#you can tell that jeff b set up a keyboard right there

[ferryboatpeak]

*chants* headcanons headcanons headcanons ! Also I'm loving all of your little observations on the Jamaican idyll so far!

Bless you for your interestin my Cocosan headcanons. In gratitude, I am answering this inquiry with ficlets.

First, let’s talk for amoment about Harry getting the master suite (the only Cocosan bedroomassignment that is #confirmed by HS:BTA). I see at least two options for how this went down.

Option A:

Harry claims the mastersuite without a second thought, like it’s his due. When he arrives, he lopesupstairs and straight out onto the balcony, spreading his arms wide to touchboth edges of the view over the ocean. It feels like his chest isn’t big enoughto contain his happiness at being here, hidden away but still the center ofattention, doing exactly what he wants to do.

Option B:

When they arrive, Harryleaves Jeff Azoff to oversee unloading the van and heads through the housetoward the pool. He strips to his pants and jumps in, washing away the planeflight and feeling his body settle into Jamaica.

After a few laps, he pullsup on the side of the pool and rests his chin on his forearms, looking outthrough the tops of the palm trees toward the ocean. Harry hears the slap offlip-flops approaching, and turns to see Jeff rolling up his cuffs at the topof the pool stairs. He wades down to the second step and sits on the edge ofthe pool, feet submerged and a bottle of Red Stripe in his hand.

“Your stuff’s in the master upstairs,”Jeff says.

That feels a little weird.“Should we save it for Jeff?” Harry asks, brow furrowing. “Or do you want it?”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Harry,you’re in charge here,” he says. “You’ve got to act like it.”

Now, onward to the othersuites. Photos and hitch ficlets below the jump…

Comparing interior andexterior photos, I have reached the following conclusions about the locationsof the six named Cocosan suites:

There is also anunadvertised seventh suite,which is almost certainly on the lower level.

I’m assuming that big dogJeff Bhasker got the Junior Master, the second-best suite after Harry’s. I alsothink that Jeff Azoff orchestrated the room assignments but knows his place,and would therefore claim the Veranda Suite, the third-best suite because it’sthe only other room with a balcony. (The Veranda Suite is also in closeproximity to Harry, which I believe to be a priority for Jeff.)*

Here’s where it getsinteresting. There’s one room left upstairs: the Rock Suite. It has a view aaaaaaaandis conveniently next door to Harry. There are two more rooms on the main floor– the Garden Suite and the Pool Suite – and the secret seventh basement suite.

Our remaining personnelinclude Tyler Johnson (Grammy-nominated songwriter, clearly next in thehierarchy after Jeff B.), guitarist and producer Alex Salibian, engineer andMitch’s roommate Ryan Nasci, and Mitch (who needs no introduction).

So what does Harry Styles dowith this? And by “Harry Styles,” I mean “Jeff Azoff, acting either underHarry’s orders or with a well-honed instinct for what will keep Harry happy.”Giving Tyler the Rock Suite and putting Mitch and Ryan (roommates, bandmates,friends) together on the main floor would be logical. Alex takesthe basement.

But Harry Styles is not acreature of logic. He is a creature of emotion. And his emotions are tellinghim that Jamaica is the perfect time to make a move on Mitch, because Harry,who came of age with his hand on at least one bandmate’s dick at all times,does not understand that it is possible to work collaboratively and admiresomeone’s talent without crossing all that person’s boundaries and stickingyour tongue down his throat. So the other possibility is that Harry insistsupon Mitch being right next door in the Rock Suite.

OptionA:

The sky over the ocean is faintlypink when Mitch pulls on his pajama bottoms and pads down the stairs, gritsticking to the bottoms of his feet.

He’s right in the center ofthe staircase, nowhere to hide, when the swinging door to the kitchen thumps openand Ryan emerges with both hands wrapped around a coffee mug. Mitch suppressesa cringe.

Ryan stops when he seesMitch. “Really?” he says, eyebrows raised.

“We were watching a movie,”Mitch says, trying not to break stride on his way through the front hall. “Ifell asleep.” (The truth, although a highly selective version of it.)

“Sure,” Ryan says, drawingout the vowel. “That’s just happened every night for a week, right?”

“What do you care?” Even asthe words come out of his mouth, Mitch knows they’re not fair. He’s only herebecause of Ryan, and Ryan’s here at the whim of Tyler and Jeff. He can’t blameRyan for being worried about his own ass.

Ryan sighs. “Just don’t fuckthis up.”

And that’s the last thingMitch wants. He’d feel terrible if he ruined anything for Ryan just becauseHarry Styles can’t keep his dick in his pants for two months and Mitch can’tsay no, wouldn’t want to say no, is more overwhelmed by Harry than he’s everbeen by another human being, is later than usual coming downstairs this morningto his own cold and comfortable bed because he kept telling himself justanother five more minutes and then he’d unwrap his arm from around Harry’s waistand unbury his nose from the back of Harry’s sleep-scented neck.

So he can’t blame Ryan for worrying about Mitch fucking up thiswhole situation. It’s just that ever since Harry leaned over the guitar inMitch’s lap to kiss him, with his wide mouth warm and his rings cool againstMitch’s cheek, there hasn’t been a single option that doesn’t seem likely to fuckit up somehow.

Option B:

It’s a little strange whenJeff Azoff points Mitch up the stairs and sends Ryan to the back of the groundlevel, but Mitch isn’t going to question the room assignments. He’s not goingto question anything. Jeff could tell him to sleep in the driveway and Mitchwould smile and thank him.

He finds the room Jeff described,just off the top of the stairs. It’s got three windows that look out over thepool to the ocean. Mitch opens one to see if there’s a sea breeze. Then he turnsup the air conditioner. What the hell, he’s not paying the electric bill.

Someone knocks on the doorframe while Mitch has his nose pressed to the window screen. He turns to seeHarry leaning against the doorway. He’s either on his way to the pool or he’s justcome from there, based on his yellow trunks. They’re somehow smaller than swimtrunks ought to be.

Mitch reminds himself tomake eye contact. It seems less dangerous than the swim trunks.

Twelve seconds later, Mitchremembers that eye contact with Harry is exhausting. “Do you like the room?”Harry finally asks.

“Yeah, it’s great.” Mitchseizes the excuse to turn back toward the window. “Love the view.”

Harry joins him, leaning hisbare shoulder into the window frame, closer to Mitch than there’s any reasonfor him to be.

“If you need anything,”Harry says, rubbing his thumb and index finger along his lower lip, “I’m rightnext door.”

*note: I am aware that Jeff Azoff may not have hungout in Jamaica for a full two months. More likely, he visited briefly and didnot stay at Cocosan. (Probably he and Glynne stayed someplace even nicer, certainlysomeplace with a bed big enough for Harry to join them for a night or two.) Buthe’s in the BTA Jamaica footage, so I’m going with Jeff A. as the roomassignment sergeant.

[nursegracecreates]

Kinktober Day The Toby Prompt!

Mommy Kink

Afternoon Delight

Tw: nsfw under the cut, Dom/switch/soft femdom [AN: I was excited about writing this post right up until I started writing it, and I think my Toby must not have a very strong mommy kink. The cringe was strong in this, so its short but sweet. All will be made up for tomorrow and tonight though 💖 Also, no keyboard, I haven't been meaning to type Tony... It's TOBY, with a B]

Toby's arrival home was announced by Seven bounding into the living room and getting his mud paws on the portrait I was drawing of Sally. Then Toby strode in, visibly tired, but with a purpose towards me. Seven was trying to fold his big goofy body into my lap like he could before he left, licking at my face while I tried to avoid his kisses.

"Seven" Toby said in a loud, commanding voice and Seven froze at the snap of Toby's fingers, rolling his eyes to look at Toby in the entryway. He pointed at the floor, "Down."

Jeff walked in from the kitchen, slipping out while I was dealing with Seven, bearing three leashes, "Sal and I are going to walk the dogs, right, Sal?"

Sally nodded, clipping a leash to Olivia as Jeff got Punky and Seven, "Yeah, give you two some alone time." They cleared out rather quickly, like it had been prediscussed by the two, leaving Toby and I alone as they walked out into the crisp afternoon sun. Toby collapsed into his comfy chair, off limits to everyone except Olivia, usually, in a sprawl that Toby always managed to make graceful without trying.

"Come here, sweetness" Toby said softly. He opened his arms when I did and I crawled into his lap. He sighed, holding on to me. "What a mess."

I brushed his hair back from his eyes and delivered a kiss to the right corner of his mouth, "What's going on, baby?"

"We were on a recruitment mission, Kate, me, Brian and Masky. We spent the month isolating this kid, you know how Slender likes for business to be done." Yes... Slender was quite fond of removing everyone from a prospective proxy's life, sending in a proxy to comfort and guide them to his will. "Kid was smart, too. Set a trap straight out of Home Alone that damn near broke Masky's nose, cracked his mask. Things were going great. Brian and I had him. When we started teaching him basic proxy survival skills, he was dispondant, especially with Masky." Toby closed his eyes tiredly, "He was disrespectful to Masky one too many times. Now I get to explain to Slender why his newest recruit is dead and buried in a stream."

