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shriekbackmusic · 4 years

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Collaborations #1 (’Shriekback are Seeing Other People’)

Well, collaboration is everything really innit? No man is an island, not even the ones who pretend they are. That’s what I reckon. Merging somebodys’ talents and energies with yours. What a thing. The very stuff of life.

Still, it can be a fractious business: politics will come into it. LIke: who’s in charge here? Who gets to say whether your bit is better than my bit? And how do we work that shit out? A microcosm of the world or what?

Undeterred, we seem to do it (collaborate) quite a lot. And these are some pretty successful tunes, I would say. Good for us. Bold and resolute Shriekback!

So there’s Hope, right?

(BA)

MART’S TRACKS:

DROP BY DROP Barker/Burridge

Taken from my Album" Water and Stone." Exploring my rolling Gtr and groove in 7 with the wonderfully talented musician cellist Emily Burridge.

Inspired by the miracle of water, its rhythm, its music, its journey, its myths, its poetry and beauty

FLYING SAUCER Barker/ Roedelius/Noah1

Lovely to have met and worked with the master of Ambience, Hans Joachim Roedelius for the Album Fibre.

Recorded up in the hills of Shropshire with George Taylor (Noah1) and Jez coed

This piece was inspired by my riff Im playing on the Hang Drum, hence the title "Flying Saucer"

GOLDEN MOON Barker/Young

Taken from my mini Album” Blue” Talitha Rise.

This was my first big endeavour into the musical spiritual world and collaboration with Jo beth young.

We are joined on the Riti by Juldeh Camara.

PILGRIM`S WAY Barker/Adams

My new project/collaboration still ongoing with the mighty talent of Justin Adams .

This first piece inspired by ancient walks.

This new whole album partly inspired by the writing of Robert Macfarlane "the old ways"

SANDLINES. Barker/ Adams

Second piece inspired the Ancient paths of the desert.

THE LAKE Barker/Young taken from the album" Abandoned Orchid House” Talitha Rise

Another collaboration with Jo beth Young and another piece in 7!

Intense, energetic and rich with riddles.

THE SELKIE. Barker / Pynn

Second Piece taken from my Album "Water and Stone”

Inspired by the Myths and stories of the Selkie. With the magical multi instrumentalist Nick Pynn on Violin.

CARL’S TRACKS:

Words Fail Me

with AMANDA KRAVIT

(Barratt/Marsh)

David Barratt and I were introduced to Amanda by John Mrvos, one of the A&R team at EastWest Atlantic in New York (Happyhead’s label) - she was his girlfriend and he wanted to get her recorded, basically, so we came up with this. Dave had done some kind of publishing deal that allowed him to sample the company catalogue, hence Ravi Shankar playing sitar all over it. Backing vocals by Bill Clift; some of the drums sound like Jim Kimberley, sampled from HH sessions (1992ish.)

The Longest Goodbye

with BILL CLIFT

(Clift/Marsh)

I’ve written loads with Bill under various banners, of course. This is a mid-90s demo recorded in Bill’s flat in Greenwich. BVs by Stella Clifford and Marilyn Gentle, bass (I think) by Gary Brady… not sure who did the wibbly organ. This song was later recorded by Bill’s band Fuzzbuddy, re-titled Killing Me Now - it’s just been re-released as part of their Complete Studio Recordings compilation.

THE PALACE DOGS

with GEOFF WOOLEY

I’ve collaborated with Geoff Woolley since Out On Blue Six, and in school bands even before that. These two tracks, from around 1995, are both built from sampled TV shows (and therefore subject to all sorts of potential copyright issues…).

Queen of Peoples’ Hearts

(Marsh/Woolley)

The self-styled QOPH’s Panorama special, cut up and pumped up with added Dario Argento and a spot of Jeremy Paxman. The Original is all-electronic; the Guitar Version has not only mine and Geoff’s rhythm bits but some wildfire lead from Steve Bolton (Atomic Rooster, Paul Young, The Who etc. and currently fronting the mighty Dead Man’s Corner). Take yer pick.

Crazy Dames

(Marsh/Woolley)

The main voice and piano on here are from a 1961 Twilight Zone episode called The Midnight Sun, in which the Earth is knocked out of orbit and is spiralling towards the Sun… it gets hot. Other vocals by Stella Clifford and Marilyn Gentle.

GASWERKS

The Ying Tong Song

(Milligan)

Basically the same format as The Palace Dogs with the addition of Bill Clift, whose idea it was to knock out a dance version of The Goons’, er, classic. Dig that crazy rhythm, indeed. We were told the novelty song market was a hard one to crack… by the singer of Black Lace, who should know, I suppose…

WOOLLEY/MARSH

The Girlfriends Of Dorian Gray

(Barratt/Marsh/Woolley)

David Barratt came up with the conceit of a modern Dorian Gray who preserves his youth (or immaturity) not by having a grotesquely ageing portrait in the attic but by having an ever-changing string of girlfriends who absorb the consequences of his many flaws and are discarded one after another. Dave sketched out the chorus and then proposed that he, I and Deni Bonet (NY-based violinist and writer that we’ve worked with on various projects) should write our own versions of the story, possibly with the idea of creating some kind of meta-version combining them all. That never happened, but I like the track Geoff and I came up with and the lyric is nice and tricksy - shades of Costello, maybe, if I say so myself.

You’re The Only One

(Marsh/Woolley)

A re-write of a Happyhead demo, switching New York electronica for some 90s Britpop vibes, it sounds like. Bit of a kinky ménage à trois scenario with reasonably loud guitars. Nice.

