#demitasse spider-man?

[rancid-zinnia-onthepatio]

i have said "demitasse spider-man?" more times than numbers can count

someone make his suit match i'm begging

#spectacular spider man #tssm #tssm quentin beck #quentin beck #demitasse spider-man?

[ch1-kasako]

NO PLEASE I LOVE READING CUPHEAD HCS PLEASE PLEASE I HAVE SOME BRO SHARING IS CARING NEOW BROO PLEASEEEE😭

OH GOD I'M SCARED OKAT I'LL JUST LIST OFF THE ONES AT HBE TOP OF MY HEAD

•his conscience is based kinda like a boat tower thing where there's this big ass building that has a light that changes colour based on his emotions and when he goes into a black out it shines red really bright and there's like black and yellow accents

•most of the beings in his conscience/conscious idk are different vers of him and there's one of him that's a whole ass wendigo

•really likes cats, cats r his fave animal omg

• will wood, MSI and maybe mitski coded idk

•cuddle bug, if he falls asleep in yo arms you r NOT moving🙏

•lowkey bi, screw the wiki he's def kissed some men

•can cook, but can only cook what kettle has taught him, couldn't make a simple fried egg but could cook a while 5* steak and mash no problem and could make the best cakes ever (credits to baroness von bon bon she def taught him💪)

•has probably been fed human before by blackhat and flug

•used to be besties w dementia

•mamas boy🙏

•is the one out of him and mugs that can actually save money somehow even though he's the one who has a gambling addiction

•remember the fight w him and bendy where bends bit his arm? Yeah, that arm is completely numb, occasionally nibbles on it like a stress toy

•would cry if someone gave him a cat on his birthday, especially if it was old asf or disabled in some way, would care for it like his own child

•no idea what happened between him and meg but would also cry if he had to face her again (she would humiliate his ass like the queen she is🎀)

•has had the most questionable convos w Jeremy Fairfax ever

•lowkey would be a small spoon when he's sad

•has really nice nails and actually natural eyeliner, like he looks like he's wearing eyeliner but he isn't he just built that way

•man boobs, had a breast reduction during his heart surgery non-consentually😭

•walks like a model (natural catwalk or whatever but not as dramatic)

•i honestly feel like demitasse wouldn't accept him as her son because of his demon blood :(

•one of his eyes has a yellow spot near his pupil and the other has a pink spot near the edge of his iris (I'm not sure if it's heterochromia or central heterochromia)

•cried so hard he had a panic attack when he woke up after nearly dying during the experiment when he was like 13 and mugs was scared for him :((((

•his pupils expand like a cat when he sees someone he loves or when he eats sugary stuff (cat coded💪💪)

•his nails r claw like, meow ig

•goes limp when ppl touch his hair, like that shit hits different he will melt that's why he hates it when ppl touch his hair

•knows like one dance meg taught him, and just so happens he only knows the woman's role so it's basically useless to him

•Quadratus once told him to look at the stars to guide him (when he had just lost to the devil and was about to leave inkwell isles) and if the stars failed him to turn to the oceans waters and call to quadratus for help (I like to think quadratus can just spawn in any water source but only if u use a certain rune that cup knows)

•lowkey really likes learning about cannibalism and crazy shit like that

•along with wood lillies, some of his fave flowers r black dahlias, roses, lily of the valley, spider lilies, and others🙏🙏

Let me know is there is anymore type of headacmons u wanna know about I have angst, NSFW and probably a lot more idk🙏🙏 holy shit I need to learn how to spell and type slowly😭

#bendy and boris in the inky mystery #quest cuphead #inky mystery #babtqftim

[acodexofourtime]

Be My Demitasse

“Life emerged from the sea, and after a time, it found its way back to it,” thought Doctor Orfeo as he poured himself a cup of coffee from a small aluminum pot.  There he sat at a café overlooking the lower reaches of Santa Ninfa, each building drained of joy as much as the next.  He watched as his little golden spoon dove into the crests of white crema that swirled over the surface of his dark coffee, and set the spoon aside to take a sip.

It had already been a year since he last saw his counterpart from the deep ocean, Doctor Ione, having promised each other they would focus on their respective work.  He could almost see the errant strands of seaweed woven into her hair.  Her skin was the color of rich dark sand, the depths of which could contain an entire universe of life and the fossils of waves yet to come.

