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thirstinmore-blog · 5 years

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Best Albums of 2018

BEST ALBUMS 2018

20. Noname: Room 25

19. Jeremih & Ty Dolla $ign: Mih-Ty

18. Tierra Whack: Whack World

17. Parks Burton: Pare

16. Oneohtrix Point Never: Age Of

15. Angelique Kidjo: Remain in Light

14. Shannon Shaw: Shannon in Nashville

13. Curren$y & Freddie Gibbs: Fetti

12. Ariana Grande: Sweetener

11. Vince Staples: FM!

10. DJ Koze: Knock Knock

9. Mariah Carey: Caution

8. Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel

7. The Carters: Everything is Love

6. Snail Mail: Lush

5. Shannon & the Clams: Onion

4. Teyana Taylor: K.T.S.E.

3. Kacey Musgraves: Golden Hour

2. Blood Orange: Negro Swan

1. Dirty Projectors: Lamp Lit Prose

(Spotify playlist)

(Capsule reviews of Top 10 below)

10. DJ Koze: Knock Knock. The music writing trope of “a sounds like b + c” is as lazy as it is played, but sometimes you hear a record and those type of comparisons spring to mind, like when I first heard Saint Pepsi’s Hit Vibes and instantly thought of J Dilla making a disco record. That was also my response to Knock Knock, which sounds like the Avalanches making a more patient update of Since I Left You for 2018 ears. The record is long and lush, and draws from roughly nine billion different aesthetics, but its particular mélange still manages to sound fresh. As with SILY, the album is best experienced as a complete piece of music (though several tracks, such as “Lord Knows” and “Scratch That” would sound great in a mix or DJ set). Knock Knock takes the listener through ambling pathways that wrap around and revisit each other, like an evening stroll through the spacious Joshua Tree National Park depicted on its cover. It’s nearly a two-hour journey, but it’s well worth the price of admission.

9. Mariah Carey: Caution. Mariah got a dirty mouth and I’m here for it. As mother, a twice-divorcée, a woman nearing 50, her work and her image are all her own; if she wants to include the word “fuck” in a bunch of songs on her new album (“GTFO,” “With You,” “The Distance”), then who the fuck are we to tell her no? It’s a refreshing twist from someone whose public persona is often so curated, but I’m burying the lede. The real story here is that Caution is a batch of excellent R&B songs from one of the genre’s all-time greats. It’s not overwrought – by contrast, the album’s sultry blue cover art is indicative of the moods within. The Ty Dolla $ign-featuring “The Distance” is laid extremely deep in the cut, assisted by some subtle production from Poo Bear, Lido and—holy shit, Skrillex? Yup, and like Mariah herself, everyone involved uses an even hand and measured patience to let each song breathe.

A personal highlight for me is “A No No,” which flips the Lil Kim/Lil Cease classic “Crush On You” on its head. Here, where Biggie intones “he’s a slut, he’s a hoe, he’s a freak/got a different girl every day of the week,” there is no irony intended. She gauges her suitors’ intent and responds simply: “that’s a no-no.” In fact, the word “no” accounts for easily half the song’s lyrics, but it’s still a blast on subsequent listens. But don’t get it twisted – highlights abound herein, from aforementioned singles “GTFO” and “The Distance” to the thoughtful, expansive, Dev Hynes-helmed “Giving Me Life,” which begins as a downtempo club hit and morphs into a surrealist dream. Mariah Carey is one of the artists who’s been in my life the longest – I’m so happy she’s still killing it.

8. Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel. Courtney Barnett is what I was raised to believe an indie rock star should be: an unassuming, smart slacker with regular clothes and the ability to unleash earthbound poetry and atmosphere-puncturing solos with equal aplomb. That effortless cool permeates every facet of her work, from her casual half-singing style to her loose but proficient playing, a mighty guitar god in the body of a humble 31-year-old. (That she recorded a collaborative record with renowned cool guy Kurt Vile should surprise no-one.) But what’s really striking about Barnett’s work is her wryly observant lyrics; whether she’s describing the banalities of urban life (“City Looks Pretty”) or eviscerating toxic masculinity (“Nameless, Faceless”), her keen eye and incisive wit pervade every line. Tell Me is the sound of a strong artist getting stronger.

7. The Carters: Everything is Love. I often say that as I get older, my favorite elements of songwriting are editing and restraint. That’s why I tend to hate double albums and love EPs. I just believe that most double albums would be better if distilled down to one really strong record. EPs, on the other hand, leave the listener wanting more. Such is the case with Everything is Love, which reads like a Beyonce trap record with a number of guest verses from Jay. Regardless of speculation on who did the lion’s share of the writing on the record, both are in top form. Bey’s signature vocal virtuosity is on display as ever, but the real delight is in her capable delivery as a rapper. She glides effortlessly through triplets like “Poppin, I’m poppin, my bitches are poppin, we go to the dealer and cop it all.” Big Sean could never. Meanwhile, Jay turns in a few of my favorite bars of the year (and also a very slick Drake diss) on “Boss:”

“You not a boss, you got a boss. N*ggas gettin’ jerked, that shit hurts, I take it personaly. N*ggas’d rather work for the man than to work for me. Just so they can pretend they on my level, that shit is irkin’ to me. Pride always goeth before the fall, almost certainly. It’s disturbing what I gross. Survey says: you not even close. Everybody’s bosses till the time to pay for the office, till them invoices separate the men from the boys. Over here we measure success by how many people successful next to you. Here, we say you broke if everybody is broke except for you. BAWSE.”

I don’t know if they intend to release more records as The Carters, but Everything is Love is a fun, successful experiment.

6. Snail Mail: Lush. There’s no reason for a debut LP to be this good. The record, from solo project-turnt-band of 19-year-old Lindsay Jordan is focused, clever, and sophisticated. Every component of these songs appears exactly as it should. Jordan’s songwriting is clean and incisive (“I hope whoever it is holds their breath around you/’cause I know I did,” she sings on album standout “Heat Wave”). The arrangements are smartly simple; seldom do they deviate from the four-person rock lineup, so the embellishments that are included (the French horn on “Deep Sea,” the layered keys on “Speaking Terms”) really leap out. The playing throughout is lovely, with Jordan’s beautiful guitar technique front and center (the finger-picking on “Let’s Find an Out” is a particular delight). Everything in its right place – only where Radiohead’s inward gaze can be mopey and self-indulgent, the core strength of Lush is its efficiency. There’s no filler here – just the exact amount of support that each piece requires. The drumming feels especially strong in this regard – there’s an economic directness in Ray Brown’s playing that prioritizes the backbeat over everything, including his ego. The fills that he does include are modest and workmanlike.

It’s right that the record would be released by Matador, because these songs are drenched in the influences of the 90s slacker rock of Yo La Tengo, Sonic Youth, Sleater-Kinney and Sebadoh. And as with each of those bands, Snail Mail’s songs are buoyed by excellent lyrics. Jordan doesn’t just sound wise beyond her years, she actually seems to have lived more in her 19 years than many folks twice her age. There’s a subtext of sobriety in some of the songs (“It just feels like the same party every weekend, doesn’t it?” on “Pristine,” or “I’m so tired of moving on/spending every weekend so far gone” on “Heat Wave”). Perhaps the self-reflection that’s required in recovery has helped to distill her worldview.

And look, I don’t mean to be patronizing here – this album would be a major achievement from any person of any age. But to hear an artistic vision this crystal clear and laser-focused from a 19-year-old is something truly special. I can’t wait to hear what she does next.

