#great women of song : nina simone

[fidjiefidjie]

Bonne soirée ❤️💃❤️

Nina Simone 🎶 I Put A Spell On You

(Great Women of Song: Nina Simone)

#new clip #nina simone #music video #i put a spell on you #jazz music #clip vidéo #youtube #clip music video #great women of song : nina simone #bonnesoirée #fidjie fidjie

[carolmunson]

the nerve.

virgin!eddie x reader, semi-modern AU, it's the very early 2000s (early enough that the phantom menace would have already come out in 1999, but cellphones weren't really a thing yet.) i feel like we've been on a toxic!eddie train for a little so here's a little love drunk baby boy (in his late 20s) whose been about you for ages but the timing wasn't right. now you're together and it's time, but he's real nervous. this fic is mostly from eddie's point of view, so, hopefully you bitches like that. super fluffy, smutty, sweet. cute. tooth rotting even. warnings: smut, minors dni. couples first time, virgin!eddie, p in v, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving).

Eddie's hands are sweating when he pulls up to your house. A small little one bedroom he's been in so many times before -- cozy and soft, like you. You never have the overhead lights on, except for in the kitchen. Always opting for something warm and glowly, decorative. You told him a story once about how women used to put pink lightbulbs in their house so they'd look younger and he never forgot it, so now he tells people that story and says he learned it from you.

You hadn't been dating long, but he feels like he's been with you forever. You come so naturally to him -- years of friendship will do that to a person, he guesses. Spending those years watching you be with someone else, someone he didn't really know very well -- different town, someone you used to know in college with Nancy. When you showed up to Steve's after the break-up he was almost relieved but he felt awful about it. Feeling giddy while you cried into Nancy's shoulder and Robin rubbed your back. You thought you were gonna marry that guy -- how?! He didn't even like your favorite movie! He didn't even know how you liked your pancakes! Or how you lie about what your favorite song is depending on who you're with! (It's a tie between Nina Simone's 'New Day' and The Beatles' 'Blackbird' in case anyone was wondering.)

Getting here, coming to your house for dinner dates, taking you out, holding your hand, that was an easier task than what was to come. But it wasn't an easy road to get here for him either. He wasn't really great at the whole girls thing.

It's why he was was still blushy and nervous the night you came over to Steve's for a movie night. You all got snowed in. He knew you liked him and you knew he liked you but you weren't sure if you 'like' liked each other -- you'd never said. Neither of you had.

He stopped breathing when you'd sat next to him, sinking into the cushions of Steve's large L-shaped sectional with your knees brushing. Steve casting glances over at Eddie to implement at least one trick he taught him to get close to you. 'If she doesn't do it back then you know it's not happening, it's that easy.' It's that easy? He'd rather die than make a move and have you not be into it.

You were half way through The Empire Strikes Back when he noticed Steve knock Robin on the knee with his. Robin looked over at the two of you, knees and shoulders touching, hands to yourselves. Her lips curled into a mischevious smile when she realized what her partner in crime was asking from her.

"Hey," she whispered over to you, offering you a peach ring from the bag, "Want one?"

"Ooh, thank you," you whispered back. 'They're my favorite.' He thinks it as you say it to her, he knows they're your favorite, that's why he always picks them up at the gas station before he shows up to these things. The crinkling of the bag gets Nancy's attention and she casts a glance up at Steve from where she's settled in the crook of his arm. They share knowing looks, shaking her head while her attention goes back to the screen.

"You want one, Ed?" she asks, except this time her hand is much farther away, resting on the back of the couch so that he'll have to reach behind you to get one. Eddie looks at her, eyes begging, 'you're kidding'. Her eyes glint back in the glow of the TV, 'I'm not kidding.'

"Yeah, sure," he says shakily, reaching across the back of the couch. If you know what he's doing, you're not letting on and that's fine with him. He grabs the candy, popping it in his mouth and letting his arm rest behind you at first -- heart pounding while he moves it downward enough so that you can feel him drape himself around you. He can't look at you at all while he does it, terrified that you might be disgusted by him even attempting to be close to you.