Not long after he received a note from Don Benedetto’s servant on that day, saying farewell to his guardian cloves of spectral garlic hung just inside the entryway to his room, he left Santa Ninfa’s spider web of narrow streets, snaking his way to the villa set upon the bluff overlooking the city, passing by no shortage of ossified birds, lizards, and perhaps the outstretched effigies of people that were melded to the walls of the tufa that formed the Don’s Citadel, after centuries of volcanic eruptions peppered its ancient gates with their still forms.

The Doctor was led into Don Benedetto’s grounds by a sleepless henchwoman with a long braid that would whip to and fro like a metronome with every step, a detail which Doctor Orfeo did not miss, leaving him with a surprised smile as he tried to turn his attentions to the square-planed formal gardens leading up to the front double doors of the seashell white villa.

Inside, thick tapestries suffused the walls of all light, and mustard and walnut colored floor tiles echoed back each step as they made their way up a grand staircase into the Don’s chamber.

The Don himself was small, suffused with a crackling crimson mist, his features sallow and half hidden by pleated indigo sheets.  A forking mustache told the time in shadows upon the sides of his mouth, and his brows was creased with perspiration, which the Doctor noted as a side effect of anxiety more than a symptom of illness.

The Doctor, drawing out a small vacuum tube from his black and silver bag, began by asking the Don, “ How do you do, Don Benedetto.  I already know why you summoned me. I see your condition and know what to do to treat it. I just wrote a paper on it, in fact.”

The Don grunted in reply, “I am not given to grand statements here.  Name your price, and it’s yours.  Just help me.  No one else can.”

Doctor Orfeo paused, looking at the Don square in the eye as the Don’s henchperson stood in the back, wringing her hands about a jointed lead pipe.  “Money is one thing, but there’s a mine that you own outside the city, Don Benedetto.  I have seen to it that many of the miners are becoming immaterial - their essence is no longer of this time, or the next.  They have given their past to you, and they have no future to speak of.  I think the profit of that mine has declined to the point that it’s what we can call, ‘a well that has run dry.’  Give that mine to them, and let them pay you dividends.  You’ll see what they make of it in turn.”

The Don’s eyes nearly bugged out.  “My mine?  You’re fucking nuts, with all due respect, Doctor Orfeo.”

The doctor popped a small woven cord into the tail end of the glass vacuum tube.  His eyes turned calmly back to the Don.  “Yes or no, Don Benedetto?  I can help you here and now, or you can seek out the help of Doctor Mesmerato from the bottom of the barrel.”

Don Benedetto groaned, “You are a wicked man, Doctor Orfeo, and I will never forget the vice you shoved my head into today.  My memory is longer than the pain I’m feeling each time I breathe in this prickly smoke!  They have the mine.  As soon as I say it, mark my word, it’s done!”

At that, Doctor Orfeo held the vacuum tube up to the troublesome mist, and withdrew a small square black box, depressing a red button.  The vacuum tube began to glow with a blue, then red, then yellow light and then, with a loud bang, it suddenly opened by way of a tiny glass hinge at the top of the bulb, sucking up the miasma with a crackling scream, dragging it out of the air and the Don’s very nasal passages.  Once the bulb filled up with gas, the little glass hinge sucked itself closed.  With that, the Don’s pallor came back and he sat upright in bed as though nothing at all had ever happened.

The Doctor exhaled, “You should be fine now, Don Benedetto. If you’ll excuse me, I have to make my way back to my own affairs. I’ll let you send a message to the mine.”

With that, Doctor Orfeo packed up his things and left both the Don and the Don’s henchperson in the room, where he was led out by a man with a rather crooked nose, the Doctor’s right ear trailing blood.

Now, long after the fact, all that the Doctor had to show for it was this miserable table on a humid day, and the shadow of a sudden visitor before him-  a paid messenger with a tiny head wearing the featured Augury wings of the famed Fleet Foot Delivery Service, who extended a telegram his way and fished out payment from the money Doctor Orfeo had set aside to pay the cafe bill.  

Doctor Orfeo gave the messenger the stink eye, and opening the telegram, was confronted with a statement written in a hand he knew well: “BE MY DEMITASSE.”