5. Shannon & the Clams: Onion. Upon first listen, Onion struck me as the best record the Clams have released to date. Now, admittedly, I’m a sucker for keyboards, and the inclusion of organist Will Sprott is pure Patrick-bait. But beyond my own tastes, the organ both fills out and anchors the Clams’ garage doo-wop sound. There’s a welcome succinctness to Onion: the songwriting is tight, the guitar playing is melodic and utilitarian, and the vocal performances from both Cody and Shannon are more technically refined than in any of their previous outings. One wonders if Shannon’s work on her own solo album (the very good, Dan Auerbach-produced Shannon in Nashville, which also came out this year) pushed her to improve her technique. And don’t get it fucked up – this is still a Clams record. It’s still shaggy and loud and rambunctious – but they’ve worked hard to reign in their wildest tendencies. Some might say that it’s layered, just like-- *an oversized cane hooks around my throat and drags me offstage* ….Well…..let’s just say it’s good.

4. Teyana Taylor: KTSE. Of all the seven-song mini-albums Kanye produced in Wyoming this year, KTSE is both the best and the least talked-about. She arrives seemingly out of the blue, a fully-formed artist who knows her strengths exactly. She has bars when she feels like spitting them, a beautiful husky alto when she feels like crooning, and a profound connection to multiple styles of club music that’s borne of her history as a dancer. It’s become a bit trendy to nod to vogue & ballroom culture in the last few years, but while Drake’s Big Freedia feature on “Nice for What” feels a little forced, Taylor can walk it like she talks it. A dancer by trade, her comfort in the ballroom is palpable.

Ye keeps it simple, remaining comfortably in his wheelhouse and flipping excellent soul samples such as Billy Stewart’s “I Do Love You” (which he repurposes into a nostalgic 4/4 slapper on “Hold On”) and The Stylistics’ “Because I Love You, Girl” (which he expands into a melancholy mediation on the horn section of the original). It’s a welcome return to form.

3. Kacey Musgraves: Golden Hour. In her SNL performance earlier this year, Kacey Musgraves appeared as a flat-ironed, longhair disco queen. As she slayed Golden Hour’s catchy lead single “High Horse,” I was reminded of Dolly Parton. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dolly’s mid-70s and early-80s catalogue this past year, having purchased vinyl copies of All I Can Do, New Harvest…First Gathering, and Dolly, Dolly, Dolly. Parton is one of those artists whose discographies are so gigantic as to seem practically impenetrable, so I’ve been trying to hear as much as I can. Dolly, Dolly, Dolly is an especially interesting entry: released in 1980, it was her 23rd album, and it represents a pretty clear swing for crossover success. A handful of the tracks are straight-up disco, and these are what Musgraves called to mind. I was thrilled – Dolly’s disco experiments were widely panned, but I think there’s a lot of good there, maybe Golden Hour would be an attempt to vindicate Parton’s vision?

Unfortunately or not, I was incorrect. In total, Golden Hour bears more resemblance to Dolly’s friend & frequent collaborator Emmylou Harris (Kacey’s hair should’ve tipped me off, SMH). It’s a beautiful, understated, and thoughtful set of songs that could fit as well on a folk radio station as a country one. Like Harris, Musgraves has an innate sense of how to let a great song be great, hanging back in both arrangement and vocal performance. She’s emotive when she needs to be (“Rainbow”), and contemplative as needed (“Golden Hour”), always letting her writing breathe. Also, she has the confidence to bury the lead single so deep on Side B that you almost forget it’s there (and are thrilled when it is). As a person who prefers the full album experience to that of a shuffled playlist, this is one of my very favorite tricks.

Quite simply: great songs + great arrangements = a surprising list-topper for me.

2. Blood Orange: Negro Swan. For years, the roles of sexuality and gender in black identity have been foci of Dev Hynes’ work as Blood Orange. He spent time with drag queens and sex workers while writing his debut album Coastal Grooves, and has often cited transgender icon Octavia St. Laurent as one of his primary influences. But while these interests have colored his previous albums, on Negro Swan they’re the bedrock. In a press release preceding the album, Hynes described the album as “an exploration into my own and many types of black depression, an honest look at the corners of black existence, and the ongoing anxieties of queer/people of color. A reach back into childhood and modern traumas, and the things we do to get through it all. The underlying thread through each piece on the album is the idea of hope, and the lights we can try to turn on within ourselves with a hopefully positive outcome of helping others out of their darkness.”

These ideas are fundamental to the songwriting, and they’re reinforced by snippets of conversations with Janet Mock and Kai the Black Angel (who adorns the cover in a durag and angel wings) peppered throughout the album’s 49 minutes. On “Family,” Mock defines community as “the spaces where you don’t have to shrink yourself, where you don’t have to pretend or to perform, you can fully show up and be vulnerable in silence, completely empty, and that’s completely enough.” That search for community, the desire to be seen and loved and supported as your whole self informs each of these beautiful songs. Already a competent producer, Hynes continues to grow, selecting beautiful flourishes like the jangly, perfectly out-of-tune guitar on “Charcoal Baby” or the soft, echoing snare drum on “Dagenham Dream” to characterize the thematic content of each piece. Negro Swan is a powerful and complete work of art. It sounds like he’s finally found some answers to the questions he’s been asking.

1. Dirty Projectors: Lamp Lit Prose. On Lamp Lit Prose, David Longstreth appears to be having more fun making music than he has in years, probably because almost 100% of his band has turned over (kudos to longtime bassist Nat Baldwin, whose playing tethers him to his own beginnings). Beyond the new Projectors themselves, Longstreth spent the months during the writing of the album making new friends in the LA music scene, and bringing them around the studio to record various parts. Members of Haim contribute to album standout “That’s a Lifestyle,” Syd (of The Internet) anchors the refrain in “Right Now,” and Fleet Foxes’ Robin Pecknold and Vampire Weekend alumnus Rostam Batmanglij stack harmonies onto the swirling ballad “You’re The One.”

I see LLP as the second half of a diptych begun by the self-titled Dirty Projectors, released last year. While that record wallowed in the pain of a broken relationship with former Projector Amber Coffman, LLP reveals a healed and newly in love protagonist. Both records feature David Longstreth at his most vocally competent: he’s now able to truly execute the melismatic R&B runs he lovingly wrote and charmingly attempted in his earliest work, his diaphragm now supports his every leap and bound, and his croon is sweeter than ever before. But furthermore, both albums expand on ideas that have popped up throughout his illustrious and impressive body of work. Whether he’s reviving the Rise Above era blasts of noisy guitars on “Zombie Conqueror” or revisiting the orchestral ambitions of The Getty Address on the stunningly soulful “I Wanna Feel It All,” Longstreth sounds like a worker with a complete toolbox and a detailed blueprint. He’s been working at honing his craft for years.

I saw the Projectors in June, at a time when only “Break-Thru” and “That’s a Lifestyle” had leaked. I didn’t know what to expect, being among the seemingly small minority of fans who liked their previous record. But their set was staggering. Flanked by his group of mostly-new faces, Longstreth was bouncing all over the place, proudly showcasing each instrumentalist & vocalist (seemingly everyone had at least one moment in the spotlight), visibly excited about playing with this group of people. And that makes sense: LLP is Longstreth relishing the fundamental glee of musical collaboration. The joy is positively bubbling over in tracks like “Right Now,” “I Feel Energy,” and “I Found it in You.” To see him play these songs live is to wonder if he’s talking about the act of musicmaking itself when he sings: “Ask now, I’m in love for the first time ever.”

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classicrewind · 7 years

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Tomorrow Never Knows

Chapter Five

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Anna woke. Remembering where she was, she turned her head to see Jimmy’s head nuzzled into the space between her neck and shoulder. She smiled upon noticing his arm slung gently over her waist.

As she began to stir, she felt a shooting pain up her back, so she stilled. Resting her head back on the pillow, she stared up at the ceiling as she recalled the night before. God, Paul was such an asshole. What the hell’s gotten into him? He’s never laid so much as a finger on me before.

