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longtermintermission · 4 years ago

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On Places

By Dani

I live in Orléans, the “Largest metropolis outside of Paris,” but notably smaller than its illustrious neighbor. A train departing from Gare d’Austerlitz will carry you around 133 kilometers slightly southwest of the City of Lights; it’s a pleasant ride, albeit the somewhat fogged-over and grimy windows ever present on the passenger cars. This is a minor shame because the ride has pretty views, probably less sparkling to me now than they would have seemed when I was freshly expatriated, but pretty nonetheless. As swathes of landscape pass by, I’m sometimes reminded of sitting in the backseat of the car en route to my grandparents’ in the countryside of Kentucky. On these occasions I might close my eyes, imagine the views on a certain stretch of Dixie Beeline Highway-- an unremarked constant in my youth and childhood-- and open them again to see if the resemblance is truly there. I think it is.

Orléans qualifies as a ville in French but treads somewhere between a town and a city in my anglophone mind, not quite landing on one or the other. By all other accounts it is a city; it’s the capital of the Centre Val-de-Loire region and has a population nearing 115,000. Joan of Arc once saved Orléans from English siege, and I once dressed up as Joan of Arc for a 6th-grade project on “Distinguished women.” Funny, things like that. Apparently the qualifiers for “Cities” and “Towns” aren’t so defined, at least not on the internet, but I do think that Orléans is the “smallest” place I’ve ever lived. In terms of population, this is by a long shot. I went to school in Chicago. I spent four years in Paris. I come from Nashville, which was pointedly unexceptional to me growing up but the longer I’m away, the more Nashville grows and changes, and the more my metropolitan Southern upbringing feels personally significant; like something to be protected. In any case, you achieve some perspective when the precocious 11-year-old girl you once babysat laments to you that she’s “just a Parisian,” or when a passerby on the dance floor asks you where you’re from and, upon hearing your response, widens his eyes and exclaims “You’re from the real America!”

I’ve officially lived here for 9 months now, which is incredible to me, and yet I can’t say that I’m an expert or a bonafide Orléanaise, and if I were I wouldn’t know it. I’m not exactly sure of what getting to know a new locale is supposed to entail, despite having done it several times, but I’m not the type to run out and join clubs, leagues, associations or anything of the like. For most of this year I’ve kept to myself, and my experience of the city has largely been that of errands and commutes. Orléans does have a certain conviviality, and Rue de Bourgogne (just a street away from me) is lined with bars, making for lively Saturday nights in the city center. I’ve enjoyed the occasional drink or coffee with a colleague, and one will inevitably run into one’s students. I went to college in the big city, so in a way it’s nice to finally experience what feels like the French version of a “University Town,” and it’s the polar opposite of Paris anonymity. On the whole, though, I mainly enjoy the comforts of my agreeably-decorated and immaculately-kept studio apartment. It even has a view of the la Cathédrale Saint-Croix, which, in my personal opinion, beats Notre Dame in a gothic beauty pageant (even before the tragic fire). Sometimes at night, bats fly in circles between my third-floor (American third-floor) window and the rooftops on the opposite side of the street. Bats used to fly outside of my earliest childhood home. We named one of them “Shadow.”