"Again?"

"Yeah... Looks like Masky will be going away for a while. At least we'll get to see Tim."

I made a face of discontent and hugged Toby as he rested his cheek on my chest. "Maybe we can talk to Jeff, see if he'd be willing to work with you, see if he'd be willing to help out for a while."

"You think he would?" Toby asked, "I've not seen enough to tell."

"I think if we asked him, he'd consider it strongly" I replied, not wanting to make any promises on Jeff's behalf. "I missed you." I dropped a kiss on Toby's forehead and he smiled up at me with honey brown eyes, the scars on his left cheek making his smile seem crooked, his back teeth showing on the left side.

"I missed you more than you could imagine" Toby said, his expression sobering as he looked at me while I played with stray hairs from his man bun at the nape of his neck. He brought a hand up and pulled me by the back of the neck to kiss me urgently.

Toby wasted no time, not wanting to squander the opportunity for alone time Sally and Jeff had given us. He stripped us of our clothes in record time and had sat me so I was straddling his thighs, his hard length pressed between our bodies as he kissed me passionately. His hands had found my breasts and he was kneading them as he teased my lips with his tongue until I opened for him. After a few moments of very wet sloppy kisses, Toby pulled away, dragging his lips down until his mouth found my breasts. He latched on to a nipple and continued kneading with his hands as he used his tongue and teeth to tease my nipple before sucking hard.

Toby paused in his kneading, concentrating on sucking with his eyes shut and I looked down at him. I brushed his ever present messy hair from his brow and he rolled his eyes up to look at me as he traced his hands down my body to lift me by the backs of my thighs. He pulled me forward a little so his cock was pushed up against my entrance and he slowly started pushing in as he lowered me onto this length.

I moved my hips slowly, matching the pace his hands when he returned to kneading my breasts. Toby proceeded to cover my breasts with purple and red hickies, moving between the two, showering them with attention. I rode him gently at first, Toby only offering small upward thrusts as he suckled, letting me maneuvere my body until I found just the right angle. I rolled my hips, grinding down onto Toby as pleasure started coiling in my core.

My hips quickened in their rhythm as the pleasure grew, my release approaching quickly. Toby dropped a hand between us to rub my clit with nimble fingers, his mouth still making marks on my skin as he sucked. He rolled his eyes up to look at me as he gave me one last rub and I exploded, coming violently. My body squeezed Toby's cock inside of me as he helped me ride out my release, sweetly thrusting up into me as I clung to him with white knuckles.

When I could breathe again, I pulled Toby's face up to mine, his mouth leaving my breast with a quiet pop. "As much as I'd love to take my time with this," I whispered, "we don't have that kind of time." I gave Toby a soft kiss. "You've done your work, and you've taken care of me. Now let's take care of you, my baby."

Toby smiled, biting his lower lip as he grabbed my hips. He kissed me hotly and thrust up into me lightning fast. I yelped, still sensitive from a few moments ago, and wrapped my arms around Toby's neck, resting my head on his shoulder as I held on. Toby pounded into me over and over, breathing roughly in my ear as he laid occasional kisses on the skin of my neck. He brought me twice more in rapud succession and then let out a loud groan. Then he hugged me tightly, his long arms wrapping around me as he let lose, slamming his body into mine again and again and again. I felt when he came, his cock pulsing inside me as my body contracted around him and we held each other close.

[3lc3lc3lc]

JOSHUA TREE

An excerpt from my short story collection NOWHERE FAST, out now.

“so what i’m gonna do is i’m gonna get a moped and i’m gonna ride it around the desert. and i’ll have my shotgun for if i see a rattlesnake. you think i could shoot a rattlesnake from a moped?”

“sure, prolly.”

“i’ll shoot the fuck out of a rattlesnake. fuck a rattlesnake.”

“yea fuck em.”

“anyway, you can visit me if you want.”

“hmmmmm….. maybe.”

“hey can i call you? i can’t type so good. i got fat thumbs. plus i’m on ecstasy.”

Anna was in Los Angeles, where Ray lived, two weeks later on business. The business was a magazine interview with an R&B singer whose manager stopped returning Anna’s phone calls immediately upon her arrival. The business was a free vacation. “Guess where I’m at,” she texted Ray from the hotel. They’d been messaging each other for a month, friends of friends. Ray seemed psychotic, but that was no problem. 

“You should come over and help me pack. I’ve got some soju,” he replied. Ray was moving to Joshua Tree in two days to make sad synthesizer music in the desert. “Oh. One thing I have to tell you. My teeth are all fucked up. I don’t smile in pictures. Thought you should know.”

An inflatable duck the size of a Subaru was drifting across the pool next to Ray’s apartment building on Sunset. The Elliott Smith mural from the one album cover used to be around the corner, he told Anna in the lobby, but they recently turned it into a brunch restaurant. “Oh and I’ve got a present for you.” They took the elevator to his studio, which was carpeted and offered roughly nothing in the way of furniture. The teeth were as advertised, a double row of craggy gray shards that made his mouth look like abstract expressionism. She sat on a cardboard box while Ray poured little cups of soju and retrieved a bag of mushrooms from a drawer. They ate a handful of caps each. “This isn’t your present. Come on.”

She followed him to the back of the apartment building, where three of Ray’s neighbors were smoking around a fire pit. Mary was in her fifties and blessed with the virtue of persistence, as demonstrated by the portable respirator she carted around in her non-smoking hand. Jeff with the blonde ponytail and Dickies had recently come back from Afghanistan. “Jeff’s better at Jeopardy than anyone on earth,” said Ray. “Other than me.” “Thanks, man,” said Jeff. In the corner, a large bearded man was lost in the act of twisting up some sort of balloon animal. “This is Balloonski,” said Ray. “Don’t look yet!” said Balloonski, his hands swooping and squeaking like ridiculous birds. Anna turned the other way and smoked a cigarette. By the time she’d finished, the balloon was in the shape of a man playing the saxophone. “Surprise!” said Ray. She promised to keep it always. “Balloonski,” she said, “you’re going places. The world will know your balloons. You’re headed straight to the top, kid. Did you know I’m a journalist?”

They went back to Ray’s apartment and fucked on the carpet to Elliott Smith, the popcorn ceiling rippling like lava. “Yeah so I think I’m in love with you,” Ray said. “Let’s go to your hotel and see what’s in the mini bar.” Anna swaddled the balloon jazz man in her jacket, their beautiful baby boy. “Sup, chumps?” she found herself barking at the nice people drinking wine in the hotel lobby, for no special reason beside the fact that she was untouchable and would never die.

They got to work on the mini bar, starting with the Wild Turkeys, then the Bombay Sapphires, then the Titos. Ray poured the last couple bottles on the floor and hurled them at the wall. “It ain’t on our dime, baby!” he crowed. “This is on Corporate America’s tab!” She couldn’t be sure if the room charges were, in fact, on Corporate America’s tab, nor if she would continue to have a job when all was said and done, but she could admit the sentiment was rousing. Give the guy ten minutes and suddenly you’re voting him for alderman. Ray called up room service, sprawled on the bed like some sort of Ottoman aristocrat. “Good morning. My wife would like to order steak and eggs please.”

It was May when she arrived in Joshua Tree. Or it was April. In any case, Prince had died and the desert was colder than she had imagined. It was an hour drive from the Palm Springs airport in a cab softly playing the greatest hits of Third Eye Blind, the windmills off the highway waving palely in the dark like great irrelevant gods. She should check out that place, the cab driver offered as some nameless saloon slipped past, if she wanted to meet a nice Marine. That sounded good, Anna said. She could swear the mountains were flashing with faraway wet yellow eyes.

The headlights caught Ray in front of a little house made of corrugated sheet metal that looked to be held together with staples, doing what could generously be described as karate. There were no neighbors to be seen for half a mile. “Darling, we haven’t any food!” Ray greeted her. The closest store was a two hour walk along the side of the highway, and it was closed. “But Loretta left a handle of Seagram’s, so we’ll be straight.” Who this Loretta was supposed to be she hadn’t a clue, but she would take a drink. Inside Ray’s Siamese cat hunted moths around the place, which was surprisingly well appointed, decorated with woven Navajo rugs and rattan furniture and a beaded curtain that clacked when you went from the kitchen to the bedroom. They drank gin and water and Ray told her the stories of his collection of scars, this one from being smashed over the head with a beer bottle, this one from falling through a skylight. By the time the sun was coming up she was drunk enough to ask: “Who’s Loretta?”

“Oh. Loretta’s my roommate.”

“There’s only one room.”

“We trade off. Anyway she’s not here right now.”

“Well where is she?”

“Couldn’t really tell you.”

Ray went and got the gin, refilled both their glasses to the top, and put on a movie about a dog who gets terribly abused by all numbers of people. Within twenty minutes he was sobbing uncontrollably, not even trying to be quiet about it. That was her favorite thing about Ray, probably. He cried at all the dog movies.

