow after a whisper: unsettling and irritating, rather then engrossing and emboldening. The inability of Boone and producer/engineer Evan Blair to properly capture this despair forces mixing engineer Serban Ghenea to make certain leveling and processing choices to Boone's voice and the piano that further sabotage the song due to the failings upstream. But ultimately, unlike some other folks here, I don't hold this against Benson and his team. Grappling with the unending despair that comes with being a human being, then finding reasons in the relationships you have with your parental figures/romantic/platonic partners to not succumb, then fearing the loss of these relationships plunging you even deeper into that despair, is difficult. Many a songwriter has failed to convey these emotions. And failing to convey them is painful, but it is not worth any vitriol. [4]

Alfred Soto: He's cuddly, and he doesn't care who knows it. Take his beautiful things and he gets mad. Or "mad." I believe the rage like I believe the second half's rock freak-out, i.e. not at all. All is not lost: he's got passion, can leverage the sincerity, and, best, has good hair.  [5]

Brad Shoup: Boone's divebombs on the chorus are so post-grunge, it's like he's regifting a heart-shaped box. He's certainly not desperate enough to hold my interest, nor to distinguish his voice from any host of TV-soul mushmouths. [4]

Dave Moore: I instinctively shuddered when this started, but then the Adam Lambert glam whoa-oa-oas came in and I remembered, and even sort of missed, the important role of American Idol in the pop schlock ecosystem (Boone auditioned but withdrew). I guess AmIdol is like college now -- why take on the debt when you've already got a job lined up? Anyway, I can tell this guy must already be or at some point will be enormous because I immediately thought of three family members I should send this song to. [5]

Ian Mathers: I always knew there'd come a point where I felt like an old and out-of-touch curmudgeon when it comes to pop music. I hoped with the optimism of youth that it wouldn't happen, but c'mon: why would I be the exception? It is profoundly disappointing that when it came, it was a lot less "I cannot understand these radical new genres, sounds, thoughts, emotions that are happening around me" and a lot more "can I please opt out of hearing generic pop/rock for as long as people are going to sing like this, it is profoundly annoying." [3]

Andrew Karpan: Despite his repeated, bleating agitated, sadboynumeta-framed requests to the contrary, someone really should take “all the beautiful things” away from this evil, short-mustached man.  [2]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Really interesting as a piece of work without ever being "pleasant" or "good to listen to." The verses feel like a calculated attempt to write one's first song, all of the obvious plainspokenness and gee-shucks invocations of the almighty lined up with a clean execution that actual first songs tend to lack. The chorus is something else entirely, a rootsy stab at the soulful dubstep pop moment of about a decade ago. "Beautiful Things" is a puzzle with only unsatisfying conclusions, all of its choices together amounting to nothing much at all. [3]

Leah Isobel: Gormless. [2]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]