#this man is actively colouring my brain with linguistics and i love it i feel so powerful >:)))

[mirabel-on-a-bicycle]

so i sat through a couple epiodes of d20 for the first time and. can i just say. such delicious sounding words. my vocabulary just expanded twofold. extemporneously

[juleswolverton-hyde]

A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning | 01

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst, Stepbrother AU

Pairing: Stepbrother!Namjoon x English student!Reader

Warning: Appearance of a jealous Namjoon, rutting

Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia.

Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.

Author’s Note: Kalopsia (n.): the delusion of things being more beautiful than they are.

Also, my brain descended further into madness, deteriorating fast thanks to exams about poetry and linguistics, thus producing this fanfic which was originally meant to be a one-shot. Yet, here we are, and it would be a lie to say I am not secretly living for this.

Masterlist / Next part

Preface

As virtuous men pass mildly away,   And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say   The breath goes now, and some say, No: So let us melt, and make no noise,   No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys   To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,   Men reckon what it did, and meant; But trepidation of the spheres,   Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers' love   (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove   Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so much refined,   That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind,   Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one,   Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion,   Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so   As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show   To move, but doth, if the other do. And though it in the center sit,   Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it,   And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must,   Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just,   And makes me end where I begun. John Donne, Songs and Sonnets, 1633

Happiness can occur in life in all sorts of shapes in places both expected and unexpected, easy to reach or lying at the end of a rocky road. Sometimes it is a physical thing or activity that brings joy - a cup of coffee or tea on a dreary morning while reading a good book that university does not obligate you to read - and sometimes it is a person.

Dad found it in a foreign woman after divorcing Mom, steadily building a relationship from the ashes of the one that had just been burned to the ground, leaving only a daughter just finished with high school as the last steady though crumbling pillar. It could have collapsed had she not accepted the woman and the son who had flown over from a week earlier from the country she herself had left behind and managed to remain friendly despite the thirty-hour jetlag upon seeing the extended welcoming committee upon arrival. Even able to continue to do so in spite of insecurity, crazy working hours draining every last bit of humanity at times and - nowadays fairly decreased - social anxiety arousing suspicion around every unknown person.

At times it remains hard due to the cultural differences, but shared moments like dinners and helping with setting up the rooms for the new inhabitants has only strengthened the bond so that it has become like the days of the old marriage. In fact, travel stories alongside common interests form another source of daily bonding regardless of being busy with university and complaining about it.

Nevertheless, it is a form of love: family. And there is a gladness it has been restored to a formerly broken man trying to create the best life for an insecure though growing lass with wanderlust who likes to be more often absent than present.

Withal, these days the need to escape is grander thanks to a new reason.

Another love in the form of a person.

A big man who is five years older with the beautiful mind of an old soul and the brains of a proper academic, speaking with a silver tongue without lies and baritone tone reminiscent of the days spent by the sea during travelling in the gap year before giving university a chance forms a source of joy in this particular case. Habits like the patting of the head accompanied by encouragements and hugs coloured with a mixture of protectiveness and assurance before setting off on yet another adventure somewhere in the world when the educational and work schedule allows it or before stressful tests increasing the pressuring anxiety bring more comfort than they ought. How curious to see the rise in intimacy in comparison to the polite cold handshakes at the very start of the second journey during twelve careless months.

The sense of amenity has especially become more prominent after a particular night filled with terrors which occupied every dream, making the unconscious body futilely attempt to fight the horror. Joon came bounding up the creaking attic stairs and burst through the door, making sure everything was alright after urgently waking a girl he barely knew safe for what her father and his mother had told him, refusing to go downstairs to the simply furnished bedroom also functioning as a studio and office they built up together. Instead, the one-person bed had to be shared as a harmless bear lay down beside a koala and held her all throughout the night to form a guard against any evil that would dare disturb the calm.

How cruel Fate is.

To send a person who unexpectedly had brought joy to a formerly bland existence filled with self-growth and a lonely road of which the emptiness was denied for surely the scenery made up for the lack of company.

But what of the local cafés for breakfast and coffee breaks, to scan through the taken pictures, show off any proud results to a companion? What of the bookstores to wander in for hours on end, the recommendations that cannot be given to a fellow bookworm?

