#the swankers

[theunderestimator-2]

Reading stories of betrayal, despair & friendships going south from “Wally …Did You No Wrong” by Ron Evans:

some of you may -or may not- be familiar with the sad & obscure tale of the lost Sex Pistol, Wally Nightingale, Steve Jones & Paul Cook’s schoolmate who actually put the initial pre-Pistols band together as a trio & provided the classy rehearsal space (“Riverside” studios in Hammersmith, London, where the boys could sneak in since Wally’s dad worked there as an electrician) but got the boot because Malcolm McLaren had decided he didn’t fit the image he had envisioned for the band, being the geeky & uncool kid with the ‘old man’s glasses’. He was completely erased from the Pistols history in a heartbeat, as though he had never existed and the rest is known R’n’R history.

Wally’s story remains a fairytale gone bad, one in which the dishonest get all the glory while the good guy is left with bollocks, and Ron’s book is so rich in first-hand feedback and so well written that sometimes it’s hard not to actually see the narrative played in your head as a scene from a movie that hasn’t been filmed yet. Like the heartbreaking part where Wally’s pals come to his parents’ house, after he was ousted from his own band, to get all the gear that he kept in his bedroom: guitars, acoustics, amps, saxophones, foot controls and harmonicas that had been nicked throughout the band’s lifespan. Wally had been gutted but he managed to keep it all in with dignity (he was such a lovely bloke that he even went for a drink with his ‘former’ bandmates that same night after he got the axe) and when they came with a van to move the gear, he dutifully even helped them to unplug and pack everything up, carefully putting everything in their cases, while his mum and dad silently stood in the hallway, till his mum broke into tears and had to be hurried into the living room while shouting that they owed Wally:

“I could hear her crying as I went back upstairs to say goodbye to Wally. His bedroom door was ajar and I looked through the gap. All I could see was that second-hand Les Pau copy he’d bought in order to start the band sitting on its stand, and Wally sitting on his bed crying”, says his schoolmate Steve Hayes.

Needless to say that the late Wally Nightingale is my all-time favorite R’n’R anti-hero, the most underrated figure in the entire history of punk & the undisputed champion of punk rock underdogs, and Ron Evans, his younger schoolmate/neighbor/friend/bandmate in Key West -the band Wally Nightingale played after the Sex Pistols- has done an excellent job in documenting Wally’s tragic path to self-destruction. You can order the book from his site: https://www.ronevans.rocks/, as well as his cool music, which you can also enjoy on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/1z5w6O0737uoAZutq48mrn

[ctimenefic]

(whispers) swank + strap + galex xoxo @testarossa

from the very silly nyt prompts

okay so because I wrote, jesus, 4k of strap-on fic for the other fill, I've taken a slightly sideways look at this one. Hope that's okay @testarossa!

also, this is v obviously inspired by and owes a debt to @lagerloutfic's hot rookie slagsss series, which is a marvel you should read immediately

It’s George who sends the photo in the old group chat; her and Lando, done up to the nines, in a hotel corridor somewhere in Kuala Lumpur. Lando’s clearly tilting at the space Lewis has left for high fashion at FIA events, with- well, Alex will kindly call it limited success. And George-

George is in a suit. 

Alex tries not to be basic about George all dolled up. 

Yes, anytime George wears tights Alex can’t resist putting a ladder in them with her fingertips, or her teeth. Yes, some of George’s skirts have met terrible ends. Yes, ranking George’s outfits by tit accessibility on her Instagram stories was probably taking the ‘joke’ of George’s known cleavage addiction a bit far. 

But this? George with her hair slicked back and her tits taped artfully up behind her starched skinny shirt and tapered trousers making her legs look mad long and- fuck yes, she’s even foregone the heels, avoided some terrible Doctor Who converse disaster. Those are neat black Oxfords, gleaming. 

It’s not even strictly butch. But the look is tailor-made – literally – to get Alex foaming at the mouth. In short, she wants to fuck the shit out of her. 