BARRY’S TRACKS

The Frances & Martine poems, with Hilda Sheehan (2014)

part 1: GLOW, GOOSE, CORN-REMOVER

part 2: COAT, ARM, KNOB OF BUTTER

I met Hilda Sheehan - through the (surprisingly vibey) Swindon poetry scene when I was stationed back there for 10 years in '04. She was often the star turn at their spoken word events and, I thought, had the mark of a real artist in that she came with her own self-contained world (’magical realist Northern UK kitchen sink’, if I had to describe it).

I thought it would be fun to 'set' (as they say) some of her poems to music and so I did. From Hilda's considerable oeuvre, I picked the Frances and Martine series - I liked F&M's mutually abrasive dependence - the key ingredient in any sitcom - and the succinct and sometimes brutal nature of each of their adventures.

Dame Hilda Sheehan

The Anaxaton6 EP with Mike Tournier (2013)

I first worked with Mike Tournier (Big Mike as opposed to Little Mike - these were Flukes' Contrasting Mikes at the time) as producer on their OTO album c.94. Techno outfit Fluke apparently liked them some Olde Shriekback (they had worked previously with Wendy and Sarah) and thought I might add something to the project.

It turned out that producing a techno band is every bit as awkward as you might imagine (there’s only one computer screen for a start) and we abandoned the collaboration after I'd failed to insert myself into Fluke's process in any useful way (sandwich run doesn't count).

Anyway, we stayed in touch and collaborated rather more successfully on a Fluke/Shriekback tune and performance for MTV.

It was the redoubtable Julian Nugent, Fluke's manager, who got in touch - in 2013 to suggest that Mike and I might like to try knocking up a tune together.

I liked the idea of this straightaway. Mike can produce huge, hi-torque productions and I had an idea of a songwriting approach which I though might complement this. The vocalist would be recognisably the bloke out of Shriekback but CG’d with florid new appendages. I fancied some mad-as-a-rat lyrics (Welcome to their secret sign: Boola Stack! Haunted Lego of the Mind! Boola Stack!) but the music would be slick and vivid and solidly crafted because that's always how Mike rolls. Thus you get something quite absurd being taken very seriously which is, to my mind, the best thing you can possibly have.

extract from the sleeve notes:

BONE MARAUDER tells of a pure love, painful engorgement and hog sorcery.

JUJUGRID (GO LIVE!) wrangles with hedonic guilt, ecclesiastical turpitude and leaves everything else the fuck alone.

BOOLA STACK! - There are so many things to say of Boola Stack that to ennumerate them insults us both.

NO FOOL BOLETUS... let's just be clear about this: you got nothing to hide, there's no need to worry. Be lucky.

Michaele don Turino and Bleary Android are the naked mortals chained to the husky obelisk of ANAXATON6

Anaxaton6 has some videos here:

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=anaxaton6

Mike Tournier

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

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The Ballad of Emma and Killian

This began life as a little drabble of rockstar!Emma and actor!Killian--not my favourite trope but I thought I’d give it a try. And then @thisonesatellite FORCED me to actually like it and once I did it kept getting bigger and bigger until it became DRABZILLA and had to go in Secret Things instead. SO.

Part 8 of Secret Things. This one is really very sweet. Struggling young artists in love stick together through the hard times until the good ones come. A little slice of life with just the teensiest little bit of Neal being an asshole and getting what-for.

Summary: They aren’t famous when they meet, or when they fall in love. As the years go by and their careers flourish along with their fame, their love endures.

Words: 2.2k Rating: T Tags: actor au, rockstar au, fluff, secret relationships

On AO3

Importing the tag list from Drabbles, apologies if you didn’t want a tag here:

@thisonesatellite @kmomof4 @teamhook @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @stahlop@mariakov81@facesiousbutton82

The Ballad of Emma and Killian:

They’re not famous when they meet. Her band is still playing bars and clubs and he’s barely managed to scrape a few minor roles in local theatre. They’re not famous, but they see the potential in each other.

“You’re brilliant with that,” he tells her, nodding at the guitar she’s slung over her shoulder. He’s had just enough to drink to give him the confidence to speak to her but not so much that he’s going to tell her he came here tonight expressly to see her play.

“Oh yeah?” She has her eyes on the barman mixing her drink, doesn’t look at him until she’s got it in her hand. “Do you—” Her eyes widen when she turns towards him, and a smile tugs the corner of her mouth as she slowly takes him in. “—play?” she finishes finally.

He’s grinning wide, flattered and more than a little turned on by her bold appraisal. “Only a few chords,” he says. “I’m an actor mostly.”

“Of course you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re really pretty. I bet those eyes show up well on camera.”

“I wouldn’t know, love, I’ve not managed to land anything that requires a camera quite yet.”

“You will.”

They end up in her hotel room, a nondescript place on the Lambeth Road. She shrugs and says she’s got far better things to spend her money on than somewhere to sleep, then proceeds to make that dingy room the most memorable place he’s ever been.

The next morning she has to head off early, to Manchester for her next gig. He walks her to the tube station and kisses her in front of it, then pulls back, memorising her face.

“Nice to meet you, Emma Swan,” he says.

She smiles. “And you, Killian Jones.”

—

Emma plays a dozen gigs in Manchester and word begins to get out. On the band’s last night in town an A&R rep is in the audience, and when she wakes up the next morning she has a record deal. She should be happy, she knows; she is happy, thrilled in fact, but she can’t get those blue eyes out of her head, or the wistful note in his voice when he said her name.

She goes back to London, back to the pub where they met. She goes with no hope or expectation, and when she sees Killian there at the bar her heart leaps and when she sits beside him and he grins in delight she feels like she’s come home.

—

“I have a record deal,” she tells him, after.

His whole face lights up. “That’s brilliant!” he says. “You’re brilliant.”

She flushes at the praise and he takes her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Emma,” he says, looking around the bland room they’re in. “Nothing against your taste in hotels, love, but I wonder if you would care to see my flat. It’s not much but it’s better than here.”