Lifting Jimmy’s hand off of her waist, she turned to lay on her other side, facing him. I could do this forever, just watch him sleep. His curls were partially covering his eyes, so she reached a hand up, gently brushing them away. She continued to watch him as his chest slowly rose and fell.

Is Paul cheating on me? It sure would explain a lot. The late nights. The perfume I keep smelling on him. Should I confront him? What if this is all in my head? Anna’s mind quickly began to fill with thoughts as she pondered the idea of Paul seeing someone else.

Letting out a small sigh, she studied Jimmy’s face. I don’t know if I should be this upset. I mean, I probably shouldn’t have come here last night, and kissed Jimmy. Again. And Again. Is this cheating? Oh shit, am I having an affair?

She immediately began to grow sick with guilt, feeling a pit form at the bottom of her stomach. She slowly sat up, resting her back carefully against the headboard. Looking around, she realized this was the first time she’d been in Jimmy’s bedroom. Exactly how I figured it would be.

It wasn’t exceptionally neat, but everything had its own designated location. There were three acoustic guitars lining the wall, along with a few paintings covering the other walls. He had another bookcase located next to his armoire, holding records upon records. His player sat in the corner on a small wooden table accompanied by more books. It was cozy, exactly how she liked it. Unlike her bedroom with Paul, where hardly anything decorated the place. It felt like home here.

Turning her head, she glanced over at his bedside table to get a look at the time. He had a copy of a Crowley book and a Keats book resting on top, next to his clock. Intrigued to see which Keats copy it was, she slowly reached over him to grab the book.

Upon picking it up, she saw a folded piece of paper stuck inside the inside cover. Slowly opening the book, she picked the note up and unfolded it. Her handwriting jumped out at her immediately, followed by the date September 12th 1979. That little shit. So he did take it.

She read over the words she had written over three years ago, recalling the memories that came with it. How happy she felt when she first met Paul, remembering how she’d thought she met her match. Anna then began to wonder why exactly Jimmy had taken it from her. Clearly it means something more to him than it does to me.

Looking down at him, she shook her head. I have no use for it anymore. Deciding to let him keep it, she folded the paper back up and slipped it back inside the book. Placing it back under the Crowley book, she slowly slipped out of bed.

She quietly made her way to the door before looking back at Jimmy. He remained asleep, his arm now resting on the empty space where she had just been. Anna slowly opened the door and headed downstairs.

She entered the sitting room and made her way to the windows. The Sun was steadily rising as she pulled the curtains open, smiling at the sight. She loved sunrises far more than sunsets. Something about witnessing something so beautiful while most of the world was still asleep.

Watching the sky turn from purple to a vibrant shade of pink, she felt the guilt return to her. The rock in her stomach was back. What am I doing? I know what Paul did was wrong, but I shouldn’t have done this. And who knows if he’s even cheating? I could be wrong.

Anna didn’t feel wrong about him. She had a strong suspicion about his whereabouts lately, and she doubted that she was wrong about them. But still, she felt sick. No, he hurt me last night. I shouldn’t feel bad. But I do. What is happening to me?

Feeling herself grow dizzy, she sat down at Jimmy’s desk, resting her head in her hands. What do I do? Do I tell him? ‘Hey Paul, I spent the night at Jimmy Page’s house. No we didn’t sleep together, but I did kiss him. And messed around. Is this an affair? I don’t fucking know, but at least I had the decency to tell you about it.’

No, she could never say that. Who knows what he’d do, especially nowadays, in his recent state. His unpredictability was beginning to scare her. She decided to keep the state of her and Jimmy’s ‘relationship’ to herself for the time being.

Lifting her head up, she pulled open the top drawer of his desk, looking for something to write on. She fished around, pulling open the subsequent drawers before finding a notepad. Pulling a pen from the cup on the desk, she uncapped it and began to write.

‘I wish I could just stop time for awhile and figure this whole thing out. Every time I look up, it’s another week gone. It’s another page ripped out of my book and I’m just as unsure and lost as I’ve ever been.

I wish I could stop the clock, and stop this sense of impending doom from marching ever so slowly toward my fate. But it’s out of my hands, it always seems to slip so easily between my fingers, and I’m always noticing these things after its too late for me.

Life is waiting for me, and it has been for quite sometime. Patiently pausing, waiting for me to return from the hiatus inside my head and rejoin the real world. I wish I could say I was ready, but I’m not. And I don’t know when I’ll ever be. But hopefully one day, I’ll take his hand and let him show me everything I’ve missed since I closed my eyes. Since I let myself go.

A girl can dream, right?’

Anna looked up to see the sun fully over the horizon, making its ascent into the sky. She held up the notepad, letting her eyes scan over the words. She began to feel a little better.

Writing was her therapy. It had been since as far back as she can remember. With the tumultuous childhood in which she grew up, if was the only outlet she felt that truly comforted her. After her mother passed, she felt like there was no one to turn to, and her father was never one for expressing emotions. So journaling became her only source of freedom from the struggle she felt as an adolescent.

Anna slowly stood up from the desk, setting the pad back down before making her way to the wall of books. She was enthralled with the expansive library Jimmy had inside the four walls of this room alone. A large collection of literature rested before her; classics, contemporaries, prose, poetry. From Hemingway to Shakespeare to Dante to Nin, Anna was in heaven.

She resisted the urge to pull all of them out and just run her hands over the spines, flip through the pages, and lose herself in the countless stories that were shelved before her. She ran her fingers smoothly over them before they stopped on one in particular. Slowly pulling it out, she read the cover. D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

A smile started to spread across her face as she inspected the copy. It was one of the first novels that pushed her toward pursuing Literature. It was one of her favorites, holding a special place in her heart amongst few others. She was beyond happy to find it upon his shelf. So he loves it, too.

She made her way to the sofa across from the fireplace and sat down. Opening the book, she could make out Jimmy’s handwriting. In small script, James Patrick Page inscribed on the inside cover. The copy was very old, the spine split in multiple spots. It was clearly a well-loved copy.

Anna flipped to the first page as her eyes rested upon the opening lines of the story. Her favorite.

‘Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.’

She let the words fill her up as she continued to read on, allowing herself to become lost in the pages before her. There is nothing like the familiar feeling of a once-loved book. A sense of regaining what was once lost.

The bed was empty when Jimmy woke. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Anna’s auburn hair splayed across his shoulder and the warmth of her body as it rested perfectly against his own. But she was gone.

Her side of the bed was cold as he ran his hand over it slowly. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and began to slowly sit up. Where’d she go?

Looking up, he felt a small bit of relief in seeing Anna’s blouse on the floor where he left it last night. So she’s still here.

He lay with his back against the headboard for a moment, taking in the morning view. Glancing at the clock, he took note of the time. Rehearsal was in two hours, and the guys were coming to his place to practice.

He stepped out of bed and silently descended down the stairs. The house was quiet as he made his way down the hall.

Peering into the kitchen, he saw it empty. From there, he moved to the sitting room.

There she sat, her back to him as she was engrossed in a novel. He was silent as he slowly approached her from behind.

He stood behind her for a moment, watching her read. She had a small smile on her face as she scanned the page. He didn’t even have to look at the words to know what she was reading. Lawrence. How the fuck did she know?

Jimmy slowly placed his hands on her shoulder before bringing his mouth down to her ear. “Enjoying yourself, Lady Chatterley?”

Anna let out a small gasp before jumping in her seat. “God, Jim, you scared the shit out of me!”

Turning around, she lightly pushed him. “How’d you know what I was reading?”

“It’s my favorite novel. I’ve had that copy since I was a teenager. I used to carry it with me everywhere. Hence the terrible condition it’s in.” Jimmy responded, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

Gently taking it from her hands, he continued. “Of all the books on my shelf, this is the one you decided to read?”