In the daytime Ray would hunch shirtless over his keyboard, chainsmoking spliffs and endlessly writing the same wordless song. Anna lay on a towel in the baked dirt of the yard, mindlessly scrolling through apps on her phone and seeing white when she stood up. Sometimes she watched Ray work, dragging colorful little chunks of minutiae back and forth across his computer screen and fiddling with knobs doing who knows what, the room quiet but for the bass in his headphones. This kind of boredom she had always liked, the kind that reminded her of sinking into decrepit couches to watch boys shoot at Nazis or whatever with their Playstation controllers. The wonderful kind of dullness that ferried you safely from one hour to the next. In any case, she’d lost her job. What else was there to do. She had two weeks left in the desert.

They were out front watching for jackrabbits when a bandaid-colored Volvo scraped up on wings of dust. A lady got out. She looked to be in her mid-sixties, with long gray hair and a tired face, dressed in the linens of some kind of cult, maybe. And she’d brought luggage. “I stopped at the Walmart and got hamburgers and beer,” she said, hauling out shopping bags from the back seat. 

“Hi mom,” Ray said. 

Ray’s mother turned to Anna. “Who’s this? Are you going to help me with the groceries?”

“Sorry... Ray didn’t tell me, uh...”

“You may call me Loretta. Here.” She handed Anna a case of Miller Lite. Anna carried it inside, shoving the underwear she’d left on the floor in her backpack before coming back for the next one. She caught Ray’s eye as he grabbed a box of frozen beef patties. “It’s cool,” he said. “We’ll sleep in the living room.” He turned to Loretta. “The drive was okay?”

“Left Tucson at four this morning,” Loretta said. “I feel like hell. Where did I put my…..?” She rummaged around in the glove compartment, retrieved five or six pill bottles, and went inside. Ray followed.

The sky was going pink and orange as Loretta unpacked her things and Ray heated up the charcoal grill. Anna made slow figure eights around the yard, listening to lizards scuttle around in the rocks. There were a few things she knew about Ray’s mother. She knew Loretta had been married five times. She knew Loretta had been a teacher, and that she wasn’t one anymore. She knew Ray hadn’t seen his mother in ten years, or at least that’s what he’d said, that Loretta’s boyfriend wouldn’t let him set foot in their house.

Loretta appeared in the doorway, her white linens dyed peach with twilight. “Would you like to play a game of Clue?” she asked Anna. They went inside and Loretta set the game board out on the floor, shuffling up the billiard rooms and candlesticks and slipping three cards into the little case file envelope. “I’m always Mrs. Peacock,” Loretta said. “Hope that’s not a problem.” They drank beer and waited for Ray to come and be the third player, Loretta’s left eye twitching gently as the sun went down.

“Are you Ray’s girlfriend?” Loretta asked.

“Sort of,” said Anna. “I don’t know. Something like that.”

“For the record,” said Loretta, “you shouldn’t trust half of what he tells you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I know Ray, that’s all. Known him all his life.” 

Ray walked inside with a tray of burgers. “You’re Professor Plum,” Loretta said, handing him the purple pawn. She turned her beer upside down, crumpled up the can and rolled the dice.

Loretta was holding Anna’s hair while she hugged the toilet, hurling. “Hey, we’ve all been there, hun,” Loretta said. “Mushrooms will do that sometimes.” Ray had brought his stash to the desert. It wasn’t sitting right. Anna choked out the rest, flushed, and staggered to her feet, sweating and mortified. “I should probably lie down for a minute,” she told Loretta, weaving her way to the living room. “Why don’t you take the bed tonight,” Loretta said, digging one hand in her giant purse. “I’ll send Ray in to join you. It’s no problem.” Anna slurred a thanks and goodnight and stumbled through the beaded curtain to the bedroom, wondering how long Ray’d been gone on his endless cigarette break. Or had he only stepped out five minutes ago? It was hard to be sure at the moment, considering that everywhere she looked, her surroundings kept turning to hamburger meat. She closed her eyes and tried to will away the kaleidoscope of tentacles churning inside her eyelids. When she woke up, Anna could hear Ray and Loretta’s voices softly from the other side of the curtain. The desert was dark still, a choir of crickets like distant static.

“I don’t have five hundred dollars, Ray. If I did, I’d give it to you. But I don’t.”

“Right. You’ve just got enough to make sure Gary can sit on his fat ass all day watching Matlock. But your only son can go fuck himself. Got it.”

“Let’s leave Gary out of it.”

“I would’ve liked to leave Gary out of it the day he broke my nose and kicked me out of the house, but I suppose we can’t have it all, can we.”

“Ray…... It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, being a mother sounds pretty fucking complicated. It’s not for everyone, I guess.”

Loretta was quiet for a minute.

“You know I don’t feel good about how everything played out. If I could do things differently…”

“I was thirteen years old living on the street because you chose fucking Gary over me, mom. I’ll say you could’ve done things differently. Jesus Christ.”

“That’s why I’m here every weekend, isn’t it? To see if we can’t be friends again?”

“You barely qualify as my mother, and you’re certainly not my friend. But I will take some fucking money, if Gary can manage to spare it from his Hot Pocket fund.” Anna heard shuffling and the crunch of cans being tossed in the trash. “And by the way, those pills are making you crazy. You shouldn’t be mixing all that shit at once. Your shrink ought to be in fucking prison. Anyway. Sleep well.” Anna lay very still with her eyes shut as Ray jangled through the beaded curtain and collapsed beside her in the dark, hitting the bed with a thud like he’d dropped from the sky.

In the morning Loretta was gone, and so was her car. On the kitchen counter were two notes, one labeled ANNA, the other MY SON RAY. Anna studied Ray’s face as he read, but it didn’t change, though he did slip a handful of twenties that had been tucked inside the letter into his pocket. Anna opened hers. In bold looping cursive it said, “Dear Anna, it was nice to meet you. He’ll take advantage of your weakness if you let him. Take care of yourself. Loretta.” Ray finished reading, folded the letter back up, and walked shirtless into the desert. He didn’t ask what her note said, and she didn’t either.

She remembered she had saved Loretta’s phone number a year later, after everything—after Ray had pawned most of her belongings and disappeared to Seoul with his secret girlfriend, that is, but before the whole Korean prison incident—and decided to ask. “What did you mean back in Joshua Tree, when you said he’d take advantage of my weakness?” she typed slowly. “How did you know?” She waited hours and hours until finally her phone buzzed. “I would never say that about my son,” read the text from Loretta. “What do you want from me?”

[boredout305]

Vitus Mataré talks Jeffrey Lee Pierce, The Last and DIY Production

Vitus Mataré is a Los Angeles-based musician, producer and architect.

           Mataré was a founding member of The Last, Danny and the Doorknobs and Trotsky Icepick. As a producer, he recorded some of the earliest and most coveted Los Angeles DIY punk records, including The Urinals’ first three 7”s and the Keats Rides a Harley compilation. Mataré would later produce The Leaving Trains and Savage Republic.

            The focus of this interview was Mataré’s brief tenure in Jeffrey Lee Pierce’s pre-Gun Club band, The Red Lights. Short-lived and with a revolving membership, Mataré played The Red Lights’ summer 1978 debut show. Two years later, he became the Gun Club’s first producer—recording the band on his portable Dokorder 4-track reel-to-reel.

           Recently, Mataré released a new Trotsky Icepick record, I Haunted Myself (2019). The Last’s ill-fated and obscenely expensive sophomore LP, Look Again (1980), will finally get a proper release in 2020.

Interview by Ryan Leach  

Ryan: Do you recall where you first met Jeffrey Lee Pierce?

Vitus: I met Jeffrey Lee Pierce at the Capitol Records Swap Meet. Jeff was there selling records and hanging out.

Ryan: That’s where Larry (Hardy) first spotted him.

Vitus: Right. Jeff was always roaming around the Capitol Records Swap Meet in his typical style. Over the top, excited about this and that. When Jeff found something that he was interested in, he got into it one-hundred percent.

Ryan: Did you meet him in 1978?

Vitus: Yes. I met Jeffrey in 1978.

Ryan: Being a big fan of power-pop and ‘60s groups, it makes sense that Jeffrey was a Last fan. How did he enter The Last’s orbit?

Vitus: There was a gig (September 18, 1979) at Gazzarri’s and The Last played with Jeffrey’s band, The Cyclones. Pleasant Gehman was the singer. We put it on. The show was a disaster. It was hard to get a draw. It was The Go-Go’s first real show and the first time The Urinals played in Hollywood. We put our favorite people in bands together for the bill: Jeff with The Cyclones, The Last, The Urinals and The Go-Go’s.

Kjehl Johansen (The Urinals) punched me in the nose while we were dancing to The Go-Go’s set, so I had a bloody nose for the rest of the night. But before I got punched, I sat down with Jeff at soundcheck. He showed me the chords to “Jungle Book,” a song he had done with The Red Lights. “Jungle Book” is one of the first songs I learned to play on guitar. Jeffrey was teaching me the song and guitar at the same time. That was really cool. We were just killing time. (The Last’s) Joe (Nolte) was there and had already suggested that we start incorporating “Jungle Book” into The Last’s set.

