#vulcanized bass notes

[spockanalia-archive]

Spockanalia #1: The Territory of Rigel

By Dorothy Jones

Art by Juanita Coulson

(A ni var to be performed by two voices and a Vulcan harp)

First Voice

Rigel in the scanner, blue-white and crystalline, shining. Light born in the corona pours into space.

The instruments whisper, the panel lights flicker. The stars are still and clear.

Their song is deliberate, long years to a cadence.

Dust in their paths moves in their wake like water, and Rigel shines.

The stars like ancient trees, heavy with planets, blazing with life.

I wander the bright roads: whom no planet claims: live in the open Galaxy.

I have clarity before me, and Rigel full of light.

Second Voice

Dark and silent is the field of space. The bridge is empty. The time, three hundred.

The instruments tell little. The computer absorbs in silence trivial patterns meaning nothing.

Three-twenty. The night is very long. In the dark gulf is the ship, in the sleeping ship is the bridge, on the bridge am I, silence upon silence,

as quiet as memory, and dark as death.

I am far From my beginning and my end. Four hundred and the watch is changed. I leave the bridge and go from darkness into darkness.

This is a piece supposed to have been written by Spock, many years ago. The idea is that he was on watch aboard some ship or other, all alone on the bridge. It was in the middle of the "night" cycle and the bridge was relatively dark except for the instrument panels. Outside there was also darkness, except for the faint light of the stars and the brighter light of Rigel, which was nearby. The contrast of light and darkness appealed to the duality in Spock, and he attempted (no one being around to interfere) to express it in a Vulcan form called ni var.

Ni var means literally "two form," and it is basically a piece comparing and contrasting two different things or two aspects of the same thing. (It need not be a literary work; a suitably-formed painting or sculpture or dance composition could be a ni var.) So in this piece there are two voices: one singing of light and the other of darkness; the little Vulcan harp accompanies them and plays short solo passages. The first voice is soprano and the second voice bass.

Although the ni var is a purely Vulcan form, Spock decided for reasons of his own to write the text in Terran. This was perhaps his undoing; Terran languages are by their nature more personal and less objective than Vulcan, and he found himself writing not only about the physical surroundings which he set out to describe, but also about himself—a totally unVulcan thing to do. He probably looked at the composition the next morning, blanched, and put the piece away for thirty years.

—Dorothy Jones

Note: With the help and guidance of Open Doors, we digitized the first volume of Spockanalia and imported it to AO3, which you can view here. In order to meet AO3's terms of service, some of the content was edited or removed. The full version of the zine is preserved on this blog. The masterpost is here.

[papaver-decervicatus]

tiktok keeps recommending me videos of bassists and I cannot stop thinking about julius because of you

First ask ever, let’s go!!! Let me, not at all, remedy this issue you’ve found yourself with, anon! Answer Below the 'read more'

Most of what Julius plays is in the safety and privacy of his own home, and it’s not a hobby he ever really brings up. If anyone knows about it and is egging him on to join a local bar-band while out, he has to be about 6 beers in to even entertain the idea. If the lights in the venue won’t blind him on the stage he does require being blindfolded for stage fright reasons.��

He usually starts predictable and “universal” with something like Pink Floyd’s Money or Superstitious by Stevie Wonder, he’s always partial to a little Super Freak by Rick James, too. The sort of stuff you’d find on a ‘Top Ten Bass Lines of All Time!’ list because for the most part those are songs that are popular in their own right without the kick-ass (if a little sanitized) baseline. But that’s not where his heart is, his heart has always been with Heavy Metal (Metallica, Black Sabbath, for a more recent example see anything in the Doom Metal subculture/subgenre like Ramesses and Valhall) and Neue Duetsche Härte (think Oomph! and Rammestein.) And I’m not talking slipknot, Tin or Steel levels of metal, I mean straight up Mercury or Lead poisoning. The second song is always when things get interesting. 

See, the funny thing about König playing the bass is, people hate playing in a band with him. Think about the phrase “take em for a walk,” when it comes to a musical breakdown, yeah well. König never got the memo that a bass is supposed to be a rhythm instrument first and foremost. He takes that puppy for a full on marathon sprint, shows off to the max, he’s playing the lead guitar’s part or the vocals half the time if he knows the song well enough. With his own personal double neck bass, Walküre (obligatory quick mention of @kneelingshadowsalome‘s series Valkyrie, go read it yesterday if you haven’t already) he is replacing the strings four times as often as he ought to because, as gentle and loving as he is with the instrument as a whole (he adores her, and is probably a few screws loosening away from sleeping in the same bad as the damn thing), his playing is naturally violent and bombastic to the point of shredding his fingers and the strings. 

His style is something like this (Djent Style, a sub-genre of metal) 

But he likes his kickback and reverb, way, way, way up. The only thing louder than the mess of pure sound coming from the amps is the barely-recognizable music notes cascading out. König doesn’t know what dynamics are, if he’s playing it, it’s gonna be loud, except of course, when the rest of the song gets quiet. 

He usually finishes a set with something classic like Metallica’s Master of Puppets or 21st Century Schizoid Man by King Crimson because those are universals, everyone’s gonna know them. But if he’s feeling particularly pumped, in his element, or is that drunk, he’s playing a once in a lifetime rendition of Agent Orange by Sodom (because trash metal isn’t heavy metal, but it sure is fucking fun!)

The second he steps off the stage, however, he’s practically running away to get to the bathroom or a shower or something. König isn’t usually a sweaty guy, or at least not more so than any other man, but when he jumps off the stage he’s practically swimming in clammy anxiety and sweat. Finishing his little show and going back into the crowd is his least favorite part of the ordeal by far. It’s a dire tone shift once he’s finally gotten back to the people he came in with, from a heavy metal god that rivals the craftsmanship and raw power of Hephaestus or Vulcan to… demure and anxious Julius Doss, dodging praise like bullets on a battlefield. He would never admit it, but he absolutely adores the compliments and awestruck expressions he gets from his little displays of what remains of his teenaged exuberance and the blood hammering adrenaline of having everyone's attention on him (usually the very last thing he wants outside of the field.)

That being said, practically no one gets the privilege of seeing König on bass but when they do. God, do they fucking see it. 

[thepermanentrainpress]

BRASS CAMEL: BRASS

Brass – Brass Camel Release Date: September 9th, 2022

Track Listing:

1. First Contact 2. Dinger’s in the Back 3. I’ve Got the Fox 4. Pressure Cooker 5. King for a Day 6. Last Flight of the Vulcan 7. Easy 8. Shaking in my Boots 9. Only Love

Brass Camel’s LP Brass is an electrifying, retro smoke show. Its invigorating rock, jazz and blues blend gives listeners a scorching spectacular soundscape. Animated melodies and lyrics make the tracks a feast for the mind. The music is expertly mixed, producing a magnetic and cohesive collection that feels equal parts familiar and fresh.

“Dinger’s in the Back” is distinctive and fun. Daniel Sveinson’s classically sharp rock vocals pierce strong electric guitar riffs, as atmospheric lyrics pump up the party: “From the Hindenburg to the Albert Hall / the man won’t stop until he’s rocked them all.” “I’ve Got the Fox” is a funky pedal to the metal. Heavy guitar riffs and glossy synths rev up in a tune perfect for street racing. Curtis Arsenault’s electric bass is marvelously murky and thick, while Wyatt Gilson’s drums strut in a confident stride. Rich imagery is ignited by the lyrics: “Five litre demon cleaner rolling down the block / Burnt rubber one hundred metres shows you what it has got / Feeling like Jackie Stewart when I pull up to the spot.”

Galactic grunge settles in “Pressure Cooker.” Melodies dig in deep, as Sveinson and Arsenault harmonize in a colourful contrast. A heroic story marred by confrontation and retribution: “The fighting out in the streets / Of cities built on lies and deceit / Now we're really feeling the heat / Feels like we're living in a pressure cooker.”

Standout track on the album “King for a Day” is splendid satire; a fascinating musical interpretation of political power. “A legacy of spite and subjugation / Of wretched acts far beyond redemption / Was never in the plan when it all began / But the road to hell is paved with good intention.” Kaleidoscope-like call backs are scattered throughout the song, twisting and turning complex synths and electric guitars. The drums are quick, jumpy and bold. In a similar vein to Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy-use of iconic rock ballads, “Last Flight of the Vulcan” is a captivating retro-futuristic Star Trek homage. Sveinson’s electric guitar solo is impressively epic with shards of electric notes quickly building on top of each other. The lyrics transport you into interstellar ambience: “Tireless travels belting through the night and day / Outline of a delta that you can't mistake / Cratered fields reminders of the trails blazed.” 

“Easy” is wickedly groovy. “If only it had been easy / Could have been a real bad man / A calculated evil doer / A night-stalking saboteur.” An undercurrent of menacing piano and agile saxophone add elegance to a gothic scene. While the song still maintains the album’s classic synth pizazz and overall electric sound, the darker tones of “Easy” make it a remarkable experience.

If you’re looking for an energetic surge, Brass Camel has you covered. With charismatic vocals, striking guitar, cosmic synths and pounding drums, Brass is a stylish and slick reverence to the rock gods.

Written by: Jenna Keeble

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

Two Bisexuals Are Your Co-Captains

ao3

“I solved racism,” Mariner says, kicking open the ready room door. This should not be physically possible, as doors have progressed past the need to be opened, and are, in fact, automatic.

Boimler, whose face is currently one with the synthetic wooden desk, gives her a thumbs up but doesn’t move beyond that.

“Okay, I lied, I didn’t solve racism,” Mariner admits. “It’s still a problem in our galaxy. But, I did solve our captain problem!” she tries. This does get Boimler to remove his face from it’s fixture on the desk.

“You did?” he blinks up at her, creases in his face from where it had been smooshed against the hard surface.

Mariner dumps an honest-to-god paper file on his desk. “Check it out, twink.”

Boimler swipes the file, frowning as nothing happens when he taps it. Mariner helps him out, flipping the cover over. “So there’s this really nifty rule back from like 2039 that allows for two acting captains to co-pilot the ship simultaneously.”

“Are you serious?” Boimler groans.

“As Legato Infection,” Mariner confirms. “It was apparently instated for missions where the crew is like. Separated or some shit and need more than one captain coordinating. Because Starfleet was also part of the air force for a while, co-captains were basically just co-pilots. Like this was a whole thing. But it got overwritten with the First Officer Act of 2048 that instated First Officers as a fill in instead of a co-captain, able to make decisions and delegate, but it was never technically outlawed. Meaning…”

“We could technically take advantage of the loophole and-”

“Co-Captains!” Mariner punches the air. “You know what this means?”

Boimler blinks at her blankly. Beckett applauds herself over the alliteration, as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s our ship,” she whispers dramatically, already envisioning the communist flags with selfies of her and Boimler printed on them.

“Or it could just be your ship,” Boimler says, fear in his eyes.

Beckett grabs his collar, dragging him up to eye level. “Our ship.”

________

“Beckett no,” Freeman says flatly. Ever since The Incident--the one where the ship was overrun with the Pakleds that took out the entirety of senior command--she’s been in medbay, wrapped up in so many bandages she looks like a mummy from one of those really old movies Boimler is obsessed with.

“Beckett yes ,” Mariner says, taking a slurp of her cherry limeade slurpee. “You named me First Officer!”

“Then why does Boimler-”

“Ransom also named him First Officer!”

“So your brain jumped to Co-Captains ?” Mariner can’t see her mom’s expression, but from her squinty eyes she’s pretty sure it’s disapproving. “That is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“You can’t call your daughter dumb!” Mariner throws her hands up in the air.

“Mariner, you’re dumb.”

“That’s against parent rules! Everything I do is supposed to be a fucking delight!”

Freeman turns her judgy eyes to Boimler, who had been staring off into the middle distance, probably traumatized by all of the shrieking the mother and daughter duo had been doing since they entered medbay. Whatever, it’s not Mariner’s fault that her mom’s kneejerk reaction to her daughter charging into medbay with a bat'leth and no shirt on was to shriek like a goddamn banshee.

“You know what,” Freeman says, eyes locked on Boimler. “I’m already having a bad fucking week. Go ahead, make it worse I dare you .”

“Uhm-”

“We absolutely will do that,” Beckett promises, crossing her heart.

_____

“ ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL ,” Mariner says, over the ship’s speakers. D’Vana, from her position at the First Officer’s station, gives her a Disappointed Look. Mariner gives her a thumbs up back.