He swallows when you turn to him, your knees pressing up to his thigh when you shift your hips towards him, feet tucking up onto the couch. Eddie turns slowly to see you looking up from his shoulder, eyes shining with a smile.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," you say back in a whisper, inching your face a little closer to him, "Can you tell me what's happening?"

He lets out an airy chuckle through his nose, "I always forget you haven't seen these, sorry we started with the second one."

"So, right now," he starts, pointing at the screen, "Harrison Ford's character--"

"Anakin," you say, certain of your answer.

"No," Eddie laughs.

"Qui-gon Jinn," you offer, as a new answer. "Oh my fucking God," he laughs, running a hand over his face in disbelief. He looks at you, toothy grin and all, "You don't know who Harrison Ford's character is, but you know the name Qui-gon Jinn?"

"It's very memorable," you say softly, laughing at yourself. He loves that about you -- you're very confidently wrong sometimes.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, "That's like, in the newer movies -- he's not even in the ones from the 80s."

"Oh -- is it Obi-wan?" you ask, "Or Luke?"

"You know you're the assistant editor for the Culture section, right?" he asks, his face inching closer to yours, "How do you not know about film culture?"

"More like nerd culture," you huff back, rolling your eyes. When you turn your attention back to the screen he feels you settle into the crook of his waist, scooching yourself closer to him. His hand falls to your shoulder, unsure if he should hold you the way Steve holds Nancy -- arm wrapped around with a hand resting on her hip. That might be better for another day when he was feeling more confident.

Your head finds a home on his shoulder and part of his chest, your hair smells like Herbal Essences and he only knows that because he started buying it recently. He holds his breath for a moment while you get comfortable against him. Eddie eases himself against you, hand around your bicep to pull you in closer.

"Harrison Ford is Han Solo," he says to the top of your head.

"No, he's Obi-wan," you mutter defiantly, brushing off his answer.

"Sure," he laughs, "You're right, he's Obi-wan."

He kissed you in the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed and you both stayed up talking over a six pack. You tasted like peach rings.

Once he parks in the drive way he gives himself a mini peptalk all the way to your door. It's not like it was your first date, which he'll admit went really well, but this was the date. You both felt it. With every kiss getting more feverish, every makeout getting more and more hot and heavy, every wandering hand and mouth -- he was gonna have sex with you tonight.

Which would have been fine.

If he wasn't a virgin.

He'd gone over and over it again with Steve. Tips, help, tricks, reassurance -- but all of it made him feel even more inexperienced. It took him three years to graduate high school and he wasn't exactly the most popular guy there. No one caught his eye when he threw himself into work at the auto-shop, even less at the craft store full of old ladies, and even less at the comic book shop where all he was, was surrounded by other vigrins who were ten years younger than him.

He was always too nervous to talk to girls at The Hideout or other bars his band played at. They were almost always more into Jeff and Gareth anyway. Smooth talking, suave, more confident with age -- he felt like he was behind. Regressing, even. More focused on his hobbies, his friendships, more focused on you. How you'd talk about work and whether you wanted to move closer to the city. How you'd hang out at the bar with him after a gig and listen with bright eyes while he told you what was coming next for the band. How you'd ask about the next campaign for the store's D&D club. Even if you didn't get it, you at least tried. Anakin, Obi-wan, Qui-gon Jinn.

He knocks and rings the bell, he can hear the thump! of Brutus, your old gray cat, jumping from the couch down to the floor getting ready to greet him. You appear, flushed and smiley, some of your hair stuck to your cheeks with sweat.

"Hi, sorry, the kitchen's kind of hot -- didn't get a chance to y'know -- get my shit together," you say, while the door opens. He swears his heart is going to come out of his mouth out of these days with how it rises in his throat when he sees you.

"You look pretty," he says, shrugging off his jacket when he steps inside. You press a kiss to his cheek but it's not enough. With his coat still in his hand he catches you with the free one, stopping you before you head back to the kitchen, to kiss your lips.

"Hi, baby," he says quietly. You grin, eyes downcast to the floor.

"Hi."

"How was work today?" he asks, finally stepping away to hang up his coat in your closet by the door. Brutus follows him with scraggly 'meows' and 'rahhs', weaving through his boots to get his attention.

"Work was worky. Nancy's bummed she didn't get that promotion but she'll be alright," you scrunch your nose in sympathy for Nance, drying your hands off on your jeans.