No one is there.

Nothing but the empty shape of the man with adorable dimples and unique laugh that strangely captured the heart from the start.

All there is, is a sole pair of sneakers that are still a tad dirtied by Scottish mud when stubbornness resulted in being stuck in the hills, too afraid of falling to come down rapidly.

If Joon had been there, big hands would have guided us both down towards the beginning of Holyrood Park safely.

Been held while walking The Royal Mile and wrapped around a warm cup of freshly made cappuccino with impeccable latte art in the form of a Smeraldo flower as the rain poured from the ashen heavens yet we were sheltered from it by Miss MacIntyre’s cosy café.

If he had been there.

Thus, the girl who denied the loneliness is regardlessly left in solitude, lost among stories that can solely be shared with the one person who already loves another in the way the lone wolf loves him.

Because the bond of stepsister and stepbrother is in the way of pursuing a beloved who makes even the stressful days easier and who speaks with the distinct deep voice that can both rap and sing poetry, an odd contrast given the important day job requiring a suit, giving the genuine encouragements needed to see the hours through when everything becomes too much. Whose clothing style shows off the secret duality and sometimes becomes part of the self-developed one after coming home on a rainy day. Definitely becomes part of it if the temperatures are low and worries about potential sickness triggers the stubborn guardian inside the clumsy giant.

Namjoon makes the world not feel as if Atlas has handed over the burden. Instead, he selflessly lifts it.

And yet the truthful smile fades when low and more high-pitched murmurs and giggles on the other side of the bedroom door are heard during passing through the hallway to the attic in the evening, for it is undeniable Heungji, a beautiful onyx-haired girl on the other side of the world in a country - the place of his roots - as gorgeous as the fox herself, will keep the bear’s heart even if miles separate love. At least there is still the digital highway to connect and keep the relationship standing.

All we have are moments like these wherein the friendliness is painfully obvious while going out for a hot beverage together or lunch depending on the time of the seminar and his function as a debtor manager for the bank allows a break, even if the day has not gone awry. Nonetheless, today it has as the linguistics exam did not turn out as well as expected and the sole source of comfort - a cup of joe - cannot be paid for since everything which is necessary for the day was transferred from the bag used for the job as a retail worker to the backpack that was decidedly a better option, except my wallet.

Fortunately, the exchange student within our seminar group and also one of the loved friends made along the way, Changkyun - who goes by the name of Daniel to make it easier for the professors and likely evade embarrassment at the hand of wrong pronunciation - has offered to pay since he, too, needs a break from studying old literature. Moreover, there was no escaping the offer since the hazelnut-haired lad with a sly hint to a stoic look knows how much depends on caffeine in this student’s life and the salary earned at the supermarket in the mall would be deposited today anyway. Besides, spending some time with a fellow student, a rare occurrence outside lectures and regular class, might bring some peace of mind to the rampant mental chaos.

A buzz shaking in the back pocket of dark skinny jeans that do all but hold out the icy winter weather signifies the arrival of a message, the name upon checking who exactly sent it immediately bringing a sliver of a smile to thin lips desperate to cry out in frustration yet remaining silent. ‘Hey, how did it go? Did the practice we did last night do you any good?’

After dinner, Namjoon tried to help with the development of the skill of being able to distinguish between prescriptive and descriptive grammar as we sat in the corner of the stone-shaded L-shaped couch with the printed twenty-five page summary of all that needed to be learned. Before it would never even have occurred to the mind to lean on the broad shoulder offered so freely and embrace the strong arm which also functioned as a stress outlet whenever answering a question wrong. Joon did not mind it, merely asked in a laughing manner not to separate the limb from the body by squeezing.

It perhaps would have been after hearing yet another Skype call with Heungji.

It is silly, being so infatuated with a person who can never be held dear in the desired manner if they were ever fated to be with the lover from afar at all. But that is the way of the world: nobody can always get what they want. At least the parents who raised us have found happiness in each other, a virtue which is more important than the selfish desire for a grey-haired man who holds the middle between a wolf and a bear.