It is. He lives in the attic of an old house, fitted with a tiny kitchen and tinier bathroom, and a bed that folds out from the faded sofa.

“A garret!” She laughs. “Perfect for a starving actor.”

“That’s exactly the aesthetic I was going for,” he says, laughing with her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “It suits an emerging musician as well.”

She snuggles into his side. It does.

—

They get married in a simple ceremony at the Southwark registry office; far too soon, his brother says with frowning disapproval and her parents Skype them from Maine to say the same, but they don’t care and they don’t listen. They are sure of each other, and deeply in love.

The first few years are hard. Emma has to tour to promote her album and Killian takes every acting job he can, always hoping the next one will be his big break. The album is a huge success and the tour is extended; she is exhausted and burnt out and misses her husband, but she loves her music and the thrill of performing for the huge crowds, and they call each other every day, no matter what. His unwavering support keeps her going.

—

Her fame grows and she begins to do interviews, answering probing questions about her music and her life. The interviewers don’t ask her if she’s married and she doesn’t volunteer the information. She doesn’t wear her wedding ring onstage —she doesn’t like anything on her fingers when she plays— and she allows people to keep the conclusions they draw. The interviews appear online and on television, and soon Killian starts to hear people talking about her. He beams with pride whenever someone says they like her music, and when the remarks touch on the personal he simply shrugs them off. People can be assholes, but he knows his wife.

When her tour finally finishes they take a vacation— a month in the Seychelles, just the two of them in a beach hut with crystal blue water stretching out to the horizon. It is pure bliss; she unwinds for the first time in more than a year, and by the time they’re back in London the two of them are expecting a third. She tells her manager she’s taking a break to write some new songs and spends the next year in their tiny attic flat, playing her guitar and growing her baby, and watching her husband perform in his first lead role on the West End. People keep to themselves in the neighbourhood where they live, and if anyone recognises ‘the cultural heir of Nancy Wilson crossed with Jack White’ or ‘British theatre’s fastest-rising star’ the tabloids are not informed.

They have never been happier.

—

They’ve been married nearly five years when Killian’s big break finally comes. He lands a role in an American TV show and brings his family with him when he moves to Boston for filming. Emma’s on tour again but she Skypes him and the kids —they have two of them now— in their new place and tells them she can’t wait to be there. She tells him in private that his eyes look great on camera, as she always knew they would.

His new costars know he’s married, of course, he talks about his wife a lot but refers to her only as ‘Emma,’ a common enough name that no one thinks anything of it. The show is a breakaway hit and he finds himself suddenly famous, suddenly the focus of more female attention than even his handsome self is accustomed to, and fielding interview questions more probing than any he’s encountered before. He doesn’t hide his wedding ring but he also doesn’t mention who his wife is. His marriage is private, and there’s enough scrutiny on his personal life as it is.

—

“You know who I’d really like for this role?” the lead showrunner says to Killian one day, discussing a new character being introduced in the show’s third season. “Emma Swan. Do you think she’d be interested in getting into acting?”

He chokes on his coffee. “How would I know?” he asks cautiously.

The showrunner shrugs. “I know you’re a fan of hers,” he says. “I’ve seen your Spotify. Anyway, it’s pure speculation. I think she has the perfect look for the character, but I’ve got no idea if she can act.”

“Well, I’d love to work with Emma Swan,” says Neal Cassidy, the show’s secondary male lead. “Whether she can act or not, she��s a hell of a piece of ass. Nothing hotter than a chick who plays guitar.”

Killian concentrates hard on not punching the man in his leering face. He’s had to listen to a lot of people talk about how hot his wife is over the years and most of the time it doesn’t bother him, even when the remarks veer into the lewd. But he’s never really clicked with Cassidy, and the idea of the smug arsehole trying it on with Emma makes his blood boil.

“If she does join the show, I’m sure one way she’ll act is professionally,” he says stiffly. “And I’d hope the rest of us would too.”

“Oooh hooo,” says Neal in a taunting singsong. “Someone’s got a little crush.”

Killian gets up from the table and tosses his coffee cup in the trash with deliberate control. “If anyone needs me I’ll be in my trailer,” he says.

—

“I had an interesting call from my manager today,” says Emma over dinner that night. “Apparently I’ve had an offer to read for a part on your show.”

“Yeah,” Killian replies. “Bob was telling me he thinks you’d be perfect for the role. What do you think?”

She shrugs. “Acting’s really your thing. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.” He’s sure she means this, but there’s a wistfulness in her voice and he knows she’s getting tired of all the touring and would love something more stable that didn’t take her away from their kids.

He reaches across the table to take her hand. “You wouldn’t be, love, you know that,” he says, smiling at her. “If this is something you really want to try, you should try it.”

She smiles back, warm and soft. Her smile will be great on camera. “I think I will then,” she says.

“Good.”

She squeezes his hand. “I love you, Killian Jones.”

“And I you, Emma Swan.”

—

“Hey, hey, did you see her?” Neal elbows him in the ribs and once again Killian has to suppress the desire to respond with his fist.

“Who?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“Emma Swan, bruh. She’s meeting with Bob right now. She walked right by me on the way to his office and lemme tell you, she’s even hotter in person, if you can believe it.”

He thinks of his wife as he saw her that morning, all messy hair and tired eyes, cradling their youngest in her arms and singing softly to her as she nursed. “I can believe it,” he says.

“Hair like that, man, you just wanna wrap it around your fist and pull—” Killian turns his back and stalks away before he can hear what Neal wants to pull, reminding himself firmly that beating up a costar is frowned upon in the industry, and he would like to work again once this show ends.

He goes to his trailer and waits for Emma to finish her audition. Ten minutes later she slips through the door, flushed and glowing, and walks straight into his arms.