“ DUE TO OUR EXCRUCIATING CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOUR FORMER CAPTAIN AND HER FIRST OFFICER, ENSIGN BOIMLER AND I WILL BE YOUR CO-CAPTAINS TONIGHT. OR FOREVER, WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET.”

“Mariner, what are you doing?” Boimler says, storming onto the Bridge. Mariner, who had hacked the Bridge speakers to play Demi Lovato’s Confident every time Boimler entered, is pleased to note that nobody had figured out how to turn that off yet. Unfortunately for her, however, Boimler didn’t recognize his girlboss powers, and had been yelling at her every time it happened.

“I’m letting the ship know about our change in command, oh Co-Captain of mine,” Mariner says over the booming bass and Demi Lovato’s dulcet tones. In the corner of her eye, the vulcan side character that everyone thought was a Cool Guy, bopped his head to the music.

Boimler sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. “So we’re actually doing this?”

“Dude, I already made us friendship jackets. That shit had a no refunds policy.” She pulls a leather jacket that had been draped over their helmsman's head--bad for ship navigation, but good for dramatic effect--and throws it at Boimler. Boimler unfolds the pink monstrosity, sighing deeply at the neon-yellow glitter words Gatekeep Girlboss Gaslight emblazoned on the back.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s ABSOLUTELY necessary,” Mariner says, standing up. She turns around, showing Boimler her purple jacket which says Malewife Mansplain Manipulate in snot-green glitter.

“HOW DOES THAT MATCH.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DOES THAT MATCH.” Her voice echoes strangely, alerting her to the fact that the shipwide comms are still in use. She reaches over, flicking the switch off and turns back to Boimler, hands on her hips. “Is this an anxiety thing again? Do you need to go back on medication?”

“I don’t need to be on meds!”

“Then why won’t you wear our super secret special jackets!”

“Because mine is hot pink and says girlboss on the back!”

Mariner lets out a gasp. “Are you saying... Boimler are you adhering to GENDER ROLES?”

“No-no stop it -”

“You! You of ALL PEOPLE-”

“Mariner, cut it out!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT BRAD BOIMLER IS A-”

Boimler pulls the jacket on so violently that he somehow elbows himself in the eye. The pink really does go with his hair-which Mariner knows for a fact he dyes himself every three weeks. “There! Happy?”

“So so happy.” Mariner hands him a martini from the tray she had brought in and nailed to the arm of the captain’s chair. The one she hands to Boimler has a rainbow umbrella in it. “So, first order of business. I think we need car seats for short people.”

“Excuse me.”

Mariner picks up her own martini glass and takes a chug, choking on the strawberry chunks she had grinded into it a few minutes before Boimler got here. “You know, car seats? That shit you put babies in because cars are a danger to humanity but we keep buying them? I think the shorties on this ship deserve some protection.”

Boimler drains his glass. “Fine, whatever, I don’t even care anymore.”

______

Mariner is commissioning the previously mentioned communist flags with hers and Boimler’s faces printed on them, when Tendi comes into the ready room. She is wearing the face of complete and utter defeat that everyone else had been wearing since the Co-Captains had been instated. Mariner insists it’s because they’re sad that she and Boimler wouldn’t get to be captains forever. Boimler says it’s because everyone’s writing their suicide notes to their familes.

“Mariner, we need to talk,” Tendi says, using the opening line to every break up Mariner’s been a part of and seen on tv. Which is really weird because she didn’t think she and Tendi were in a relationship.

“I’m all ears,” Mariner says, which is a dumb fucking line because clearly she isn’t , but people say that all the time.

“I don’t want to be your First Officer,” Tendi says, crossing her arms. “It was fun for the first week, but after you made it mandatory to do the Macarena during the first ten minutes of each hour, morale has been down.”

“Hmm,” Mariner pets Boimler’s therapy cat, Dishwasher, thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll make that one optional. Any other requests?”

Tendi sighs. “No,” she admits. “To be honest, the ship is running at 98%, which is the highest any ship in Starfleet has ever run. I think Brad orgasmed when he heard about that.”

“You call him Brad ?” Mariner stares up at her friend, aghast.

“That’s his name?”

“Yeah, and his cat’s name is Dishwasher , but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to call her that!” Dishwasher growls at her name. Mariner shushes her, hands clamped over her ears. “She turns into a murder-rage machine when you call her by her given name! How do we know Boimler isn’t the same?”

“Because I call him Brad all the time!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh my god, he’s probably serial killing as we speak. I hope you’re ready to talk to the victim’s families and let them know that their loved one’s died because you couldn’t help yourself.”

Tendi stares at Mariner for a full minute. “Resignation,” she reiterates, pointing at Mariner. “I want to be a gross ensign scrubbing the deck again. Nepotism sucks .”

“Fine, you’re demoted. Go enjoy mediocrity.”

“I will.” Tendi storms out, kicking the door shut. Which again, is completely, 100% impossible because it’s the 23rd century or whatever-Mariner’s not keeping count-and automatic doors are now a Thing.

Mariner hacks their speaker systems to play the Wii Shop Channel Music-a reliac of the past only alluded to on private groupchats and servers- to play whenever Tendi entered a room. It’s the least she could do.

______

“As your First Officer,” a reluctant Rutherford says reluctantly, “I am here to remind you that that would be a very bad idea .”

“Rutherford, who’s the boss around here?” Mariner asks, hands on her hips.

Rutherford sighs. “You.”

“And as the boss, who makes all the decisions around here?”

Another sigh. “ You .”

“Then why are you being a killjoy over my decision to get down and dirty with my Co-Captain?”

Rutherford makes a shriek-y noise, like those boys who got their testicles cut off in the old days so they could sing opera. “Mariner, I’m serious, don’t do it .”

“Is it against regulation?”

“No,” Rutherford groans. “You’re both the same rank-”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You can’t sleep with Boimler just because you can!”

“That’s not why I’m going to sleep with Boimler,” Mariner waves him off. “I was sitting on his lap the other day-”

“Oh my god -”

“-in the Captain's chair--ooh we should look into getting another one of those, TWO chairs are better than one--”

“Mariner, to the point please.”

“Oh, yeah, so I’m in his lap and I maay have backed up a little too far and bumped up against-”

“Stop literally stop .”

“Yeah, so turns out Boimler is PACKING and I gotta hop on that train, so to speak.”

“Okay, you know what?” Rutherford shoves his padd at Mariner. “I quit, I can’t do this. I want to be a lower decks ensign again.”

“Wow, you’re like, the seventeenth person this week to quit. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been captain.”

“Yeah, weird coincidence,” Rutherford deadpans.

_____

“I may have fucked up, Mom,” Mariner shrieks, waltzing into medbay with all the grace of a duck pulling off a white bread heist. “I think you should take captaincy back.”

Freeman, who had fully recovered two days ago, but refused to engage in the chaos Mariner was purposely causing on her ship, looks up from where she’s reclining with her long island ice tea and swimwear magazines. “Really now?”

“ Yes . All of my friends hate me and I found out Boimler has purple pubs.”

Freeman almost drops her drink. “ What .”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still fucking, but like. Wow, I thought he dyed everything. Turns out that shit is natural.”

Freeman covers her face with one hand. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re keeping the ship.”

“WHAT.”

“I already spoke to your father,” Freeman gives her daughter a shark-like smile. “We agreed that this position of authority has been good for you. And, considering, the ship is running better than any ship in Starfleet since the inception of the Federation, the Admiralty wants you and Boimler to stay on.”

“ WHAT .”

“They think it’s an interesting social experiment that merits more research. Congratulations, you and your fuck-buddy are now ginnypigs.”

___

“I think, as a sign of protest, we should rename the ship,” Mariner says, draped across the desk in the ready room. Boimler, sprawled out all over the desk chair, snorts. The room has been completely revamped in pride flags and the previously mentioned communist flags. Mariner thinks it’s her best interior design work, but Boimler claims it’s an eyesore.

“What would we name it?” he asks, humoring her.

Mariner considers it, taking a swig of vodka. “Okay, hear me out. Q and Picard’s Loveboat.”

Boimler grabs the bottle out of her hand, taking a chug. “You know what? This might as well happen.”

They submit the formal request on Boimler’s padd a few minutes later and are both pleasantly-at least in Mariner’s case-surprised that it goes through. It’s likely that the guy in charge of filtering these requests is either very very bored or very very underpaid and either way Mariner likes his energy.

A few days later, they have Q AND PICARD’S LOVEBOAT stamped across the side of the ship in comic sans-a truly underappreciated font from ye olden days that Mariner dug up one night on the wayback machine.

It takes exactly four weeks for the Admiralty to catch wind of it-by then she and Boimler had been Co-Captains for almost two months-and, well, there isn’t much they can do about it.

She does receive a rather long voicemail from her dad that she promptly deletes. She’s not about that energy.

_____

“Boims, Boims, Boims,” Mariner chants, crawling into his bed. Boimler lets out a shriek as her ice cold toes slide up against his bare thigh.

“So you know how our ship got renamed so easily?” she says, once Boimler had stopped screaming. “Well, I found the dude who approved it. Nice kid, I want his gender. Anyway, looks like my dad is getting a new ship and they're getting someone to christen it.”

“Oh my god,” Boimler says faintly, turning his face into his pillow.

“I may have gotten us on the list of possible people to christen it. As in, the kid hacked the server for me and we're the only people on that list.”

Boimler looks like he's regretting everything ever. He also looks like he's kind of in love with her. Mariner inspires that kind of duality in people. “What are we going to name it?” his voice has a tinge of fear in it that both of them get off on. The kink is strong with this couple.

Mariner grins.

_______

THE DADMIRAL: ACT OF REBELLION OR GENIUS?

Ash H. Beiggs

Many of you may remember the highly criticized decision Starfleet made when instating “Co-Captains” on the starship Q and Picard’s Loveboat ( formally known as the USS CERRITOS). Well, Captains Bradward P. Boimler and Beckett E. Mariner are back with bigger and bolder headlines to make.

The chaotic young duo are renowned Federation-wide not only for running the tightest ship in Starfleet, but for their unorthodox methods. Captain Mariner in particular has been praised for her innovating thinking and usual personality. When asked about her decision to name Admiral Mariner’s ship The Dadmiral she simply claimed that “Mohammad had his mountain, Jesus had his followers and [she] had a molotov cocktail and nothing to lose.” Captain Boimler declined to comment.

The actual christening of The Dadmiral was reported as a “spectacle to behold” by many onlookers. Captain Mariner was seen streaking through the aforementioned ship, with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Her Co-Captain was not far behind her, but was reportably more restrained. The actual christening was completed by Captain Mariner who “yeeted the vodka” into the ships warp core, shouting “ One of us. One of us,” in rapid succession until she was removed by security.

Neither Admiral Mariner or Captain Freeman are available to comment at this time.

[giorgio52fan]

Mihai Eminescu

(January 15, 1850 - June 15, 1889)

Today marks 171 years since the birth of Mihai Eminescu.

I know that all the sites have filled the Internet with articles about his biography and some of his works, but I think that for a blog that promotes education in Romania it is imperative to continue appreciating the most important figure of Romanian literature in the nineteenth century. century, also nicknamed "The Morning Star of Romanian Poetry ".

What do I wish you, sweet Romania What do I wish you, sweet Romania, my land of glory, my land of longing? Nervous arms, weapon of strength, To your great past, great future! Boil come in cups, foam the cup, If your sons are proud I feed them; Because the rock remains, although the wave dies, Sweet Românie, that's what I wish you. ...

Biography of Mihai Eminescu :

Mihai Eminescu was born in Botoşani, being the seventh of the 11 children of Gheorghe Eminovici and Raluca Eminovici, born Juraşcu. He spent his childhood in Botoșani and Ipotești.

He attended school in Chernivtsi, between 1858 and 1866. After graduating from the 4th grade, he took 2 high school classes. Starting with 1866, the first literary manifestations of Eminescu appear.

On January 12, 1866, after the death of his Romanian language teacher, Aron Pumnul, he and his colleagues published the pamphlet, " Lăcrămioarele invăţăceilor gymnasţi ". " At the tomb of Aron Pumnul " was the first published poem, under the name of M. Eminovici, among almost 500 poems and prose.

At the tomb of Aaron the Fist Dress in mourning, beautiful Bukovina, With green cypress-ancient belt your forehead; C-now from your golden and serene pleiad A star has gone out, a light has gone out, A white star has gone out! ...