Shortly after the Gazzarri’s gig, we played a show with The Plugz and Jeff came up and sang “Jungle Book” with us. Phast Phreddie also came up that night and sang The Seeds’ “Pushin’ Too Hard.” There were several other gigs where Jeff sang with The Last.  

Ryan: How did you and the late Jack Reynolds (drummer of The Last) end up playing with Jeff and Anna Statman in The Red Lights?

Vitus: Jack Reynolds was a whole different story. Jack passed away (in December 2009). I liked Jack a lot—he was great—but he was a tough guy. He enjoyed getting into fights and drinking and perhaps taking drugs to excess. Jack didn’t drive, so I was his driver. We’d be cruising in my beat-up sedan, his drums thrown in the back with no cases, and we’d go by a construction site at 7:30 p.m. on our way to a show at the Starwood. He’d say in his British accent, “Woah, woah, pull over!” He’d find a chunk of concrete with rebar sticking out of it at a jobsite, throw it in my backseat—there goes that bit of upholstery—and he’d walk into the club with it. It’s 8:00 p.m. at the Whisky or the Starwood, so there’s no one there but the bouncers. They’d say, “Hey, fella, where are you going with that?” Jack would respond, “Have I got to stick it up your arse? Out of my way.” Even the bouncers would leave him alone. He’d use the concrete to weigh down his kick drum. After the set, he’d abandon the 200-pound concrete chunk up on the stage. I remember we played a show with 20/20 and the guys in the band were getting their guitar cables snagged on the rebar sticking out of Jack’s concrete block. The three of them couldn’t lift it whereas Jack brought it up there himself.

           Greg Shaw brings in a band from New York called The Boyfriends. I don’t know what they ever did—apparently they were really good—but I never got a chance to find out. The Last was opening up for them at the Whisky. It was a night Greg Shaw put together and promoted. We’re late; Jack’s in my car and he had forgotten his cymbals. The Boyfriends had done their soundcheck and they’re gone. We get to the Whisky and someone walks past us. Jack says (affects British accent), “Hey, can I borrow your drummer’s cymbals there?” The guy responds, “Sure. Help yourself.” Well, he had nothing to do with The Boyfriends or their equipment. Jack breaks his drums sticks as usual, so he’s out there playing with beer bottles on the guy’s cymbals. The Boyfriends’ drummer is not pleased about it.

           We got an encore. We’re in that little black corridor that’s up the stairs at the Whisky, towards the backstage. The Boyfriends’ drummer grabs Jack as we’re headed back to the stage. I guess the message he was trying to convey was, “Hey, who said you could use my cymbals?” Jack responds by pummeling this guy’s head into the wall. That’s all we heard: “Thud, thud, thud.” The Boyfriends’ drummer went to the hospital that night and they never played. I can give you ten other similar Jack Reynolds stories. So, when Jeff (Pierce) asked, “Hey, would you be willing to play Farfisa with me and do you know someone who can play drums?” I just figured, “Well, Jack’s drums live in my car, so why don’t I bring him too?”

           I only played one show with The Red Lights (July 14, 1978, at the Whisky benefit for Lobotomy fanzine). The lineup was me on Farfisa, Jack Reynolds on drums, Jeff on guitar and vocals and Anna Statman on bass. It was rather unrehearsed. We had one practice at a place called The Jungle. Jeff was really fun, but he was unsure of himself. He could get cranky and difficult.

We played The Red Lights show and Jeff did great but he was embarrassed about it for no reason. There were only a few people there and most of them didn’t get it. Nevertheless, it was awesome.

Ryan: The Red Lights only played a handful of shows. Was Jack Reynolds their permanent drummer?

Vitus: Jack wasn’t. Jeff had to use other people. Jack may have played two or three gigs with The Red Lights. I only played that one and I do not know how many more gigs followed.

Ryan: There’s a photo and review of your Red Lights show at the Whisky in issue #9 of Flipside.

Vitus: I remember Al (Kowalewski, founder of Flipside) asking us our names for the show write-up. He asked Jack Reynolds his name. Jack was drunk, possibly stoned and angry so he said, “I’m Jeff Fucking Beck.” Al’s like, “Okay, dude.” And then Jack points to me and yells, “The keyboard player, his name is Keyboard Player!” That’s why Al’s review credits me as Keyboard Player and Jack as Jeff Beck. I remember a lot of nights like that with Jack.    

           On the other hand, Jeff (Pierce) was never belligerent or impossible when he was drunk. I know other people will tell you totally different stories. I only had great experiences with Jeff.

           Later on, I did some preproduction with The Gun Club. I arranged with this guy Patrick (Burnette) over at Quad Teck—it was Hank Waring’s studio—to record The Gun Club. I had everything lined up but then I accidentally drank some gasoline. I got very, very sick and I had to go to the hospital and wasn’t available for that session. They went with Tito (Larriva), which was a great choice. Of course, that later became Fire of Love. But I was originally scheduled to engineer and produce that at Quad Teck.

Ryan: So, you were going to record the Gun Club tracks for the 12” split release that was supposed to come out on Fatima Recordz? The Gun Club was going to get one side of the LP; no one seems to recall the band who’d get the other side. When Fatima went belly-up, those tracks later appeared on Fire of Love (1981).

Vitus: Right. It all worked out for the best and I fully recovered. There were so many incidents back then where something took a wild left turn because of some issue or emergency.  

Ryan: Do you remember recording The Gun Club tracks for the Keats Rides a Harley (1981) compilation? Obviously, those recordings predated Fire of Love.

Vitus: Of course. We recorded those tracks at a horrible rehearsal space next to Hollywood High School. I can’t recall the name of the place, but I do remember it was named after the street it was on. I recorded The Gun Club on my cheap, 4-track Dokorder. It was a pretty low-budget, multitrack recorder.

Ryan: Digressing back a bit, to my knowledge the first releases you produced were the Urinals 7”s.

Vitus: I did stuff way earlier when I was a little kid. There were two guys who got kicked out of The Seeds. I recorded them when I was 13 years old. I was using my parent’s reel-to-reel and two fabulous electrostatic mics. They were amazed I could do sound-on-sound recording.

           But coming back later, The Urinals Self-titled EP (1978) was the first vinyl record I had recorded by a band other than The Last. The Last was recording (L.A. Explosion!) at Village Recorder in West Los Angeles. There are four studios at Village Recorder. At the time, Fleetwood Mac is in there doing Tusk (1979). They’re tucked away with their cocaine and other vapors. Frank Zappa is in another studio where the air is clean and he’s doing parts of Joe’s Garage (1979) and Sheik Yerbouti (1979). The other studio has a high turnover rate; the Stranglers used it while we were there. And we’re in this dingy little room known as The Royal Scam. All of the equipment in there belonged to Steely Dan. John Harrison, the first bass player of Hawkwind, got us in there. Harrison was the engineering guru for what was happening in the Zappa sessions.

When I got a test pressing of the first Urinals single I was so proud to have it that I gave my copy to John Harrison. Harrison ended up passing it on to Frank Zappa. The next night when I came in—we’d start at around midnight—John Harrison says to Zappa, “Hey, Frank, this is the guy who produced that record I gave you last night.” Zappa is lying down in this little step-down conversation pit on the couch. He can’t see me; I can barely see his shoes sticking out. He doesn’t get up but says, “That’s the worst damn record I’ve ever heard. But with a name like that (The Urinals), they should go far.”

Ryan: Considering Zappa was a big fan of The Shaggs’ Philosophy of the World (1969), that’s saying something. John (Talley-Jones), Kjehl (Johansen) and Kevin (Barrett) really outdid themselves.      

Vitus: (Laughs). Yeah. The Urinals singles predated The Gun Club stuff.

Ryan: I was under the impression that you were more interested in producing bands than playing in them. And that those early recordings you made with your 4-track were out of necessity—for groups just starting out or that were too left of the dial to get a recording contract.  

Vitus: That’s right. And I never thought about major releases. For example, I never thought of recording The Go-Go’s. I would be hampering their progress. Same thing when The Bangles asked me to record them, back when they were called The Bangs. That’s not really what I did. I wanted to make records that sound like you’re in the shower and the water is beating on your eardrum. I would record bands so they’d have tapes to bring to clubs to get bookings. The recordings didn’t need to be overly clean.

Ryan: It easy to forget nowadays, but back in the 1970s you had different-tiered studios. Places where people would cut demos to pitch to Club 88 on one end and 24-track studios on the other end.

Vitus: Exactly. I was helping bands get their songs recorded. I wasn’t working under some delusion that I’d be in a 24-track studio, cutting tracks with these bands a week later.

Ryan: How did the Keats Rides a Harley compilation come together?  