“How did it go?” he asks, as if he can’t read the answer on her face.

“They want me to start filming next week,” she replies, and her smile is radiant.

“That’s brilliant!” He hugs her close, grinning into her hair. “You’re brilliant.”

She leans back, studies his face. “And you’re sure you don’t mind, babe? I can still say no—”

“Absolutely not, you’ve earned this and Bob’s right, the character is perfect for you. Though it does mean we’ll probably have to tell people we’re married.”

She laughs. “Well, it’s been eight years now, I guess it’s about time we came clean. Plus it’s not like it’s a secret as such, it’s just something we’ve never told anyone before.”

He joins in her laughter and then he kisses her, a sweet, soft kiss that soon turns hot. She’s never visited him on set before, of course, and he finds himself overwhelmed by the desire to make love to her here, in this place where he has spent long days of filming sitting alone and missing her.

He lifts her onto the back of his armchair, pushing her skirt up her thighs so he can stand between them. She wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and grinds against him. They are lost in each other —this is how it’s always been between them— and neither of them hears the door to the trailer open or senses Neal’s slack-jawed presence until he manages to close his mouth and find his voice.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells.

Emma and Killian break apart and turn to glare at the intruder.

“What the fuck, man?” shouts Neal. “Aren’t you married?”

“Aye, mate.” Killian is fuming, his jaw clenched and his eyes like shards of ice. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife. This is Emma.”

Neal chokes and his eyes go wide as he clearly tries to remember just how disgustingly offensive he’s been about Emma Swan.

“Look, man,” he stutters. “I’m sorry—”

“No you’re not,” says Killian coldly. “But you are unwelcome. Kindly fuck yourself off now so my beautiful wife can fuck me.” He turns back to Emma, who pulls him in and resumes their kiss.

Neal stumbles and nearly falls as he backs out of the trailer, still stuttering apologies, but they are too busy tearing off each other’s clothes to notice.

—

They weren’t famous when they met, or when they married. But they are when they announce their relationship to a press and a public that goes mad over it. They’re at the top of every gossip site and trending on every social media network. Offers of joint interviews come pouring in, all of which they decline, which —people and the internet being what they are and what it is— only adds to their mystique. They are the story of the decade— for nearly an entire week, until Neal gets caught soliciting a prostitute who turns out to be an undercover cop, and everyone forgets about Emma Swan and Killian Jones.

Which is just the way they like it.

#cs ff #cs ff au #actor!au #rockstar!au #actor!Killian #rockstar!Emma #captain swan #cs fic #secret relationship #secretly married #secret things #the ballad of Emma and Killian #profdanglaisstuff #fluff #cs fluff

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k-itsmaywriting · 6 years

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jazz hands but they’re a bit embarrassed (Music Majors!AU)

On Monday night, Obi paces outside Practise Room 408.

It’s…stupid, so stupid. It’s not the first time he’s asked someone out, yet why is he having so much trouble?

It must be because it’s different, he thinks. He’s asked people out on dates, to get coffee, see a movie, go for dinner, whatever. But he’s never asked someone if they would like to specifically come see him play jazz piano at the bar Suzu works at on a Friday night – no one knows about those gigs.

Well, except for Suzu and Kiki, because Suzu recommended him to the owner and Kiki plays bass in the same band…Not that he’s ashamed of it or anything. He just doesn’t exactly know how to say I play jazz every Friday at a bar my friend works at to everyone he meets.

But still.

He has his chat with Shirayuki open on his phone already. Their history is all there – the many all-nighters of relaying mp3 files of their compositions, Shirayuki’s ramblings about biology and his about romantic period music, and the occasional meme about the struggles of composing. Talking to her is always fun. They only see each other once a week since comp is Shirayuki’s non-science elective, and he probably looks forward to those Monday mornings more than he should.

Obi slaps his own cheek, stuffs his hand in his hoodie pocket, and starts walking through the hall, typing in the chat.

“Hey Shirayuki…”

Hold on, he’s never opened with that before. He backspaces.

“Heyyyy my guy…”

Nope. Too casual.

He tosses possibilities out of his mind as he walks down the stairs, crafting the text, a harmony of hey I really like being friends with you let’s hang out and but I kind of sort of want to be something else maybe but I’m trying to be low-key about it. The thoughts drum around his mind, spinning around and around. It almost makes him dizzy with how long he holds his breath while striding through the building.

So much that he doesn’t notice the soft guitar strumming or the soft voice that fills the hall on the corner of the first floor.

As he turns the corner to leave through the back exit, he really doesn’t know how he misses it. He suddenly freezes, and she’s there, sitting outside Practise Room 119 right by the doors. Shirayuki, singing.

He…he’s never heard her sing before. He’s pretty sure she tells him she can’t. But the song is definitely from her, soft but a little fleeting like fresh air in spring.

Shirayuki tilts her head and her hair falls away from her face, gliding through sweet melodies. Obi sees her eyes are closed, and she sings like she’s just listening, breathing. She’s beautiful when she’s in her own world, without a care, except…

He...kind of needs to get out that way…

The music suddenly stops, and he hears her voice hiccup.

Ah, shit.

Shirayuki’s shoulders are tense when he looks at her this time. She’s frozen, eyes almost bulging out of her head as her face and neck flush a humiliating red.

Obi clears his throat, cocks his hip to the side. He looks chill, right? “Woah, hey, Shira—“

He’s never seen anyone pack a guitar into its case and run out a building so fast in his life.

The door swings a few times in the wake of her rush, the only noise in the new silence.

All he can do now is look at the text, still unsent.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to do now.

On Wednesday morning, Yuzuri asks Shirayuki if she wants to go to a bar on Friday.