In February, 1866, he debuted in the magazine " Familia ", by Iosif Vulcan, with the poem " De-aş avea ". Iosif Vulcan calls him Mihai Eminescu for the first time, and later, the other members of his family will use this name as well.

Eminescu's first poem - If I had If I had a flower Proud, sweet, rapacious, Like the flowers of May, Sweet daughter of a plai, Plai laughing with green grass, What swings, gets lost, Waving softly, Whispering whispers of love;

For three years, he practiced the profession of blower and copyist for roles in Iorgu Caragiali's troupe, then as blower and copyist at the National Theater. He continues to publish poems, dramas and fragments of novels in the magazine " Familia ". At the same time, he translates from German.

Between 1869 and 1862, he studied at the Faculty of Philosophy and Law in Vienna, but also participated in the courses of other faculties. In Vienna he met Veronica Micle and became friends with Ioan Slavici. In " Memories ", Slavici said of his friend that: "As soon as he received the money from home, he bought his books and, for a few days, no one saw him. He would take her to the coffee he had cooked in the alcohol machine and in the sausages he had bought in a hurry. Although he cared a lot about his library, the need forced him to start selling some of the books he read at the antique shops and he ended up having no more coffee, he spent days without eating and asked for one more pie from one, more from another. He never took notes, but when he received the money from home the first thought was to pay his debts and it was impossible to forget someone .

Also now, he starts collaborating with " Literary Conversations " and makes his debut, as a publicist, in the newspaper " Albina ", from Pesta.

Between 1872 and 1874, he studied for two semesters in Berlin to obtain a doctorate in philosophy, supported by a scholarship, awarded by Junimea. However, he does not take the exams and returns to the country.

Between 1874 and 1877, in Iași, he became director of the Central Library, substitute teacher, school auditor for Iaşi and Vaslui counties and editor of the newspaper " Curierul de Iaşi ". The collaboration with " Literary Conversations " continues. She befriends Ion Creangă, whom she introduces to Junimea .

In 1877, he moved to Bucharest, where he was editor, then editor-in-chief of the newspaper " Timpul ". He carries out an exceptional publishing activity, but his health deteriorates. Now he writes his successful poems ( Letters , Luceafărul , etc.).

Letter I When with weary eyelashes the breath in the candle jumps, Only the clock follows the long path, For the curtains to one side when you give them, and in the room The moon pours over all its voluptuous flame, She from the night of remembrance an eternity- The whole paincomes out, but we all feel like we are dreaming. ...

Luceafarul Once upon a time, like in a fairy tale, It was like never before, From great royal relatives, A too beautiful girl. And she was one to her parents And proud in all things, Like the Virgin among the saints And the moon among the stars. ...

In June 1883, overworked, the poet became seriously ill. He was hospitalized at Dr. Şuţu's hospital, then at an institute near Vienna. In December, he published the volume " Poems ", with a preface and texts selected by Titu Maiorescu (it is the only volume printed during Eminescu's life).

In the years 1883-1889, Eminescu wrote very little or practically nothing.

Mihai Eminescu died on June 15, 1889, in the health house of Dr. Şuţu. He is buried in Bucharest, in the Bellu cemetery.

I have one more longing I have one more longing: In the silence of the evening Let me die At the edge of the sea; ...

The complete works of Mihai Eminescu:

Works, vol. I, Poems printed during life ;

Works, vol. II, Poems printed during life ;

Works, vol. III, Poems printed during life ;

Works, vol. IV, Posthumous Poems ;

Works, vol. V, Posthumous Poems ;

Works, vol. VI, Popular literature ;

Works, vol. VII, Literary prose ;

Works, vol. VIII, Original and translated theater ;

Works, vol. IX, Publicistics 1870-1877, Albina, Familia, Federațiunea, Convorbiri literare, Curierul de Iași;

Works, vol. X, Journalism , November 1, 1887-February 15, 1890, Time;

Works, vol. XI, Journalism , February 17 - December 31, 1880, Time;

Works, vol. XII, Journalism , January 1-December 31, 1881, Time;

Works, vol. XIII, Publicistics , 1882-1883, 1888-1889, Timpul, România liberă, Fîntîna Blanduziei;

Works, vol. XIV, Philosophical, historical and scientific translations . Huruzaki. Rötscher. Kant. Leskien. Bopp. Articles and excerpts;

Works, vol. XV, Fragmentarium , Addendum to the edition;

Works, vol. XVI, Correspondence . Documentary;

A volume from M. Eminescu's intimate correspondence, about Veronica Micle, My Sweet Lady / My Beloved Emin .

" When I think of you, my eyes fill with tears and I can't find words to tell you what I've told you a thousand times: that I love you… Dear Veronica, we weren't too happy in a world in which happiness cannot exist? Is there enough room in this world for as much love as we have? Is not our love an anomaly in the order of the things of the world, an anomaly for which we should be punished? Does our love and suffering fit into a world where bass, envy, and evil reign everywhere and forever ? ”

My sweet Lady / My beloved Emin

[athela-3]

A Tag Game!

I’ve been tagged by the lovely @currywaifu, and who am I to refuse?

Rules: Answer 17 questions and tag (supposedly 17?) people. Well, I don’t know that many people, so I’ll see who I can nick

Nickname: Ari will do. But if you wanna come up with any new nicknames, be my guest! Always interested in collecting ‘em.

Zodiac: Leo. And that’s all I know about zodiacs.

Height: Depends. You want me standing on my left leg or my right? Right leg, 160cm precisely; left leg is about 2cm shorter. No, I never broke it. It’s just like that, the same way my knuckles are crooked for free.

Hogwarts house: Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Unsure which.

Last thing I Googled: Ha. Someone died under suspicious circumstances. It’s on the news quite often lately. I was trying to find more details on the case, but alas, news reports tend to make things so very sensationalised and overly wordy. Just give me the facts already, point by point, mate.

Song stuck in my head: Our Masumi’s own Sick Sick Sick.

Number of followers: 28. Cheers, all.

Amount of sleep: Oh, dear. I keep chaotic hours. Lately I tend to sleep at about half past two, but don’t really wake until like eleven... so it’s a normalish amount of sleep, but skewed like I’m in permanent jet lag. Since I was homeschooled, I’ve been doing this for years, and now that quarantine lets me work from home I’m back at it again.

Lucky number: Don’t have one.

Dream job: I’m fine being a ballet and piano teacher as is, but somewhere deep inside... I wanna make video games.

Wearing: a loose, sleeveless grey shirt and green batik shorts. Computer glasses and headphones if they count.

Favourite song: Aw, man. I dunno. Too many options to choose from. Let’s settle for a genre: jazz. I’m definitely a jazz person.

Favourite instrument: Ah, it’s how they interact with each other that makes or breaks the song! That said, I have a thing for muted trumpets. And slapping on the electric bass. And don’t let’s discount traditional and world instruments either! Gamelan is cool, and—I’m rambling. Again.

Aesthetic: Turtlenecks, fedoras, clothes in solid, cool colours. Victorian lit ebooks, Miles Davis in your headphones, ignored sheet music under your bed. 48 email drafts, most of them story notes, some untouched since 2017. Sitting draped sideways on a rattan armchair. A cup of Earl Grey at midnight. Being able to quote Shakespeare at the drop of a hat, but not knowing what Ohm’s Law entails. Absent-mindedly whistling a Mozart aria while playing video games. Not the classic definition of Chaotic Academia, perhaps, but I have no better term to describe it.

Favourite author: Hm. Let’s say... Terry Pratchett.

Random: I’ve already offered more information than strictly required, heh. How about this: I’ve tried learning French, Spanish, Italian, Esperanto, German, Swahili, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Vulcan, and Ancient Egyptian, but never to fluency. On the other hand, I am more fluent in English than in my own native language.

Tagging: I don’t have a lotta mutuals yet, I’m new here ahah... @meif-wa, @quenie-azryneth, wanna do this? And if I may be so bold as to reach out... @tooaya, @julias-cherry-garden, @beyondtheborderridiculous, I see you in my notifications, wanna come along and join in?

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Tidbit-ish… Romance?…

… So.

I wrote about kissing.

That’s new.

Well, it’s rather involved kissing.

Please note, though: This does contain references to romantic interactions (such as kissing and physical contact) of dubious consent—at the very least, there is an extreme power disbalance in the situation.

So… In canon I want them to be friends (not usually big on canon romance, actually), and in my ‘official’ fanon, they’re friends… But… But kissing, guys.

When is this set? Is it an AU? An alternate possible timeline? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure this is massively ooc, but I wanted to post it anyway to prove I could. I guess. Maybe. I’m very tired right now. I have no common sense or judgement.

I’m sorry.

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“It wasn’t my idea to do this now!” Fuwa growled, stomping across the floor of the basement as they waited. The plan was to move Horobi to a more secure location in a continuation of their current, however shaky, alliance against Thouser, but they had to wait until the close was clear and no one else could notice and possibly report to ZAIA. As a result, Hiden was having Izu monitor the headquarters’ security cameras, the two of them had been stuck biding their time in the dark, empty basement—together. For hours. “I’d rather not spend more time with you!”

“I have noticed.” Horobi replied dryly, preferring to stand at the centre of the room and look around rather than useless motion, watching the human pace. He could have sat down in one of the still-upright folding chairs, but he’d had enough of them after weeks of being trapped in one.

Vulcan’s head spun around to glare furiously at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have been particularly vocal on the subject.”

“That a problem?” Fuwa’s voice came from right beside his shoulder, the human having marched back over to him, eyes blazing angrily.

Horobi sighed, turning to face him, rolling his eyes. “Why must humans be so insufferably loud?”

Then Fuwa’s face was in his, practically spitting, like Vulcan always did when he began boiling over. “You trying to start a fight or something?”

Horobi said nothing, just staring back at him for a moment—then, because Fuwa was so close, radiating anger, and because he’d had enough of being pushed and snapped at all day, he leaned his head sharply forward and shoved his lips roughly against Vulcan’s.

It wasn’t really a kiss. More just slamming their mouths together and holding there. But even that was unexpectedly an almost… Pleasant sensation. Fuwa was warm. He was solid. He was�� Real. And so very… Human. He was everything Horobi should detest with every single atom in his being, and yet the closeness was… Comforting. He felt Fuwa freeze, his heartbeat rising and his breath coming short, telltale signs that said he’d never done this before.

Something in Horobi’s mind misfired, and without thinking he found himself pulling closer, trying to cling to the warmth of Fuwa’s body like the room was suddenly cold, his hands actually reaching up to grab hold of the human’s suit jacket for more proximity. Vulcan was still too stunned to react, but he didn’t falter or stumble back when Horobi pressed closer against him, stedfast as a pillar. Horobi’s head tilted, unbidden, like his body wanted to turn this into a real kiss, his lips moving against Fuwa’s. The reaction made even less sense to him—HumaGear had no hearts, no lungs, no blood. He should have no instincts that could move him without his command… But he’d also learned long ago that they were still sensitive to touch—and something about contact with Fuwa made him want more. Abnormally warm, heartbeat like a bass drum, and the sheer fact that Vulcan hadn’t tried to kiss back at all, wasn’t trying to press the unexpected advantage he suddenly had or make use of Horobi’s abrupt loss of guard. The complete opposite of that person…

When Fuwa finally did move, it was to shove Horobi away, like the touch was painful to him, jerking back and staring like a deer caught in headlights. With some distance between them, Horobi’s senses came back online, and he immediately tried to recover some of his own dignity, reassuming his usual cold expression. Vulcan took longer to bounce back, visibly struggling to calm both his heartbeat and breathing.

He looked so startled and lost that Horobi couldn’t resist a smirk. “… I would have assumed you had at least kissed before.”

Fuwa turned red, though it was hard to tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. “W… What are you…?”

“It is particularly obvious by how flustered you are.” Horobi informed him shortly, not bothering to wait for him to finish.

“Of… Of course I’ve…!” Fuwa’s panicked look settled into an only slightly rattled glare as he trailed off. “And what the hell would you know about kissing?!”

“More than you do, apparently.” Horobi tilted his head, analysing Vulcan’s agitation. “Really? No one?” He smirked slightly once more. “Not even Valkyrie?”

Fuwa flushed even more at the mention of Yaiba, turning away to collect himself. By the time he looked back over at Horobi, however, his eyes had narrowed even more, his mouth twisting. “Sh… Shut up!” He snapped sourly. “Where the hell did a HumaGear trying to destroy humanity learn kissing, then?!”