I didn’t choose to move to Orléans. Not really. I applied for a job here when it seemed I was out of options in Paris. I’ve always preferred big cities. The first two months that I lived here, I think I took a train back nearly every weekend. Once I met up with an old friend who introduced me to her chic Italian-American pal who had just moved from Rome to Paris for a job at Versace. Over a glass of wine in a café next to la Trocadéro she posited that you had to live in Paris-- or at least in a major big city--- when you were young. Youth was lost on anything smaller. I thought about that on the train ride home. My life was no more exciting in Paris than it is now; maybe a little, but the margin is narrow. I went through about a 6-month stint of raucous partying in various nightclubs and bars, but that lifestyle wore thin fast and was never really me being me. I was having fun but I’m not so sure it was my own idea of fun. I also didn’t run out to join any clubs, leagues, or associations in Paris either. Why does everyone tell you to do this in a new city? Maybe my unwillingness to “immerse” myself is a lack of motivation on my part, but I think it’s just who I am. Or perhaps my definition of immersion is just different from how it’s largely understood. I’ve never been a site-seeing fiend when I travel either; sometimes I wonder if I waste time in undiscovered territory by sitting in parks and restaurants or aimlessly walking about. When I do take an interest in a museum or historical site, it’s a no thank you from me to any kind of organized tour. Did you know that John Stamos narrates the self-guided audio tour of Graceland? At least, he did when I was there. That’s where I first learned the hard lesson about such a thing’s capability of ruining a real experience. As compensation for lugging a tablet and headphones throughout the grounds, Stamos will let you in on exclusive information such as the fact that Elvis enjoyed playing the pianos in his own home. I would have much preferred to take in the tacky but touching décor of Elvis’ home on my own, with my own thoughts. I digress. A compliment was once given to me (or so I think it was a compliment, and if it was, it’s my favorite) by a friend of my parents’ who, in mid-conversation with them, turned to me and said, “She’s not saying anything, but she’s listening, alright. Not one thing is getting past her.” I think that’s always how I’ve interfaced with life. Many of us are mainly observers. I’ve only recently begun to feel validated in my choices of experiencing the world.

I won’t lie and say that I haven’t wondered if my existence isn’t just a little boring, and if it isn’t sort of, maybe, my fault. Sometimes that Thoreau quote that everyone loves so much about men leading lives of quiet desperation gives me uncomfortable pause. This past Thursday I had a somewhat lengthy list of banal and administrative errands to run; I had to complete my tax form, mail it in (How French), shop for groceries, and purchase some office supplies at the local bookstore. It was a day, not unusual for me, spent in the company of my internal monologue and with no spectacular plot developments. But the sun had shone, I had completed my errands, and I had enjoyed an unadventurous but quietly serene mood; the kind that comes with knowing exactly where you are and feeling no impending stress about anything in particular. The wait in line for the print shop felt only slightly long and when I left the place I was minutiously thrilled at putting my stack of warm government documents into my ready-to-mail envelope; the same one that gave me an equal thrill when I slipped it into the post box. I went into the bookstore looking only for a folder but found myself perusing the displays as if it were some kind of hobby of mine; sort of how I imagine birdwatchers to feel when bird-watching. I got my folder along with several unnecessary indulgences. The lady at the cash register was nice. I stopped by the corner grocery near my place where all three of the cashiers know me in a neighborly way. The fact that they recognize me used to make me slightly anxious, but these days it’s comforting.

I went back home, walking up main street with the Cathedral in my view, purchases in tow, missions accomplished, not regarding the monument in awe as I had that first time-- overlooking it, even-- but I feel that its mere presence must have done something good for my state of mind even without my knowing it. I feel like I must have, by an undetectable increment, come to know a little better the place where I live. I had understood what that Italian-American friend of a friend had meant when she talked about youth and big cities. It was an innocuous comment, and true in its own right. Still, it fed a strange notion I’ve held onto about happiness coming from location; as if people belong in a certain place, at a certain time. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t pretentiously entertained the thought that I’m more adventurous than the peers I grew up with; that their lives in the same city they’ve always been in and with the same pool of people they’ve always known must be dull. Such a thought is consoling for a moment, but sometimes those peers make me wonder what I’ve sacrificed to be here. I feel envious when friends go to visit their parents who live only an hour away. I’m cognisant of the privilege that let me choose to live abroad. I’ve never had to move out of necessity. And yet I lamented having left Paris, all the while living only an hour away and still in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I’ve always known and appreciated these things of course, but sometimes you lose touch. I’ve lived in astounding places yet still astound myself with my penchant for feeling unfulfilled. The problem has undoubtedly been me, and that’s a dreadful realization to face.