“I was telling Suzu I was looking for somewhere quieter and he said the place he works is a jazz bar off the main street, so…” she shrugs, “guess he’d be right? He says he can get us free drinks if we want. Wanna come with me this Friday?��

Shirayuki hums from underneath her blanket burrito, distracted.

“…You still thinking about Obi from Monday?”

She peeks her eyes above her blanket. “Yes...”

Yuzuri sighs. “It’s really not that big of a deal. He probably knows it’s because you were embarrassed.”

“But Obi of all people! One of the best musicians in the entire class! And the cute boy from comp who I’ve told a million times I can’t sing but I didn’t tell him I do it anyway!”

“Wow, really dug yourself a hole there, didn’t you?”

Shirayuki turns in her bed, dragging more of her blanket over her shoulder and groaning.

“Anyway,” Yuzuri says, “Do you want to come on Friday? You can put on that new dress you bought and just…drink cocktails and listen to jazz for a couple of hours. It’ll be a nicer than thinking about how you totally blew your chance with a cute boy from uni where, quite frankly, everyone does embarrassing shit, so.”

Shirayuki slowly peels her blanket away and sits up. She lets her hands fall into her lap, and she takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll come.”

On Friday night, Obi can bet real money that Kiki is internally laughing her ass off.

“We’ve got a double kill tonight. Suzu tells Yuzuri he works here, and she comes with Shirayuki.” Kiki steps into the tiny hallway to the dressing room. “I don’t know whether this would be a curse or a blessing for you.”

“It’s a curse,” he groans. “It’s gonna be awkward.”

Kiki is holding back a snicker. “But have you seen her yet?”

Obi presses his forehead against the wall and knocks a fist against it. Twice. “Black lace cocktail dress…”

“Don’t feel bad, you don’t look too shabby yourself.” Kiki steps towards him and pinches some of the black button up near his wrist. “You match. How cute.”

“That wasn’t really the issue.”

She smiles. “I know, but you wouldn’t be the only one that would fancy seeing each other here.”

Shirayuki can feel herself smiling.

While Yuzuri and Suzu chat away, Shirayuki sits with them at the bar turned the other way, drinking in the blue lights underneath elevated floors and across the edges of ceilings with her glass just against her pink lips. She takes another sip.

It’s a nice place. She thinks she prefers this over clubs with synths blaring in her ears and too many bodies against hers at once, even if this is a little pricier. More people are just starting to fill the lounge chairs around the room, and she can hear the continuous ring of a cymbal in the corner.

Suzu taps her shoulder, and she turns around. “The band’s gonna start playing soon. I think you’ll recognise another person tonight too.”

Shirayuki tilts her head at Yuzuri, but she doesn’t seem to know either. She looks back to Suzu. “What do you mean ‘another’?”

“Wait, shit, you’re not here for—“

Strolling piano chords cut him off, and they all turn towards the little stage across the bar. Shirayuki can only see the saxophonist under the front light, swaying under its halo. She doesn’t know them, so she looks to the left where there’s a glint of light off a grand piano.

The pianist’s back is turned, but Shirayuki can catch fingers lightly hopping between full chords, pressing a little deeper on the beats, stretching and drooping time with the muffled saxophone. But his arms and shoulders wrapped tightly in black follow his hands, like he’s playing a Chopin nocturne—

Hold on…

The pianist and saxophonist turn to each other, both minds and music in perfect sync. They dance over steady splash cymbal, and that’s when Shirayuki catches gold eyes on the night sky stage like a star.

She spins around to Suzu over the bar, whispering, “Obi?!”

Suzu’s lips are stretched thinly as he leans back away from the counter. He barely nods. “Yup. And might as well do the spoiler – Kiki’s on bass.”

“Since when?!”

“Since probably like…the beginning of this year? They were looking for a pianist and a bassist so I was like, hey I know some really cool people who just started uni here and are looking for some work, and here we are.”

Shirayuki turns back around and leans back into the edge of the bar. She…she just didn’t know he played jazz. She’s seen him strike lightning in the keys and other times lean forward while his fingers rippled over them like water in a lake. But now that she listens to his them dance in rainy New York City alleyways, she feels that the way he pulls, raises and falls is the same. And it’s beautiful.

Well, to be fair she never told him she sings even though she doesn’t think she’s any good…

She lets herself curl up in the comforting jazz that’s warm against her skin. She finds herself smiling again, bigger this time.

Soon, the song ends, and Kiki leans over towards the saxophonist’s microphone. She greets the guests nonchalantly, since half of them probably aren’t listening, and clears her throat. “Obi has a special performance of his own tonight.”

That doesn’t seem to be true, because Obi’s body suddenly tenses.

“Gershwin’s three piano preludes, please welcome him.”

There are a few cheers, and Shirayuki knows Obi isn’t backing out with the way he sits back upright, letting his head roll back for a moment. Even she can internally hear his groaning.

He plays by himself for ten minutes, but it feels like two with how tightly captive Shirayuki is in his music. The band takes a break after another few songs together. The instant the drummer and saxophonist are off the stage, Obi sneaks off his stool towards Kiki.

Yuzuri taps Shirayuki’s shoulder. “Suzu said Obi’s been preparing the Gershwin for quite a while now,” she says. “This was the first time he’s played it at the bar.”

“Really? It was so good! I never knew he did jazz. Did you?”

She shakes her head.

Shirayuki looks towards the piano again, but as she turns Obi freezes halfway across the bar. He smiles sheepishly at her. She can’t help but smile back, and hops off the seat to walk towards him. “Hey, Obi. I’m…” she suddenly doesn’t feel as confident anymore. “Sorry I ran away on Monday. I was just…embarrassed because I know I always tell you I can’t sing yet I was right there...”

He blinks. “Oh, uh, no, that’s…that’s fine. I understand. I was just confused and thought for a second like…you weren’t going to talk to me anymore or something…?”

She nods slowly.