She smiled, slowly nodding. “Funny you should mention that. It’s the first one I grabbed too, it practically jumped out of the shelf at me. I figured it had some sentimental value to you, I noticed all your margin notes.”

Flipping the book open, he squinted at the tiny handwriting on the margin of a page. “Yeah, I wrote this when I was about fourteen, I think. Some of them were for school, others were just mere thoughts I had each time I read through it. Stuff I thought was important at the time.”

He handed the book back to her with a smile. “A wonderful coincidence, nevertheless.”

Setting it down, she scooted closer to him, excitement suddenly flooding her eyes. “Guess what. I have wonderful news. I meant to phone you, but then last night with Paul happened…” She shook her head before continuing on. “Anyway. Guess!”

He was at a loss for words. Had no clue. Shaking his head, he let out a chuckle. “I haven’t a clue. Tell me.”

She pouted for a second, but quickly recovered. “I got assigned to cover Bad Company this weekend! Hopefully meet the band and everything! I’m nervous as hell, but also excited beyond belief. Can you believe it?”

Jimmy couldn’t help but grin at the state Anna was in. She was giddy. So damn adorable. “So, I take it you really like Bad Company, huh? If I’d known that, I could’ve taken you to meet them practically any day of the week, you know.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, she nodded. “Grew up on ‘em. Fell in love with Paul’s voice when I was, like fifteen. Bought their first album as soon as it was released and played it to death.”

“Funny you say that. I was going to ask you if you’d like to accompany me to the show. Zep is playing a set with them that night, I’d love to have you watch. I’ll introduce you to Paul and everyone, sound good?”

She gasped before throwing her arms around him. “Jim, you’re amazing! Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Oh, maybe once or twice…” Jimmy mused.

She slowly pulled away. “Thank you.”

The way she was looking at him was enough to drive him mad. He resisted the urge to carry her back up to his bedroom and have his way with her. Her eyes were flashing bright shades of amber, her cheeks just slightly flushed.

Something about her in this ecstatic, girlish demeanor brought out this primal urge in him. It was certainly unlike anything he’d experienced before. He wanted her, all of her.

But he settled for a smile. “My pleasure.”

She eventually let go of his touch and leaned back in her seat. “I should probably go. I’ve already missed part of lecture, and Paul’s really gonna kill me. Seeing as he actually had to teach for once, I should be home awaiting his return.”

He quickly placed a hand on top of hers. “Stay. The band’s coming over for rehearsal. I’d like you to be here. Have you hear what we’ve been working on. Besides, it’s always good to have an extra set of ears.”

Anna let out a laugh. “I have no musical inclination whatsoever, but for you, I’ll stay. I should go make myself look slightly less disheveled before they get here.”

He chuckled. “Good. Robert will be pleased. He was asking about you the other day, says he wants to see more of you around. I figure this will shut him up.”

Her hand still in his, she leaned back into his touch, resting her head on his shoulder. “I like him. He’s sweet. And warm, you know? He has this aura about him, like he’s surrounded by this beautiful, free energy. I don’t know how to describe it. And Jonesy is so, reserved, it’s hard to tell what’s going on inside that head of his. I’d love to find out some day.”

She let out a chuckle. “And then there’s Bonzo. A ball of unharnessed energy, always so passionate about everything around him. It’s so refreshing to see someone so carefree. I love it. You’ve got some wonderful band mates, Jim. You got really, really lucky.”

I know. It was then that he realized how little he voiced his appreciation for them. He owed a lot to them, practically everything. They were his closest friends in a way, yet he took their presence for granted sometimes.

Looking down at her, he replied, “They really are something, aren’t they?”

She laughed, lifting her head up. “I should go get ready.” She stood up from the sofa and made her way upstairs.

Noticing the abandoned book on the seat next to him, he picked it up, fingers tracing over the letters on the cover. She has this uncanny ability to make me see things I’ve never noticed before, or have long since lost or forgotten. How does she do it?

He made a mental note to thank his bandmates as soon as he could.

He was still on the sofa when Anna re-emerged into the sitting room. Fully clad in his clothes, she made her way over to where he was seated, peering over his shoulder at what he was reading. “It’s so well-written, wouldn’t you agree?”

Looking up from the pages, he turned his head to see Anna mere inches away from him. Clearly fresh from a shower, he could smell his soap on her while her damp hair dripped water onto his shoulder. He liked it, loved the fact that she smelled like him. Somehow its scent was a little different on her, a little sweeter. It intoxicated him.

Lightly breathing in her scent, he nodded. “I love Lawrence. Always have. Enjoy your shower?”

She smiled and nodded, as she took a seat on the back of the sofa. As he turned to face her fully, it was then that he noticed she was wearing his clothes. She had on a button up shirt of his, paired with a set of his jeans. How is it she looks better in my clothes than I do?

She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he could just barely make out the outline of her nipples, slightly taut, through the shirt. It was buttoned messily, as she missed a few buttons at the top. The jeans were too big, but somehow, she made them work for her. She was even wearing his socks, he had noticed. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on.

“I see you’ve taken a thrift through my closet as well?” He asked her, with a smirk.

Growing slightly pink with embarrassment, she nodded. “Well, I couldn’t wear what I wore last night, and besides the blouse is ruined. Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed a few things, I can change back if you do.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “You’re fine, it’s fine. You could steal my whole wardrobe and I probably wouldn’t mind. Besides, somehow you wear my clothes better than me.”

Anna let out a laugh, gently pushing him. “Yeah, the jeans are a tad too big for my liking, but that’s okay. Oh, and the shirt, well, I just thought it was cute.”

“Come, there’s something I want to show you.”

She tucked a lock of damp hair behind her ear. She was still dripping water onto herself, and Jimmy found it to be the most strangely attractive thing.

He got up from the sofa and took her hand, leading her to his studio.

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” Anna asked, following Jimmy inside the studio.

“Something like that.” Gesturing to a chair next to the mixing board, “Here, have a seat.”

“I have something to show you. I wanted you to be the first to hear it.” Jimmy picked up his Les Paul and his pick and began to adjust it.

“Oh, Jim. I don’t know the first thing about creating music, I’m probably the last person you should show a composition to.”

Tuning his guitar, he looked up with a smirk. “And yet, you’re the first person I thought to show it to.”

Jimmy closed his eyes and began to play. It started with a simple arpeggiation off of a chord progression, but before long it blossomed into a swell of counter-melodies, each one more beautiful and complex than the next. His picking began to grow more technical as he took the simple motif of the melody and expand it into an entirely new section.

The part began to expand as he reached the climax of the piece, his fingers swiftly moving over the frets before dropping off almost completely to silence. But there in the quiet, returned the gentle arpeggios of the first set of chords. He carried this through to the final part, adding to it his own flair of embellishments before letting the piece come to its natural end.

As the last notes rang out into the studio, he opened his eyes, to see Anna staring at him dumbfounded.

Chucking, he set the guitar down. “That bad, huh?”

Anna let out a laugh, “No! It was beautiful, Jim. Haunting really. The way you took that first part and completely transformed it into something else by the end, oh, it was so wonderful. Stirred something in me.”

“That’s the best part about music, its uncanny ability to evoke something in everyone. I’m glad you liked it.”

Anna beamed. “Of course I loved it, you have to show it to the guys ASAP, they’re going to love it, Jim. It’s beautiful. Inspired, really.”

He looked at her, his eyes serious. “I had a few things come to mind when I started writing it. So, thank you.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything, you did it all. It’s incredible.”

You’ve done more than you could know. Jimmy felt he owed her many thanks. Before she came along, he hadn’t composed a single thing since their last album. But she brought out this creative streak once more in him, and for that, he was grateful for her.

“For listening. It means a lot.” He gave her a small smile before placing his hand on hers.