“Amatsu Gai.”

The answer was so immediate and flat that it threw Vulcan off for a moment, and his rage was tempered by bewilderment. “A… Amatsu?” His mouth opened and closed a few times before he found anymore words. “You… You kissed Amatsu?”

Horobi merely stared at him blankly. “I did not say that.”

“But you just…” It was like he could see the gears turning as Fuwa processed his statement. “… Oh.” Vulcan’s expression shifted even more, a look creeping onto his face that was partway between horror and… Pity? “Oh.” He said again, gaze dropping to the floor.

Horobi raised an eyebrow at him. “Satisfied?”

Fuwa was quiet for long enough that Horobi began to turn away, until the man abruptly spoke, far softer than before. “Then… Why kiss me?”

Horobi froze. He had no answer—his initial intention had been to force the human to be quiet, maybe embarrass him—but he had no excuse for his behaviour after that. Especially not the way he’d tried to get closer and deepen the kiss. Was it the overwhelming, petty sense of finally taking something that before had only been taken from him? Or was it because Fuwa was so much Amatsu’s opposite that it felt like… Like contact with him somehow cancelled out what Amatsu had done. At the very least, the drastically different sensation overrode the lingering, phantom memory of Amatsu’s touch, something he could still feel years after the last time the President of ZAIA had even been in the same room as him. HumaGear didn’t experience or need for intimacy the same way humans did… But the way the sensation of Amatsu’s cold fingers curling around his chin, or tracing the lines of his face and down his neck, running through his hair, while the mouth over his would occasionally bite down sharply on his lip as a reminder of who was in control, still clung to him like invisible shackles had taught him that touch not only mattered, but would stay with them for a long time. With Jin the binds had lightened—focusing on his son had given him something else to think about, something infinitely more pleasant. The Ark’s will had been a purpose beyond the chains of the past; both a chance to be something more than… His.

But Jin was gone and the Ark had been no freedom at all, and the feeling of the cold hands clawed back in, wrapping back around his throat. The contact with Vulcan had unexpectedly overridden the memories, the warmth chasing away the ghostly cold. Whenever Jin had touched him, all his senses had locked onto that contact as a welcome distraction, but that was all it was. Jin’s touch was different; it didn’t—couldn’t—seek out the lingering traces of Amatsu’s hands and wipe them away, as Fuwa’s had seemed to, like he was washing away stains.

He hadn’t realised how long he stood frozen until Fuwa’s voice came again, slightly closer. “Oi. Did you hear me?”

Slowly, Horobi turned his head to look at Vulcan, who had taken a few steps around  to stand in front of him again. One of Fuwa’s hands was partially extended, like he’d been thinking about reaching out to the HumaGear—when Horobi looked at him, however, he quickly snapped it back, looking vaguely self conscious. For a moment, Horobi just stared at him. “… I do not know.” It was not a lie. He was genuinely unsure of what his purpose had been. “… You are not Amatsu Gai.”

Fuwa gave him a look like he thought he was going senile. “Well… Obviously.”

“That had… An unexpected effect.”

Vulcan frowned, shifting even nearer, enough that Horobi could detect just a slight hint of his higher body temperature, his hand drifting out again. “… Horobi…”

When Fuwa’s fingertips actually brushed his sleeve, his gaze flicked further up to meet the human’s eyes, which were now brimming with some sort of weird mix of emotions that Horobi was certain he would never be able to properly process—but there amongst them, just like before, were horror and pity. Staring into Fuwa’s eyes, with the man so close that the warmth he radiated like a bonfire was beginning to seep through the the fabric of his coat, Horobi could suddenly feel every single persisting trail of Amatsu’s touch he’d ever endured, wrapped around him like a horrible, frozen cloud—and he just wanted it all off.

It wasn’t even a full step forward to be close enough to kiss Fuwa again—and this time, his mind was clear, and his every motion deliberate as always. Vulcan wasn’t as shocked, either, and though he initially tensed when Horobi’s lips first touched his, he relaxed after a moment, rather than pulling away. For a bit, he just let Horobi kiss him, holding still as the HumaGear’s hands drifted up again, this time to grab handfuls of his blazer, pulling closer—then his head tilted slightly, pushing back just a little, like he was trying to ask a question. Horobi paused, pulling back just barely enough to speak, and used a word he’d only uttered a very few times in his life, “Please.”

Vulcan promptly closed the tiny distance between them. Fuwa kissed as angrily as he did everything, with the same air of spoiling for a fight. His mouth was warm, his lips slightly chapped, and he inexplicably tasted like coffee and chocolate, though Horobi knew that as a HumaGear, he shouldn’t be able to taste anything. It felt like a challenge, an invitation to push back, rather than an expectation of control. His hands settled lightly on Horobi’s arms, leaning closer rather than pulling or grabbing, staying completely away from the HumaGear’s face. His mouth was clumsy against Horobi’s, inexperienced—Horobi suspected that if he had ever kissed before, it hadn’t been since high school at the latest—nothing like the practiced grace Gai had used. His heartbeat and breathing were fast and loud, almost panicked again, bursting with emotion, not light and unaffected.

He’d never really considered how small Fuwa actually was, either—he’d always known the man’s exact height, but had never had reason to compare it to his own. Now he realised Vulcan had to tip his head up and stand slightly on his toes for them kiss. With that knowledge, his hands loosened from Fuwa’s suit, one moving to the back of the human’s head, fingers weaving into Vulcan’s hair—the other arm went around the human’s waist, lifting him easily off the ground. Fuwa gasped sharply, his own arms shooting around Horobi’s shoulders for balance, fingers scrabbling against the HumaGear’s back for purchase—not that Horobi was in any danger of dropping him. Once they’d settled into a more comfortable equilibrium, Fuwa’s hands began exploring, tracing new memories across Horobi’s back and shoulders, even up the back of his neck to the edge of his head wrap, fingertips even slipping under it, brushing against the hair beneath. Horobi let his more complex systems slow down, choosing to lose himself in Fuwa’s warmth, in the strange, combat-like kiss, shutting out the rest of the world, even his own internal clock.

 Eventually, it was unsurprisingly Fuwa who pulled back first, shoulders heaving, voice breathless. “… Some of us need to breathe regularly.” For a moment, they kept just staring at each other—until Vulcan finally swallowed nervously. “So…” He rasped, raising his eyebrows, “… Can you put me down?”

Horobi hesitated for a moment, but finally he reluctantly lowered the human back to the  floor, arms lingering around him for a bit before at last pulling away and stepping back. He turned away slightly as Fuwa smoothed and righted his clothes in awkward silence, trying to put his own mind back in order, and finally realising the situation he’d put himself in. “… We never speak of this again.”

Vulcan took several more deep breaths, raising the back of his hand to his lips. “Damn… You even kiss like you’re trying to kill someone…”

Horobi glared at him. “We. Never. Speak. Of. This. Again.”

Fuwa watched his expression for a moment, then nodded slowly. “… Agreed.” He said, at last. Then his phone buzzed, and he quickly checked it. “… That’s Hiden. Izu says we’re clear to go.”

Satisfied with Vulcan’s agreement of silence, Horobi spun on his heel and marched off toward the stairs without waiting to see if Fuwa was following him.

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I actually spent a lot of time, more time than I usually spend, at least, thinking about the concept of intimacy and how it would relate to HumaGear… Obviously, they have no blood flow, or breath, or heartbeat, etc. But they do seem to be sensitive to physical contact, can differentiate between it being pleasant or unpleasant, whether it hurts or not… It seemed to me that could end up being their version of a reaction to intimacy, contact that they feel comfortable w/, in a way. Would also have a level of having rights to what happens to their bodies, etc.

[gumnut-logic]

A Little Understanding

Title: A Little Understanding: an epilogue to A Good Day

Author: Gumnut

21 – 22 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary: “I’m fine, Scott, I promise.”

Word count: 2151

Spoilers & warnings: Nothing canon specific, but won’t make much sense if you haven’t read ‘A Good Day.’

Author's note: Apparently Scott had some questions and I seem to have developed a fascination for Virgil and his piano. I think this may be a little self-indulgence, so I’m keeping it separate from the main fic. I hope you enjoy it in any case.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

It was still dark. The moon still in the sky and the stars still out, hiding the fact that the sun would be rising in the east in the next couple of hours. 

It was the hour of quiet. An hour he’d seen quite a bit of lately, but for the first time Virgil could actually feel it.

 He felt at rest, his heart calm.

 Even though he again couldn’t sleep.

 It didn’t worry him this time. He was tired, but it was a good tired, not the wretched tired of yesterday.

 He padded down the stairs from his bedroom into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. His socks didn’t make a sound on the tiles, the slight rustle of his pyjamas and the hum of the refrigerator the only sounds not made by the night outside.

 He didn’t turn on the light. He didn’t need it. Leaving the glass on the bench, he climbed the back stairs into the comms room, sock-skated across to the huge open bay window and out onto the balcony.

 He stared out at the ocean. Reflected starlight stared back.

 He closed his eyes.

 It had been a good day.

 A very good day.

 A cool breeze ruffled his hair.

 A breath in.

 A breath out.

 A moment of stillness.

 A moment to breathe.

 An unseen presence appeared beside him.

 Without opening his eyes, he opened his mouth. “A bit early even for you.”

 A quiet voice. “And even earlier for you. You okay?” There was still a touch of worry from yesterday in the question.

 Eyes still closed. “I’m fine, Scott, I promise.”

 There was silence and the sounds of the night regained their dominance.

 “Virgil, how does it work?”

 “How does what work?”

 “How do you channel all that into the music?”

 Virgil opened his eyes and looked at his brother. The moonlight sculpted his features in silver. He licked his top lip. “I guess..” How to explain it? He brought his fingers to his chest. “I take it and shove it out and make it into something. Use the energy.” He flung his hands forward. “It gets rid of it. Makes it easier.” A lopsided smile. “And hey, sometimes I get something to show for it.”

 Scott’s voice was quiet. “So what happened yesterday?”

 Virgil dropped his head and ran his hand through his hair. “My fault. Hadn’t done it for a while. Got bottled up. I guess no art makes Virgil a bear head.”

 “It’s that simple? All that grump and all we had to do was make you sit at the piano?” There was just a hint of a smile on Scott’s face.

 Virgil snorted. “Simple? When you put it that way...” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

 “Should we call in Kayo and do that hog-tying?”

 “Hah!”

 Scott’s smirk wrinkled into a more serious expression. “Really, Virgil, you scared us.”

 He frowned. “Why?”

 Blue eyes widened. “Did you hear what you played?”

 “Yeah, of course, a whole lotta embarrassing key bashing. What about it?”

 His brother stared at him a moment, a little wide-eyed before grabbing his arm and directing him back inside the house. He led him over to the couch, palming the comms remote, and sat them both down. “You need to see this.”

 Virgil realised what his brother was up to. “Aw, you gotta be kidding me, Scott.” He struggled to get off the couch, but Scott dragged him back down.

 “No, you have to see this. Then maybe you’ll understand.” There was strain in Scott’s voice. Virgil relented.

 The holoprojector lit up and Scott flicked between scenes. Virgil was chagrined to see himself in all of them, until it settled on the section his brother was looking for.

 Holographic Virgil sat in front of his holographic piano and began to play.

 It was no more than a warm up exercise at first, but then his holographic form frowned and…

 Oh, god.

 He felt just about every red blood cell in his body crawl into his face. His whole family had seen that? He had thought they were all worried because of the talk he and Gordon had had before the piano made its appearance. Not because of this…

 He felt naked.

 Kayo had said powerful and she had meant it. The passion coming off that keyboard was blatant and raw. When he had been playing, it had just been sound and rhythm. There was no composition, just the chords he felt he needed to play. He hadn’t really cared what it sounded like, he had just let it flow.

 It hadn’t just flowed, it had flooded.

 All over his family.

 Oh, hell. No wonder Grandma had been crying. There would be a pile of apologies to be made when the sun came up.

 He frowned. So that is where the split lip had come from.

 -o-o-o-

 Scott gritted his teeth as the piece played. It got into his bones and it still hurt as much as it had the first time, but at least his brother was sitting beside him this time and not an ocean away.

 As the music came to an end, Scott flicked off the holoprojector, leaving the room to the silver of the moon once again.

 His brother continued to stare at where the hologram had been. After a moment, in a quiet voice. “So do we need an exorcist?”

 Scott stared at him. “What?”

 “I didn’t realise it sounded that bad, sorry.”