“But uh,” he stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets, “I think you sounded really nice.”

Shirayuki lets out a laugh. “Thank you, you play really, really nice jazz. Suzu told me you’ve been working on it for ages.”

He coughs. “Yeah, it was uh…I’m kind of trying to impress someone.”

Shirayuki really hopes the dread isn’t showing on her face.

“Who…” She starts looking around, hoping he doesn’t notice the heaviness in her chest. “Who is it? Are they here?”

Obi grips his shoulder. “Yeah, you.”

She stops. She blinks up at him a few times because did…did she hear that right?

“I…I really like you, Shirayuki. I know we don’t talk all the time and we do different degrees but I really love class with you and talking to you. And…I was gonna invite you on Monday, but then, you know…” he grimaces. “I told Kiki about it, but she saw you here with Yuzuri and put me on the spot.” Even under all his embarrassment, all his awkwardness and nerves, he laughs. “I’ll have to thank her properly later. I don’t think ‘Kiki what the fuck was that for’ cuts it.”

She can’t find her words. She just gapes at him, but before she knows it she says something. It barely comes out of her chest, but she manages. “I really like you too, Obi.”

His grin lights up the entire room, and Shirayuki swears she’s never seen a brighter sun or star than this.

Kiki suddenly walks up behind Obi and smacks a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we’re going back up now.” She peeks from the side and smiles at Shirayuki. “Love your dress, looks good on you. Right, Obi?”

Obi turns to face Kiki, serious, and he says, “Thank you, Kiki, for being my friend and listening to me talk about my hopeless crush on Shirayuki.”

Kiki furrows her eyebrows, then glances at Shirayuki. “You know she’s right there, right?”

“Yeah.”

She laughs. “Cool. But I do apologise, Shirayuki, I need to drag this pianist back onto stage.”

Shirayuki nods and watches as the two cross the bar. She’s about to turn to go back to Yuzuri and Suzu, but gasps. “O-Obi!!”

It’s louder than she thought – the entire band looks in her direction. But there’s no turning back now. She clenches her fists, summoning the loudest voice she can. “Do you want to go out for dinner sometime this week?!”

The bar fills with cheers and whoops while Obi beams at her again. “It’s a date!”

Shirayuki’s breath falls from her chest as her hands fall to her knees, and she’s laughing to herself.

She tells Yuzuri all about it, even though she just watched the whole thing.

#obiyukibingo2018 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayuki hime #i'm back with more awkward turtles obiyuki HOPE YALL ENJOY :'D

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falkenscreen · 5 years

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Yesterday

A film like this makes you wonder how it never got made up till now.

Joining a long list of inoffensively entertaining Sydney Film Festival Closing Night flicks, yesterday Yesterday answered the question of just what Richard Curtis has been doing for the past few months.

Aspiring musician and everyman Jack (of course he’s named Jack), played by Himesh Patel, cruises between Suffolk gigs to diminishing returns. His long-time manager, an effervescent, endlessly-charming Lily James (where is this going you ask?) backs him to the hilt, until a world-wide blackout/car accident somehow means that Jack alone has any memory of The Beatles.

Struck with John, Paul, George and Ringo’s inspiration, Yesterday asks, given the chance, who wouldn’t pass off Let It Be as their own and propel themselves into superstardom?

If you can figure out where this romcom is going from this description (you can figure out where this romcom is going from this description) then Yesterday will bear absolutely no surprises for you. Unabashedly and uncommonly formulaic and surprisingly so for having Danny Boyle at the helm no less, Yesterday neither has any of the Director’s trademark visual flourishes, save some marvellous backward tracking shots as Jack and best mate Rocky (Joel Fry) race about Liverpool.

To this feature’s discredit the filmmakers have strangely left Yesterday bereft of any real conflict, plot or character development (save of course what is fairly an original premise) beyond that bare and blatantly generic. That which eventuated as a dream sequence being widely promoted as a semblance of real stakes (and it being but a dream itself) are both pretty cheap ploys. If the idea is to get people in the door and toe-tapping then it will probably work, but unlike the Mamma Mia films, which had much better through lines, those involved shouldn’t think for a second that anyone is coming back for more.

We are nonetheless treated to some supremely fun world-building as it becomes apparent that there’s a lot more missing across this universe; it’s one thing to be without The Beatles, but no Coke?! There’s a hilarious dig at Oasis and, in what is probably the only subtle addition to this entire movie, a wry visual reference to Stanley Kubrick never having existed.

The Liverpool troupe are pretty much the only act you could build this sort of flick around in its chosen era; you could do it with Bowie and fairly Dylan, though the latter would be a very different film. Salivating in the cavalcade of Beatles Number Ones that rarely get played on screen for how expensive the rights are, amid such a jukebox you’ll barely notice the absence of some of the band’s most famous numbers (From Me To You, Come Together, Day Tripper, among many).

Having said this, Yesterday regretfully focuses on the most recognisable Beatles numbers (a crowd-pleasing film if any) with sparing references or airtime given to some of the more obscure tunes much beloved by those most dedicated followers. A creative approach that would fairly have drawn the ire of the faithful too replicated in Rocketman and Bohemian Rhapsody (how Innuendo was so short-changed I’ll never know), there are only two additions from say The White Album (with a great gag about how the title doesn’t promote diversity) and but one from the likes of Rubber Soul.

On this matter, as Ed Sheeran points out not sure how playing Back in the U.S.S.R. would go down before a twenty-something modern Moscow crowd who’ve never heard it before, but hey the ‘R’ stands for Russia, right?

And yes, that Ed Sheeran. He’s in this and it’s nice to see that Ed has the integrity of spirit to have a few digs at himself, while Boyle (still not sure why he’s on board) never misses the opportunity to land a fair few laughs at his expense.