“You’ve got this renewing quality in your playing, it makes one feel restored, clean. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s unique, and it’s all yours.” Anna said, taking his hand into hers.

He wanted to kiss her at that moment, feeling himself overcome with the urge to take her into his arms and thank her in every way he could.

He then heard his front door slam before hearing Robert’s voice sound off through the house. “Pagey! We’re here! Get your sorry arse out of bed!”

Gently removing his hand from Anna’s lap, he stood up, making his way to the door before calling out, “I’m in the studio!”

Standing up, Anna turned to Jimmy. “I’ll go make some tea, let you guys get set up.”

He nodded before she turned to slip out of the studio. Robert, who was making his way down the hall broke out into a smile.

“Anna! I had no idea you’d be here today! What a lovely surprise, it’s so great to see you. I just told Jim we all missed seeing you, and wanted you to stop by more. I see he finally listened to me.”

He proceeded to embrace her tightly, and she gasped out in pain. “Something wrong?” He asked, quickly pulling away.

Anna’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, I just hurt my back yesterday, so it’s kind of sore.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” He said, gently wrapping his arms around her.

“It’s fine, you didn’t know. Anyway, how are you? How have things been?” She asked, hugging him back.

“Wonderful! I’m sure Jim’s told you all about the progress we’ve made with the album, and Cole’s putting together a tour schedule. Things are finally starting to pick up.” Pulling away from her, “And how are things with you? How’s the writing coming?”

“Oh, you know, same old same. Oh! But I did get assigned to cover Bad Company, so I’ll be at the show next weekend.”

Robert broke out in another grin. “Oh, that’s so great! I’m glad you’ll be there! It should be a fun little gig.”

John Paul emerged into the studio with his bass, Bonzo following closely behind.

“Anna. It’s lovely to see you again. Hope you are doing well!” He said, embracing Anna.

“I am, I hope you are too!” She replied before stepping back to greet Bonzo.

“Careful, Bonz. Anna’s hurt her back, so no bear hugs.” Robert mused as Bonzo made his way over.

“Oh fuck off, Perce.” Taking her into his arms, he hugged her. “It’s good to see you again, Anna.”

She smiled. “You too.”

“So, let’s get set up, yeah? Jonesy, there’s an amp in the corner you can use.” Jimmy said, turning to prepare the mixing board.

John Paul nodded, heading over to plug his bass in. Bonzo and Robert followed suit, getting set up to play.

Setting the controls to record the first piece, he turned to look for Anna, but she had already slipped out the studio. Picking up the lead sheet for his newest composition, he headed into the booth to record.

Halfway through rehearsal, Anna popped back in with a small tray of drinks, setting them down on the table. Noticing her, Jimmy stepped out of the booth to greet her.

“Hey, why don’t you come in? You don’t have to stay out in the sitting room. We’d love to hear your thoughts.”

Hearing him, Robert piped up from somewhere in the booth. “Yeah, come in and have a listen! You simply have to hear Pagey’s new piece.”

Anna nodded, calling into the booth, “Yeah, he showed a bit to me earlier, it’s wonderful.”

Turning to Jimmy, she placed a hand on his forearm. “I’d love to stay and listen for a little longer, but I really should get going. I’m sure Paul left a lot of work for me to finish from today’s lecture. It’s bad enough I skipped, so he’s probably going to try and punish me. But thank you for letting me stay here last night.”

He nodded. “No problem. Any time you need somewhere to go when shit starts to hit the fan, don’t hesitate to call me. I’m serious.”

She nodded as Jimmy embraced her for a moment.

Jimmy stepped back inside and began to reassemble the group for another take. Anna stood for a moment, watching them through the studio window as they began to start up again. She smiled, noticing how happy they all looked playing together.

Bonzo must have said something to annoy Jimmy, as Robert began to cackle with laughter while Jimmy glowered in his direction. John Paul kept his composure, as per usual, simply smirking at the said comment.

Anna couldn’t help but wonder how their dynamic worked so well. It seemed to her that these four men, in any other context, would never in a million years get on this well. Nevertheless, she liked watching them interact. It intrigued her.

After a moment, they grew serious once more as Bonzo counted off for the next song. She turned her back to the window and slipped out of the studio.

The following week slipped by as Anna became busy with work and school, and Jimmy became caught up with rehearsals and band meetings.

Jim had swung by her house a time or two hoping to catch Anna alone, but when he arrived, the lights would be off, indicating she was usually already asleep.

Anna had stopped by the studio yesterday on her way to the Times, but only ran into Peter. He had said the boys were busy with rehearsals, so she headed into work. She was hoping to catch him on the train at least once that week, but their schedules didn’t seem to be quite as in synch as they had been in earlier weeks.

Blame it on bad timing. Can’t get it right all the time.

This morning was no exception. She was on her way to lecture, to her favorite class this semester; modern poetry.

Finding her seat in the lecture hall, she pulled out the collection of poems the class was assigned to cover this semester. Anna had been assigned to complete a dissertation on the evolution of Yeats’ prose, and she couldn’t have been happier to receive the topic.

However, the amount of time that she’d been spending with Jimmy and the band was causing her to push school work off to the side. She made sure to complete her T.A. duties to perfection, not wanting to anger Paul. However, his distance lately made it much easier for her to slip out without having to make excuses.

The essay was due on Monday, and she had yet to start it. Flipping to a set of poems, she began to read, marking anything she deemed crucial to the paper.

Lecture went by terribly slow as her professor went through a review of T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland. It wasn’t one of her favorite Eliot poems, so she found her mind wandering to other places.

Tonight I’m meeting Bad Company, I’m watching back stage as they perform with Led Zeppelin. I get to meet Paul fucking Rodgers. I, Anna Whitmoore, am going to have one of the best nights of my life tonight.

Her mind still on the show, she stared down at the poem in front of her in an attempt to concentrate.

It felt like hours before her professor finally ended lecture. Shuffling her papers back into her bag, she stood up and hastily made her way to the door.

Paul was waiting for her in the office when she walked in. “There’s a stack of coursework that needs to be graded on your desk.”

She nodded, setting her books down on her desk, getting to work. “How late do you plan on being here today?” He asked her, not looking up from his book.

“Until I finish this, and get through some class work. Why?”

“I just wanted to know. Are you going to be home for dinner?”

“No, don’t wait up, I’m covering a show tonight. I’ll be home late.” Anna said, pulling the stack of papers toward her. She heard his book slam closed. Looking up, she saw him turn in his chair.

Raising his voice, Paul became aggressive. “We’re you even going to tell me? Or just show up whenever you damn well please? Like last week when you pulled that disappearing act and skipped lecture?”

Anna furrowed her brows. “Are you serious? I told you last week. After I came home from work. Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what? You blew off class, and you never even bothered to tell me where the hell you were.” He glared at her.

Swallowing, she looked down at the papers on her desk. She felt herself cower as Paul continued to stare her down. “I was at a friend’s. I needed to get away for a night. This was over a week ago, I didn’t realize it bothered you that much. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“You should be. When do you think you’ll be back tonight? I expect you in time for lecture tomorrow.”

She slowly nodded refusing to meet his gaze. “I will.”

“You know, sometimes I feel like you don’t even give a shit about this relationship. Sometimes, it’s like I don’t even know who you are.” Paul retorted coldly.

She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Me? I’m the one who doesn’t give a shit about this relationship? While you come home at all hours of the night, no explanation whatsoever?

Staying silent, she began to grade the stack in front of her. Paul eventually turned his chair back around and returned to work.

They worked in silence before Paul began to pack his things up. Picking his briefcase up off the desk, he made his way to the door. Before stepping out, he turned to Anna. “I need those forms on my desk filled out by the end of today. Try to find time in your busy schedule to drop them off to the bursar’s.”

Anna remained dumbfounded as Paul closed the office door behind him. She could feel her pulse begin to rise as she grew upset.