Geographical location has been a strange and constant metric by which I have evaluated my life. Coming to France was searching for adventure and running away at the same time. When location, however, didn’t necessarily bring with it the adventure, the ragtag band of lifelong friends or the passionate love affair that I hoped I’d find, I felt a bit lost and unsure of my direction in life. I sometimes continue to feel this way. After all, when Jane Birkin came to France in 1968, she immediately landed a leading role in Slogan, became Serge Gainsbourg’s muse and lover, went down in fame and infamy and effectively wove herself into the very fabric of French pop culture. Of course, I didn’t have the same head start that comes with marrying John Barry (of James Bond fame) and appearing nude in Blowup. Don’t get me wrong. I have no regrets. Learning a new language and living internationally, I’m convinced, is the only way I managed to overcome almost crippling timidity. I’m better for it. I feel, however, that I’ve asked too much of the places I have lived; I’m not Jane Birkin, and Paris was never going to do for me what it did for her. You have to look for your life--or so I’ve heard in a certain Robert Wise movie-- and it’s a notion that I adore but one that I wonder if I’ve taken too literally. I’m not saying that I’m done looking; next year I’ll leave Orléans and go somewhere else; hopefully somewhere bigger, but the “Looking” will be a different kind of looking. It’s the age-old knowledge that happiness comes from within, not from without, but we all learn this lesson in different ways. I moved across the Atlantic ocean to learn it. Growing up, in my experience, has been moments of finally just “Getting” wisdom that you’ve heard a thousand times over, throughout your whole life. I know that I’ll feel a bittersweet pang when I close my apartment door in Orléans for the last time, so I want to enjoy where I am and who I am at this very moment. Orléans is the first place I’ve stopped expecting anything from, and because of that, I can appreciate it for what it is. When I was handed the keys to my little studio here in the center of town, the agent told me reassuringly, “Tu seras bien ici.” I think I am good here. I certainly won’t be returning to Paris.

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jakejamesjournalism · 5 years ago

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vampire weekend in the post-rostam era

6/8/2019

A group of high school kids starting a rock band is a great American past time… especially for those kids cut from the baseball team, THE great American past time. The type of practice and commitment to collaboration it takes to become a good band or a good ball player is what makes both past times so appealing to the rest of us. It was the love of the songwriting process first. It was the smell of the fresh cut infield grass that got the particular individual in a single-minded mission in trying to turn the past time he chose into art. Famous songwriters and performers loved and obsessed over the music they were recording long before the record deal came the same way pro athletes dedicate their lives to training years before draft day.

That in itself, becoming successful at your chosen past time, turning it into art, and making a career out of it makes you all the more appealing to your inevitably growing fan base. Aside from giving their specific audiences an emotional release, the love also comes from the acknowledgement that none of what you had was inherited, it was earned from tireless hours seeking perfection way before any dollars rolled in. Sadly, most high school bands that scrape together money for studio time and college athletes who put it all on the line don’t ever come close to getting the recognition for their hard work. They certainly don’t get the money. This is not to say either activity is a waste of time. Almost everyone comes out the other end of a band or sports team a better person. Forming a band and being part of a team can build future collaborative skills that can positively affect the participant in numerous aspects of life…but the money and fame escape him.

Fortunately for some already privileged Columbia undergrads casually starting a band after a night of beer games turned into more than what any of them at the time could’ve imagined. Although true, it was clear from the very beginning that Vampire Weekend wasn’t just another band. Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Chris Tomson, and Chris Baio (excuse my oxford comma) made a name for themselves on the indie rock scene within 18 months of their inception. While some critics spent time whining about how much the band sounded like Paul Simon’s ‘Graceland,’ most heard it as I did. An indie record at heart with accessible pop ideas that weren’t carried by synths and predictable filler but rather tribal African drum rhythms, live instrumentation, and brilliant, witty wordplay. This was highlighted on A-Punk, a self-referential gem about New York City that ironically catapulted them to fame way out of the five boroughs. The two members of the band benefitting the most from the increased acclaim and exposure was Ezra Koenig, lead singer and lyricist and Rostam Batmanglij, who was the multi-instrumentalist often credited with being the brainchild behind the bands entire sound.