Patel is, well, he’s fine. He’s a decent singer and a talented comedic performer whose limits here if anything emphasise that so universally beloved in the Beatles’ output. Kate McKinnon flounders in the first half with generic lousy manager material not suited to the breadth of her talents; eclipsing her co-stars in the latter segments (even with bare screen time) as she and the script lean into her distinct, eclectic comic and slapstick sensibilities. What she can manage with a simple contortion of her face is not near matched in its quality by any performer here, save James.

Thank God she decided to jump on board for whole stretches could have been boring and trite without her trademark charm and the relatable emotion she invests in successive sequences. Turning what in the hands of another performer could simply have been winsome, forgettable vignettes into poignant encounters, her shouting “not all the crisps” is funnier than every well planned, pop-culture heavy reference herein.

And on James, that the talented singer was permitted but one backing vocals is an absolute disgrace and Yesterday’s biggest missed opportunity.

Something (see what I did there) that will prove fun for casual Beatles fans (this author among them) but likely frustrating at times for the more dedicated, save a later segment where Boyle elegantly and welcomely celebrates the band’s actual origins, the best thing about this film is still finding myself listening to ‘In My Life,’ now Yesterday seems so far away.

Yesterday screened as part of the Sydney Film Festival and will be in cinemas from 27 June

on Festevez

#xl #reviews #festivals #film festival #sydney film festivals #australian film festivals #sydney film festival #sff #sffau #sydfilmfest #sydney film festival 2019 #danny boyle #lily james #himesh patel #kate mckinnon #ed sheeran

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anthonypaulh · 6 years

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39 Years On and still OFF the WALL

On this day, August 10th, 39 years ago, music fans were about to hear one of the greatest pop music albums ever to be released. The record remains one of the best loved albums ever made and has retained a place in the record collections of millions across the World. Whether or not you are a fan of the artist concerned it doesn’t prevent anyone who listens to music of any kind, from realising that this piece of work was special in so many ways. Whether on vinyl, cassette, CD, or any format for that matter the album has outlasted them all and still sells huge numbers.

The fifth solo album of Michael Jackson’s career, and his first on the EPIC label has so far sold over 20 million copies Worldwide, 8 million of those in the USA, 4 million in the UK and 4 million in Europe. ( Us Brits buy a lot of music, not surprising I suppose as we make so much of it) .

The album of course is “OFF THE WALL” and I would wager that most people will have heard of it even if they themselves have not listened to it. Now, to be honest, I’m not the biggest Michael Jackson fan but it is obvious that he was a major, major talent. I’d like to think that I recognise a good record when I hear it and in this case it wasn’t just good, it was great.

The record is just one of those albums that music fans know. It’s Like The Beatles - Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run, Bob Marley - Exodus, Elton John - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Stevie Wonder - Songs in the Key of Life, Marvin Gaye - What’s Going On, Bobby Womack- The Poet I and II, Curtis Mayfield- A New World Order and so many others. They are classics that will always be respected and acknowledged.

The album “Off the Wall”, was recorded in Los Angeles between December 1978 and June 1979, with a cast list which was practically a “who’s who “ of popular music. With the slickest of slick productions by music royalty Quincy Jones, it really couldn’t fail, although the story of the making of the record could have led to a very different outcome.

So, what was the background to the making of the album and why could “Off the Wall “ have actually fallen completely Off the Wall ?

To start with we need to look back at the history of The Jackson Five and their prolifically talented, boyish lead vocalist Michael Jackson. To fully understand what musical journey they undertook to end up with the Peter Pan of pop striking gold with “Off the Wall” you have to go back to Detroit via Philadelphia and New York.

The “Off the Wall “ story actually begins in Detroit when The Jackson Five were signed to MOTOWN, at the legendary “Hitsville USA” . The hit record factory established in 1959 by Berry Gordy after the encouragement of his friend and ally Smokey Robinson saw them sign the Jackson boys in 1969 and set them on the road to stardom.

They had numerous hits on the Motown label, such as their debut smash “I Want you Back”, followed by “ABC”, “I’ll be There” and “The Love you Save”. By 1970 The Jackson Five were the biggest selling Motown act and in his usual commercially savvy way Berry Gordy launched the Indiana boys into a television series and hundreds of products from colouring books to cereal boxes.

First and foremost Berry Gordy was a businessman, who wanted hits. He realised that to have hits he needed to appeal to a racially mixed audience and in so doing he accepted that he needed to make records that were unthreatening, simple pop.

What the Jacksons and their management team didn’t know was that Motown had signed them to a contract which gave them only 2.8per cent of the royalties . As if that were not bad enough, they were severely restricted artistically and had little control over the musical content of their records. Just as Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder would defy the Berry Gordy requirement for simple, easy listening , unthreatening pop records, The Jackson Five knew that they had to escape the stifling, stranglehold that the Detroit label had over them.

So in 1975, The Jackson Five by now known as the “First family of Soul “ were more than happy to escape the Motown label. They could not take their brother Jermaine with them as he was married to the sister of Berry Gordy ( as an aside Marvin Gaye was wedded to another of Berry Gordy’s sisters too) but they signed with Philadelphia International Records a division of EPIC. The lure of working with the supreme production team of Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff on the Philadelphia label proved to be a major draw.

The Gamble and Huff team had been responsible for creating the “Philly “ sound in the early 1970’s, producing huge hits for The O’Jays, Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, Billy Paul and MFSB. They were the 1970’s equivalent of the Jam and Lewis production team of the 1980’s, who ironically made huge hits with Janet Jackson.

Working with Gamble and Huff was a breath of fresh air for the Jacksons ( Motown refused to let them use the name The Jackson 5 after they left the Detroit label). Musically they could be more adventurous and they had full control over their material. The best of their work at Philadelphia International was probably “Show You the Way to Go”, “Can You feel It” and the huge disco hit “Shake Your Body down to the Ground”. It all formed a part of Michael Jackson throwing off the Motown shackles and changing his musical taste and direction. It was an education.