Reaching into her desk drawer, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a shaky breath. Immediately she closed her eyes, inhaling as deep as she could, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs. As her chest grew tight with the hot air, she slowly expelled it out.

How dare he. Fucking asshole. Taking another drag, she got to work on the registration forms for next semester’s courses. And I just take it. Like the idiot I am. And he knows I’ll never say anything to him about it. Weak. That’s what I am. Fucking weak.

She wanted to scream. She felt suffocated. Frustrated, she pushed the forms away from her and stood up from the desk. She paced for a few moments, stopping every so often to take a drag.

Beginning to calm herself down, she turned to the record player on her shelf. She grabbed her copy of Everybody Digs Bill Evans and carefully placed it on. Adjusting the needle, she began to relax upon hearing ‘Young and Foolish’ sound through the speakers.

Just then, a knock at the door tore her attention away from the player. She crossed the room and slowly opened the door.

“Excited for tonight?”

She nodded, opening the door wide enough to let Jimmy inside.

“You don’t seem very excited.” He replied, taking a seat at Paul’s desk. Putting his feet up, he lit a cigarette, waiting for her response.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it. “I am, really. Just have a lot of work to do first.”

Blowing out a small stream of smoke, he smirked. “Such seriousness coming from you today. Everything okay?”

Taking a seat once again, she nodded. “Fine.”

He stared through her in an attempt to read what she was really trying to say.

She gave him a small smile and got to work completing the forms Paul left for her.

As a new song started to play through the speakers, Jimmy piped up, “I like this. Who is it? Sounds familiar.”

Not looking up, she replied, “Bill Evans Trio.”

He didn’t say another word as he continued to smoke his cigarette, letting Anna work undisturbed.

After a while, Anna established a working groove, and she soon forgot Jimmy was even there. She carefully finished filling out the forms and began to work on her dissertation.

Pawing through a Yeats book, she heard Jimmy get up and head over to the record player. Upon noting the silence, she realized the album must have ended. She heard him place the record back on the shelf before placing down another.

‘What Is There To Say?’ came on through the speakers, and Anna immediately broke out in a series of chills. Paul played this for me the first time we went out together. She turned from her work to face Jimmy, her eyes wide.

He extended a hand to her. “Dance with me.”

She hesitated for a moment, recalling the first time she heard the piece. “You’ve never heard of Bill Evans? I’m going to educate you immediately…” She remembered him asking her. And he did. Showed me everything.

She slowly took his hand and allowed him to lead her away from the desk. He brought her to the center of the room before wrapping a hand around her waist, the other securely clasping her hand.

She let him lead the way as she began to grow used to his body moving in synch with hers. “You sure everything’s fine? Did he do something to you?” He looked down into her eyes with concern.

Staring back up at his, she shook her head. “It’s fine.” Bullshit. It’s not fine. It’s the furthest from fine.

Knowing he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying, she mustered up a convincing smile, hoping it would win him over. Finding herself unsuccessful, she placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

She let Jimmy sway her around the room as the music filled her head. She began to think about the first time she was with Paul. Slow, and gentle. She recalled the way he just melted into her with ease. Effortless. What happened to that? Where’d it all go? What changed all of this? What happened to us? Who have we become?

“Where are you? Come back to me.” She heard Jimmy whisper to her.

Opening her eyes, she slowly lifted her head off his shoulder, staring into his eyes. “I’m here. With you.”

Pulling her closer to him, he gave her a small smile. “Good, stay here. In this moment.”

As they continued to sway gently, she looked out the window. “If you think about it, it’s over in no time.”

“What is?”

“All of this. Don’t you think? I guess that’s why they say it’s important not to dwell on what’s behind or ahead of you. Just enjoy what’s here and now.” She returned her gaze to his eyes, feeling them lock with hers. “You know?”

He gave her a slight nod before cupping her face with his hands. She felt her eyes involuntarily flutter closed as Jimmy’s lips softly landed on top of hers. There it is. Effortless. Like it’s supposed to be.

The moment was short lived as the song came to an end, and they were left in silence. They lingered close together for a moment, neither one wanting to break the spell. Anna slowly pulled away, leaving his grasp.

“I’m just about done. You want to head out now?” She asked him, beginning to gather up her things from the desk.

He glanced down at his watch. “Yeah, we’ll be able to sit in on their warm-up if we leave now.”

She nodded before taking the record off the player and returning it to the shelf. She grabbed her belongings and followed Jimmy out the door.

The venue was buzzing with people running back and forth, helping to set up and get things organized for the show. Anna could feel the adrenaline course through her veins as she began to sense the excitement in the air.

“It’s so strange, to be seeing the show, you know, behind the scenes like this.” She said to Jimmy as they entered through the back door.

“Yeah, sometimes I wish I could see all of this again for the first time. You become so used to it, soon it’s second nature. Follow me.” He took Anna’s hand and led her down the long corridor until they hit the dressing rooms.

Pressing his ear to a door, he listened for a moment before knocking. He turned to Anna, giving her a wink before the door was opened.

Paul Rodgers stuck his head out. “What can I do for – Hey! Jim! I didn’t realize you guys were setting up this early. Come on in!”

Jimmy stepped inside, pulling Anna along with him. She immediately began to sweat, feeling herself grow anxious. Keep it together. Relax.

“No, the rest of the band won’t be here for a couple of hours. I just wanted to stop by beforehand and bring along a great admirer of yours.” Gesturing to Anna, “This is Anna.”

She felt Jimmy give her a small nudge in Paul’s direction. Nervously, she stuck her hand out. “It’s a honor to meet you. Forgive me, I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re actually standing in front of me.”

Paul let out a laugh, shaking her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Anna. You’re staying for the show, I presume?”

She nodded. “Yes, actually I’m covering it for the Times. If you have a second at all tonight, I’d love to get a few quotes. I totally understand that you’re busy, so it’s no big deal if you can’t, I’m happy enough just to be meeting you. Honest.”

“I’m free now, sound check isn’t for at least an hour, if you’d like to conduct your interviews now. I think the rest of the guys are around here somewhere. Is that okay?”

“Perfect. Thank you so much.” Anna immediately dropped her bag onto an adjacent chair, pulling out a legal pad and a fountain pen.

Jimmy made his way to the door. “I’ve got a few errands to run, I’ll be back for sound check.”

Anna looked up at him, giving him a smile. “Thank you.” She mouthed to him.

He gave her a small nod before slipping out the door.

Turning her attention to Paul, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, why don’t you start by telling me about your feelings on your newest release, Rough Diamonds.”

“Thank you so much for giving me your time. I understand how busy you are, especially the night of a show. It means a lot.” Anna said, tucking her notepad back into her bag.

“Hey, any friend of Jim’s is a friend of mine. I owe him everything. Without Swan Song, we wouldn’t be here. Besides, it was fun. You’re quite good at this. Most interviewers are only concerned with the rumors, drama, you know. It’s nice to have someone focus on the music for once.” Paul replied, standing up, heading over to the bar.

He picked up a bottle of gin, and turned to Anna. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

Paul fixed up two gin and tonics before making his way to Anna. Holding one out to her, she carefully grasped it.

“So how do you know Jimmy?” He asked her, taking a seat once more on the sofa.

Taking a sip, she replied, “We met on the train a couple months back, actually. Sounds weird, I know. He just showed up, seemingly out of the blue. And we kind of, hit it off, per say.”

Paul shook his head, taking a sip. “Not weird at all. Trust me, I’ve heard stranger things. It’s nice, actually. You guys seem close. Kind of hard to believe you’ve only known each other for a couple of months.”

“Hah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” She paused, taking another sip. “Are you excited for tonight?”

“Excited? Eh, I haven’t felt real excitement for a show since our first tour. I mean, I’m happy to be doing what I love, but part of me thinks maybe it’s time for a new endeavor.”