“Rostam and I are the two main songwriters” Ezra said in an interview early in the bands career. With Contra, the 2010 follow up to their self-titled debut that mythology continued to grow. The two of them became masters at employing subtle differences in their recording styles. Instead of using familiar echo sounds and various chamber effects that previously yielded glorious and simplistic pop harmonies, Rostam opted for a more digital sound. Contra did this while also staying true to the bands organic DIY style. From a critics standpoint this time around, it was more of a Talking Heads 80s experiment than a Paul Simon one. While Ezra remained a capable songwriter, he felt the liberty to have more fun with his vocal palette. On Contra, the band expanded the vocal possibilities. There was gibberish wailing on the standout track ‘White Sky’ and even distorted speed rap on the song ‘California English’; both came off as successful sonic endeavors. Rostam mixed Ezra’s vocals beautifully, knowing exactly when to let his feral tendencies run wild and when to harness them into gorgeous vocal textures. The winning team was making their pastime a thing of true art. A tandem now responsible for writing two of the most significant indie records of the new era. It seemed like a partnership that would yield classic tunes for years on end.

It initially seemed this way on the bands third LP Modern Vampires of the City. A level of maturation some detractors never thought the band could reach was on full display here. Rostam’s production (this time assisted by pop guru and future collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid) was darker and more experimental without losing a shred of accessibility. Ezra’s lyrics were far more introspective, dealing with themes of faith, mortality, and ‘Dying Young.’ The album features both ‘Step’ and ‘Hannah Hunt’ the two best songs the band has ever written. Overall it was a masterpiece. The band hit full stride; headlining major festivals, winning Grammy awards all while remaining true to their sound. They were able to solidify themselves as serious artists with a singular vision. No longer prep school boys who create decent music by taking the best pieces of their influences and mashing them together, this was the sound of a band in total control of their past time.

It went unsaid, but it was understood, and well deserved, that Vampire Weekend would be enjoying a hiatus after the success and laborious touring schedule surrounding Modern Vampires. Even so, after the Grammy, the critical acclaim, the incredible sales numbers, something totally unseen to the general public between the two main songwriters wasn’t right. To everyone’s surprise and utter bewilderment, Rostam decided to leave the band indefinitely.

“My identity as a songwriter + producer needs to stand on its own.” Read Rostam’s public statement. The news instantly polarized fans. Many, like myself, criticized Rostam for leaving a good thing, while coming off extremely pretentious and ungrateful. The man is lucky enough to be cooped up in the most successful songwriting duo in modern day rock music, why would he feel unfulfilled achieving greatness in the setting of a great band? Why must his work stand outside the efforts of collaboration? Who does he think he is?

It was known that Rostam, the multi instrumental production guru was always responsible for the sound of Vampire Weekend, while Ezra supplied the lyrics. The parting seemed amicable, but all in all it left the future of the band in a precarious situation. What was Vampire Weekend without Rostam? That very question went years unanswered.

In the years since Rostam left Vampire Weekend, he has had limited success finding any traction as a solo artist. His best effort thus far has been a collaborative record with Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen. A brilliant record full of the same elegant strings, organic drum sections, and blissful pianos that came to define the sound of his former band. Even so, it was still a behind the scenes production victory to add to his resume. Hamilton is excellent on that record, giving Rostam’s instrumentals a visceral feel with his raspy passionate hoarse vocal delivery.

As a front man himself, Rostam hasn’t achieved much. His debut album Half-Light, released in 2017 came and went without much of a peep from anyone. Indie circles overlooked it, it didn’t have a repeatable single, the vocals were shaky at best I gave it two listens and it passed it into the pile of albums that came and went without making a sound. Since then, Rostam has not been able to find his voice. Whether or not he can be an important voice in pop music remains to be seen, the talent behind the boards is there but it’s time for him to realize what he can and cannot do. It takes a necessary self-awareness to know one’s limitations in any job, in any past time. A contact hitter who plays his role by getting on base doesn’t swing for the fences. I believe Rostam’s ego and infatuation with being the front man took him away from his true self a bit.

Left alone in all this is Mr. Ezra Koenig. Years went on without a whisper of any new music and people started to wonder that same question: What is Vampire Weekend without Rostam? and more pressingly: Can Ezra write a Vampire Weekend album without him? Turns out, answer is both yes and no.

Enlisting in pop guru and Max Martin collaborator, Ezra and co. brought back Ariel Rechtshaid to give the band help in the production department. Ezra also used his smarts to understand the best way to go about marketing the new album. A record far more freewheeling than previous releases, Ezra became more eclectic than ever, and shared a plethora of wide-ranging singles way before the album was scheduled to drop.