 “Bad? What the hell are you talking about, Virgil. You poured your heart into that piano. That music was full of anger and pain. You were crying. Hell, John was crying. Can you believe that? Mr Spock himself. You made the Vulcan cry, Virgil.”

 His brother was horrified. “I-I’m sorry.”

 Oh, goddamnit. That wasn’t it.  He sat up straighter in the chair, turning himself more fully to his brother, desperate to get his point across. “No, no, no, Virgil. You don’t need to be sorry. It is us who should be sorry. We’re upset because you were hurting and we didn’t see.”

 A frown. “I was just tired, Scott. It’s been a long week, that’s all.”

 “You’re trying to tell me that all that emotion came from just this week?”

 “Well, no, but I’m not in pain, Scott. It was just a build-up, a bit of artistic frustration.”

 Scott’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?”

 “Well, okay, sure, I haven’t played in a while, and I was tired, and stressed and…yeah, okay, I guess I was hurting a bit. But it is nothing, Scott. I can manage it. It just got a little bit neglected.” Virgil wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Sorry, I scared everyone.”

 He rubbed his hand through his hair. Now he understood why Gordon had had so much trouble. There seemed to be a glitch in communicating with his brother. Somehow what he wanted him to hear just wasn’t getting through.

 Virgil seemed to realise his frustration, paused a moment thinking, then placed a hand on his arm. “C’mere, I want to show you something.” He stood up, gently pulling on him. Sighing, Scott, got up and let himself be led.

 His brother dragged him over to the piano. “Now sit on the end of the stool. And listen.”

 Virgil sat down in front of the piano and for just a moment, Scott steeled himself for another assault of pain. He realised what he was doing and forced himself to relax. He was being ridiculous. This was Virgil, he had heard him play hundreds of times, why should this time be any different?

 Back straight, Virgil flexed his hands in preparation. “You heard me venting, Scott. A simple release of stress. Our job is stressful. You run. You punch that bag in the gym. This is how I let it out.” He hesitated. “It is part of the process. But it is not all that can be released, Scott. It is only one facet. Perhaps you’ll understand if I release another.” He mock glared at his brother. “No laughing allowed.”

 Scott flung up his hands innocent defence. God, as if he would ever.

 Another flex of his hands, a shift in his shoulders, and Virgil closed his eyes once more. He sat there for a second more, before reaching out to the keys. His fingers twitched and caught the ivory.

 The music came out sweet, daisy Sundays, a jaunty tune, a hint of laughter. Scott couldn’t help but feel lifted. The contrast of this music to the piece from the day before was so stark it was as if it was by a completely different musician.

 The tune shifted slightly, a more serious note floating in, it became faster, more sure, more powerful. A strong rhythm came into the lead. It spoke of strength, surety and the rest of the tune followed it behind. It led the pack, while a dancing note ran in circles around it. Then a deep bass rumble stepped in, re-enforcing the whole composition. It lifted and then it flew, notes scattering and swirling like snowflakes.

 The music paused, a single run of keys keeping the rhythm true, before the daisy Sundays returned, the laughter, and not a small amount of love.

 Virgil was smiling, his eyes still closed, his body twitching to the tempo, fully involved in creating his art.

 Eventually the music slowed, the last of the jaunty tune, bouncing across the keys before several soft notes took over, bringing the piece to a quietly confident close.

 Virgil lifted his fingers off the keys and rested them on his thighs, looking down a moment. Quietly. “It’s called Big Brother.”

 Scott stared at Virgil, who was refusing to look in his direction, obviously embarrassed. He looked down at the keys and back at Virgil again. “Really?”

 “Really.” His brother looked up but still didn’t look at him. Apparently, the bookcase was far more interesting.

 “Wow.”

 “I guess.”

 “No, really, Virgil. Wow.” He grabbed the musician by his shoulders forcing him to turn towards him.

 His brother’s eyes were pleading. “Do you get it now?” Under the embarrassment, there was a desperate need for understanding. The man had obviously risked exposing himself to try and communicate something important. “That was pre-written. I – I’ve had it for a while. Planned to give it to you on your birthday last year, but…”

 Scott frowned. “But what?”

 A shoulder half shrugged. “I didn’t.”

 “Why?”

 Another shrug. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that it is not all pain and misery. That piece…” He swallowed, looking like he was about to jump off a cliff. “That piece is you, Scott. That is what I think of when I think of you. All light, strength, power, big brother and yes, laughter. You’ve always been there, always…anyway, do you understand?”

 Scott bit his lip. “I’m not sure.”

 Virgil’s shoulders slumped. “I’m fine, Scott. There is nothing wrong with me. Can’t you see? It is just a different way of managing…things.”

 “Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with you.” His lips twisted. “Though I have considered the possibility of mutant genes to explain the size of your shoulders. Look at those things, you sure you’re not using that exo-suit to disguise your super-human strength?”

 Virgil thumped his arm.

 “Ow, a demonstration was not needed.”

 “Seriously, Scott. I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I promise, I’ll take a bit better care of myself. But there is nothing to worry about.”

 “You’re sure?”

 “Aaargh!” His fingers hit the piano and a tumultuous jumble of notes bounced out, a moment of chaos followed by the immediately recognisable theme to Jaws.

 Scott jumped off the seat, hands up in self-defence. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

 Iconic Twilight Zone notes.

 Scott smirked.

 Virgil glared. The tune morphed into Pharrell William’s ‘Happy’. ‘Because, I’m happy…’

 “I get it already!” He grinned. “Going with the ancient oldies there, Virg.”

 His brother rolled his eyes before turning back to the piano. The first notes of Grandma’s special composition appeared under his fingers.

 Leaning back against his Dad’s desk, Scott was content to simply listen and watch his brother. No, he didn’t fully understand him, though he definitely appreciated him taking the time to try and explain himself – and that Big Brother music was definitely not going to gather dust in the back of his brother’s head. There was a recording planned in the future.

 In fact, recording more of his music might give Virgil the motivation to play more often. Scott pondered. There were plenty of rooms in the villa, shouldn’t be hard to convert somewhere into a sound studio. He’d speak to Brains.

 In the very early morning light, Virgil’s face was lit from within. Eyes once again closed, swaying to the music.

 Turning towards the mezzanine above, Scott smiled at Gordon.

 The music danced around the walls.

 Gordon smiled too.

 -o-o-o-

 FIN.

[teratoscope]

War Elemental IV: Baggage Wyrm (bonus: Colossoid Armor)

A squat, train-length dracoform trundles up the ridge on dozens of splay-clawed legs. You can scarcely make out any more precise details about its shape, because every square inch has been rigged up to carry cargo. Nestled in the forest of tactical webbing are sleepy eyes that shine like fire opals. It hums along in bass notes you can feel in the pit of your stomach with the marching song of the infantry keeping pace with it or clinging to its frame like ticks. HD 7 MV 120’ AC plate AT slam + trample (1d10 per 10‘ traveled past target) Special juggernaut, pack mule, self-destruct

juggernaut—a baggage wyrm never suffers penalties for traveling over rough terrain, and punches through walls of up to 10’ thickness. pack mule—an adjacent ally can use their action during a combat round to rummage for gear; roll 1d10 and compare to the table below. Up to 6 characters may choose to pool their actions to seek out and deploy more substantial equipment; roll and add d10s. Each time a rummage roll is made, if any of the dice rolled produce the highest result possible, downgrade the die one step (d10s become d8s, d8s become d6s, d6s becomes d4s, d4s cease to be and the wyrm’s been stripped bare). 1. gas mask w/1d3 filters (1 day full protection from gas attacks) 2. accelerant injection (double MV and 1 extra attack action each round; roll HD each round—if result exceeds current hp, keel over dead. Second shot is the downer, but you have to get somebody else to pin you down and administer it) 3. automatic flechette thrower, wrist-mounted (1d4, 60’ range, if hit exceeds target AC by 4 or better make a second attack; jams if it misses by 4 or more and requires an exploration turn to fix.) 4. bandolier of 2d3 frag grenades (120’, 5’ radius, 1d6+6 save for half, on miss user saves or takes max damage) 5. trench blade (1d6, 5’ reach, concealable, burrowing 60’ through soil with a full action) 6. first aid slug (stabilizes the dead/dying at 0 hp; heal check next round restores 1d4 hp and puts them back in action but on failure they’re out cold until they can receive proper medical attention) 7. anti-materiel rifle (360’, 2d6. all targets treated as though they are unarmored. Ignores durability effects. Cannot move and fire.) 8. berserker serum (+2 HD, terrible fists x2 (2d4+2), cannot attack any other way, no strategic ability, save at end of turn or take own HD in damage) 9. tower shield (+2 AC, provides heavy cover if wielder doesn’t move) 10. mortar (360’, 10’ radius, 2d6+6, one round reload) and 1d3 shells 11-15. machine gun (240’ cone, d10 imploding, requires two operators and halves MV) 16-20. Thaumic Finial (must be grounded. Any spell cast within 600’ has a 10% chance of being redirected to a random target) 21-30. Siege Engine (in pieces, 2d3 rounds to assemble. Moves up to 80’ in a straight line, and takes a full round to turn. Provides full cover from the front. 4 arrow slits and 1 heavy weapon mount; requires 3 dedicated personnel to move. Rolls over light cover, knocks down any wall or heavy cover in 1d3 rounds) 31-45. Siege Engine (complete) 46-60. Colossoid Armor (2 pilots, HD 9 MV 180’ AC chain & shield AT hammerfist x3 (3d6+2), arm vulcan 400’ (d12 imploding), Special on hit exceeding AC by 4 or better, deal damage to pilot, not armor. One pilot controls fists and movement, the other aims/fires arm vulcan. Full action to mount/dismount) self-destruct—on death, a baggage wyrm explodes, destroying everything it carries and dealing 3d10 fire/piercing damage to everything within 20’ of it.


Dragons keep clear of the Front these days. Nothing goes in there that the war effort doesn’t eventually find a use for, and it takes a sort of sadistic pleasure in breaking down prideful creatures. The baggage wyrms used to be great sculptors of the earth, holders of a powerful dominion running from sun-soaked badlands into the boiling depths of the furthest realms below. They resisted the Front’s incursion, but in the end they had too much in common with it to keep it at bay forever. Their treasures were stolen, dismantled, shoddily reproduced, and squandered centuries ago, and their descendants find refuge only as overgrown water-carriers and living siege engines for the war effort. Their masters have beaten the draconic language from them; they sing in Grunt and Cipher now, and their fire breath curdles in their guts. Aging baggage wyrms lose containment eventually, and so it is standard operating procedure to strip them down and chase them out of the encampment towards an enemy fortification once they start smelling too much of sulphur. The ensuing explosion provides enough heat to kickstart the final stages of development in its eggs, and so the seeds are sown for a new generation in the hands of the enemy, or whoever seizes the wyrmlings from them. This is the sort of thing that keeps the Front alive.

[kevindurkiin]

Tisoki Drops New Song “Promise” with LiL Lotus

Tisoki isn’t one to be tied down by genres. Though he generally stays within the bass realm, he weaves through styles and influences with elegance. On his newest single, “Promise” with Lil Lotus, he dips his toes into future trap with soaring melodies and hard-hitting kicks and snares.

Lil Lotus is among the growing continent of face-tatted rappers that blend rap with more melodic notes in their singing, and the result in “Promise” is fantastic.

“I had such a great time making the record ‘Promise,’ Tisoki shares. “The majority of the synths are made with analog gear, giving it that gritty natural vibe which plays off Lil Lotus’ vocals super well.”

If you listen really hard, you can hear little bits of influence from Slander, Flux Pavilion, or What So Not in the production, but Tisoki has certainly made it his own. Check out the single and music video below!

Tisoki will bring this new material on the road via his newly-announced five month North American Tour, which kicked off January 24th in Dallas, TX.