So the rumors are true. She nodded. “Hey, do what you feel is right. If that means taking a step in a new direction, so be it.” She pulled out her pack of cigarettes, taking one before offering the pack to Paul. “It’s hard sometimes, listening to what your gut tells you.”

He obliged, taking one for himself. Lighting her cigarette, Anna tossed the lighter to Paul.

He lit his cigarette and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’m not sure just what I want to do. I just know I can’t do this forever.”

“Tonight should be a success, regardless. We’ve got Zep playing with us, it’s guaranteed to be good.” Looking down at his watch, his eyes widened slightly. “Oh shit, I’ve got sound check. Want to come?”

Anna nodded, setting her drink down and following Paul out the door.

It was amazing the process that had been made since she and Jimmy walked through the door a little over an hour ago. Geez, the roadies really are the unsung heroes of a rock concert.

The stage was completely set up, and lighting was being tested as stage hands began to get things ready for sound check. She could see Boz Burrell warming up his fingers on the bass while Simon Kirke was re-tuning the snares. Mick Ralphs was talking to Peter Grant as Paul made his way on stage. As he strode up to Mick and Peter, Anna found a seat on an unused amp.

She half-heartedly looked around for Jimmy before giving up to watch sound check unfold. Paul was vocalizing into the mic, while Simon began some simple paradiddles on the drum set, warming up.

“Okay, let’s start with the chorus into the second verse, yeah? Just to get a gauge of the levels.” Paul said into the mic. Boz nodded his head, slipping the bass strap over his head.

Simon counted off and they began the chorus of ‘Bad Company’. Anna was in awe. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be sitting in on a sound check for Bad Company. Not too bad, Anna.

Sound check went on as they did a quick run through of the set, setting levels for each piece. Anna’s attention was torn away from the band when she heard the stage door open, inside stepping Bonzo, Robert, and Jimmy.

She immediately waved them over, as Paul gave directions to the band over the loudspeakers.

“Enjoying sound check?” Robert asked her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

She nodded, “It’s great. Can’t wait to see this place packed, with the lights on and everything. You guys are up next, I’m assuming?”

Jimmy nodded. “Did they bring our equipment over from the studio?”

“I think so. I saw a couple of roadies bring in a bunch of Zep labeled cases. It should all be over there.” Anna replied, pointing off to stage left.

Jimmy let out a small sigh. “Good.” Turning to the rest of his bandmates, “Let’s get set up, yeah?”

Anna was seated off to the side as the concert began. She loved being on this side of the show, being able to look out into the sea of faces. Now I understand why everyone loves that feeling, being adored by thousands. Captivating a sea of people with every single move you make. It’s entrancing.

Jimmy and Robert were seated on either side of her as Paul and the band stepped out to greet the audience. She turned to Jimmy. “When are you guys going on?”

“About halfway through, I think.”

She heard the opening chords to ‘Bad Company’ and immediately watched the stage as the show began to unfold.

Paul kept the crowd on its feet as the band played through their set. She felt Jimmy and Robert begin to rustle, starting to stand.

“Get ready, I think you’re really going to like this.” He said to her with a smirk.

She immediately grew anxious.

They disappeared backstage and Anna turned once more toward the crowd.

“Now I’d like to take the time to introduce some really good mates of mine, I think most you’ve heard of them before. Led Zeppelin?” The crowd immediately went wild.

“Ahh, so you all have heard of them! Good. Well, I’ve asked them to come play a few tunes with us.” Paul mused, successfully getting the crowd riled up.

He turned and waved them on. Jimmy stepped out first, making his way over to Mick, plugging his guitar into the amp. Robert came out and hugged Paul, while Bonzo and John Paul got situated on the keys and drum set.

Turning once more to the mic, Paul began to speak. “Right. As a special request, we’re going to start off with a favorite of mine, ‘Anna.’ So to all the Anna’s out there, this one’s for you.”

Anna felt her heart stop. Did I hear him right? ‘Special request?’

On stage, she saw Jimmy slowly turn around to face her, giving her a smile. She felt butterflies. Her cheeks grew warm as she beamed at him across the way.

Bonzo counted off and both bands began to play. Anna broke out in chills as soon as Paul began to sing.

‘I don’t need nobody else If I did, I would be fooling myself Anna, Anna’

Hearing Robert take the second verse, she was in awe. Watching these two bands play with one another so harmoniously was truly spectacular, she felt incredibly lucky.

She soon began to feel tears form in her eyes as Jimmy broke into a solo. She felt like there was no one else in the entire venue. Just her and Jimmy. And he was playing only for her.

She couldn’t help but cover her face as they broke into the bridge.

‘I’ve found me a simple woman Who understands a simple man Oh, I’ve found me a simple woman For a simple man’

As the song came to a close, she was close to crying. She couldn’t hold it back any longer. Her eyes began to well with tears. How could anything top this?

She felt lighter than air as she saw Jimmy make his way backstage to greet her for a moment.

“Jim, that was so wonderful. I don’t even know what to s – “ She was immediately silenced by his mouth meeting hers.

She pulled him down to her, as they fell into one another. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss. She could sense his urgency as he gripped her close, eliminating any space between them.

He held her tight against him as the crowd continued to go wild. Anna wished she could live inside this moment. Frozen in time, here in his arms. She felt high. And I never want to come down.

Eventually she broke it off, holding his face mere inches from hers. “Thank you.”

He broke out into a grin before slowly standing back up. He began to sing out, “Anna, Anna.”

She grinned up at him, laughing. Hearing Robert speak to the crowd, Jimmy made his way back to the stage to continue the set. He turned for a moment to get one last look in her direction before heading out into the screaming crowd.

A simple woman for a simple man. If only.

If you’ve made it this far, I applaud you!!! Filler chapters are no one’s favorite, so I apologize for the monotony that this one brings. Nevertheless, thanks for reading!!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

#led zeppelin fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #jimmy page fan fiction #jimmy page #tomorrow never knows #this is so long n boring im v srry

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jillmckenzie1 · 6 years

Text

Interview with Colorado Book Award Finalist, Adam Houle

As I read Stray, I noticed that region plays a significant role in the work. How do the collective settings of Stray influence its thematic undercurrents? How did these various places influence you as a person and in turn as a writer?

I like things grounded. Region gives a shape to our lives; our rhythms and patterns are, partially, governed by where we are. I don’t want to put too big an emphasis here, but I think that where we are carves out who we are. Maybe that’s too much. Put another way: place shapes vision. All places has contours, physical, emotional, spiritual. And we can connect with that, we can interrogate it, we can hold up those patterns for comparison with our own patterns, our own impressions on just what the heck is going on. Maybe that’s happiness: finding that your contours align with the contours of your physical place — your mind works alongside the orders and disorders of a place, and you find a richness, a distinctiveness that resonates. And when I try to give that voice, I find my way into a poem.

For me, Stray tries to order and shape those places, both physical and psychological. To give shape to the experiences — mine or otherwise — means I’m trying to locate something quite swift and fleeting. It slows me down and lets the associations rise and fade. What’s left is the poem. What’s left is a voice that catches the song, and in the song the place is memorialized, the players, too, and in the making of the poems, I’m working toward that intersection between the things of the world and the way they perfume and shape our mental space.

Place for me is always about alignment and experience. Growing up, I felt Eastern Pennsylvania was so busy, so future-oriented, I couldn’t catch my breathe. So, I moved to Colorado. Then to Utah. It was in Colorado that I felt different rhythms were possible, and that I could build a life around that. There were good people who had found that too, and they helped me a lot. Ultimately, I went back to Wisconsin for college. And I liked it. In college, once I opted for an English degree, really smart, kind professors and writers gave me the permission I needed to sit with experience and work to get it shaped on the page. That’s a roundabout way of saying that I carry it all with me, and, in my poems, try to give it a manageable shape, a structure that resonates and might last.