Withal, the same words spoken by the unattainable hidden philosopher when the first doubts about the study and everything surrounding it echo in the faded buzz of companions conversing with one another while waiting for the last party member: just because it is a bad day, does not necessarily mean it is a bad life.

Eager digits foolishly in love with the hallucination firmly cloaking them, refusing to lift the veil, type out a reply speaking the not so pretty truth. ‘First part went fairly well: 68/100. Guess I’m a grammar nazi, after all. The second part proved I, apparently, cannot use grammar in the normal sense. Completely screwed that up: 58/100. Hoping for an average above the 5.0.

‘Anywho, I’m going to forget about it for a wee while with Changkyun and a cup of coffee. Forgot my wallet, but he’s paying so it’s all good. Free coffee!’

An odd uncharacteristic response comes a split second later, the tone of the text containing a harshness which would normally never be associated with the kind giant regardless of the seemingly harmless proposal. ‘I’ll pay. You know what, let’s get lunch together. My treat. I’ll come to pick you up and we’ll go to your favourite restaurant near the convention centre.’

‘Joon, it’s fine. I’ll eat something at home and get back to studying. Besides, it’s only coffee before returning to the study of 1100 years of literary history and I’m sure you’re busy.’ Normally, the chance of sharing a meal after a late morning seminar would not be skipped, certainly not at the Asian fusion restaurant nearby the station and grand cinema, but it is nice to do something with someone else for a change.

Eyes widen in surprise at the determination and silent sternness colouring the turn the conversation has taken, unbelieving of the attitude Namjoon has suddenly taken on. ‘Seeing as I’m texting you, I must not be very busy. Let me take care of you. What was the address of the building where you have class again?’

‘Is this a Korean thing or just you being a very insistent gentleman? Don’t make such a deal out of it and get back to work.’ In the beginning and even nowadays there is a noticeable difference in culture as the wolf simply does not permit me to pay for my own food when the city allows repose from obligation and we should share a meal as family.

As stepbrother and sister.

The role of the latter becomes harder with the day, but the sole audience who gets to see the actress perform remains blind to the woman underneath the makeup due to the performance which crumbles behind the scenes.

The argument is completely disregarded in favour of the behaviour laced with curious possessiveness. ‘Oh, never mind. I remember now. In fact, I’ll be there in ten.’

‘Un-fucking-believable.’ With a defeated sigh and shake of the head, the phone is tucked back into the pocket and music softly sounding through crisp white earbuds turned on again. It is the variety of upbeat Korean pop songs mixed with indie artists and symphonic metal that keeps the blood boiling enough without acting in a rash impulse. Hands are tucked in the pockets of the leather jacket lined with fake wolf fur to trap all bodily warmth. Nonetheless, there is a fleeting, spiderweb-thin, unknown emotion adding extra heat to the body despite the apparent need for control. Something different than the amorous sensation normally provoked by the tall man.

‘Y/N, you okay?’ The baritone voice making one assume the lad speaking is older than the truth dictates, makes a mocking focus shift from sneakers forever engraved by adventures in Scotland and lined with sheep’s wool lightly kicking the ground to the face of the boy who has been a friend since the beginning of September. The hero of this awful day. Wearing the same style as on the matching day, raven locks parted in the middle to make the same-toned baggy hoodie appear more fashionable than it actually is and golden-rimmed glasses framing bright almond-shaped eyes the colour of the earth in autumn set above a tall nose, Changkyun stands waiting patiently for an explanation for the change in behaviour with crossed arms. ‘You already said the test didn’t go too well, but now you seem even more pissed off. Did something happen?’

‘My stubborn... brother.’ The last word comes out with difficulty for lately the situation has grown complicated due to emotions and actions both parties show and undertake, cloaking the relationship in a confusing veil outside of the eyes of loving parents. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, but his behaviour has changed and not exactly always for the better. In fact, Joon is somehow completely against us getting coffee. Just two weeks ago he wouldn’t have minded because he knows you’re a good friend of mine, but now he’s acting even worse than I do when The Red Dragon is around.’

Withal, even before the mentioned period of change, some uncharacteristic tweaks in attitude that would soon be made part of the self had been noticeable.