Vitus: There are two different versions of that story. John Talley-Jones has one version and I probably have another. The compilation was sort of my idea. Initially, The Urinals’ record was going to come out on Backlash. And there were two issues that came up at the same time. The Last’s manager, Randall Wixen, had started a publishing company called Backlash. He just took the name and then asked us to stop putting out records under the name Backlash. The other issue was that I played the first Urinals single for Joe Nolte when he wasn’t in a good mood. Joe ended up loving The Urinals, but at the time he said, “Hey, don’t put that crap out on our label, please.” That kind of jettisoned everything. I remember The Urinals were a bit disappointed when I told them, “Dudes, it’s not going to come out on Backlash, so let’s make up another record label name.” They came up with Happy Squid and put it out themselves.

           Joe and I always had our differences. I was drafted into The Last to play keyboards, but what I wanted was to be the Magic Alex—the guy who did sound effects and produced stuff. I wanted to record bands. I didn’t want to be on stage. I hated that. I didn’t get to do that with The Last, but I got to do it with The Gun Club and The Urinals which was great.

           I wasn’t doing whole records, just demo tapes, but I thought the sampler concept was a good idea. I wanted to put together a record that was a snapshot of what was happening in that particular garage on that street at that point in time. We just pulled all these bands together. The Urinals came up with the title of the record and actually put it together and got it out.  

Ryan: It’s an exceptional comp. Living in Arizona, The Meat Puppets mailed their recordings in. But you recorded the rest of the album and the bands are exceptional. Human Hands, Gun Club, Leaving Trains, 100 Flowers…

Vitus: All of those groups had people in them who were interesting to hang out with. They weren’t idiots or burnouts. To this day, the ones who are still alive remain great people to chat with.

Ryan: For Gun Club fans, Keats is a must have. As you mentioned, the recording is raw, but everything is mixed well. You can hear Rob Ritter’s bass and he remains the unsung hero of the early Gun Club.  Fire of Love (1981) and Miami (1982) are great records, but their mixes aren’t the best.  

Vitus: The tracks on Keats have poor frequency response, but great atmosphere.

Ryan: There’s another Last connection to Jeffrey Lee Pierce and The Red Lights. “Jungle Book” appears on The Last’s ill-fated sophomore record, Look Again (1980). Only test presses were made of that record, correct?

Vitus: I’ll tell you the whole story if you have ten minutes.

Ryan: Absolutely. I remember around 2004 seeing a copy of Look Again at Amoeba Records in Los Angeles selling for several hundred dollars.

Vitus: It’s not a good investment. It’s about to be reissued. I think it’s coming out on a label I’m not allowed to mention. Jonny Bell is doing the remixes right now. We baked and transferred those reels. But what needs to be told about that record is that we were not to produce it ourselves. Joe (Nolte) was to stay out of Jo Julian’s way. He was from the band Berlin. Julian co-engineered and produced the record even though he apparently had zero interest in doing so. There was a studio called Audio Arts. I believe Julian needed to get some sessions in and out and collect some money, so that’s what we were about.

Ryan: That’s a horrible situation to be in.

Vitus: Yeah. We were totally unimportant. Joe (Nolte) quickly realized that there was a bad vibe. Joe had a lot of input into L.A. Explosion! That was Joe’s record. It’s about Joe as a songwriter. I had one song (“A Fool Like You”) in there that made fun of A&R people. The second record was supposed to be a closer split between me and Joe. I would write one-third of the songs, and I would have more say about the production because it was supposed to be more pop. So I get locked out of the control room when it was time to mix. Jo Julian does direct injection on a Rickenbacker 12-string guitar, a Rickenbacker bass and a Farfisa. So, you have all this lovely 4,000-cycle signal with no life to it. John Frank, The Last’s new drummer, couldn’t hear us as we were playing. The mixes were terrible even though Joe’s songs are great. At the very least, it should’ve been interesting, but it wasn’t. Today we’re going back and re-amping the signals. Not adding anything, but getting a clean mix. The record should be out in late spring (2020). And “Jungle Book” is on there. It’s also on the new Trotsky Icepick record that is called I Haunted Myself (2019).

Ryan: Listening to you describe the Look Again situation, I’m able to put the pieces together. At least locally, The Last were really popular around the time of L.A. Explosion!

Vitus: The Look Again debacle killed it.

Ryan: You guys even had a billboard on the Sunset Strip, right?

Vitus: Yep.    

Ryan: That’s a real shame.

Vitus: All of that is fine. We got to play some great shows and events. There were wonderful experiences. And we never got dragged on the road and stiffed by some bar owner in Arkansas.  

           We played a Gronk and Jerry Dreva art exhibit Downtown with The Screamers and The Bags in an art gallery. What an experience. Ray Manzarek autographed my keyboard. David Bowie was in the audience, wanting to produce The Screamers. There was a whole energy to that night. It was better than having a number-one record.

[theswiftarmy]

#17 – We Go Live In Five Hours!

Scene 17: The Microsoft Theater at L.A. Live - Downtown Los Angeles - Daytime, Interior – Twelve O’clock Noon exact on Sunday November Twenty-Fourth, Twenty-Nineteen.

FINAL DRESS REHERSAL FOR THE AMERICAN MUSIC AWARDS

TAYLOR SWIFT, POINT OF VIEW: Watches as the show director for the American Music Awards, Jeffery, tells the show’s stars sitting in audience seats that they must run the entire show from the top as a full dress rehearsal, again.

CHANGE CAMERA SHOT, we ZOOM in on Taylor Swift, slowly, panning from a full shot of the stage.

WRITER: Oh yeah, this is good stuff.  I really should start writing this as a screenplay from here on out, so that way after Taylor Swift finds it and reads it, and then sends it over to her friends that made that “Cats” movie—and I am in turn contacted by Taylor herself along with a big time studio in Hollywood to get this masterpiece made into a movie, the screenplay will already be ready!  And THEN I can be all like, hey Steven Spielberg, you want in on this? And he’ll be all like… “Cut it, print it, ship it, sell it, baby!”  Or whatever snazzy jazzy lingo it is they use out in Hollywood—

EDITOR: Uh, I hate to break it to you, but this is never going to be a movie.  Can we talk about this?  First off, you’re never going to get all these people to agree to be IN a movie together in real life, what with the bad blood and all.  Plus, you do know that’s just not how it works… The process of getting a movie made is so much more complicated than posting awkwardly written fan fiction online for your idol to stumble upon it and fawn all over your wordplay—

WRITER: Just trample on my dreams why don’t you?

EDITOR: I’m just telling it like it is!  Dude, I’m not trying to let you down… But that’s not at all how Hollywood works!  Plus, I doubt Taylor is ever going to even see this story, she’s REALLY busy these days and you tend to ramble on and on in some sections, you should definitely be a little more concise instead of meandering around making your point, but keep dreaming…   Keep telling yourself: “Oh, look, Taylor Swift is going to find some random Tumblr novel about her and sit there reading the ENTIRE thing post by post completely captivated by your every word…”  Because THAT’s realistic!  Let me let you in on a little secret though, I don’t know how I feel about Taylor, I mean, have you read some of the stuff online about her?  The gossip against her…  Maybe you’re better off not capturing her attention… She could bad news my friend.

WRITER: Why don’t you go edit something?

EDITOR: Oh, yeah, because that’s a come back.  Why don’t you go right something?

WRITER: AH-HA!  See… And you call yourself an editor… don’t you mean WRITE something!?

EDITOR: No.  I mean what I said, ‘right’ something—right a ship that’s sinking fast—right something that’s going wrong…. Like this story, that’s going nowhere fast.

PRODUCER: Ohhhhhh… Sick burn!  Sick.  Burn.

WRITER:  Just leave me alone and stop crushing my dreams.  I know it’s never going to be a movie, I know Taylor is never going to read it—you don’t think I know that?  I know that… Just let me at least dream while I write this scene and stop being so mean.

EDITOR: Look at you, Mr. Poetic.  Alright… I’m gonna go play some Xbox, call me when you’re done.  Come on producer, I’ll let you pick the game.  We’ll leave the writer to his “dreams”.

EDITOR AND PRODUCER EXIT STAGE LEFT, THEY LAUGH AS THEY SLAM THE DOOR SHUT, WRITER STARES OUT WINDOW WATCHING SNOW FALL, SAPPY MUSIC PLAYS.  ZOOM IN ON WRITER FOR SHORT MONOLOGUE.