Working with Gamble and Huff was just a part of Michael Jackson’s musical transformation. In early 1978 he starred in the hit movie “The Wiz” as the Scarecrow, directed by Sidney Lumet. He studied the New York disco scene at the famous venue “Club 54” and realised that the music and dance he was witnessing would play a large part in his work going forward. Perhaps more importantly it was on “The Wiz” project that Quincy Jones who was arranging the score for the movie, promised Michael Jackson that he would produce his next album.

The musical transformation, the confidence gained in his role in “The Wiz” and the promise made by the most regal of music producers to direct his next record, meant that all of the stars were aligning for the Michael Jackson solo album that was coming. All the ducks were getting in a row and it was increasingly likely that the end product would be something special. For Michael himself, he was brimming with ideas and it was his good fortune that Quincy Jones could pull them all together into a coherent piece of work.

Had all these steps not been made it is doubtful whether Off The Wall would have ever got off the ground. There was many a battle ahead in producing the final album but the list of contributors for the project was incredibly impressive. Even so, some of the songs which were eventually included could easily have slipped away.

The track “Out of my Life “ was actually written for Frank Sinatra and the track “Rock with You” had previously been offered to Karen Carpenter albeit she declined to use it. The Paul McCartney track “Girlfriend” had originally been included in the 1978 Paul McCartney and Wings album “London Town”, so it was a big gamble whether it would work on a Michael Jackson record.

Even the employment of Quincy Jones as producer was very heavily resisted by EPIC records. They thought that “Q” was a bit too much of a musical heavyweight, rather too “jazzy” to produce a mainstream hit album. But Michael Jackson personally insisted on Quincy Jones. The record label actually preferred Gamble and Huff or Maurice White from Earth Wind and Fire. Both teams would have done a terrific job no doubt and they had incredible CV’s but “Q” it was.

The Quincy Jones production turned out of course to be sparkling but his cast of contributors were as good as anyone could call upon to make any record. High calibre musicians like Patti Austin and Jim Gilstrap on vocals, George Duke on synthesisers, Paulinho da Costa on percussion, Jerry Hey arranging the horn section, Louis Johnson ( from the Brothers Johnson who would also have a huge hit album “Light up the Night” including the massive single “STOMP”produced by Quincy Jones), Stevie Wonder and Rod Temperton as arrangers were huge stars in their own right. The record was literally an immaculate conception.

The biggest songs from the album were the title track “Off the Wall” , “Rock with You” and “Don’t Stop till you Get Enough”. The first two were both written by Rod Temperton the Englishman from the unlikeliest of places Cleethorpes (no disrespect to Cleethorpes but saying that it hasn’t borne too many superstars is putting it kindly). He had been responsible for numerous hits with his British soul /R and B band “Heatwave” in the early to mid 1970”s but working on the “Off the Wall” project was going up another level. It opened the path for him to work with Quincy Jones many times after that, including the next two Michael Jackson albums (He wrote the title track for “Thriller”) and then with George Benson (He wrote the title track “Give me the Night”) and The Brothers Johnson (“Light up the Night”).

The final version of “Off the Wall” became one of the most iconic pop records ever made. It is just about the perfect blend of disco, funk, soft rock, Broadway ballad and pop song. Like all great albums it has something for everyone and all of the tracks are strong. There are no weak links and of course the production, arranging and playing are faultless.

It is my humble opinion that the subsequent 2 Michael Jackson albums “Thriller” and “Bad” almost tried too hard. Of course they sold in absolute bucket loads and had their classic tracks but they somehow didn’t feel as exuberant as “Off the Wall”. Perhaps they were overproduced and after the “Bad” album Quincy Jones himself confirmed that he wouldn’t work on any other Michael Jackson projects. He probably realised that it was time to move on and he had seen the best of a truly great artist. As for Michael Jackson he seemed to become more and more troubled as the years passed and sadly the innocence and energy of “Off the Wall” faded.

The album has stood the test of time really well. If you give it a spin now it is still difficult to avoid moving or tapping a toe to the uptempo numbers or humming and whistling the ballads. It’s infectious. Music moves people, and this is an album that does that to this day. It is the best album that Michael Jackson ever recorded. “Thriller” sold 110 million records and “Bad” sold 45 million but in my opinion they lost the innocence and sheer fun that “Off the Wall” captured.

For me “Off the Wall” reflects a Michael Jackson who had finally found his musical freedom and revelled in it. Having left the suffocating Motown fluffy pop records behind him he had finally found his own musical path. He had absorbed the magnificence of the Gamble and Huff string filled, Philly sound. Via New York’s Studio 54 he had completed a musical and personal journey which Quincy Jones, assisted by a stellar cast of A list musicians and songwriters, finally turned into a masterpiece.

Rolling Stone magazine rated “Off the Wall” as number 68 in a 500 list of the greatest albums ever produced. As we celebrate the 39th anniversary of its’ release it is undoubtedly one of the most influential records of my lifetime. It transformed the Peter Pan of Indiana into the King of Pop. Sadly at just 50 years of age Michael Jackson died in tragic circumstances following a number of years of drug dependency and unhappiness. We can only reflect on a huge talent who lived a troubled life and died way too young.

His very best album “Off the Wall” was him at his exuberant, most joyful, energetic best. He appeared to be having fun and really enjoying his music. It is the best way to remember his incredible talent and recall that not only was he the voice of some of the greatest popular songs ever made but he was also the man that Fred Astaire said was the greatest dancer of his time.

Not bad for a boy from Gary, Indiana.

RIP Michael Jackson RIP Rod Temperton

Thank You for the music

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