#the continuing adventures of doctor orfeo

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 6, Number 3

Matthew Shipp and Nate Wooley

We shoehorn another Dust into the end of a wintery month, putting politics, a global pandemic, bad weather and the final season of Better Call Saul aside to concentrate on the ever overwhelming flow of new music. This month spans the usual gamut of obscure but worthy genres, from free jazz to crunk to extreme noise to yet another take on Pachebel’s Canon. The clear star this month, though, is Matthew Shipp, who gets two slots for two different collaborations, and so commands our cover image. Writers include Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Ray Garraty, Ian Mathers, Justin Cober-Lake and Jonathan Shaw.

Lao Dan / Paul Flaherty / Randall Colbourne / Damon Smith — Live at Willimantic Records (Family Vineyard)

It’s a long way from China to Connecticut. But this quartet bridges the distance so masterfully, you would not know that it’s not only the first time they’ve played together; it’s the first time that alto saxophonist, bamboo flute, and suona player Lao Dan played in the United States. The musicians bring a combination of deep knowledge and fresh potential to the encounter. Saxophonist Paul Flaherty and drummer Randall Colbourne have been playing together for decades, keeping the free jazz torch lit in times and places around New England where no one else knew what the fuck they were doing, let alone appreciated the fact that they were doing it. Lao Dan may be half their age, but since he’s spent his musical career playing in China’s major cities, he knows the experience of playing in an uncomprehending environment just as well. When he plays alto, he certainly sounds well acquainted with the conventions of free jazz, matching Flaherty’s growls and cries with aplomb. And while the moments when he plays traditional Chinese instruments sound distanced from free jazz convention, he finds space and rhythmic footing to make real contributions within the fertile matrix of force and rhythm laid out by Flaherty, Colbourne, and double bassist Damon Smith (at the time a Massachusetts resident, since relocated to St. Louis).

Bill Meyer

 demitasse — Perfect Life (Bedlamb)

Perfect Life by demitasse

demitasse is the quiet alter-ago of Buttercup’s Erik Sanden and Joe Reyes. Though there are a couple of lo-fi rockers here, the main tenor is tremulous, emotive and rather lovely, with spider silk melodies that look wispy but turn out to have a fair amount of tensile strength. Take for instance, “Coming Out Wrong Again,” a gently delivered slip of a song framed in the barest frame of strumming, in a well-weathered voice with creaks in the corners. And yet, as it rolls on diffidently, the tune picks up momentum, and the chorus wreathes the title phrase in harmonies in a way that might remind you of Carissa’s Wierd or its successor Grand Archives. Which is to say, in a way that seems inevitable and right. In the more amplified parts, the singer picks up a bit of Jonathan Richman’s whimsied warble and drums kick through scratchier, more aggressive guitar playing. “Free Solo (for Alex Honnold)” (yes the rock climber) is perhaps the brashest and less constrained of these cuts, imbued with the muffled mania of its title character and approaching Chad VanGaalen’s whacked out tunefulness. The title cut, like most of the album, celebrates small lapidary moments – the singer’s dad cutting his hair— and their weight in memory. There’s a resonance to the smallest sounds here, and a significance in elliptical lines. demitasse is a small cup of wonder, just sitting there on the kitchen table in the midst of life itself.

Jennifer Kelly

  Duke Deuce — Memphis Massacre 2 (Quality Control Music)

After the viral hit “Crunk Ain’t Dead” Tennessee rapper Duke Deuce dropped a full tape which got endorsed by Lil Jon, Project Pat and Juicy J. These Dirty South legends jumped on the remix of “Crunk Ain’t Dead”, a song that is literally supposed to slaughter strip clubs all the way up from Memphis to Canadian border. Crunk’s been leading zombie-ish life, being if not fully then almost dead for years. It’s hard to predict if Memphis Massacre 2 will spur a wave of neocrunk but even if it won’t, it will remain a gutsy punch to the soft rap belly. The slower songs on the tape, like “Trap Blues”, are weaker efforts as they are lost among same-y Southern rap ballads.