WRITER: If only I could make the Editor understand.  I just don’t see things the way he does.  I don’t see how a girl that makes such wonderful things, could be bad.  Look at this story!  Isn’t it neat?  Wouldn’t you think it’s cool and complete?  About a girl, a girl who has… Everything.  A trove, of treasures untold!  How many wonders can her song catalogue hold… Looking at her, well you’d think, sure, she’s got everything! She’s got catchy songs a plenty!  She’s got singles and albums galore.  You want music videos?  SHE’S GOT TWENTY!  But who cares, no big deal, she wants more.  I want to be where Taylor’s people are… I want to sing and be there dancing!  Hanging out with all her, what do you call them?  Oh, Swifties.  Being a fan of hers is cool and all but I want to do more than just jumping and dancing.  I want the cameras rolling along with a catchy musical… What’s that word again?  Oh yeah, beat… Up where they talk, up where it’s fun, up where they sing all day in the sun… Swiftie and free… Wish I could be, part of that world.  What would I give, if I could make movies with Taylor… What would I pay, to spend a day part of Taylor Swift’s band … Bet you she’s grand and understands and doesn’t reprimand someone’s daughters.  Bright young women, Swiftie women, taking a stand!    And I’m ready to join with her, ready to go!  Ask her a question, and get some answers… What’s her favorite cover song and how long did it take her to, what’s the word… Learn?  When’s it my turn, to make a movie about love, a lover for sure, she is she’s a lover in love… As everyone can see…  Sigh.  Wish I could be, part of that world… Maybe they’re right.  Maybe it’s silly to dream.  But what if Taylor never dared to follow her own dreams!  If she never picked up a guitar or played a single note on the piano.  What if she never tried at all, how many Swifties would be Swiftieless!  How many lives has she positively impacted with her music, with her kind words, with her retweets and reblogs on Tumblr, with her fan photo hearts, her genuine heart… and all her creative works of art…

WRITER SIGHS.  Writer continues tay-ping into the night on the computer keyboard…

“Everyone!  We’re going to do it again.  Because, right now?  I can’t.  I just can’t… I can’t even handle it. I can’t even look at it, I can’t even think about it, I can’t even say I can’t about it…”

“Calm down Jeff.  Okay?  Just breathe.  We’re gonna get it right.”

“Carol… It’s just… Everything is mess.  We go live at eight!  EIGHT!  They’re acting like it’s still tech week!  WE GO LIVE AT EIGHT!!!  And that’s New York time, which means we go live at FIVE here in L.A.”

“It’s okay.  You’re stressing yourself too much.”  Carol King stood on the stage with the director of the American Music Awards, Jeffery, attempting to reassure him.  A stage manager also stood nearby for backup should Carol’s efforts go in vain.

“Those two crack me up.”  Selena sat in the audience seat to the left of Taylor.

“Well, it does need to be perfect, Selena.”  Taylor reminded her.

“Speak for yourselves, I’m already perfect, did you see me during Tik Tok… NAILED IT.  And my new song… Oh HELL to the yeah.”  Kesha kicked her feet up and put them on an empty seat just to the left of Selena.

“Watch it!” Selena said turning her head slightly.  “I just had my hair done!”

Kesha wiggled her barefoot toes close to Selena Gomez, just inches from the new hair-doo, egging her on, Selena made a grossed out face shifting over in her seat closer to Taylor.  Kesha sat up. “WAIT!  You guys, I just had an idea!!!  I should make a TikTok video, during Tik Tok!”  Kesha impulsively yelled her idea immediately up to the stage, “JEFFY!  Can I record a TikTok while I perform Tik Tok during my set?!”

“NO KESHA!”  He shouted back from the stage.

“Way to ruin my dreams.”  She said sulking back into her seat.  “It’s my creative expression, I should be able to do whatever I want.”  Kesha made a pouty face.  She went back to trying to pretend to touch Selena’s hair with her toes.

“Taylor, I know it needs to be perfect, but he’s stressing out so much.  KESHA!  Stop, that’s soo gross.”  She turned around and stuck her tongue out at Kesha.  Kesha laughed then let up and moved her feet away.  “Ugh…  Poor guy.  He practically runs this whole thing.” Selena sighed. “I mean yes, there’s a ton of other people behind the scenes, but it all falls on his shoulders.”

“EVERYONE!!! WE GO LIVE IN…” He looked at his watch, “FIVE hours.  It’s NOON!  The show starts at EIGHT Eastern Standard Time, which means we pull the curtain at FIVE O’CLOCK PACIFIC TIME!”

“We know Jeffery.  Just chill out man.  Jeffy you’re gonna get your pants in a Jeffy jiffy twisty.”  Ozzy yelled in his Ozzy Osbourne voice from his seat as he turned and high fived Post Malone.

“Right on.”  Post laughed, and then sipped his beer.  “Just take it as it comes and carry on.”  He toasted to the stage with his bottle of beer and then clinked glasses with Ozzy.

“Post!  It’s only noon.  How are you already drinking?”  Lizzo said looking over two seats.  “Also, did they open the bar yet or what?  This girl gotta get her drink on too.”

“Nah, B-Y-O-B, they won’t serve until after the red carpet…  You want one?”  He opened a cooler with a six-pack of beer.

“Ummm, I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself.”  He reached in and cracked open two more handing one to Ozzy.

“Ozzy!  It’s only noon!” Sharon said slapping Ozzy on the hand.

“Sharon… Chill out…  It’s non-alcoholic.”

“Oh, well in that case, give me one.”

“Sure thing Sharon…” Post Malone smiled and cracked open another beer handing it to Sharon Osbourne.  He pulled out a bag of Trader Joe’s chips and passed the bag around for everyone to take a handful.  Life is funny like that, one day you’re eating chips on your own solo, the whole bag to yourself—maybe with some dip, or salsa, or guacamole even, and maybe not—then suddenly the next thing you know, it’s a Post Malone party, you’re sharing the bag of chips together with Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne, and Lizzo.

Taylor turned back from Taylurking the conversation happening several seats away from her between Post Malone, Lizzo, Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne.  Just wait until you try my Fizzy Lifting Lover drinks she thought to herself.  

“At least Scooter won’t be here.”  Sara said to Taylor in a low voice, leaning over in her seat.

“I know.  But, I kind of wanted to roast him in front of everyone, watch him squirm a little.  That would have been sooooo amazing!”

“Taylor, no.  We talked about this.  You need to wait until the time is right.  We need to…” She quieted down and looked around.  “Well you know.”

“Sara, I know.  Okay?”  Taylor whispered back.

“Hey Taaaaaay…” Shawn Mendes walked by Taylor and smiled over his shoulder.

Taylor awkwardly covered her mouth, hiding a smile waiting for it to subside, when it finally did, she waved back.

“What was that?”  Sara asked noticing Taylor blushing ever so slightly.

“What was what?”

“Umm, between you and Shawn.”  Sara pointed over at Shawn now standing beside Camila Cabello.

“Nothing.  What?”

“Taylor—Is there something between the two of you?  Because if there is, as your attorney, I NEED TO KNOW!  YOU NEED TO TELL ME EVERYTHING!”  Sara raised her voice—she was almost shouting.  Billie Eilish looked up from her phone raising an eyebrow in Taylor and Sara’s direction, then turned her attention back to her phone.

“Whoa, Sara…” Taylor lowered her head sinking into her seat, ��You’re making scene.”

“Sorry, I… I don’t know what came over me.”  Sara’s voice returned to her normal calm and collected tone.

“It’s okay… It’s… It’s alright.”  Taylor pushed her self slightly away from Sara in the seat; she’d never seen Sara act like that before.  Almost like Sara was a different person for just a moment.  Taylor reached down to check on the masters case and make sure it was still seated next to her, unable to make contact she looked down and noticed Sara had pulled it closer—Taylor pulled it back.

“I just need to know things, okay?”  Sara said to Taylor, making direct eye contact.  Taylor looked back up at Sara.  “To… protect you.  That’s all.  And to advise you properly…. I care about you okay?  I’m not just your lawyer, I’m a loyal Swiftie, and I’m your biggest fan.”

Taylor’s eyes drifted away from Sara and back to Shawn again.  “Riiiiight.  Okay Sara, yeah, sounds good.” She said distracted, ogling Shawn Mendes.  She felt that same dang crooked smile forming on her face.  What was that?  Why could she not help but smile every time she looked at him, SHE almost felt like a different person—She needed a distraction.  Taylor pulled out her phone and texted Joe.

Hey you…  Just wanted to say I was thinking of you!  Inset 50 heart emojis.

She clicked send.

There was a sudden commotion from one of the entranceways to the theater, “Billy Porter is in the house!”  Someone yelled.

“Oh my God Billy is here!  Sara, hold my phone.”  Taylor got up from her seat and ran over to hug him.

Sara looked at the phone in her hand; the screen was unlocked… She began to tap through a few of Taylor’s apps, her social media accounts folder named ‘My Loves’, which included the Tumblr app, Twitter, Instagram, and various other ways to connect with Taylor’s fan base, her Swifties—The pulse of the Swifties’ synchronized heartbeats in one tiny little device, she felt a wave of power rush over her, one Tumblr post, one Tweet, an Instagram photo, all of it connected to millions of Swifties, around the world, an army ready to act on Taylor’s behalf at moment’s notice.

As Taylor returned to her seat, Sara placed the phone back on her lap pretending to have never looked at it, she handed the phone back to Taylor with a reassuring smile.

“HELLO!!!  ARE WE GOING TO DO A SHOW OR NOT?  You still have to go home, freshen up, red carpet, photos, AND WE HAVE NOT EVEN STARTED THE DRESS REHERSAL… Am I the only one who cares about this?”

“Jeff, they care, okay?  It’s just that we’ve run through it 73 times.  The show is already good.”

“Good is no good, you should know that CAROL!”

Carol rolled her eyes.