TISOKI 2020 NORTH AMERICA TOUR:

February 5 – Soundcheck – Washington, DC February 7 – Marquis Theater – Denver, CO February 8 – Peabody’s – Virginia Beach -VA February 15 – Thompson House – Cincinnati, OH February 20 – EOS Lounge – Santa Barbara, CA February 21 – Aura Nightclub – Phoenix, AX February 22 – Gentle Bens – Tucson, AZ February 28 – Bluebird Nightclub – Reno, NV March 5 – Trio – Charleston, SC March 7 – Hawaiian Brians – Honolulu, HA March 13 – Tak Music Venue – Fargo, ND March 14 – Elektricity – Detroit, MI March 27 – DNA Lounge – San Francisco, CA April 3 – Vulcan Gas Company – Austin, TX April 4 – Green Door – El Paso, TX April 10 – Sonia – Boston, MA April 14 – Commonwealth – Las Vegas, NV April 17 – Effex Nightclub – Alburquerque, NM May 1 – District – Atlanta, GA

This article was first published on Your EDM. Source: Tisoki Drops New Song “Promise” with LiL Lotus

Tisoki Drops New Song “Promise” with LiL Lotus published first on https://soundwizreview.tumblr.com/

[bluebuzzmusic]

Tisoki Drops New Song “Promise” with LiL Lotus

Tisoki isn’t one to be tied down by genres. Though he generally stays within the bass realm, he weaves through styles and influences with elegance. On his newest single, “Promise” with Lil Lotus, he dips his toes into future trap with soaring melodies and hard-hitting kicks and snares.

Lil Lotus is among the growing continent of face-tatted rappers that blend rap with more melodic notes in their singing, and the result in “Promise” is fantastic.

“I had such a great time making the record ‘Promise,’ Tisoki shares. “The majority of the synths are made with analog gear, giving it that gritty natural vibe which plays off Lil Lotus’ vocals super well.”

If you listen really hard, you can hear little bits of influence from Slander, Flux Pavilion, or What So Not in the production, but Tisoki has certainly made it his own. Check out the single and music video below!

Tisoki will bring this new material on the road via his newly-announced five month North American Tour, which kicked off January 24th in Dallas, TX.

TISOKI 2020 NORTH AMERICA TOUR:

February 5 – Soundcheck – Washington, DC February 7 – Marquis Theater – Denver, CO February 8 – Peabody’s – Virginia Beach -VA February 15 – Thompson House – Cincinnati, OH February 20 – EOS Lounge – Santa Barbara, CA February 21 – Aura Nightclub – Phoenix, AX February 22 – Gentle Bens – Tucson, AZ February 28 – Bluebird Nightclub – Reno, NV March 5 – Trio – Charleston, SC March 7 – Hawaiian Brians – Honolulu, HA March 13 – Tak Music Venue – Fargo, ND March 14 – Elektricity – Detroit, MI March 27 – DNA Lounge – San Francisco, CA April 3 – Vulcan Gas Company – Austin, TX April 4 – Green Door – El Paso, TX April 10 – Sonia – Boston, MA April 14 – Commonwealth – Las Vegas, NV April 17 – Effex Nightclub – Alburquerque, NM May 1 – District – Atlanta, GA

This article was first published on Your EDM. Source: Tisoki Drops New Song “Promise” with LiL Lotus

source https://www.youredm.com/2020/02/05/tisoki-drops-new-song-promise-with-lil-lotus/

[blackers-donuts]

Ruby Redfort Orchestra au

• So Hitch plays flute, because are you telling me he isn’t the person that would seem really quiet then burst in with like a super high note. • LB conducts, she keeps everyone super tight, like anymore strict it almost wouldn’t seem fun. • Blacker and Froghorn are resident composers- with Froghorn specialising in the more traditional orchestra and Blacker doing more modern stuff. • Baker used to be first violin, and contribute to the composition team but not a lot. • Buzz is the organiser, is absolutely tone death. • Then Ruby comes along with like this seemingly death contraption (French horn) and sits down, Froghorn has a melt down, “I don’t know French horns, I’ll have to rewrite everything.” • So Ruby offers to help, like I’ll just transpose the trumpet part- hell the trombone part. And Froghorn is like “my music.” • So Ruby starts writing her own music and Blacker helps her pitch it to LB, it sounds confusing at the start like a mix of traditional classical and modern bass but it really comes together. • Froghorn hates it but slowly Ruby starts submitting more composition that the orchestra loves because it is different. • Im thinking Forge of Vulcan type shit here. • And eventually, Froghorn goes to meet like important people in the orchestra (section leaders) and that’s where he meets Hitch. • And its love at first sight for him and Blacker and Hitch.

[doomedandstoned]

Discarded Self Cooks Up a Simmering Stew of Dread in Foreboding Debut LP

~By Billy Goate~

Album Art by Thahir M

Flooding forth with misery and hate comes the first album from Discarded Self... Created during a time of personal isolation, the album ranges from tales of the macabre to introspective trips into self-loathing and personal degradation that dredge up terrible memories of the past to drown in personal regret. There is no hope for the future here.

Thus speaks the introduction to this self-titled debut from DISCARDED SELF, the brainchild of one Jarret Beach. Nestled on the border of Alberta and Saskatchewan in the small city of Lloydminster, Jarret has been jamming on bass with Ashes of Yggdrasil and fronting Destroy My Brains on vocals and guitar since at least 2014. It was the pandemic that drove him inward and inspired him to write this harrowing opus -- an album that erupts with pitch black sentiment, exploring unhappiness, hardship, and distress through several different lenses.

"I Smell Pipes" sets the record in motion with devilish growls over a searing guitar lead. The song becomes increasingly emotional with dissonant harmonies. Whether intentional or not, the drums sound muted, giving it a dank, low-fi feel throughout. The emphasis seems solidly on the riffage, which is all fine by me, though some listeners may wish for a more spacious approach. For full effect, turn those speakers up high!

"Orbitoclast" follows next with a strumming opening and jarring amp feedback. When the vocals join, it's a sludge moshfest ala Iron Monkey and Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean. The guitar is clear, dark, and menacing, and it contrasts with the harsh singing effectively. There are burts of frenetic grinding, with fevered drumming from Joaden Paluck (Destroy My Brains, Wrought) joining Jarret's fire and brimstone riffing. The song ends with clip addressing depression and the danger of suicide, from some old training video in a rather clinical tone.

"Push The Knife" is the longest track of the album, opening with death-soaked drumming (this time with Brett Steward from Ashes of Yggdrasil on the skins) and solemn doom chords that become increasingly animated, finally spilling over in a torrent of blackened tremeloes. The instruments pause long enough for Jarret to proclaim, "I'm barely being held together...fuck this life." The lyrics contemplate the misery of one's existence and the utter despair of realizing: I could really end it all. Having been there, I can identify with practically every word of this song. Also, I'm picking up on a Buzzov*en vibe here, with Jarret's raspy, metallic vocals drawing us into the hardship of the subject quite well. It's as though the pain of depression has gradually worn away at his person, transforming him into this savage beast before us. The sonic mix on this track does a decent job of accommodating the swirling array of death, doom, and black metal styles without sounding too thin and distant.

"On The Unlevel" is another 10-minute monster, with death-obsessed lyrics (this time, it seems, from the perspective of the oppressor). It takes on the mess of politics and policing, though at times I had trouble distinguishing between rage against the system and actually taking revenge on one's enemies. In some sections, I'm reminded of Eyehategod and their propensity for simple, melodic guitar motifs. The drums are especially pronounced here, a collaboration with Daden Paluk (Destroy My Brains). About 7-minutes in, a solitary bass announces the fiery coda, which grinds down on the words "This is what you get, greedy piece of shit." There are some maniacal screams mingling in the backdrop that made me think of a human being who's finally snapped and will no longer be trodden over.

"I'm Weak" is my favorite of the record, beginning as it does with those grim downward steps, followed by irradiated crooning grungy milling. The song is about living with guilt, shame, anxiety, and self-loathing while in isolation. For many of us, nothing felt more like solitary confinement than those unending weeks in lockdown, which forced some to come face to face with what they hated most about themselves. "I'm not well, in my cell, in my tomb, crying for doom" Jarret sings. A headbanger for damned sure.

"Cultist of the Pentagram" wisely picks up the pace with a tonal shift from self-pity towards an imagined deity from some dark dimensions, perhaps Cacus of Roman Mythology ("I am your Caco god"), who was said to be the fire-breathing son of Vulcan -- and a giant at that (eventually taken down by Hercules). Regardless of the cultist's identity, it is a most interesting lyrical theme and I found myself easily pulled into the narrative. Musically, this pure sludgey, grindcore!

"Abused (e)Motionless" turns our attention to the victim of treachery, attempting to see the word through their eyes. An interesting mix of circular, grinding guitar and drums, with slow, doomy progressions, and venomous vocals (which remain omnipresent throughout).

Finally, we arrive at the conclusion of this stormy, angst-filled journey. "Dance Upon The Dead" established a gentle arpeggiated acoustic theme, which is frequently interrupted by a crashing guitar and drum combos, until vocals join in with their usual corrosive fashion. This time, we're dealing with a true doomer, full of mordant chords and deep, emphatic bass notes. Jaden is up once again for drumming duties and executes his role with taste and tact. The song develops with increasing variation and intensity as it goes along. I thought of Grief as I listened, a band that also traffics in fierce, hot-blooded, sludgey doom action.

No doubt, Discarded Self is an enormous work and may be taken in doses on first spin. It will mean even more to the suffering, as I can imagine it being quite a cathartic listen for those who feel trapped, maligned, and in dire straits. Overall, a welcome entry from a prolific and highly motivated artist who does an admirable job collaborating with his drumming compadres. I can only imagine the beast that Discarded Self will become when the Lockdown is lifted for good and public performances become a viable option in Canada and places beyond.

Give ear...

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

An Interview with Discarded Self

By Billy Goate

How would you describe the vocal approach to the songs on this record?

After recording the guitars and bass to a programmed click track, I soon realized the song arrangements had some real potential to be something aggressive and memorable so I went for my first run of lyrics on a song. I wrote the lyrics for the song "I'm Weak" before I even had any drums (which is something I almost never do) and I wanted to record them since I was really feeling the flow and ideas I had for delivery, but it was too late at night and everyone in my house was asleep. So I decided to do a little practice vocal run in a quiet voice. When I do metal vocals in a quiet voice for practicing and stuff, I use kind of an evil Satyricon-Dopethrone black metal kind of voice. It's easier on my throat than my normal hardcore Destroy My Brains full blast screaming, and it helps me lay down my ideas without any type of voice damage.

You collaborated with a number of drummers on this release. How did you work in tandem with them during the Great Lockdown of 2020 and what impact did it have on the final outcome of your tracks?

After I recorded my idea, I sent the track to the drummer of the track Rob, and he said he really dug it. I told him those weren't the real vocals and I would do the real ones in a day or two after I practiced them a bunch and got my delivery down. But when the time came to lay it all down, I had the practice voice stuck in my head and when I tried to lay down my normal vocals, it sounded weird because I was already used to the way the black metal style vocals sounded. So I decided to give what was once my quiet practicing voice a try, and record the full song in that style. It blew me away when I was all done, so I decided to change up my idea and use this vocal style for the whole album. I really like it.

Talk about the artwork. It's a tremendous piece! Really stands out.

After that it was time to go on the hunt for some artwork. Almost as soon as I started looking, an artist I follow, Thahir M, put up a piece called "Monster Hunt" and I immediately knew that was the artwork I needed to represent the project. A very powerful giant demon with dragons flying above almost like a World War II photograph with the fighter planes littering the sky. It took me about a second and a half to rapidly fire him an offer on the art before someone else snatched it. That is where the album art came from. I actually used this art as inspiration while I was recording almost all of the vocals on this album. As I recorded them I would stare at the image of the art and try to imagine I was a demon soldier in that army. I already had the lyrics memorized, so I didn't need to read them as I recorded them.

I'd venture to guess that a lot of us assume one-man bands are just wunderkinds, you know, born with all this multi-instrumental talent. Were there areas you found particularly challenging for you as you sought to bring your vision to life?

I am not a drummer. I suck real bad, and I probably won't ever practice enough to ever record anything so I needed some drummers. I had this idea of using all of the best metal drummers in my city, and it would kind of help bring the scene together a little bit. 3 of the drummers I wanted to get, I was already in bands with, so that was easy, and the last drummer was a guy with some serious skills and creative talent, plus he had his own drum recording setup.

I ended up getting all the guys I wanted on the project which were, Jadan of Destroy My Brains, Rob the drummer of Ashes of Yggdrasil, Brett the lead guitarist of Ashes of Yggdrasil (who also plays drums), and BJ from the band Dahlmers Realm. I couldn't really be more happy about it. So every time I would finish my guitars on a track I would send them off to the guys with a click, and let them stew on ideas. Slowly the ideas came in and we got them all recorded. I was really impressed with what the guys came up with and we worked and tweaked the ideas until they all felt perfect.

It sounds like a very meticulous process!