She’s still wearing makeup, of course. A slash of dusky pink-brown that Alex is almost certain she’s picked to match her nipples, the fucking minx. Maybe she’d been thinking of the same night Alex is, when the last trace of her red lipstick had run down to her chin by the time they were done. That stuff had staying power; in the shower, Alex’d had to scrub it off her thighs. 

Swanky and swanker, Alex eventually texts back, damningly long after the ticks will have turned blue on George’s end. 

Sure enough, George replies on their private chat in seconds. You sure you want to accuse someone else of wanking right now?

And then, Alex’s downfall: George calls.

“Hello George. Are you having a nice night?”

Alex would say she does a 10/10 job at keeping the lust out of her voice. She has, after all, had fucking years of practice before Georgie had looked over at her, big eyes all wet and wide, and asked if- maybe- Alex would consider- and every rule she’d ever had about straight girls had gone out the window. 

George, on the other hand, doesn’t even attempt to keep her pout quiet. “Aren’t you going to say I look good?”

“Depends,” Alex hedges. “Is Lando still there?” She’s not actually jealous, it’s Lando, but sometimes leaning into the implication makes George pinken. Alex isn’t above exploiting a little internalised heteronormativity, for the bit. 

“No. Took that before we left, I’m at the gala now. In the bathroom.”

Alex feels herself perk up, the alertness washing through her. “Bored, baby?”

“Terribly,” George sighs. “Wish you were here.”

If wishes were horses, the Williams might have enough bloody horsepower for Alex to have a shot at the gala. Still. “So I could rumple that suit of yours, gorgeous?”

George audibly brightens. “So you do like it. I wasn’t sure if…” She trails off, and Alex wonders if it’s meant to say a bit more, the suit, than she thought. 

“Objectively, you are fit as fuck, George. Unobjectively, if you didn’t already have a plane ticket I’d be getting in the car right now to pick you up.”

George giggles. “I’ll wear it on the flight then. You can fuck me soon as I’ve arrived.”

Alex doesn’t try to stifle her groan; she’s not the one hiding in a bathroom. George undone in the passenger seat of her car, seatbelt on but tits out. Or no, better; up on the kitchen counter, jacket still on but trousers round her ankles, and Alex standing between her legs, with her-

“Fuck, Georgie, please, let me use my strap, let me-”

“Yes,” George hisses, and Alex is almost too turned on to realise how fucking lucky she’s got. It’s the first time she’s dared bring up her strap on. She’s kept it buried at the back of her drawers, worried it might be, well, just a bit too fucking gay for George. But George sounds almost frantic about it, like she’s rubbing her thighs together in a fucking bathroom stall, with half the world of motorsport a few meters away. Probably because she is. “Yes, please, Alex, I want it, I want it so much.”

“Okay, baby, I-”

“How many are you going to give me?”

Alex’s mind stalls for a second, trying to parse it. She has a brief vision of George stuffed; toys in her arse, her mouth, as Alex fucked her cunt but-

Well, it seems a bit much for George to have come up with. And it doesn’t really fit. How many are you going to give me? There’s a pretty firm upper limit.

And then Alex remembers George’s fondness for period dramas, old books about tall ships and a misty-eyed view of the Empire that Alex tried not to prod too often, for fear they’d actually have to talk about it. The way George had sniffled during Master and Commander, her voice wet when she’d explained “it’s about the duty, Alex.”

Let me use my strap

How many are you going to give me?

George’s round arse, striped. Pink and pale. The clink of a belt buckle. 

Alex swallows. “As many as you want, baby.”