Stray offers remarkably lucid glimpses into the inner-workings of your life and thoughts. How do you choose your subject matter? When do you know an experience or thought is the seed for a poem?

I think poems are an offshoot, a lucky but necessary byproduct, of paying attention. So, I hope that I foster an aesthetics of attentiveness, of allowing the phrase, the line, the grammatical sentence shape the thought and to let the thought follow those contours. I sensed running in the background, though. Snippets of poems I’ve read, lines I’m working on, and the like. And something I’m coming to realize is that I was always measuring and shaping and letting language take up a lot of mental space. So, for me, getting serious about writing poems let me have a place to put all the work that was going on anyway. It was a such a jolt when I realized that I could do that — that I was allowed to shape language in all its strangeness and elegance and griminess, and try to give all that a structure. I take time in the morning — sometimes a lot of time, sometimes a little — to write. I don’t have to have a draft every day. I don’t worry if I don’t transfer work from the notebook to the screen. I trust my experience and my response. And when poems begin taking shape, I’m ready. So that process has given me allowance to sit quietly, to feel my way through experience, and to avoid trying to rationalize my responses to the world.

Those small snippets of an image, of a bit of phrase I like, or when something holds my focus and blurs out the rest, that’s the start of something. So, the subject matter is plucked from this and that. I don’t really know why something catches my eye and ear. I like things, though. I’m always inspecting small stuff I find throughout the day, and I’m an indiscriminate absorber of information. I listen to almost anyone talk about stuff that matters to them; I’ll also give just about anything a few minutes read and a lot more time if I like it. All those ideas, responses, and experiences have their worth. They’re valuable to me, and if they end up in a draft, I’ll know they grafted onto something in me that needs to be explored and held up to let breathe and mingle with the rest.

Though much of the work seems autobiographical, several poems, such as “THE FUTURE TIMBER BARON WRITES HIS NEW WIFE” and “YELLOWKNIFE GIRL AT THE TIMBER CAMP” inhabit other perspectives. How do you go about researching and assuming those voices of “otherness”?

Those two in particular were part of a much longer concept that I abandoned along the way. I hope that respect and love gird those poems. Thinking of the timber trade historically, it was a rough go for everything involved. With “The Future Timber Baron Writes His New Wife,” I was interested in bad hope. He’s a dodgy guy, feeling himself deprived but driven and single-minded, despite the intrusions of the world outside what he sees as the necessary work at hand. “Yellowknife Girl at the Timber Camp” is a poem about a different type of hope. Right or wrong, by the poem’s close, she’s identified the dangers she believes will ruin us. “Cook Takes Stock after the Ice Road Fails” offers a response to both the Future Baron and the Yellowknife Girl: when everything is lost, we have to look elsewhere, beyond our striving and what we think is ours. Those are very human dramas. They are painful and hopeful and endlessly playing out. As I worked on that sequence, I wasn’t looking for the sweep of large events. I wanted the small moments, the little despairs and hopes. Those are the ones I identify with. When I assume those voices, I want to be mindful that I’m working from a place of respect and love, and that what they say echoes within my own experiences.

As a poet and fiction writer, how do you feel your poetry informs your prose, and vice versa? How would you describe the different mediums of expression and the different messages that result?

I’m a poet first. I’m more suited for the measures of a line than those of a paragraph. Something about the emptiness after a line, between the line, hits right for me. I think of it as the space where the words continue casting themselves. That said, working on fiction or nonfiction is both terrifying and exhilarating. I love the mind at work in really good essays; Thomas Lynch’s work comes to mind — there’s a smoothness and rightness to the language, a sensibility that gives expanse to tinker and rethink. I live with a fiction writer, and the way Landon explains story is far smarter and insightful than I could ever hope to be. And something she said about character and desire fired me up to get some stories in the hopper. In “Pitch Man” I wanted to explore what I felt about Billy Mays, the OxyClean (among other products) infomercial guy. I always really liked him for some reason. I liked the carnival barker, the sturdiness of his pitch. That short story, for example, let me inhabit that world, and it felt better, more accurate in prose. I read as much fiction as I can. And I find that the expanse of a prose gives me permission to think about the movements of a life on a larger stage. Poems teach me about precision. When I see prose that isn’t working for me, it’s often because I feel like the architect has forgotten the grace of a beautiful doorway’s finial work, like the work never got past a damn good blueprint. But a blueprint’s not the thing or even a committed rendering of the thing populated with human heat and small edging details that stick with us. So, I try to keep these lessons in mind during the revision process — what does prose teach me about poetry? How can poems help prose?

“Poetry” can, at times, seem to be a rather ambiguous, umbrella term. Thus, oftentimes poets and readers must forage and forge for their own identifiers. How would you describe your own aesthetic?

I’m not worried about schools of thought very much. I want to get the poem into a shape that feels authentic, though crafted, to me, that sticks around in my mind like a little incantation or prayer. That’s what attracts me to the poems I like reading — they are immediate, they are aware that they’re shaped in some way, and in that awareness they shape the reader. Maybe they just bend us temporarily, but I don’t think we ever bounce fully back after a poem works on us. We accrue poems and parts of poems, and it helps inform the work we try to write. I think of my aesthetic as one of attentiveness, of taking up disparate impulses, thoughts, reactions, and trying to give them a field of expression.

Tell us the story behind the story: how did Stray get published? Do you have any other projects in the works?

So, when I moved to South Carolina to start my teaching gig, I thought it’d be a good idea to get serious about sending Stray into the world. I went the contest submission route. After the manuscript was a finalist or semi-finalist at a number of contests, I revised and rewrote. I had the book in a shape I liked. The sections felt good. The individual poems felt good. I had some really great friends and colleagues from grad school to exchange manuscripts with, and I’m grateful to them and to my mentors at Texas Tech, Northern Michigan University, and the University of Wisconsin — Green Bay for their support and their sharp eyes as they helped me shape the work over the years. So, there it was, what felt like a real-live book. A friend told me about Juan Morales’ The Siren World with Lithic Press. I read Juan’s book and loved it. The poems are fantastic, the design was thoughtful, and the layout was committed to showcasing the poems in their space. So, I sent the manuscript to Danny Rosen, the publisher at Lithic Press. I think he was suspicious at first, but the poems won him over, and that was that. To have Stray named a finalist for the Colorado Book Awards meant a lot to me. If I trace the poems back to their earliest whispers, they owe a lot to my time living in Colorado and the space that my life their let me work in. Right now, I’m working on some new poems and revisiting some earlier stuff that didn’t fit with Stray but are still on my mind. I don’t know if they’ll shape up and cohere, but I’m trying to be spacious with my expectations, taking more risks, letting these drafts be tentative and incomplete and not forcing the issue.

What poets inspire and/or influence you? What are you reading right now?

Right now, I’m reading Jessica Cuello’s Hunt and Moby-Dick. Cuello takes chapters from Moby-Dick and re-envisions them into sharply considered poems. It’s so good, but I’m taking my time with it. When I revisit works that meant a lot to me, I come back to Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop. I reread Yusef Komunyakaa’s work. Jimmy Santiago Baca’s Black Mesa Poems is another. I reread Erica Dawson’s Big-Eyed Afraid recently and was deeply moved by the sharpness. Jack Gilbert’s work meant a lot to me during my undergraduate years. There are sections of Paradise Lost that I’ll reread every day for stretches. I’ve also been really interested in the work that’s going on in Columbia — it’s about an hour’s drive for me, and I’ve got to hear some really good stuff. I’m always open to work that’s being done with integrity. I don’t love it all, but I’m glad it’s being written and shared.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/interview-with-colorado-book-award-finalist-adam-houle/

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