The fourth album by Vampire Weekend, the 18-track record titled Father of the Bride was finally released May 3, 2019. Noted for its fusion of nonchalant broad-ranging grooves and witty pop songs about love, summer days, locking hate at the gate, and a few morbid things as well. Ariel creates a template of shade from the warming sun for Ezra to bask in and the results are often satisfying. While this new album won’t go down in history as an instant classic like its predecessor, it’s still hard to consider Father of the Bride to be anything but a monumental success. Quality songs exist all throughout this thing and contain some of Ezra’s best songs yet. An arena tour on the way, good new songs to play, and first week sales eclipsing 140k. Say what you want about sales in today’s musical landscape, it’s impressive when a group of guys who still primarily play guitars can sell 140k first week. It’s special. You would have a hard time listing bands that released their debut record after 2000 than can sell over 100k first week and sell out Madison Square Garden. What Vampire Weekend has is special.

I’m predicting FOTB to be a summer 19’ novelty. I’ve already heard cuts out on the streets of Asbury Park NJ, backyard cookouts, and New York City bars alike. Can jam, car rides with the windows down, and poolside convos, Father of the Bride is a free-wheeling summer record that also has a thing or two you can learn from.

It’s a wonder to me, knowing what he knows now, if Rostam would make the same decision all over again. Joining a band is an American past time. Playing in a band that influences the masses on a grand stage is special and should be cherished and appreciated as such. Leaving such a beautiful situation seems egotistical. It may not be the case here, but it is the perception. Ezra has proved himself to be just fine without him. Rostam has time to blossom. He is still young and has shown shades of greatness (the production on Frank Ocean’s Ivy is otherworldly) but that once again, is a highlight in music production-something behind the scenes. Rostam, if you have a voice worth hearing, now is the time.

0 notes

jakejames09 · 5 years ago

Text

No Rostam, no problem? Vampire Weekend in the post-Rostam era

A group of high school kids starting a rock band is a great American past time. Especially for those kids cut from the baseball team, THE great American past time. The type of practice and commitment to collaboration it takes to become a good band or a good ball player is what makes both past times so appealing to the rest of us. It was the love of the songwriting process first. It was the smell of the fresh cut infield grass that got the particular individual in a single minded mission in trying to turn the past time he chose into art. Famous songwriters and performers loved and obsessed over the music they were recording long before the record deal came the same way pro athletes dedicate their lives to training years before draft day. That in itself, becoming successful at your chosen past time, turning it into art, and making a career out of it makes you all the more appealing to your inevitably growing fan base. Aside from giving their specific audiences an emotional release, the love also comes from the acknowledgement that none of what you had was inherited, it was earned from tireless hours seeking perfection way before any dollars rolled in. Sadly, most high school bands that scrape together money for studio time and college athletes who put it all on the line don’t ever come close to getting the recognition for their hard work. They certainly don’t get the money. This is not to say either activity is a waste of time. Almost everyone comes out the other end of a band or sports team a better person. Forming a band and being part of a team can build future team skills that can positively affect the participant in numerous aspects of life...but the money and fame escape him.

Fortunately for some already privileged Ivy League Scholars from New York the band casually started at a Columbia party turned into more than anyone could imagine on that alcohol fueled evening. Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Chris Tomson, and Chris Baio formed Vampire Weekend. (Excuse my oxford comma). From the very beginning it was clear that Vampire Weekend wasn’t just another band. Within 18 months of their inception, Vampire Weekend made a name for themselves on the indie scene. While some critics spent time whining about how much the band sounded like Paul Simon’s Graceland, most heard it as I did. An indie record at heart with accessible pop ideas that weren’t carried by synths and predictable filler but rather tribal African drum rhythms, live instrumentation, and brilliant, witty, self deprecating wordplay. This was highlighted on A-Punk, a self-referenial gem about New York City that ironically catapulted them to international stardom. The two members of the band benefitting the most from the increased acclaim and exposure was Ezra Koenig, lead singer and lyricist and Rostam Batmanglij, who was the multi-instrumentalist often credited with being the brainchild behind the bands entire sound.