The most obvious one was the curious shift from jealousy which was tried very much to be hidden underneath a calm listening expression to almost undeniable relief at hearing the male coworker turned into a good comrade on the first day of work at a new job picked up a month or so ago at the local mall as a retail worker already has a girlfriend.

A little while later, mayhaps in the week that followed, a similar rapid storm of emotions passed behind the wizened gaze of the bear who was reading Me Before You by Jojo Moyes as Dad and Jeongja, the gentle lovely woman who raised Namjoon and now also has a daughter to care for, spent the evening by watching series on Netflix. The slight cramping of slender caramel digits around the bright crimson sides of the novel showed everything that secretly flashed by in the eyes partially obscured by the top side of the book at hearing a few fellow students, the sole individuals who have been deemed genuine and fun company, dropped by the store for a brief visit before heading home via the station just across the plaza. Changkyun’s name - the sole male one among the fellowship - triggered the quiet rage. The rest form no problem since they are lasses, but the stoic boy who could make an advance that would deepen the current friendship to a more meaningful bond was in the unspoken opinion seething on the stone-toned sofa.

Still is, judging from the tiny tenses of fingers or other easily dismissible negative quirks that appear after accounting having made a linguistics or literature seminar more fun than it truly was by goofing around - in a respectful manner that did not disturb the professor, of course - with a mere companion.

Another sign of transformation are the touches in the early morning when preparing the first cup of coffee of the day, the necessary beverage to get through the following hours, and a small bowl of soy yoghurt. First, it was simply digits muzzling extremely dishevelled but clean ash blonde locks which looked as if having withstood a tornado or gentle petting if they had fallen into a messy though charming bedhead look. Then those touches turned into big warm palms wrapping over the shoulder bared by the baggy shirt functioning as sleepwear, apparently a “convenient” point of support for getting something from the cupboard - being kindly slapped with a sachet of instant coffee on the head - or fridge.

None of it has been minded thus far since it casts a mirage which only adds to the forbidden longing for the tall man who can never be had and the fact Namjoon is the sole person who is allowed any kind of showing physical affection in the morning without being grumbled at. Mayhaps this is how siblings behave in Korea, showing more affection than here in Europe.

However, the intimacy to which they have grown alongside the farewell and welcome-back hugs at the airport or after a long tiring day, certainly will make any outsider curious as to what lies beneath the surface which allows the touches to this degree.

Nonetheless, in those instances, out of the sight that would surely question and judge the skinship, the world is a bit less harsh and the day easier on the psyche.

In those delusional meaningless moments, we are more than stepbrother and sister.

I am his and he is mine.

Regardless, what was minded and continues to bother the consciousness anew after being butchered by grammar and now once again tries to find a plausible explanation for the half-slumbering given excuse which bore no conviction, is this morning’s suddenly very intimate gesture. Perhaps it was an accident because there surely is no other justification for the paradoxical situation that unintentionally formed a prelude to today’s troubled train of thought.

Withal, the sensation of feeling a warm chest containing a wildly beating heart pressed against the spine while a hardened heat source pushed with the same pressure against the behind, the intention of the sensual action clear, and having arms wrapped around the shoulders in an inappropriate intimate embrace as thick grey locks appeared in the corner of barely though immediately alert vision cannot be easily let go of. Just like the full lips drowsily murmuring undecipherable statements against the shoulder blade while one hand travelled down to grip the hip and guide it to feel the slow barely noticeable rhythm set in by the wolf.

When remarking upon the fairly awkward situation, perversely wishing to remain a bit longer like this - even going as far bringing the pleasure suddenly sought after, yet not wanting to ignite any futile hope with the desire-filled images rapidly flashing by in a mental thunderstorm - Sense returned from wherever it went in an instant and the bear tainted with the traces of slumber muttered a poor excuse about not being fully conscious, having had a difficult conversation the night before with Heungji and therefore not being in the right proper mindset.

That it was just a lucid dream.

After all, we are siblings.

It meant nothing.

Simply an accident.

A bittersweet moment of actually feeling wanted as more than the sweet girl by the poet bound to an onyx fox in the land of tigers.