“Okay everyone, everyone, let’s take it from top!  Places… PLACES!!!!”  He paused.  “Oh, Taylor, I have a note here that you had a change request to add a backing track during your performance of Lover?”

“Yes, that’s right.”  She yelled back to the stage gleefully.

“Okay, well, make sure you get that track to the sound team as soon as we finish rehearsal!”

“Oh, I will.”  Taylor’s eyes flashed Teen Wolf RED for the second time today.

@taylorswift

[patternsintraffic]

My 100 Favorite Albums of the 2000s: #100-#91

Hi all. As you can tell from the title of this blog post, I am about to take you off on quite a tangent. Music is in the works (both the completion of Lights & Reflections and the first full-length Harsh Lights album), but currently I find myself sitting up into the early morning hours with a newborn while my wife tries to get some uninterrupted sleep. So I am taking the opportunity to finally post this ridiculously long-winded writing project that I embarked on last year. The actual list-making and blurb-penning has been done for many months now, but I never took the time to format and post it. So here I am with some free time, getting around to finishing this undertaking!

As you may have seen, I decided to join in the fun at the turn of the decade and make a list of my favorite albums from 2010-2019. I wrote about my top 20 albums of the decade, and had a blast revisiting those records and sharing a little bit about why they are special to me. However, the most surprising part of the process for me was that choosing 20 albums to represent that ten-year period was...pretty easy? I started my career in late 2009, so the entire past decade I've been working full-time, pursuing my own music in my spare time, and more or less adulting. I've definitely listened to a ton of great albums, but it's hard to find music that truly excites you as an adult the way that it did in your formative years. The whole time I was crafting my list, I was thinking about how much more difficult (and rewarding) a task it would have been to compile a list for the previous decade, spanning 2000-2009.

So of course, not long after posting my 2010-2019 list I got to work compiling my favorite albums of the aughts. That 10-year period starts when I was 12 years old and wraps up as I was starting my post-college career. Pretty much my entire journey of musical discovery and growth occurred during those years. I had little in the way of responsibilities, and for most of the decade I ravenously consumed an absolutely enormous amount of music. Multiple hours worth on an average day. I was still buying physical CDs all throughout those years, so I really focused on each album I purchased, giving them many repeat listens and learning them intimately. And so much of what I heard was new and fresh to my ears. At 12 years old, there were so many sounds and styles of music that I had yet to encounter, and all of those first experiences and coming of age moments left lasting impressions.

Suffice to say, putting together a top 20 list of albums to represent that 10-year period was nearly impossible. I knew I would have to make a larger list to feel like I was doing justice to even a fraction of the albums that impacted me in that decade. What I eventually arrived upon after making an initial list of albums and then cutting it down quite a bit...was 100. Yes, I'm going to write about my favorite 100 albums from 2000-2009. And I'm going to have a damn good time doing it. Most of my favorite albums ever will be contained in this list, and most of them are wildly underappreciated, in my opinion. For the sake of keeping each post to a manageable length, I will be posting 10 albums at a time, starting with numbers 100-91 below. Walk with me down memory lane in countdown form, and I hope you can enjoy me waxing poetic about 100 albums that were staples of my young life. Let's get nostalgic.

100. Paris Texas - Like You Like an Arsonist (2004)

There are hundreds of albums that I could have picked to round out my list here in the final spot, but I wanted to shine a light on this poppy punk rock record from 2004. It doesn't do anything particularly groundbreaking, but it's a really fun take on the genre and it didn't get the recognition that it deserved. "Bombs Away" and the title track are absolute barnburners. What a shame that the band broke up shortly after this album was released. I remember reading a review of Like You Like an Arsonist around the time of its release that criticized it for sounding like a collection of songs that could blend seamlessly into the soundtrack of a blockbuster action movie. Looking back, I agree with the reviewer's assessment, but I see it as high praise.

99. Greenwheel - Soma Holiday (2002)

In 2002, you could throw a shoe and hit a band that sounded much like Greenwheel, a radio-ready alternative rock outfit with some heavy riffs and a throaty lead singer. But these guys stood above many of their contemporaries on Soma Holiday, their only major label release. (Their independent EP Bridges for Burning and never-released second full-length Electric Blanket both hinted at a sustainable career that didn't come to fruition.) This album had enough muscle for the rock kids ("Shelter" and "Strong") and enough sweetness for the emo kids ("Dim Halo" and "Breathe," which was later recorded and popularized by Melissa Etheridge). What could have been.

98. Sleeping at Last - Ghosts (2003)

It's been almost 10 years since Sleeping at Last became a solo project for Ryan O'Neal, releasing themed singles that make up overarching concept albums and EPs. Though the output from the current incarnation of the band is beautiful and soothing, the minimalist and orchestral style is a far cry from Ghosts, Sleeping at Last's one major label album. At the time they were a three-piece featuring guitars, bass, and drums alongside O'Neal's piano and distinct vocals. Ghosts features an uncommon blend of cinematic, ethereal, and earnest indie rock that just seemed to go deeper than its peers in 2003.

97. Taking Back Sunday - Where You Want to Be (2004)

I've never been a huge fan of Taking Back Sunday, though of course I rocked the singles from Tell All Your Friends like any self-respecting high-schooler in 2002. It was the follow-up, 2004's Where You Want to Be, that really got its claws in me after I picked it up on release week. With a killer opening trio of "Set Phasers to Stun," "Bonus Mosh Pt. II," and "A Decade Under the Influence" giving way to ballads like "New American Classic" and "...Slowdance on the Inside," this is just a great rock record.

96. Sherwood - A Different Light (2007)

A Different Light is a bright, summery, buoyant pop album full of smooth vocal harmonies, glistening guitars, and shimmering synths. Sure, the lyrical content isn't all rainbows and butterflies, but if you could capture the sound of pure positivity and optimism, it would sound a lot like this record. Between the singalong melodies, handclaps, and "whoa-oh"s, if you don't have a good time listening to A Different Light then music might not be the right medium for you.

95. Young Love - Too Young to Fight It (2007)

I'm fairly certain that Young Love, the dance-rock side project of beloved post-hardcore band Recover's frontman Dan Keyes, was not at all well-received. But for someone with no preconceived notions or attachments to Keyes' previous work, I thought this album was a hell of a lot of fun. In a world where Young Love made a mainstream impact, alternate-universe Kyle can be seen storming the dancefloor to the title track or "Discotech." Too Young to Fight It also gives us the smooth R&B of "Tell Me," the indie rock of "Take It or Leave It," and the experimental and apocalyptic "Tragedy." This is so much more than a dance album, and if it hadn't been released by a musician with strong ties to the hardcore scene it would have had a fighting chance of being recognized as such.

94. Vendetta Red - Sisters of the Red Death (2005)

Vendetta Red frontman Zach Davidson has one of the most dynamic hard rock voices I've ever heard, and Sisters of the Red Death is one of the catchiest rock records I've ever heard. Despite those facts, I have a complicated relationship with this album because of its often-horrifying lyrical content, which details acts of sexual violence and gore. That's usually a dealbreaker for me, but I won't completely write off this record since it is a concept album set in a post-apocalyptic fantasy world. Apparently female empowerment is at the core of the message, so it's not like Vendetta Red are condoning the acts that they're singing about. It's still a bit unnerving when you get the urge to sing along to one of the plethora of earworm melodies throughout this album and then realize exactly what you're singing. While I may not have the stomach for Sisters of the Red Death in 2021, I can still wholeheartedly recommend "Silhouette Serenade," which contains all of the awesomeness with none of the gross-out lyrics.

93. Ours - Distorted Lullabies (2001)

Now 20 years into his career, Ours frontman Jimmy Gnecco is surely tired of being compared to Jeff Buckley. But damn, he really does sound like Jeff Buckley. And when you're being compared to one of the all-time great voices in rock music, that's not such a bad thing. Distorted Lullabies is the first proper Ours album, and it's filled with melodic rock songs that highlight Gnecco's incredible range. As the saying goes, I could listen to Gnecco sing the phonebook (those were still around in 2001!), but put his powerful and emotive voice on dynamic rock songs like "Sometimes" and "Meet Me in the Tower"? Yes, please.

92. Armor for Sleep - What to Do When You Are Dead (2005)

This here is an emo concept album about a boy who commits suicide and his experience in the afterlife. Despite the overwrought subject matter, the songs on What to Do When You Are Dead are carefully crafted and interesting. "Car Underwater" is a scene classic, and my favorite track might be the keyboard-centric interlude "A Quick Little Flight." Armor for Sleep seemed a bit more thoughtful in their songwriting and arrangements than many of their contemporaries.

91. Cauterize - Paper Wings (2005)

The single "Something Beautiful" led me to Cauterize's 2003 major label debut So Far from Real, but upon purchasing the album I found that the rest of the tracks didn't live up to that song's high bar. Not so with the independently-released follow-up Paper Wings, which was just full of emo rock songs that I absolutely devoured in 2005. This was actually the first album that I had to order online because it wasn't sold in stores. I remember the surreal feeling of the CD showing up in the mailbox, and that first experience attached some additional meaning to Paper Wings. It doesn't hurt that it features propulsive songs like "Wake to the Sun," "Closer," and "Tremble." Cauterize later signed to another label and re-recorded most of these songs for Disguises, which rejiggered the tracklist and added a few new tunes. Even though the production might be a little better on Disguises, I always preferred the Paper Wings versions and the flow of the original tracklist. There's nothing like the first time.