Ray Garraty  

 Arto Lindsay / Ken Vandermark / Joe McPhee / Phil Sudderberg—Largest Afternoon (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

Largest Afternoon by Lindsay/Vandermark/McPhee/Sudderberg

After decades of frequent partnership, Joe McPhee and Ken Vandermark have attained the level where they are being recruited for dream teams. Astral Spirits recently released Invitation to a Dream, a specially commissioned meeting between the two multi-horn players and pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn. And now comes Largest Afternoon, by a quartet comprising McPhee, Vandermark, drummer Phil Sudderberg (Marker, Spirits Having Fun, Vibrating Skull Trio) and guitarist Arto Lindsay (DNA, Ambitious Lovers, his own bad self) at the behest of the record label / art gallery, Corbett Vs. Dempsey. If you’re hoping for a combination of free jazz and Brazilian pop, keep your dancing shoes in their box; this CD documents a first-time, no-net encounter. On the rare occasions when Lindsay opens his mouth, it’s to emit strangled phonemes; by comparison, his utterances with DNA seem positively Dylan-esque. But if you want to hear feedback squaring off against soulful reed-song, valve-pops peppering amp-coughs and interactions between percussion, strings, and wind that verge on the tectonic, Largest Afternoon will make your day.

Bill Meyer

  Jason McMahon — Odd West (Shinkoyo)

Odd West by Jason McMahon

Odd West delivers extremely soft focus (bordering on new-age-y) instrumentals plus effected vocals from a one-time Skeletons mainstay. The main instrument is acoustic guitar, pristinely recorded and glossed with a radiant glow. McMahon, a jazz-trained guitarist, learned to finger pick for this record, and there’s something a bit studied about these cascading bouts of iridescent sound, a bit too perfect, a bit too glassy and calm. “Ambisinistrous” ebbs and flows in minor key fret flurries, McMahon all alone with the guitar and sounding rather good at it. “Sunshine for Locksmith” floats “lahs” and “ahs” and lullaby “wooh-ooh-oohs” over its placid surface, tilting golden dust-moted rays onto all natural motifs until it seems too good to be real. By the end, I’d give a lot for a string squeak or even a stray false note. It’s like the old descriptions of heaven in Sunday school, too pretty to seem like somewhere you’d want to live.

Jennifer Kelly

 Donovan Quinn — Absalom (Soft Abuse)

Absalom by Donovan Quinn

Donovan Quinn has been a mainstay of the Bay Area’s hand-made, lo-fi folk-psych-rock scene for almost two decades through the Skygreen Leopards with Glenn Donaldson, in New Bums with Ben Chasny (who also plays here) , in the one-off Fuckaroos with Sonny Smith and Kelley Stoltz and on his own in the 13th Month. Regardless of project, you can count on him for hazily soft-focus not-quite-rock, not-quite folk songs, that drone like VU outtakes wreathed in patchouli smoke, edgeless and adrift and whispery. That’s more or less what he’s doing here, with a variety of SF-adjacent talent in tow, not just Chasny and Elisa Ambrogio but Papercuts Jason Quever and underground songwriters Eric Amerman and Michael Tapscott. But it’s Quinn’s show, really, with Quinn’s soft unhurried voice, his loosely coalescing arrangements of guitar fuzz, drums and chamber strings, his subtly off center way with lyrics. “Satanic Summer Nights,” sings urgently of “a game with no rules,” but it’s not quite that; rather it’s a game where the rules are buried like power lines under enveloping clouds of free-form smoke, feeding structure and electricity into what seems like a passing daydream.

Jennifer Kelly

 Matthew Shipp String Trio — Symbolic Reality (Rogue Art)

Pianist Matthew Shipp, bassist William Parker, and violist Mat Maneri have a lengthy shared history, but Symbolic Reality is their first recording as a trio in 20 years. In its early years, this combo was the chamber music outlier of Shipp’s constellation of ensembles. But now the classical and jazz elements mix in his music like the eggs, flour and milk in your best cake batter. While it’s true that Maneri’s microtonal bowing still sets this apart from any other Shipp group, giving the music a unique pungency, the viola’s lack of auditory bulk is at least as important in defining the group sound. The presence of a third musician who is neither loud and nor chord-oriented induces Shipp to throttle back his attack a bit, which makes Parker’s foundational architecture stand out in bold relief; and the vinegary slurs in Maneri’s playing elicit a blues feeling that doesn’t often come to the fore in Shipp’s playing.