But it is uncertain what Heungji would think of the recent obvious displays of jealousy. Surely, it would not be much appreciated if a lover so clearly is affected by the actions of another, basically not allowing them to be with anyone who is not approved of aside from themselves. In fact, the situation a wolf and koala are in is one of cheating.

Then again, there is too much distance between the two and things are easily left unspoken.

Mayhaps I am a mere distraction.

Worth nothing.

Howbeit, if one thing has been learned from the relatively brief time together, it is that cold false games like that are not Namjoon’s way and would be an unbelievable attempt at hiding the genuine nature underneath the sometimes intimidating exterior. Henceforth, something must have happened which has triggered the change. After all, how difficult was that conversation last night and was it the first or another addition to a series of multiple? Furthermore, there are still the kind-hearted soft female giggles and sonorous chuckles resonating from the other side of the door, although not quite so often as they used to do.

It is frustrating how the self cannot let go of Hope and let Sense lead it down another, less painful, path. That there is no progress from the dream keeping the mind captured.

What would not be given in order to escape the kalopsia.  

‘He is likely just concerned for his little sister. I know I’d be if my sister would go out, even for just a coffee, with a guy despite claiming they’re merely friends.’ A small smile forms on roseate lips, promising there is nothing to worry about and this is merely natural behaviour. ‘He’s simply being a good brother, Y/N.’

‘Changkyun, you don’t- no, never mind.’ At the last second, the intent to use the accident as an argument is repressed, deciding it is too much information to share with somebody regardless of the bond with them. ‘Let’s just keep it at that he’s simply being weird but, as you said, a good brother.’

A lie which has to be believed every single day in order to move past the fantasies romanticizing reality and keeping the conscious blind to the all too eager harshness which would so like to make them crumble into tiny irretrievable shards.

To keep breathing when the salt shed in privacy has dried and Namjoon still is not there.

To just keep going.

‘Whatever you say, Y/N. Whatever you say.’

For a few more minutes, we simply stand basking in the warm scent of the building’s coffee corner while waiting for the last party member to return from the awful linguistics test, spending the time in silence disturbed by melodies only a sole pair of ears can hear. The music calms the nerves standing on edge with the for once negative anticipation of seeing the recently grown odd stepbrother appear in the doorway to fulfil the promise that could not be refused.

There is always a choice, you tell me that time and again when rock bottom is close or times are generally hard but not desperate. However, why is there not now? Why can’t you let me pick?

‘I’m so glad that’s over! All I want to do is go home and forget this bloody test.’ Golden straight locks round the corner in a whirlwind of temporarily gradually fading worry, held together by a caramel-toned hair tie. Judging from the tiredness dimming the normally bright - albeit tainted with stress more often than not - crystal blue stare, Monica is well and truly done with the day. ‘Let’s get out of here. I need to go home to study for tomorrow’s exam.’

‘Go take a break with us.’ The need for a brief repose is barely able to be dismissed from even the slightly happier expression breaking the stoic façade of the pale hazelnut-haired fellow caffeine addict. ‘Y/N and I are going to get some coffee anyway so join us.’

‘It’ll do you some good. Studying can wait until later.’ Fingers remove the headphones providing rest for a chaotic mind, the sounds of the world flowing in after melodies fade. A hand stretches out, tempting another soul into procrastination. ‘Or you’ll end up like Donne, obsessed with death. Death by studying. Come on, Mon. Let’s go.’

Withal, it cannot be taken nor a step set towards the exit of the edifice before an all too familiar baritone voice growls in warning. ‘How about you come with me?’

So far for escaping the sole person who wanted to be evaded at all costs to merely enjoy the rare occasion of doing something with friends, unrelated to university.

Because in the doorway and thus barring the way, clad in a neat onyx turtleneck and same-coloured pants underneath a trench coat which is a lighter shade of black, the outfit put on for work as a debtor manager this very morning, stands an intimidating wolf instead of the kind book-loving bear who helped with studying last night. And since there is no help, there is also no possible tactic that can be employed to still succeed in circumventing the six-feet-tall blockade.

There is no way to avoid Namjoon, raging with jealous menace.