[littleastrobleme]

Skimming SOUTH! by Ernest Shackleton and not sure if anyone has posted this information but he lists the names of almost every dog on the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition, which are as follows:

Rugby, Upton, Bristol, Millhill, Songster, Sandy, Mack, Mercury, Wolf, Amundsen, Hercules, Hackenschmidt, Samson, Sammy, Skipper, Caruso, Sub, Ulysses, Spotty, Bosun, Slobbers, Sadie, Sut, Sally, Jasper, Tim, Sweep, Martin, Splitlip, Luke, Saint, Satan, Chips, Stumps, Snapper, Painful, Bob, Snowball, Jerry, Judge, Sooty, Rufus, Sidelights, Simeon, Swanker, Chirgwin, Steamer, Peter, Fluffy, Steward, Slippery, Elliott, Roy, Noel, Shakespeare, Jamie, Bummer, Smuts, Lupoid, Spider and Sailor.

Some dogs weren't named. Says Shackleton, "I do not know who had been responsible for some of the names, which seemed to represent a variety of tastes."

[shizuma-akira]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWANKER 💥

[DO NOT REPOST]

[littlescaryinternetguy]

Top 5 places to nap as a fairy?

First of all, allow me to say that the very worst nap is better than the very best moment of consciousness, so there are no bad places to nap, with the possible exception of on train tracks or in heavy machinery. However, even heaven has its swanker neighborhoods, so here's my fave places to nap:

5. Look, there's a reason clichés are clichés, and it's pretty hard to beat napping in a sun-kissed rose. There are occasional pollinators to deal with, but every rose does indeed have its thorn, as they say. I believe the hair metal band Poison taught us that. 4. The only reason napping in the soft palm of a loved one isn't higher on the list is because invariably the loved one will, selfishly, demand to move their hand. Oh, your hand fell asleep? Look, there's people out there on fire, now THAT'S a problem. Plus, more to the point, I was asleep. Like, grow up. 3. Gonna say it, y'all's beds are real big. Also the covers are very thick and fluffy. And the pillows are the size of my hometown. To be honest the only problem with human beds is a) option paralysis, and b) humans. 2. If you can find a cat who doesn't try to dismember you, sleeping in the middle of a curled-up kitty is just great. Just make sure you're not allergic first. Ask your physician. 1. The best? The hollow of the throat of an equally napping loved one. The heart, the breath, the softness. The hollow of the throat is a vulnerable spot, as anyone who enjoys self-defense knows. To be allowed to sleep there is not only to be let in, but also to serve as a defense. It is a solemn and drowsy duty.

[bluebeerg]

"Your swanker and your bearing and the just-right clothes you're wearing Your short hair and your dungarees And your lace-up boots. I know you."

Fun Home, Melbourne Theatre Company (2022)

Co-produced with Sydney Theatre Company [x]

[x] [2]

[kirkoid-music]

Swanker (Tangent Remix) - April 2009

Having discovered the joy of using vocals in music, I started to revisit some of my instrumental back catalogue to see if I could find vocals to fit. It had often bothered me that I didn't have vocals for my tracks. This was one of those times, and the track was Tangent, a track I had recorded three years previously.

A band called Drip from Manila uploaded the vocals from one of their tracks, Swanker, for a remix competition. I mixed the vocal track into Tangent, and Swanker (Tangent Remix) was born.

It's interesting how much of the track gets 'lost' or 'covered up' by the vocals. The original track had none so I had worked to keep it interesting using just the sounds. Some of this doesn't come through in the remix version the way it does in the instrumental. Because of this, I decided to keep both in my active back catalogue and include both in my Chronology.

Reviews for Swanker (Tangent Remix):

I enjoyed listening to your track - the whole vibe was pretty cool. Thanks.

[falling-on-a-bruise]

Today Is…Sex Pistols First Official Gig

Although this wasn’t their ‘first’ gig, it was their first official one and the line up was vocalist Johnny Rotten, guitarist Steve Jones, drummer Paul Cook and bassist Glen Matlock.The Sex Pistols evolved from the Steve Jones and Paul Cook band the Strand (aka the Swankers) and they would hang out in Malcalm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood’s clothing shop and Jones asked McLaren who had been…

[hrvamji]

Swankers.