Bill Meyer

 Matthew Shipp and Nate Wooley — What If? (Rogue Art)

Pianist Matthew Shipp and trumpet player Nate Wooley know how to surprise, creating both compositions and tones that get to weird places. The two have worked together before, but recent release What If? marks their first work as a duo. Shipp provided the composition, but it's clearly a two-man answer to the question. The artists touch on some more typical jazz modes, trading leads or letting Wooley play a melody over Shipp's broad chords. More intriguingly, they feed off each other's moods. Wooley doesn't shy from abrasive sounds, and on cuts like “Ktu,” Shipp matches his grating approach. “The Angle” plays with jittery space; Shipp's chords largely traded in for flutters that go with Wooley's reserved blips. Highlight “Space Junk” puts all the musicality and the enjoyment of the odd together. The duo plays a few moments that sound trad, then go for something avant, then turn somewhere new as ideas and moods run away from them. At times Wooley sounds like he wants to soundtrack a casual night out, and at times he wants to smash it; both of them find the whole enterprise entertaining. The “What if?” question remains open-ended, but the answer comes very specifically from these two artists, and it's more than sufficient for whatever's been asked.

Justin Cober-Lake  

 Sightless Pit — Grave of a Dog (Thrill Jockey)

Grave of a Dog by Sightless Pit

Sightless Pit is a collaboration among three significant names in contemporary heavy music: Lee Buford, of the Body; Dylan Walker, singer for Full of Hell; and Kristin Hayter, who records under the name Lingua Ignota. Made over two years at Machines with Magnets, the songs were shaped, executed and revised whenever one or two of the artists could get to the studio. It’s thus a sort of experiment in asynchronously generated music. Grave of a Dog (an unfortunate title) is likely best appreciated with that unconventional approach in mind —n ot a set of songs by a band so much as an ongoing, sonically mediated conversation among like-minded creators. Not surprisingly, the record really lights up whenever Hayter’s remarkable vocals move into the music’s foreground. She’s an unusual talent, with a big voice that can do drama, intimacy and lunacy to equal effect, and a compositional intelligence that grooves with Sightless Pit’s sound-collaging sensibility. “Kingscorpse” is a stirring combination of melody and power electronics, and the record’s solemn, fragile closer “Love Is Dead, All Love Is Dead” lets Hayter show off the full range of what she can do with her instrument.

Jonathan Shaw

 Solar Woodroach — 7 Perversions on Pachelbel’s Canon (Nilamox)

7 Perversions on Pachelbel's Canon by Solar Woodroach

From the start of “How the West Was Won,” most music fans would be able to identify (if not necessarily name) the source material Solar Woodroach uses here even without the album title. Yes, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, one of the most overexposed pieces of music ever used, is getting dug up and sent shuffling our way again, this time from some enigmatic figure or figures known as Solar Woodroach. The best clue there, it must be said, is that the label is listed as “Nilamox,” also the name of whatever ex-Severed Heads man Tom Ellard is doing these days. But Ellard, or whoever, has more than just necromancy on their minds during these 7 Perversions; sometimes stretching and smearing the composition past the point of immediate recognition. But whether it’s the slow-motion glow of “Decomposition in D,” the mini-swarm of synthesized voice bits in “The Canonisation of St. Pachelbel,” or the eventual return of something like the original in the closing “The Pachelbel Spirit,” 7 Perversions proves, perversely enough, both that our takes on the Canon (or canon?) could be more inventive, and that there might be more life left in those standards than we give them credit for after an umpteenth listen. It’s a cheekily satisfying listen, maybe especially if (whisper it) you still enjoy the old Canon a bit too.  