[abadzone]

A Weekly Song: Episode 8 - Joe Hisaishi

A Weekly Song: Episode 8

Joe Hisaishi – Procession of the Gods

“When’s he going to do a movie composer?”

“He’s always going on about film soundtracks.”

It’s true, I am, I do. The reason is this – I listen to a hell of a lot of them. I’m an aficionado. When you’re writing and drawing all day and night, whether it’s writing articles for magazines or scripts for other artists, or just drawing your own comics and illustrations, you listen to a lot of music.

About five years ago, other than corporate work, I changed my professional emphasis from both writing and drawing to predominantly writing (largely because I make more money from writing than from doing both. Making comics and graphic novels is slow, hard work where you do about ten jobs for the price of one. Plus, anyone in comics publishing will tell you how little most artists make, but that is not the purpose of this essay so I’ll leave that story and observations on same for another time).

I’ve always found that I can’t listen to music with lyrics or indeed a human voice of any kind while writing – I find it distracting. This leaves instrumental music – Jazz and Classical, sure, Ambient definitely, but most often – soundtracks. Film and TV scores.

Perhaps the reason for this is that the part of my brain that I use to create stories and voices of characters is also the part that listens to and processes speech and singing. I don’t know that for sure, but whatever the reason, because most of my time is now spent writing, there’s much less time to listen to listen to podcasts, talk radio and the like.

When I was doing the more “automatic” tasks in the creation of a page of comics, like lettering, inking or colouring, I always found myself listening to something with a human voice – a play, a podcast, radio documentaries. My inking was actually better, both looser and slicker, if I was slightly distracted by listening to radio plays or discussion of some kind. (Hi, BBC Radio 4, NPR and Big Finish. I miss you.)

Correspondingly, my appetite for soundtracks has increased, but they’ve always been an important – nay, essential part of my creative process. They are both mood setters and emotional emollient, both starting points and helpful compositional markers in the creation of a story.

It goes something like this: you think of a scene, what the purpose of it is, how you want it to play, what the characters are saying and doing and you choose a piece of music that sets the temperature of that set of incidents. I think every book and every comic I’ve ever written has had a temp-track of sorts, a tracklisting that serves as a guide for the mood and atmosphere I’m looking for.

In many cases, this temp-track evolves and changes as the story does, with some pieces of music being dropped in favour of others as the shape of the narrative develops. I imagine it’s a similar process in an editing suite; as you revise and modify the focus of different elements of a story, the linguistic accompaniments necessarily change too. In film or TV, it might be the Foley sounds, a change of emphasis in lighting via colour grading; in comics it might be the layout, the way the guttering of a page affects the pace at which a reader scans it, and where their eye is led; the tempo at which it subtextually guides a reader to the turn of the page and an emotional turning point, all the while preserving a sense of immersion. Every small detail the author employs affects everything else, and everything has to be right and constantly rejigged to create the illusion of the real world within the story.

This is the kind of constant balancing act common to all forms of visual storytelling. While comics don’t have the luxury of sound and motion, it is still a supremely nuanced and sophisticated language in its own right. What I always liked about comics as both art form and means of expression is how accessible they are and that they can be created relatively cheaply in comparison to film or TV. Anyone can make a comic; you really can be a sole creator, whereas film and TV are collaborative media. A graphic novel really can be one person’s creative vision, unlike a film, which although it may be steered by one overall captain, the authorship really is shared by many (despite what the director’s credit would have you believe: “A Film By…”)

I digress. The point is, one art form and means of cultural expression runs into the next; none of them stand alone. Everything influences everything else and in my case, I’d go so far as to say, these days, music probably influences me more in terms of the kinds of stories I like to tell than many other comics do. Storytelling is a free-flowing activity that inhabits every possible mode of human expression.

Obviously, all this means I have a lot of favourite soundtracks and film composers. How to pick one, and just one track from so many, for this week’s song?

Well, first time around, I’m gonna do the easy thing. I’m going straight to someone who supplies music for one of the greats in a related field: animation. The greatest living animator, in my humble opinion, is Hayao Miyazaki. One of Miyazaki’s constant and most consistent collaborators is Mamoru Fujisawa AKA Joe Hisaishi, who has composed scores for every Miyazaki movie but one. Not to compare Miyazaki to a Spielberg or a Lucas, but Hisashi is Miyazaki’s John Williams.

