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moratoirenoir · 1 year

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#rogue #rogue perfumery #chypre-siam #manuel cross #quentin crisp #the naked civil servant #jack gold #an englishman in new york #richard laxton #partners #james burrows

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stevenvenn · 2 years

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Godley & Creme - An Englishman in New York (from Freeze Frame) Was making some new wave and late 70s weird songs playlists for a summer holiday and thought of this great bizarre music video of “An Englishman in New York” by Godley & Creme. They were some of the first to direct music videos for other artists for MTV and for the UK. Scary and weird AF! Ha ha. Also remembered their bizarre food “rap” song “Snack Attack” from 1981. So weird.

#godley & creme #an englishman in new york #freeze frame #kevin godley #lol creme #manchester #uk #polydor records #1979 #70s #80s #early music videos #pop rock #new wave #music

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wright-ethan · 3 months

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C'était donc vrai.

Vous mettez vraiment votre drapeau partout.

#starter #ooc: il est pas encore habitué à tout #c'est un englishman in new york

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justforbooks · 5 months

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One of the best songs ever written. Elegance, style, jazz, saxophone, lyrics, black and white video. I always ask myself how is it possible to make a song with sophisticated melody like this, when there is a melody inside other melodies and in the end we have a masterpiece. Sting has a total musical taste, his songs are the best, Fields of gold, Seven days, When we dance, It’s probably me, Shape of my heart, They dance alone, Roxanne. And of course there are so much more. We can count and count. I love him, his music stays with me during all my life.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #sting #englishman in new york

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ani4detal · 11 months

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Mark Ovens. Doesn’t everybody?

#mark ovens #an englishman not in new york

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figureskatingcostumes · 3 months

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Deniss Vasiljevs skating to Englishman in New York for his short program at the 2023 Europeans and 2022 MK John Wilson Trophy.

(Sources: 1, 2, 3 and 4)

#Deniss Vasiljevs #Latvia #Figure skating #Sting #Englishman in New York #2022–2023 #2023 Europeans #2022 MK John Wilson Trophy #Men

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denissvasiljevs1999 · 1 year

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Deniss Vasiljevs – 2023 World Figure Skating Championships SP

"Englishman in New York" by Sting

#deniss vasiljevs #figure skating #2023 world championships #worlds 2023 #sting #englishman in new york #sport

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alliseaisfandom · 1 month

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"Englishman in new York" is a Stolas song. No I will not take criticism.

#Yes I did just finish the show. Yes I already have my hot takes.#stolas goetia #helluva boss #stolas #stolas helluva boss #englishman in new york #sting #hellverse #Excerpts of a playlist I will never make #Spotify

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isophaie · 1 year

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pov: Richard brings coffee for the breakfasts and Thomas become outraged and dramatic when Richard offers him a cup of coffee and starts to sing "Englishman in NY" by Sting

'I don't drink coffee, I take tea, my dear

I like my toast done on one side"

#thomas+barrow+x+richard+ellis #barris #thomas barrow #sing #englishman in new york #STING #drink tea #richard ellis #downton abbey #thomas barrow x richard ellis #i love them

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tarnishedhalo · 1 year

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The celebration of this year’s April 4th – his American’s birthday – was months, months in the planning. It was to be the first Ron could spend in his company, what with his move to New York last winter, and so to mark that fact, and to welcome in the next year of the good man’s life propah, thinking caps were put on early. Ears were opened. And a number Ron hadn’t dialled since oh, before moving over State-side, was rung. Had he sprung this notion of his on the fella he’d dialled last minute he’d have shot him down. Man was busy, had engagements, studio-time, plans for tours and all sorts, but he remembered the cockney drawl at the end of the phone fondly from a couple’a years ago tenue in London’s club scene, so testing the acoustics at Ron’s new Venture? It was hardly an ask in the first place, but was even less of one after mention of a musically talented jam-buddy-come-fan was made.

Diaries were marked, the 4th came round, and The Venture’s doors were quietly closed to the public from lunchtime ‘til the late evening to give Ron’s guest a chance to settle in and get his sound on, and to give Ron an ample window in which to steal Riley away from the day’s earlier-hours festivities and make introductions. Ron hated fibbing, but he consoled himself - as he spun a little tale about closing up shop early so Riley could have a jam session in the pub’s newly minted live performance space – with the knowledge that he was in fact telling half-truths. He had closed up for that very reason. It’s just that Riley, his favourite guitar in hand as they moved from car to premises, wouldn’t be jamming alone.

Soon as they neared the doors, there was music on the air. Chords were being tested and, if you listened close, a bluesy drawl that Ron would describe, if asked, as whiskey’s voice singing was crooning away at intervals. Key to lock, Ron fought the adrenaline bubbling up at the prospect of his gift coming clear like a Spartan ‘til a glance round at Riley kicked that straight out the park. With a grin that was all teeth and open lips and crinkling skin by his eyes, he took opening that door slow-time and began to speak.

“—Y’remembah I told yah I knew artists in club land, Lahndan, righ?”