[mfmagazine]

Post Harbor

Article by SE Haas

Photo by Brian Gemmet

Don’t be fooled by Post Harbor’s maritime moniker, this Seattle quartet embraces a solid rock foundation. Set to release their first full-length album this spring, the band has performed its sumptuous sets throughout the Northwest, developing a loyal all-ages fan base. Forming more than two years ago and taking their name from a line in a poem (“The Song of The Merchant Kalashnikov”) by 19th-century Russian author Mikhail Lermontov, Post Harbor is comprised of 20-somethings Anthony Carlucci on vocals and guitar, Brandon Bogan on guitar, keyboard and bow, Kenny Ball on bass guitar, and Aaron Gustafson on drums. With their surging lyrics, complex rhythms and angular structures that possess a haunting, geometric beat, it would be simple to define their compositions simply as “math rock.” But with their raw, discerning sounds that blend multiple rock genres that would be too easy. And nothing worthwhile is ever easy. I was fortunate enough to meet up with Carlucci and Gustafson to get their take on today’s music scene, the details of their new album, and why awkwardness can be a great thing. What is Post Harbor’s guiding musical philosophy? Anthony Carlucci: I think our approach is to create an adequate representation of our individual tastes comprised as a whole. I think that’s the whole idea of being in a band and collaborating with other individuals. You form this synergy that grows on itself and you end up with something totally different than what you might have envisioned in the first place on an individual basis. Aaron Gustafson: We have always strived on awkwardness. And I take this also and use it in my personal life. I think that the more awkward the situation that you can get into, the more challenge you’re going to face and the more you’ll grow. So with music, it could be playing really well or playing really badly, but being uncomfortable, to a certain extent, is very good for personal growth and band growth. Tell me about your first full-length album. AC: It’s an interesting group of songs that we’ve sewn together. This is stripped down to our favorite stuff that we’ve been able to come up with over the past few years. AG: There was a debate over whether we should have done this six months ago or that maybe we should do this six months from now, but there’s a point where you have to decide, and we’re at a place where we feel comfortable enough with our music to put in down on paper … [laughing] plastic. AC: I’m excited about this album because we haven’t been under and time constraints or pressures. We’ve had years to be able to put these songs together and get them exactly how we want them to sound. What is the sound going to be like, especially in relation to your live stuff, because most people know you strictly from that? AC: I think one of the beauties of the recording process is that you get to do some things that you might not be able to do live. We’ve taken the time to add some instrumentation that might not have been there, and really embellish as much as possible on certain aspects that, ideally if we had the resources and the manpower, we’d be able to have already thrown together . AG: Vocals will be a little bit more produced and filled out. We’re adding some vibraphone and some cello; it’s not going to be barebones. AC: I think that’s going to be one interesting take for people who have seen us live, but who haven’t necessarily heard anything we’ve recorded in the past. It’s going to be a new experience. What was your personal inspiration for this album? AC: I think the main inspiration behind this album came from the third season of "Smallville" [laughs]. I suppose it would have to be the music that has meant such a great deal to me over the course of my life and my past that’s inspired me to play music in the first place. AG: Also, for me, it’s the goal. That idea that we’re going to record, so I want these to be the best they can be, and put together something that feels good as a whole for everybody. As an up-and-coming band, what do you think is the best way to get your music out there? And as music fans, what’s the best way to find music? AG: Well, right now it's MySpace, to be honest. AC: I think it’s not just MySpace, but the Internet. The medium as a whole is probably the greatest thing for small bands to ever come around. AG: But also independent radio stations that broadcast via the Web because they spread small bands across the world—like KEXP in Seattle, for instance. You can log on in the UK or Iceland or wherever and listen to music that’s coming out of this area, but also everywhere else around the world. Independent radio stations like that are important. In terms of your lives shows, do you have any preshow rituals or preparations? AG: I usually hide out a little bit, on my own. I feel like it can be distracting to watch the music that comes right before your own set. It’s a nice time to sort of get away from it all and focus. Other times I sit and watch the bands, but a lot of times I’m sort of on my own. AC: I just quit smoking a few days ago, so I don’t know what my preshow ritual is going to be like now, but as far as the past is concerned, I would usually find the back alley near wherever I’m at and just chain smoke right before. AG: Brandon and Kenny have a few rituals, too, that we don’t like to talk about [laughing]. AC: Yeah, [deadpans] we’ll just leave it at that. What do you think the biggest learning curve has been for the band? AC: Probably the biggest obstacle we’ve had has been trying to work together as a team. Being four pretty headstrong guys, it’s kind of tough to find compromise on some issues, but its all part of the whole deal. You’ve got to learn to work together to get through. Everyone one wants to have their way all the time, but it’s through compromise and teamwork that you get the best results. That’s probably been our biggest issue to date. AG: The easiest rehearsals are when we’re practicing already-written material. The hardest ones are when we’re writing new material because there are huge debates about what should or should not be done or used. What’s been the best thing for you guys that have come out of being in a band? AG: Sacrifice. Seeing your hard work come to fruition. I don’t think any of us are egomaniacs and do it because we want to see people jumping up and down and cheering. We do it because the music itself makes us happy and there’s something about the bond that comes out of mutual creation. AC: Promiscuous sex and inexpensive drugs [laughs]. What’s a non-Post Harbor song you wish you could have helped create? AG: "Egypt" by The Mercury Program. AC: I’d have to say “Steps and Numbers” by The Appleseed Cast. What’s the first piece of music you listened to this morning? AG: I listened to Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” on tape cassette in my car on the way to work, courtesy of Anthony. He gave me the cassette. AC: I brought The Mercury Program’s CD “A Data Learn the Language” in the truck with me this morning. What kind of music did you listen to growing up? AG: My mom had four tape cassettes on rotation: Def Leppard’s “Hysteria,” Genesis’ “Invisible Touch,” Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” and Milli Vanilli. Those were the four albums that influenced me greatly in my childhood. AC: I actually listened to a lot of [R&B and hip-hop] in middle school. And then one day I was in my cousin Ryan’s house and I heard “H” [from “Aenima” by Tool] come on and I listened to that song in its entirety and I never went back. I was sold on rock, heavy metal, the whole deal, the whole way. What is the first CD you remember buying? AC: It was that “Aenima” album from Tool. It’s still in my top-five albums of all time. AG: I can’t remember which was first. It was either Nirvana, “Nevermind,” or Weird Al Yankovic’s [parody album of “Nevermind”] “Off the Deep End.” They both had a major influence on me. AC: I love that Weird Al is your inspiration. AG: It’s true [laughing]. What got you interested in the instruments you play? AG: Ringo Starr. Originally, that’s what brought me to the drums. That, and I liked the idea of being able to sit down when I was playing music. [laughs] AC: I’ve been singing since I was a little kid. My mother was a singer. She sang around town, different clubs and stuff and I would always go out and watch her. I always knew that that would probably be a part of my life. I started playing guitar around 16, I believe, when I saw Jeff Buckley on TV. I saw him play, and it just blew me away, the things you could do and the emotion that came through. I knew that that was something that I wanted to do, too. What’s your most memorable performance and why? AC: I think the most memorable performance I’ve had is probably the worst performance I think we’ve ever done, too. It was beautiful. We were playing a midweek late show, so of course there’s only two or three people there. We started playing and somehow Brandon’s amplifier began picking up this radio station from Lord knows where. It sounded similar to NPR, but in Russian. And it started going off for seriously 10 minutes and it started to overpower the music. AG: It was like the Air-force base scene in “Spinal Tap” [which, coincidently, takes place in Seattle]. AC: It was God-awful. I remember looking up and seeing the bartender just laughing at us. So that is certainly one of my fondest concert moments. AG: I think for me it was the first show I played with Post Harbor. It was at this little dive in Olympia. The stage was ground level so everybody was standing up around us. The group that opened for us was just this guy and his illegitimate child [laughs], and they had these crazy instruments and were yelling and stuff. But it was great. I was awkward and that’s part of why I liked it, but also because it felt really good. It was our first show together and it was tiny and tight and smoky—not that I like smoke—but it was cool, memorable. AC: Yeah, it’s always fun when you fit that many people into such a small little space. You just get sweaty and dirty and it’s great. AG: I would rather play for 20 people in a closet than 1,000 people in a stadium because the more full a place is, the more fun it is. It’s more intimate that way, too. So what’s next for you guys? AC: Well, I suppose the priority right now is total and utter world domination, ruling the nations with an iron fist of “rockhoodinisticness,” [laughing]. Making supplicants of any and all record executives audacious enough to deny our unparalleled artistry, building a mouse army to do our bidding, and, finally, resurrecting Barry White so he, in turn, can sing my praises while I drift off to a guiltless sleep.