“Rostam and I are the two main songwriters” Ezra said in an interview early in the bands career. With Contra, the 2010 follow up to their self titled debut that mythology continued to grow. The two of them became masters at employing subtle differences in their recording styles. Instead of using familiar echo sounds and various chamber effects that previously yielded glorious and simplistic pop harmonies, Rostam opted for a more digital sound. Contra did this while also staying true to the bands organic DIY style. From a critics standpoint this time around, it was more of a Talking Heads 80s experiment than a Paul Simon one. While Ezra remained a capable songwriter, he felt the liberty to have more fun with his vocal palette. On Contra, the band expanded the vocal possibilities. There was gibberish wailing on the standout track ‘White Sky’ and even distorted speed rap on the song ‘California English’; both came off as successful sonic endeavors. Rostam mixed Ezra’s vocals beautifully, knowing exactly when to let his feral tendencies run wild and when to harness them into gorgeous vocal textures. The winning team was making their pastime a thing of true art. A tandem now responsible for writing two of the most significant indie records of the new era. It seemed like a partnership that would yield classic tunes for years on end.

It initially seemed this way on the bands third LP Modern Vampires of the City. A level of maturation some detractors never thought the band could reach was on full display on MVOC. Rostam’s production (this time assisted by pop guru and future collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid) was darker and more experimental without losing a shred of accessibility. Ezra’s lyrics were far more introspective, dealing with themes of faith, mortality, and Dying Young. ‘Ya Hey’ is still the most ambitious undertaking of the bands career. Coming off as an eerie baroque pop anthem marching its way through a catchy uneven time signature with huge heart and a singalong melody made the song a special moment in the storied bands catalog. ‘Unbelievers’ is another one. One the surface the song seems like your average guitar pop bop but Ezra’s lyrics about mortality and the seriousness behind it add an appropriate darkness that gives an upbeat song a human feel. A feeling amplified and perfected on Hannah Hunt and Step. The two best tracks in the bands discography. The band hit full stride. Headlined major festivals. Won a Grammy. All while remaining true to their sound they were able to solidify themselves as serious artists with a singular vision. No longer prep school boys who create decent music by taking the best pieces of their influences and mashing them together, this was the sound of a band in total control of their past time.

It went unsaid, but it was understood, and well deserved, that Vampire Weekend would be enjoying a hiatus after the success and laborious touring schedule surrounding Modern Vampires. Even so, after the Grammy, the critical acclaim, the incredible sales numbers, something between the two main songwriters wasn’t right. So even though the latest release solidified the bands immediate legacy Rostam decided to leave the band indefinitely.

But in the years since Rostam left Vampire Weekend, he has had limited success in finding any traction as a solo artist. His best effort thus far has been a collaborative record with Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen. A brilliant record full of the same elegant strings, organic drum sections, and blissful pianos that were similar to the ones that came to define the sound of Vampire Weekend. Even so, it was still a behind the scenes production victory to add to his resume. As a front man, Rostam hasn’t achieved the same success. His debut album Half-Light, released in 2017 came and went without much of a peep from anyone. Indie circles overlooked it, it didn’t have a repeatable single, the vocals were shaky at best, and it passed before the world knew it existed. I think even I only gave it one listen. Since then, Rostam has not been able to find his voice. Whether or not he can be an important voice in pop music remains to be seen, the talent behind the boards is there but it’s time for him to realize what he can and cannot do. It takes a necessary self awareness to know ones limitations in any job, in any past time. A contact hitter who plays his role by getting on base doesn’t swing for the fences. I believe Rostam’s ego and infatuation with being the front man took him away from his true self a bit.

As Rostam struggled to find footing without the band, and as the years went on it seemed like Ezra was in the same boat. Years went on without a whisper of any new music and people started to wonder that same question: What is Vampire Weekend without Ezra? and more pressingly: Can Ezra write a Vampire Weekend album without him? The answer is both yes and no.