Almost every time I got the final drums and guitars all together I would stay up for days with almost no sleep writing lyrics furiously, and perfecting my delivery for the songs. The last song Dance Upon the Dead, I actually stayed awake for about 30hrs, writing and recording. I even blew my voice out real bad, but I have a real stupid and bad habit of fighting through it and I finished the song with a pretty buggered up voice. (it just adds to the torment).

What's the benefit to writing metal as an independent musician-composer, compared with being in a band?

The best part of this project was I did it all in my studio at home, and I didn't have to change any of my mixing ideas because other band members did not like it (not that that is a bad thing having extra input or anything). So this album turned out 100% how I wanted it to sound. I went with a less is more approach, and didn't really do a lot of processing on the instruments to get the sounds I ended up with.

You initially were sharing songs as you created them. What kind of response did you get from your tracks early on?

As I completed songs, I would release them on Bandcamp and YouTube, and I set a goal to have one completed every two weeks until the release date I set, which was Jan 15th, I believe. The day I released "Orbitoclast," is where everything changed and I started receiving a ton of positive feedback. "Orbitoclast" was only the second song released, so I was really getting excited to pump this project out.

I was only about two or three weeks away from my release date when I was contacted by Piers Andersen from Cvlt Legion, and he said he is starting a record label called Sarcophagus Recordings and he asked if I wanted to be his first band. I didn't even need to think about it, because I knew he was a part of Cvlt Legion and those guys promote bands at a ridiculous rate, so I went for it. He wasted no time and he had me pull all my material down from Bandcamp and YouTube, so he could properly promote the album. We changed the date to April 30th, and he went to work promoting the album. He is good, he's had me on more sites and pages than I even knew existed, and we've even done a pile of interviews which I enjoy doing.

What did you learn from diving headfirst into such an ambitious first record?

All and all, this project taught me a lot, and I do believe I have further evolved my songwriting and recording techniques for the better, so it was a real good experience, and I've also learned more about the promotional side of music which is really important if you want anyone to hear your stuff. I hope everyone enjoys this album, and you can expect to hear another album from this project in the future as I'm already at six rhythm sections written for another album.

Let's close by getting into the specific breakdown of the album's songs.

1. I Smell Pipes

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The opening track of the album is actually written about a close friend I used to have when I was younger. It is describing a short chapter of his life, which in turn was the end of his life. He was a good friend but became a fiending drug addict "I Smell Pipes" was actually a quote he used to say when he would arrive at a party, and it signaled for all of the other crackhead/jib users to go into a room a light up rock and crystal all night. What started off as what he called fun recreational drug use, turned into full on lying, cheating, stealing, robbing, rock bottom living on the streets drug use. He passed away with a needle in his arm banging speedballs.

I wrote the song with more fun style riffs, because that was the last thing I remember about him before he disappeared and wound up succumbing to his chemical addictions. He used to be a fun guy. Hard drugs are no joke, there are only two ways it will go for you, if you want to live that kind of life. The lucky ones go to jail and sober up. The unlucky ones die, or live a long time as a worthless drug fiend. If you are having trouble with addictions, talk to someone and seek help. The alternative is more than most likely going to be a coffin. I wrote this song with a heavy heart, and it was really hard to record the lyrics.

2. Orbitoclast

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The song "Orbitoclast" is a collection of riffs and vocal ideas I actually started this project with. It starts off slow, but gets straight down to it with a thrashy section that has shredding vocals bleeding all over it. For those that aren’t aware, an orbitoclast is the instrument that is hammered into a person’s brain, when they were the poor individual who received a lobotomy in the late '40s early '50s. The song is of course about the horrifying practice of lobotomy, but has an extra hidden meaning. It’s a metaphor for giving your trust to someone who doesn’t have your best interests in mind, and only their own personal interest, with no concern of who they damage along the way.

3. Push The Knife

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

"Push The Knife" is a slow moving look into the mind of someone who is sick with depression and touches on the topics of suicide/blood sacrifice. How it feels like you don’t want to exist in society, and you want to disappear and be forgotten. The song was originally titled "Staple", and is essentially about barely holding your life together like a “bent staple with one arm” as the lyrics suggest. The song takes a horrible turn as the protagonist of the story performs a blood sacrifice of themselves in an attempt to become a demon, and seek revenge upon the whole world who has wronged them throughout their life, joining Satan's and executing revenge upon the world. This song features Ashes Of Yggdrasil’s lead guitarist Brett on the drums, and backup vocals as well.

4. On The Unlevel

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

This song is my hate-fueled message to the government and other forces of oppression and control. I wrote this whole album in 2020, and being the naturally rebellious person that I am, the government control, restrictions, and lockdowns are not anything I ever pictured happening in my life and the damage they have caused to our society is mindblowing. If you feel the same as me, I strongly suggest looking up the lyrics to this song to understand the anger seething from within me when I was writing this. "On The Unlevel" is an attack against oppression, control, racism, division, and lies. Things can’t continue like this, and everyone needs to work together to repair all of the damage, and seriously think about the crucial changes that need to be made in our world if we are ever going to see it the same way it was, or better than it was. This is a true rebellion song of 2020.

5. I’m Weak

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

"I’m Weak" is an ode to all those who are born into this world as a person with crippling disabilities, mental health problems, or sub-par lesser functioning beings, that are unable to accomplish anything in life, and the feelings that are often associated with that, which are often followed by self doubt, self loathing, low personal esteem, drug abuse and suicide. "I’m Weak" is a tribute to a close friend who lived with all of the above named issues, and is no longer a part of this plane of existence. They will remain unnamed. This song embodies what the band name Discarded Self is all about.

6. Cultist Of The Pentagram

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The track "Cultist Of The Pentagram" is about those who follow the rebel and master Satan, and their efforts to complete Satan’s work, in destroying God and his followers. This song is a complete assault on the world’s organized religions, and their slaughters and atrocities committed against their fellow men, women and children of earth, in the name of their so-called God. The true liar and evil presence that plagues our realm we exist in.

7. Abused (e)Motionless

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

This song was another personal and painful song to write. It is about the many forms of abuse from a loved or trusted person. The damage and trauma caused is generally irreversible, unforgettable, and leads to all sorts of problems throughout the person who was abused. It is a deep look into the person’s mind, and how fucked up they can become from it. If you or someone you know is being abused, be brave and get out of that situation. Reach out, someone will be there to help.

8. Dance Upon The Dead

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

I’ve been watching a lot of serial killer movies for I don’t know, the last 25 years. (laughs) I used those types of films for the inspiration of this song. This song was written from the perspective of a husband or father of a victim of a serial killer. It is clearly a revenge song, and describes the hate and rage that would be felt by the families of the victims. It’s a disgusting dive into that reality, and ends in a way that quenches the thirst of pure revenge.

9. Upside Down (Fistula cover)

Upside Down (Fistula cover) by Discorded Self

I wanted to pay tribute to a band I love and admire, so I recorded a cover of Fistula’s song "Upside Down." Almost every single time I’m hanging with friends I always make them listen to Fistula. Almost everyone I know now knows about them, so that’s really awesome. That also must mean I drink a lot! (laughs) The original song "Upside Down" is a real simple one, so I wanted to really spice it up and added a few things, yet kept it the same, and my drummer Jadan, who is also a big Fistula fan, does a two and half minute drum solo at the end of the track. If you are reading this, and you haven’t heard of Fistula. Do yourself a favour and just turn my Discarded Self album off and check them out. You are going to get simply destroyed!

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[toystory-3]

The New Aston Martin Vantage: Track Review

The New Aston Martin Vantage: Track Review - Forget the Vulcan and the Valkyrie forget Red Bull and racing concern yourself, not with the DB eleven db4 GT, because as impressive as Aston Martin's, recent rise has been. This is The New Aston Martin Vantage, a quick recap in case you're, unfamiliar with the story so far, Austin's baby has gotten rather serious with 503 brake horsepower and 505 pounds foot of torque from its four liter twin-turbo v8 reach 62 miles an hour in 3.6 seconds and go On 295 miles an hour, that's at price has got rather serious too with the littlest Aston now starting at 120,000 pounds. Let'S talk about the engine now I know a lot of people have been outraged, really that Aston hasn't built its own engines are finished one from Mercedes, but let's be honest about this: they really couldn't have picked a better engine. The big bass - and you really would not know that this is turbocharged. You might think I'm crazy for saying that, but trust me, but the throttle response to this is unbelievable. There is a sense that its bark is worse than its bite, the performance with good without being electrifying. We'Ve had a while to assimilate the exterior of the car since it was unveiled at the end of last year and it seems to divine opinion, particularly that big grill at the front. Now the classic is the old car, perhaps but certainly more aggressive, and there are details that I like about the look to the front arch vents, for example, and the serrated edge detailing on the headlights. Overall, I don't think the interiors, quite as successful as the exterior and perhaps just a bit fussy in places and I'm not sure all these buttons here, quite as intuitive as they could be, perhaps that this black plastic was in metal. The old cars filled graininess everything, but what it has got is an awful lot more grip, you're, never waiting for the front end to get into a corner, and yet the rear feels so faithful as well. It'S so much faster than your car, but still so evolving pulled over for just a second because they're a couple of details in here order to go through. Firstly, a couple of things which I think shows this is being designed for drivers as a proper driver's car paddles larger than DB 11, really long tactile metal their hair pedal should be. In my opinion, the other thing is nice little pad just down here, so you can actually brace your knee against it when you're cornering little things, but they're important. In the background, I think it's a whirlwind: nitro Xtreme 5 berth super deluxe with balcony anyway. I don't know what it does, but that feels very James Bond. I assume this is a pre-production car, so I'm not promising that if you buy one you're going to get a red button too, but it'd be nice if they wouldn't it, although I'm not really fussed about having a db5 ejector seat, I would like a little more Of an older, ass and beautifully communicative steering feel and a new Vantage, don't get me wrong. It'S nicely responsive without dipping into that hyper-alert Ferrari territory and in some ways this feels like nitpicking, but just like a bit more feedback. I suppose that's just not a modern way and make no mistake. Overall, The New Aston Martin Vantage is deeply impressive and immensely enjoyable. Firstly, is that wonderfully monstrous exhaust note, which sounds like it's going to rip the back box from its mountings on full, bore rupture, drive hard and The New Aston Martin Vantage's compact stance and big-hearted, but instantly eager engine make it feel like a bunched fist of a car always Ready to punch full and what roads they are down here in southern Portugal, endlessly twisting often narrow, mostly smooth, and when the trees recede they offer up some spectacular views. It has been a fantastic day and it's nice to come into town just to see this. Amongst all the vehicles, because that's where I think you really see just how amazing it is, I love those headlights, those narrowed eyes, but as good as it's been, I try Sport Sport. There was a change in weather under changing cars, just in case the subtle shade of screaming lime-green didn't give it away. This car is in the lightest possible spec with forged wheels, although wrapped in the same rubber carbon brakes and quad tipped sports exhaust, it all adds up to a dry weight of 15 20 kilos. Not that light, then how does it feel from behind so we're trying out the track mode and ESP, which is pretty good? Let'S try that around here see just feeling grabbing in there before it gets too too wild and endearing and again up over that corner there. Let's turn it could be scary, because you've got all that grip, which makes you think it might be really snappy, because you said, I think why it might just not be set up, for it might not feel faithful. It might be frank and terrifying, but because it's got such good, it made balance its really good over the limit. The balance really is beautiful and it feels much lighter than the leather suggests. It begins to feel like witchcraft way of playing back that skin for a place on there. Aston Martin has taken some metal snips to a brand new Vantage just so that we can see the engineering wonders that lie beneath principally among its how they get that 50/50 weight distribution. You can see the four liter v8 is tucked up behind the front axle and underneath the front, bulkhead and wandering down here, Parsi bonded and extruded aluminum chassis. We have the 8-speed ZF gearbox, all the way out the back here with that Edith sowhat's mentioning it's now. Multi-Link set up at the rear, still got double wishbones at the front, and this rear subframe is now solidly attached to the chassis which it wasn't on the DB eleven. That'S not so good for NVH, but it does help make that rear axle more rigid. So you get better power transfer and the sweeter handling chassis, really nice, those braids to get lovely feel from them. So confidence-inspiring II definitely scar to first film Aston Martin and it takes a little bit of getting est because sometimes you can find worthy discs because they can often go from fully locked to fully open. You just need to perhaps calm your steering because we've really precise with the throttle, because otherwise you can end up the route you're, taking lock off, just as the e-diff is opening, and you can end up sort of first undo the same thing, which can be a Bit scrappy, but it's a really nice car over there. The balance is certainly that might be the case, then. Diff rather ZDF, but it does give them all sorts of options in terms of shooting this another way in a car fails particularly on the road I did. A lot of laps in The New Aston Martin Vantage and added to my day on the road was look slightly done, found it imagine walking out of the cinema after seeing Logan or Watchmen Donnie expecting to see just another superhero film good guess I thought it'd be enjoyable, but I Didn'T expect it to be this way and there's competent the engine is sensational. Read the full article

[actusfrances]

Minage d'astéroïdes, agriculture en apesanteur... voici les nouveaux "space cowboys"

On pensait la conquête spatiale réservée aux grandes agences gouvernementales. C'était sans compter les entrepreneurs de la Silicon Valley et les nouveaux milliardaires, tous bien décidés à réaliser leurs rêves de gosses.