It’s really difficult to pick a favourite Miyazaki film, and equally difficult to pick a Hisaishi score. He is, predictably, a composer who can match the depth, vision and moods of Miyazaki, one who seems as comfortable with experimental electronica as he is with the orchestra.

My admiration for Hisaishi is a fairly usual reaction to his music; sometimes it’s interesting to look at exactly why a composer is beloved. His association with one of the best storytellers in the world is partially the reason, but composers are of course storytellers in their own right. There is a line of thinking that viewers shouldn’t really notice movie music – that it’s a subtextual support to the emotion and action of the story being told onscreen. While there’s an element of truth in that, there are just as many examples to the opposite. What I think a good film score should do is complement and highlight the story, help make it an immersive emotional experience; be textural as opposed to specific. It should help you, the viewer, get caught up in the characters and story without necessarily calling attention to itself, which calls for a lot of nuance and is a very neat balancing act. You can still notice it – I sometimes do, but what’s fascinating about it is that, when it’s working well, I often don’t do it consciously. The opposite is true also – I notice it when it’s intrusive or overly sentimental, signposting emotions rather than being an integral part of them.

Something that interests me is that Hisaishi is on record as thinking many modern Hollywood soundtracks don’t have enough “space” or silence in them – that quiet is as much a tool of the composer as loud is. This is a man whose comprehension of emotional colour and silence as a tone in his palette is second to none. I love his work in film and beyond it (which is why I’m also going to cheat a bit and also recommend his Minima Rhythm series, the first of which you can listen to here).

That’s not today’s pick though, which I agonised over. I almost went for the opening of Princes Mononoke, Attack of the Tatari-Gami, which is both great action music and one of the most sinister themes in animation history. In the end, I settled upon a piece from Spirited Away, which is possibly one of Hisaishi’s most sweeping, yearning scores. 

Variously known as Procession of the Gods (on the US pressing of the soundtrack I have), Procession of the Spirits and The Procession of Celestial Beings, the cue is actually seriously truncated in the movie and not allowed to fully bloom the way it does on the soundtrack album. You’re going to have to take my word for that, because unfortunately there is no official Studio Ghibli channel that I can find on YouTube that showcases Hisaishi’s work, but you can do a search and find several cover versions that attempt to recapture its ominous majesty. Here’s a link to how it sounds in the film, but I’d encourage you to seek out the soundtrack album and listen to it in all its pomp, 

The scene it accompanies is shortly after the main character, a ten-year old girl called Chihiro, finds herself stranded in a magical world. Her parents have turned into pigs (yes) and she attempts to find the tunnel that is a gateway back to her reality, only to find that she is now separated from it by a newly-appeared river. A boat begins crossing the water towards her and this music begins to play, all string-plucked notes and magical portent. There are no visible passengers until the boat hits the shore, where Chihiro stands watching. Doors open, the music swells, heralding the arrival of beings that no human child should witness. They appear as masks that float around head height and, floating above the deck, file off the boat one by one. As they disembark, cloaks flow from the masks, like paint tipped from a bucket, flowing down to describe the shapes of their intangible bodies…

…And Chihiro flees, the music fades. On the soundtrack album it reaches a magnificent crescendo and ends on a playful note, punctuated by human voices. It’s a scene that goes from a foreboding menace to awe and wonder, from fear to celebration and back again.

If you’ve never seen the film, see it. It is far, far from being merely a children’s entertainment and occupies a place among the most visionary films ever made.

I have another version of Procession from the Spirited Away Image Album, which I think might be a demo rather than the more usual “song in character” pieces you get on those kinds of tie-ins (but I can’t read Japanese, so I might be completely wrong about that. Feel free to correct me if so via Twitter or email or if you have any further information about this particularly sumptuous film score).

To get a flavour of Joe Hisaishi’s imaginative brilliance, you can watch and listen to a whole concert here.

More info on Studio Ghibli (n English) available here.