The 18 track record is noted for its fusion of nonchalant broad-ranging grooves and witty pop songs about love, summer days, locking hate at the gate, and a few morbid things as well. Ariel creates a template of sunshine for Ezra to shine under, and the results are often satisfying. While this new album won’t go down in history as an instant classic like its predecessor, it’s still hard to consider Father of the Bride to be anything but a monumental success. Quality songs exist all through this thing that contain some of Ezra’s best wordplay. An arena tour on the way, good new songs to play, and first week sales eclipsing 140k. Say what you want about sales in today’s musical landscape, it’s impressive when a group of guys who still play guitars can sell 140k first week. It’s special. You would have a hard time listing bands that released their debut record after 2000 than can sell over 100k first week and sell out Madison Square Garden. What Vampire Weekend has is special.

Father of the Bride is the soundtrack to many good summer nights. I’ve already heard cuts out on the streets of Asbury Park NJ, backyard cookouts, and New York City bars alike. Can jam, car rides with the windows down, and poolside convos, Father of the Bride is a jubilant summer record that also has a thing or two you can learn from.

It’s a wonder to me, knowing what he knows now, if Rostam would make the same decision all over again. Joining a band is an American past time. Playing in a band that influences the masses on a grand stage is special and should be cherished and appreciated as such. Leaving such a beautiful situation seems hard to believe. Ezra has proved himself to be just fine without him. Rostam has time to blossom. He is still young and has shown shades of greatness (the production on Frank Ocean’s Ivy is otherworldly) but that once again, is a highlight in music production. Rostam, if you have a voice worth hearing, now is the time.

0 notes

viralhottopics · 8 years ago

Text

10 Classic Celebrity Ghosts That People Swear Theyve Spotted

Have you ever had the sinking feeling that you aren’t alone even when there is no one else in the room with you? Many people believe that there is a simple explanation: you werein the presence of a ghost.

I wholeheartedly believe in the possibility of ghosts. There is so much unknown about our universe that I find itimpossible to say that ghosts do not exist for sure. The spiritual world and our world could very well be connected very closely. Who’s to tell?

But whether or not you believe in ghosts yourself, you can’t deny the overwhelming amount of first-hand reports of encountering an otherworldly spirit. Plus, even if you don’t believe, isn’t it still intriguing to hear the stories?

These 10 celebrities have passed away, but all have been the subject ofghost-sighting reports since their deaths.

Have you ever heard of these celebrity ghost stories? Did we miss any well-known reports of celebrity ghost sightings? I don’t know if I’d be starstruck or terrified, to be honest!

Thumbnail Sources: Wikimedia Commons 1, 2

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1. Lucille Ball

Wikimedia Commons

TheI Love Lucystar died during surgery in 1989, but she’s still reportedly been seen wandering around her old home, according to claims sharedby the Huffington Post.

The California home that she first inhabited with Desi Arnaz was sold by her second husband,Gary Morton. The new ownersdecided to tearthe house down and build a new one in its place. A friend droveby the home before it was totally torn down, when she reportedly saw aslim red-headed figure seeming to say goodbye to her old house as well. According to the claims, Lucy’s ghost looked puzzled and distraught, and walked away.

The new owners of the house have also reported hearing Lucy’s ghost, mostly in the attic, moving furniture around and even sometimes having little parties. When presented with the option to have an exorcism on the house, the owners swiftly dismissedthe idea. Who would want to force Lucy out of their home, even in ghost form?

2. John Lennon

Wikimedia Commons

John Lennon’s ghost ispeacefully haunting the Dakota, according to Yoko Ono, Paul McCartney, and others who’ve been to the Manhattan building where the musician wasmurdered. Yoko has claimed to have seenhim sitting at the piano in their apartment building, wherehe told her not to worry, because he’s still with her.

Paul, Ringo Starr, and George Harrison also caught inklings that their bandmate was still with them. While recording John’s song, “Free as a Bird,” they all heard unexplainable noises and felt that their friend was there with them in the studio, just like old times. According to International Business Times, Paul claims to still write songs with John, in spirit.

3. Al Capone

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Arguably the most famous criminal in recent American history, Al Capone did a lot of bad things in his life, and is said to have been haunted by the peoplehe wronged. Subsequently, his very own ghost has been spotted at various places of consequence from his lifetime.

Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery, a small plot of land in the suburbs of Chicago, is one of the spots where the gangsterand his gang used to dump bodies. Now it’s his own spirit that has been spotted in the reportedlyhaunted cemetery.Mount Carmel Cemetery, Al’s final resting place, is also said to be the site of apparitions. Some even say that he’ll chase you right out of there if you tread too disrespectfully near his grave.

Guards at Alcatraz and visitors to the now abandoned prison have also reported hearing banjo music coming from Al’s old cell and the shower room. The gangster passed his time there playing banjo in the prison band and practiced just about whenever he could.

4. Lon Chaney

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The original “Phantom of the Opera” himself died in 1930, but the decades sincehave not stopped him from haunting the studio where the film was made, donning his cape and everything, according to reports.

When the lights inexplicably go on and off by themselves, folks say it’s Lon Chaney who’s behind thestrange phenomenon.

5. Marilyn Monroe

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Marilyn Monroe’s tragic death is reason enough to suspect that she would come back and haunt this world. She’s been reportedin various places throughout Hollywood, most often in her home, where she was found dead.

However, she’s also been spotted at her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, as well as in her Cadillac when it went on display. The Roosevelt Hotel has also been the site of Marilyn sightings since1962, particularly in suite 1200, where she used to stay.

Spencer Hughes reported onFox Radio that when he took a visit to Marilyn’s cabin, he got somespooky off-the-chart readings on his ghost-detector tools.

6. Elvis Presley

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According to the Houston Press, Elvis Presley’s ghost has been reportedall over the place. That makes a lot of sense, seeing as he was one of the biggest stars in modern history, or possibly even ever. Graceland is a good place to start if you are looking to run into Elvis’ specter the kitchen particularly has given off ghostly vibes to many visitors.

On the Las Vegas Strip, he’s been spotted by singers while on stage, just watching the performance fromthe crowd.

The Knickerbocker Hotel is also a pretty regular site of reported Elvis hauntings, as he stayed there many a time. Room 1016 seems to behis focal point there.

7. James Dean

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James Dean tragically died in a car accident at the young age of 24, but his ghost is saidto haunt his grave in Indiana.Folks who have visited his tombstone have claimed that if you leave an unlit cigarette, you’ll return to it lit with the scent of smoke in the air.

Cold spots near his grave during hot summer days have also been reported, as well as visions of James hitchhiking at the site of his fatal crash, or even driving the car he was killed in. One particularly supernatural experience at the site of James’ death was reported in detail bySupernatural Magazine.

8. Montgomery Clift

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Elizabeth Taylor said that Montgomery Clift could have been the best actor on the planet if only he’d been less picky about his movies, though others would argue that that’s what made him so great.

A crippling car accident in 1956 forced him to getplastic surgery to mend his face. He never physically or emotionally recovered from that crash.

He passed away a decade later and is said to haunt the room at theRoosevelt Hotel that he stayed in while filmingFrom Here to Eternity.He’s not a mean ghost, though he reportedly likes to give a scare by tapping folks on the shoulder, draining batteries, and practicing his bugle as he did while filming the movie.

9. Thelma Todd

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Between 1926 and 1935, Thelma Todd starred in about 120 films, including many with the Marx Brothers. At the height of her fame, she opened up her very own restaurant and lived in a fancy apartment above it.

She was found dead from carbon monoxide poisoning in her car at the young age of 29. It was concluded that the death was accidental, but suspicions still arose. The building is now owned by a production company, and employees have reported seeing a ghostly figure gracefully descending the stairs.

Perhaps her untimely, slightly suspicious death has left her wanting for more in this world?

10. John Wayne

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John Wayne once owned a yacht named Wild Goose, and its successive owners have reported sightings of the actor aboardthe ship.

According to the LA Times, a psychic who was brought on board came to the conclusion that John wasn’t there for any malevolent reasons: he just really liked his boat, so he hangs out on it whenever he can. He’s been spotted in mirrors and in portholes, and he’s been known to block doorways and rattle beer glasses.

Sounds like John’s having a good time spooking people here on Earth, if you ask me!

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