Un article paru dans le numéro 20 de la revue We Demain en décembre 2017.  

Soixante ans après Spoutnik et quarante-cinq ans après la dernière mission Apollo, la course à l’espace semblait au point mort. Depuis 1972, aucun humain n’est allé au-delà de l’orbite basse (2 000 km de la Terre) et les projets les plus ambitieux de la Nasa, comme le retour sur la Lune ou la capture d’un astéroïde, ont été interrompus ou reportés indéfiniment. « Depuis la fin de la navette spatiale en 2011, la première puissance mondiale n’a même plus de fusée pour convoyer ses astronautes vers la Station spatiale internationale [ISS, ndlr]. Elle dépend de la Russie, moyennant un chèque de 77 millions de dollars par passager… », se désole Richard Heidmann*, un des fondateurs du programme Ariane et de l’association internationale Mars Society qui milite pour la colonisation martienne depuis 1998. Mais tout ceci change et des entreprises privées prennent peu à peu le relais des agences gouvernementales. Un marché évalué à 329  milliards de dollars au niveau mondial, en 2016. C’est le cas de SpaceX, qui devrait effectuer 60 % des lancements de satellites dans le monde en 2018, grâce à ses fusées réutilisables Falcon 9. En août 2017, l’entreprise d’Elon Musk dépassait la Russie avec 12 lancements réussis en huit mois contre 11. D’ici l’an prochain, elle disposera d’une capsule habitable (Dragon V2) et d’un lanceur lourd (Falcon Heavy) capable d’amener du fret sur la Lune ou même sur Mars.

« Le succès de SpaceX, qui est valorisée à plus de 20 milliards de dollars, en appelle d’autres. On a même donné un nom à ce secteur : le New Space », explique François Chopard. Il y a cinq ans, ce Français créait Starburst Accelerator, le premier incubateur de start-up spatiales dont la valeur totale est estimée à 1,8 milliard de dollars. « De nombreux autres grands acteurs entendent prendre leur part. Que ce soit Blue Origin, fondée par le patron d’Amazon Jeff Bezos. Ou encore Vulcan Aerospace, propulsée par Paul Allen, le cofondateur de Microsoft. » On pourrait aussi citer Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Eric Schmidt, Richard Branson, Yuri Milner… Selon une étude de Bloomberg parue cet été, pas moins de 13 des 500 plus grandes fortunes mondiales ont déjà pris des participations. « SpaceX a démontré que l’on peut envoyer une fusée dans l’espace pour 60 millions de dollars, explique Richard Heidmann, quand le futur lanceur de la Nasa, le SLS, coûtera entre 500 millions et un milliard de dollars par tir. » Une baisse de coût drastique qui rend économiquement crédibles les projets les plus fous. Outre le lancement de satellites de grande (SpaceX, Blue Origin) ou plus petite taille (RocketLab, Vulcan, NanoRacks), c’est toute une industrie qui voit le jour. Avec des réseaux de communication (Starlink, Oneweb), d’approvisionnement en matières premières (Planetary Ressources, Deep Space Industries), d’agriculture (Deep Space Ecology) et de fabrication en orbite (Made in Space).

Et même des hôtels spatiaux, comme le prévoit de Bigelow Aerospace. Fondée à la fin des années 1990 par un magnat de l’immobilier, cette entreprise envisage dès 2020 de créer une station spatiale gonflable. Preuve de l’intérêt du concept : un module expérimental équipe déjà l’ISS depuis 2016. Et Bigelow devrait être concurrencé par pas moins de six autres projets de stations spatiales portés par Boeing, Lockeed Martin, Orbital Atk, Sierra Nevada ou de nouveaux venus tels que Axiom ou NanoRacks. « Toutes ces nouvelles entreprises ont un business model rentable à court ou moyen terme, détaille François Chopard. Pour financer son projet de minage d’astéroïdes, Planetary Ressources entend d’abord cartographier les ressources sur Terre avec des satellites. Tout comme son concurrent Deep Space Industries, qui mise sur des vaisseaux de ravitaillement. »

Pour François Chopard, le véritable marché à venir est dans la fabrication en apesanteur. « On pourrait y fabriquer des fibres optiques d’une pureté inédite, utilisables sur Terre, qui se négocieront plus de 70 000 dollars le kilo. Mais aussi des médicaments inédits grâce à des processus chimiques en apesanteur. » Sur ce créneau, la start-up Made In Space s’impose déjà en pionnière avec une première imprimante 3D en service sur l’ISS. Elle entend à terme imprimer des stations spatiales entières. « Dans l’industrie, on imagine un avenir où il n’y aura pas 10, mais 1 000 voire 10 000 astronautes en orbite. Sachant qu’il leur faut 2,4 kg de consommables par jour et par personne, cela signifie trois lancements de Falcon 9 par jour pour les approvisionner », conclut François Chopard. C’est à cette échelle que réfléchissent aujourd’hui les nouveaux pionniers de l’espace. *Alerte à Mars city, par Richard Heidmann, éd. ED2A, 2017.

Robert Bigelow : l’aubergiste

 En 1954, Robert Bigelow n’avait que 9 ans lorsqu’il vit sa première explosion atomique. Un test mené par l’armée américaine à une centaine de kilomètres de Las Vegas qui fut pour lui une révélation et lui donna envie de dédier sa vie à la science. Malgré de mauvaises notes en maths, Bigelow réalise son rêve en 1999 après avoir fait fortune dans l’hôtellerie. Il investit 350 millions de dollars pour fonder la start-up Bigelow Aerospace, après avoir racheté à la Nasa un brevet d’habitat spatial gonflable. Ce programme, baptisé Transhab, visait à créer des modules beaucoup plus larges que ceux en aluminium de la Station spatiale internationale (ISS), tout en étant plus résistants aux perforations des météorites et aux radiations. Une technologie indispensable à tout projet de colonisation spatiale. Après avoir expédié deux démonstrateurs en orbite entre 2006 et 2007, Bigelow obtient la consécration en 2016 lorsque le premier module gonflable de son entreprise est attaché à l’ISS pour y être testé pendant deux ans. Une étape cruciale avant la mise en orbite, en 2020, de la première station spatiale privée. Celle-ci sera composée de deux modules d’un volume de 330 m3 pour un poids de 20 t chacun. À comparer aux 78,5 m3 et 10,2 t du module européen Columbus présent sur l’ISS. Prochain objectif ? Créer une chaîne d’hôtellerie spatiale, puis une base lunaire.  

Andrew Rush : le forgeron

Baigné dès l’enfance dans l’univers de Star Wars et des jeux vidéo, Andrew Rush se décrit comme un geek déçu par la lenteur de la conquête spatiale. En 2010, il cofonde la start-up Made in Space dont l’objectif est de développer l’impression 3D en apesanteur. Deux ans plus tard, la première imprimante 3D de son entreprise est acheminée vers la Station spatiale internationale afin d’y produire des pièces de rechange. Un challenge technique considérable mais une simple étape vers son objectif ultime : créer un robot capable d’imprimer, en orbite, des structures géantes telles que des antennes, des poutres de station spatiale ou des réflecteurs solaires. Baptisé Archinaut, le robot les imprimera en pièces détachées tout en les assemblant grâce à des bras, comme une araignée. Un premier prototype a été testé courant août dans une chambre à vide et devrait être opérationnel dans les années 2020.  

Morgan Irons : la fermière

Jeune diplômée de l’université Duke en Caroline du Nord, Morgan Irons pense à l’avenir. Non pas le sien, mais celui d’une humanité qui cultivera sur d’autres planètes. Après avoir réussi, en 2015, à faire pousser des plantes dans un ersatz de sol martien, la biologiste de 22 ans a fondé la start-up Deep Space Ecology, dont le but est d’assurer l’autonomie en oxygène et en nourriture et de recycler les déchets des futurs astronautes grâce à des écosystèmes embarqués à bord. Une technologie dont elle entend également faire profiter la Terre. « Si vous pouvez faire pousser des plantes sur Mars, vous pouvez le faire n’importe où. »  

Peter Beck : le convoyeur

En 1999, à l’âge de 18 ans, Peter Beck attachait une roquette artisanale à son vélo pour atteindre une vitesse de 150 km/h. Il survécut à cette expérience et fonda, en 2006, sa propre entreprise spatiale : Rocketlab. Son ambition ? Offrir un moyen économique d’accéder à l’espace grâce à de petites fusées. À une époque où la plupart des satellites faisaient la taille de bus scolaires, il ne réussit à convaincre que des investisseurs d...

from We Demain, une revue pour changer d'époque https://ift.tt/2nuMcj3 via IFTTT

[reichweinkultur]

Thunderball 1965

“Thunderball was the third James Bond score composed by John Barry, after From Russia with Love and Goldfinger.

The original main title theme to Thunderball was titled "Mr. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang", which was written by John Barry and Leslie Bricusse. The title was taken from an Italian journalist who in 1962 dubbed agent 007 as "Mr. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang". Barry had thought he could not write a song about a vague "Thunderball" term or the film's story, so his song was a description of the character James Bond. The song was originally recorded by Shirley Bassey. When there were problems with Bassey's singing it was later rerecorded by Dionne Warwick and featured a longer instrumental opening designed so the lyrics would not be heard until after the title "Thunderball" appeared in Maurice Binder's title design. Both versions were not released until the 1990s. The song was removed from the title credits after United Artists requested that the theme song contain the film's title in its lyrics. When it was planned to use the Warwick version in the end titles Shirley Bassey sued the producers with the result being that neither version was heard in the film and different instrumental versions of the theme appeared on the High Fidelity (Bassey's) and Stereo (Warwick's) soundtrack LPs. Barry teamed up with lyricist Don Black and wrote "Thunderball" in a rush. Tom Jones, who sang the new theme song, fainted in the recording booth after singing the song's final, high note. Jones said of the final note, "I closed my eyes and I held the note for so long when I opened my eyes the room was spinning." Country musician Johnny Cash also submitted a song to Eon productions titled "Thunderball" but it wasn't used. The lyrics of Cash's "Thunderball" describe the film's story. Though "Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang" was dropped as the theme song, some of the pieces which included its melody remained part of the score, and it receives full statements twice: by full orchestra and jazz rhythm quartet with bass, drums, guitar, and vibraphone in the track "Café Martinique" (immediately followed by the "Vulcan" cue), and as a wild, bongo-laden cha-cha-cha in "Death of Fiona." The scene which includes the latter, it should also be noted, takes place at Club Kiss Kiss, and features the bongo drumming of bandleader King Errisson. Because Thunderball's score had, essentially, two main themes to work from, as well as the "Search For Vulcan" cue, the "007 Theme" and the "James Bond Theme," it is arguably the richest of the early Bond scores, thematically speaking. The producers' decision to change the film's theme song so close to the release date meant that only some of the film's soundtrack had been recorded for release on LP. Adding to the delay issues, Barry had written large amounts of the score around the original theme and woven it throughout the score (along with the recurring underwater "Search For Vulcan" motif). After "Thunderball" was written, Barry wrote, orchestrated, and recorded several new pieces interpolating it. Barry's scores always included a track which gave the film's theme song a full statement in the form of a sensitive, slowed-down instrumental ballad, often played over a romantic moment or a scene set in a nightclub or casino; he re-arranged "Thunderball" as a lush, subtly jazzy orchestral piece in the easy listening style that was popular at the time. The film premiered on 9 December 1965 in Tokyo and opened on 29 December 1965 in the UK. It was a major success at the box office with record-breaking earnings."