Ian Mathers

 Rafael Toral / Mars Williams / Tim Daisy — Elevation (Relay)

Rafael Toral / Mars Williams / Tim Daisy :: Elevation :: (relay 027) by Relay Recordings

Interstellar Space. My Goals Beyond. Other Planes of There. The list of outward-bound jazz records that invite the listener to draw a bead on the furthest cosmic reaches is a long one, and despite the relative humility of its title, Elevation makes a similar request. The album’s three tracks are all named after cloud formations, and even in their most subdued moments the three musicians involved treat gravity as a negotiable notion, not an immutable law. Portuguese electronic musician Rafael Toral joined up with Chicagoans Mars Williams and Tim Daisy for just one day, during which they played one concert in a suburban library and the recording session yielded this CD. Daisy’s a highly accommodating drummer, and much of his playing on this record disperses beats and tones like a spray of cloud-born moisture. Williams balances incendiary blowing guided by the anything goes spirit he nurtures in Extraordinary Popular Delusions with little instrument forays that infuse this music with the spirit of A-list types like Sun Ra’s Arkestra and the Art Ensemble of Chicago. And Toral draws pure electricity into flashes and stretched bolts that illuminate “Stratus,” “Cirrus” and “Altostratus” from without and within. Keep your eyes and ears on the sky.

Bill Meyer  

 Tribe — Hometown: Detroit Sessions 1990-2014 (Strut)

Hometown: Detroit Sessions 1990-2014 by Tribe

This disc collects post-break-up material from the long-running Detroit cultural collective Tribe, a pan-arts organization led by saxophonist Wendell Harrison and trombonist Phil Ranelin. During its 1970s heyday, the Tribe organization put out jazz records, published monthly magazine covering black culture, collaborated with dance and theater groups and taught music in Detroit schools. This collection picks up after Ranelin moved to Los Angeles and the Tribe name had been retired. Still Harrison continued to preside over multidisciplinary creative coalition, tapping into a vibrant Detroit scene for Afro-centric visual arts, theater, dance, music and literature. Handclapped, percussive “Juba,” for instance, documents Tribe’s connections to modern dance; you can intuit movement in its chanted, panted, grunted and foot-stomped rhythms. The two spoken word pieces, “Marcus Garvey” and “Ode to Black Mothers,” showcase the works of Mbiyu Chui, a poet, pastor and founder of the Black Christian Nationalist Movement. The music, too, is very, very good, from the swaggering big band swing of “Wide and Blue,” to the smouldery sleek piano grooves of “Hometown” (Harrison’s wife Pamela Wise on keys) to the Afro-Caribbean polyrhythms that animate “Ode to Black Mothers.” Detroit was in about as bad a state as a city can be during the period this music was recorded, but art and pride and resilience run through every track.

Jennifer Kelly

 Various Artists — Back from the Canigo: Garage Punks Vs Freakbeat Mods Perpignan 1989-1999 (Staubgold)

Back from the Canigó: Garage Punks Vs Freakbeat Mods Perpignan 1989-1999 by Various Artists

 Perpignan is the southernmost French city, nestled in a curve of the Mediterranean just before it turns south into Spain. It also the unlikely headquarters of a Gallic garage rock scene centered around the Limiñanas, but incorporating another dozen or so bands represented on this compilation. (The Limiñanas themselves are absent, just to be clear.) The two oldest bands — Les Gardiens du Canigou and the Ugly Things — are the most vital, both rough-rocking outfits fond of wheedling organ fills and much indebted to the Troggs. “Baby I Don’t Want to Drive” from the Ugly Things has the grit and swagger of Wimple Witch’s “Save My Soul,” while Les Gardiens turn in a truly unhinged live cover of “Gloria.” Some of the younger bands follow this example closely. The Vox Men and The Feedback, for instance, pursue the exact same sort of screaming hedonism. However, others diverge. Beach Bitches take a day-glo, 1960s garage energy into joke-y surfy directions; their “Walking in the Jungle,” intersperses novelty record animal cries with banging drums and blasts of molten guitar. Les Buissons bustles and blares with a fully-orchestrated sound, James Brown doing battle with a community marching band and flop-haired psychedelia in “Buissons Theme I.” The whole comp is immensely enjoyable in a what-decade-is-it-anyway manner. It’s probably not what you picture when people say, “south of France,” but it rocks pretty hard.

Jennifer Kelly

#dust #dusted magazine #bill meyer #lao dan #ian mathers #paul flaherty #randall colbourne #damon smith #demitasse #jennifer kelly #duke deuce #ray garraty #arto lindsay #ken vandermark #joe mcphee #phil sudderberg #jason mcmahon #donovan quinn #matthew shipp string trio #matthew shipp #nate wooley #justin cober-lake #sightless pit #solar woodroach #rafael toral #mars williams #tim daisy #tribe #Back from the Canigo