The heavy door eased open, both men slipping in through a cloud of that whiskey-blues-sound. Ron turned and locked up quickly, then drew Riley through the entryway and onto floors of tile and hardwood. The live performance area – a slightly raised stage with room for a chair or stool as the artist preferred, their instruments and a microphone – lived off to their right; the bar and other seating spread out before them and left. An arm round his mate’s back, Ron went on.

“—Made friends ‘ov a few ‘ov ‘em – acquaintances’a more, ‘n since I ‘eard yah mention a name I knew as a faverit’a yours I—” Glee made a breath catch in his throat. Ron swallowed showing it back, but everything in him sang with the want to move. He contented himself to gesturing towards the familiar face populating his Venture’s stage. The man looked up from plucking Heaven on his guitar strings, flashed the pair a smile, laughed a—

“Finally!”

-- to which Ron rasp-laughed back.

“Sorry t’keep yah, Joe” he greeted, bowing his head by way of the handshake he’d have given him if he had even the vaguest inclination to leave Riley’s side. To his friend then he said, “I f’ort y’might fancy keepin’ Mistah Bonamassa comp’ny f’a bit.” The arm round Riley’s back gave a little squeeze as Ron smiled up at him. It was a wonky thing, like the real ones always were. A wink flickered by as the expression eased into a warm, obvious kind of fondness. “Bar’s open f’yah if y’want anyfin’, yeah?” Softer then, and with feeling he enthused–

“--‘Appy birfday.”

Never fails, no matter how long he's been up the night before either at work or enjoying not being on his beat, he finds himself awake at half past four in the morning. He'd specifically taken the week off to celebrate another year inching him closer to forty. And yet despite his bed being comfortable, being warm enough not to set off the nerves of his phantom limb, and the window beyond the heavy curtains still being dark as fuck, the restlessness is already seeding itself through him. He should be up, running through his PT routine. He should be in the shower, washing off the last vestiges of sleep and the new coat of sweat. He should be in the kitchen making coffee then something healthy and protien heavy for breakfast, or at least something incredibly indulgent. He'd intentionally made no real plans, content to mourn a little more of his youth with a good bottle and maybe a handful of closest companions ~his brother and sister, of course, didn't really count as he sees them as extentions of himself~ and maybe a specifically catered dinner. He makes no effort to move, instead remains on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Neither sleeping nor fully awake, he listens to the morning progress. The traffic sounds coming up off the street, the so-called quiet shenanigans from his siblings who will swear they're trying their best to not wake him, and eventually he has to give up his ghosts when the door opens and they come bursting in. Coffee and breakfast on a tray, Beth singing the traditional birthday song, Billy singing a dirge. This checks out. At least the giant has good enough sense to jump onto the bed before Beth hands him the coffee and settles in on his other side. ~*~

Riley would never say it was grudging when Ron catches him off guard with the offer of something quiet as the night starts to cling to the city skyline. He should have realised there was something afoot when he left the apartment with his Gibson in its case, his siblings not uttering a word about his need for absence. That they'd been content with a 'call youse guys later", and out he went. Normally too, he would have balked at being picked up but he had no intentions of being a teetotaler tonight, and Sally was safer in the garage rather than on the street. Clearly, the sound system put in at the Venture was incredible, the live CD playing tripping its way across the pleasure centre of Riley's brain with its familiar and envy-inducing musicality. There were a great many musicians that inspired him with their art, names he could rattle off like his duty stations. A broad plethora of old and new that he judged his own skills by, and little hidden star-studded dreams that were for their weight just that. Private imaginings. When he passes his judgement on the speakers and stereo, the world lights up in Ron's face. That should have been clue number two. He remembers. Riley never really forgets anything, the curse of a photographic memory. He nods and grins, waiting to hear this story which feels so new its still shiny in the shorter man's mien, a feat unto itself. His eyes take a moment to adjust from the perpetual brilliance of the cityscape to the dimmer, honey-warm sort of lighting of the Venture's interior. The bar really is a gorgeous thing and with any luck, his friend will be as welcomed and rewarded by the city's adoration as he was back home in London, with the notable lack of his brother's anchor round his neck. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. As Frankie was famous for crooning. As Ron rushed through the tale though, everything started to trickle in. The stage set up was familiar too, he'd seen it before. Excitement all but poured off Ron the way it does Beth on Christmas morning and it partially carries him away on its tide but then… Then. Riley knows the voice, and he knows the song, and he knows the guitar. There is still the tiniest of disconnects as he freezes beside his friend, when all of everything comes crashing into him with the impact of a subway train. The arm around Ron's shoulders flexes, then tightens. His mouth parts, voice already so deep dropping an octave. "I. I uh. You're…you've gotta be fuckin' kidding me right now, Rawnie." It's in the half gravel drawl that Ron would find a universe of words that Riley is ever so eloquent with, and how they've all come to a halt just behind his teeth, unable to climb one over the other to come out. There is almost never an instant when Riley is stunned, and yet right in this moment, that's exactly what he is. A deathlock of a grip around his Brit's neck. The nearly imperceptible quiver than runs through all six feet plus of him. And as if proof of divine miracles still happening in the world, at the whispered congratulations, Andrew Riley blushes.