[theunderestimator-2]

did reading the book about wally hurt your opinion of the band?

The Swankers, the pre-Pistols act, probably wouldn't have been anything more than your average punk band of the time, so I think everything happened for a reason -of course that didn't make it right for Jones & Cook to stab Wally in the back.

[puppppppppy]

how rude

[chisatowo]

Building silly eternal gales aus in my brain (<- wants a less emotionally devastating version of the cast to think abt)

[godsavethequeen1]

SEX PISTOLS

1972 - school friends Steve Jones and Paul Cook decided to form a band with the original name of The Strand it then became The Swankers. Glen Matlock later joined in 1974. The band took inspiration for the music from the 60s mod and rock n roll of The Who and The Small Faces. However it was not until John Lyndon (John Rotten) that the band took on a whole new identity and renamed themselves ‘The Sex Pistols’. Malcolm McLaren (the bands manager at the time) spotted Lyndon in his shop wearing a homemade ‘I HATE Pink Floyd’ T-Shirt.

Having made their live debut as quickly as November 1975, by early 1976 the band began playing live regularly, in any place that would book them. With their unique looks the Sex Pistols were something special. This was a time period where you style and looks could get you in to serious trouble. They would have to fight their way to the van after a gig as people would try to attack them. A majority of time when the Pistols would play people just simply didn’t get it. Everyone thought the band could not play and that John couldn’t sing. The pistols managed to affect everyone who laid eyes upon them, whether the it was negative or positive they always managed to get a reaction.

The band signed to EMI for £40,000 on October 8th 1976. The band were not going to sign to just any old record label. They had the help of Malcolm McLaren aka the blagger. ‘Anarchy in the UK’ was eventually released November 26th 1976.

Rotten and Matlock started having issues with each other and so with that Matlock officially left on ‘mutual consent’, with thatJohn decided to bring his old friend John Simon aka Sid Vicious. Sid already knew Steve and Paul and fitted the bands image a lot better than Matlock. Although Vicious basically couldn’t play the bass. The band got a new label with A&M and their next single was the extremely famous ‘God Save The Queen’. Rotten’s alternative National Anthem. The release of God Save The Queen basically set the band up for life and sent shock waves up and down the whole country.

Sex Pistols Official. (2007). Bio - Sex Pistols. [Online]. SexPistolsOfficial. Available at: https:///.www.sexpistolsofficial.com/bio/ [Accessed 21 February 2023].

Wednesday 22 February

[humanityinahandbag]

I love how the Good Omens fandom as a collective whole looked at a swankering, leather wearing, tight jeaned demon who blasts rock and roll from inside his vintage car speckled in fake bullet holes and then did a 180 and looked at the bumbling bookseller and they all pointed their fingers at the latter and said “him. he’s the kinky one.” 

[between-two-fandoms]

My life has never been the same since the day Joey Batey swankered into it with bread in his pants.

[tomjopson]

I do not know who had been responsible for some of the names [of the dogs], which seemed to represent a variety of tastes. They were as follows: Rugby, Upton Bristol, Millhill, Songster, Sandy, Mack, Mercury, Wolf, Amundsen, Hercules, Hackenschmidt, Samson, Sammy, Skipper, Caruso, Sub, Ulysses, Spotty, Bosun, Slobbers, Sadie, Sue, Sally, Jasper, Tim, Sweep, Martin, Splitlip, Luke, Saint, Satan, Chips, Stumps, Snapper, Painful, Bob, Snowball, Jerry, Judge, Sooty, Rufus, Sidelights, Simeon, Swanker, Chirgwin, Steamer, Peter, Fluffy, Steward, Slippery, Elliot, Roy, Noel, Shakespeare, Jamie, Bummer, Smuts, Lupoid, Spider, and Sailor. Some of the names, it will be noticed, had a descriptive flavor.

Sir Ernest Shackleton — South: The Last Antarctic Expedition of Shackleton and the Endurance, Chapter 1: Into the Weddell Sea

(x)