#wwfms: lament

[ropeadope]

New Music | C.Tappin

It is exciting to find fresh new voices in music, and we are thrilled to announce the arrival of Charlie Tappin to the Ropeadope Community. Right out of the gate, respected and always on the pulse DJ Gilles Peterson snapped up a couple of tracks for airplay on WWFM and the BBC:

‘Got a little bit of Dwele, little bit of James Blake, and got some beautiful London Jazz all thrown together’ (Gilles Peterson)

Change by C.Tappin

C.Tappin’s new project is titled Change, and it is a solemn yet comforting message to us all:

This project is inspired by the events of the last three years. A time when there was a lot of unrest and frustration brewing in many aspects of life. People protesting for change; a change of systems, beliefs and traditions. A generation calling to end the injustices and the inequalities that remain in society. These songs give me the platform to question those in power and what they are doing to impact change; it is a lament for equality. (C.Tappin)

Change arrives on July 7, with preorders open now. As a bonus, Bandcamp downloads and CDs include instrumental versions of each track.

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[rayraywrites]

Chapter 1: Lament

Pairing: Yuuri Katsuki x Viktor Nikiforov

Characters: Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki, Yakov Feltsman, Yuuko Nishigori, Nishigori Triplets, Phichit Chulanont, Makkachin, Christophe Giacometti (minor), Yuri Plistesky (minor)

Rating: General Audiences

Total Word Count: 8353

Chapters: Lament || Waterfall || Sunshine || Revolutionary || Toccata || Tristesse || Arpeggio

Bang: @yurionicebigbang

Partner: @uchiyin

         link to art (to be added once art has been posted)

Beta: @emeraldwaves (thank you Rache! I appreciate all the help <3)

AO3  (Links/Other Notes included)

Summary: 

Music is the language that unites those who cannot speak their feelings. It fills the holes in our heart from living. It soothes and burns.

When the spoken word of man fails, the ancient language stirs from the depths to be heard above the loudest of howls.

As the final note resounded in the hall, his raised hand came back down to rest gently once more on to the resplendent keys. Stroking them lightly, he caressed the keys as a mother would her child. He let out the breath hiding in the back of his throat, the tension in his shoulders melting away. Droplets of sweat, from the exertion of playing, trickled down the back of his neck, but were hidden by his hair. The floor lights located on the stage illuminated the front. They glistened off the solo pianist’s striking silver hair, giving him an ethereal effect.

Chairs creaked as people surged up to give the musicians a standing ovation which snapped him out of his reverie. For the brief few seconds when Yakov had conducted the musicians through the final chords, he had allowed himself to revel in the music but the acclamation brought him back. As he stood up from the bench and backed away from the piano, his genuine smile melted away now that he was no longer playing. Stepping away from the piano almost felt as if he was stepping away from his own identity, ripping out the part of him that made him. Even before acknowledging the audience, he faced the orchestra, bowing to them. Though he was the focus of the performance, he knew the other musicians were just as important, if not more than he was. A soft chuckle slipped through his lips when Yakov brusquely grabbed his hand to shake it. Even after he had spent years around Yakov, learning from him, working with him, Yakov had never quite warmed up to him, at least visibly.

Cheekily, he threw an arm around Yakov, dragging him closer to the audience. At the front of the stage, he let Yakov go, allowing the conductor to do his bow alongside his orchestra. As a guest pianist he waited till his name was called out by the MC before bowing.

“And our brilliant guest pianist, we the Russian National Orchestra would like to applaud and thank Viktor Nikiforov for his absolutely stunning performance of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto.”

Bending at the waist, Viktor’s hands rested on his thighs, but as he bent they slid to his knees lightly gripping the fabric there. He kept his head down, easily remembering Mme. Baranovskaya’s instructions to his ten-year old self.

“Viktor, мой ребенок, remember when you acknowledge your audience, do not look back up at them when bowing.” She had gracefully crossed her arms while narrowed eyes stared balefully down at Viktor, “your music must demand the applause not your begging.”

He smiled to himself, before straightening up and aimed his smile at the young girl who handed him a gorgeous bouquet of roses. Winking at her, he pulled one of them out before crouching to her level and handing the rose to her with a small smile on his face. Nodding once more towards the audience, he adroitly walked off the stage to the wings.

For a few moments while the rest of the orchestra completed their bows and thank you’s—the concertmaster bowing on behalf of the violins as well as the rest of the orchestra after the conductor—he leaned against the wall. Sighing to himself his smile disappeared from his face while his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Hearing his name being called, he saw his friend and principal violoncellist, Christophe Giacometti. Turning to face him, Viktor smiled brightly, turning everything on. “Chris! So what did you think of my performance?

He smiled cheerfully as Chris spoke, and when more people came along to compliment his playing, Viktor acted his part well. Some days were easier for him to handle, but usually after a performance he found that being around loads of people was stressful. However, the longer he stood there, the more he could feel the congested feeling in his chest spread. He could feel the pain spreading through his body, almost bringing him to his knees. It was only due to sheer will and determination that he remained upright, struggling to maintain his cheerful disposition.

As he spoke to the group of people, Viktor slowly layered the disguises onto his body, hiding his pain first, then the sadness, the discomfort, the anxiety. But the clincher was the final mask of happiness and cheer that hid everything completely, making him seem so much more alive.

As if someone heard his silent prayer, he was able to escape the group when Yakov exited the stage, quickly excusing himself to speak to the conductor. When speaking to Yakov, he had no choice but to prepare himself for everything, since Viktor had never really been able to hide anything from him. Nodding his head in respect to his mentor, Viktor smiled as wide as he could, already feeling the exhaustion covering his body like a blanket. “Director Yakov! I did fantastic tonight didn’t I? Think I get a break from tomorrow’s practice then?” He gave a practiced, and well-used puppy dog look at his friend and teacher.

Yakov only sighed at Viktor’s hopeful face before grudgingly nodding, “Your performance was as extravagant as usual Vitya.” Yakov’s voice remained in its gruff tonality, but the slightest hint of pride could be heard in its inflection. Yakov had been guiding Viktor since before he could remember, and each gruff “decent work Vitya” was enough for Viktor to feel a swell in his heart. But now even that wasn’t enough to satisfy his discontent, nor his pain. For each performance that occurred, it felt as if Viktor was losing more of himself. He always strived to surprise the audience, yet no matter how much he tried, he could only change the music, or himself so much.

As Viktor had the chance to walk away, he didn’t see the concerned gaze on his back. Nor did he hear the soft sigh Yakov let out as the man prayed for his protégé, only loud enough for himself to hear. “May the angels watch over you Vitya, for I fear that music is no longer enough to soothe your soul.”