"She's got bigger things going for her anyway," Ed says, bending down to scratch Brutus behind the ears. The cat nuzzles his hand with a pleased purr, following him who was following you back into the kitchen. He looks at the pots and pans boiling and simmering, the light on in the tiny oven. Your kitchen and little and hasn't been updated since the sixties but you told him you prefer it. 'S'part of my charm,' you'd say. He thought all of you was charming.

"This is a lot, baby -- you didn't have to do all this," he pleads. He hates when you over work yourself, and you do it all the time. 'I just wanna impress you,' he thinks your response as you say it because of course you do.

"Everything you do impresses me," he murmurs, coming up behind you while you massage arugula for a side salad, "But I would've been more impressed if you called a pizza joint and placed an order."

"I can't make a phone call," you laugh, "I think it would kill me. I think I'd have a heart attack."

"Which is why I'm saying it would've been more impressive if you ordered a pizza," he says into your hair, leaning his head on your shoulder, "What can I do to make this easier for you?"

"Will you just set the table for me?"

Dinner was delicious. You made it for him, so of course it was. He likes this, snuggling on the couch, laying long ways, Eddie's head on your chest with your hands gliding through his waves. His eyes are fluttering closed and open again while the graze of your nails glides over his scalp. He totally gets why Brutus begs for scratches behind the ears -- this must be exactly what it feels like.

The hum of 'If I Only Had A Brain' leaks out of the TV speakers. This was culture you knew -- you'd seen The Wizard of Oz a hundred times over. He knows it's not your favorite movie, but it's up there, it's close. Your favorite movie is Grease and you don't lie about that to anyone. You got John Travolta's autograph once and framed it when you were little, he remembers you telling him that when you were drunk at karaoke. You sang 'Hopelessly Devoted'.

Then you made him come up and sing Summer Nights with you. He wished he would've kissed you then, but you had a few drinks and he thought maybe you were just feeling flirty. That you didn't like him like that. You wanted to kiss him when he hit the end high note, it still makes your heart race a little when you think about it.

"This is so you," you say, the sleepy hum of your voice vibrates against his ear. He furrows his brow and looks up at you.

"Excuse me? If I only had a brain?" he inquires, hand crawling up to press against your face in a fake smack, "That's mean."

You laugh, it's a sound he wants to be the one to cause for the long haul, "I don't mean you don't have a brain, I mean like -- look at him move. He's such a goofball -- you're like that, you're goofy."

He rolls his eyes, "Okay."

"In a good way!" you argue playfully.

"Oh look, it's you," he teases when the Wicked Witch appears on screen with her green hands and sneering glare.

"Did you know that she actually --"

"Couldn't use her hands to eat or drink whenever she had the makeup on because it was toxic?" he finishes, shifting his body so he was caging you in under him. He uses his free arm to nudge you onto your back, both of your faces hidden by his sheets of dark hair, "You told me."

"Oh," you blush, "Sorry. I always forget who I tell my little facts to."

"No, it's okay," he says softly, leaning down to kiss you, "It's very cute."

"You're very cute," you say back when his lips break away.

"Stop," he says with a giggle. Always so boyish when he doesn't mean to be.

He lets out a sharp exhale through his nose when you lean up to kiss him again. The kiss is chaste and sweet, your legs parting so he can comfortably slot himself between them. He's come to learn how much you like that type of friction and closeness. You like loosely wrapping your legs around him -- it's a thought he has often when he's home alone and thinking about you.

You deepen the kiss, hands finding his hair, tongue snaking into his mouth. Somewhere deep in his belly comes a growl, hips pressing up against yours eagerly. The softest, 'mm!' squeaks out of you at the pressure and he can feel the gentle roll of your hips against him. His heart hammers in his chest -- oh fuck, we're gonna actually do it.

Eddie's eyes flick up to see Brutus on the lounge chair looking at him. He looks back at Brutus, green eyes shining into his brown ones -- it feels...judgemental.

"Could we maybe go somewhere that Brute can't see this? I feel like the spirit of your dad is inside him," Eddie asks, still keeping his eyes on the cat.

You let out an airy laugh through your nose, "Yeah, sure, c'mon."

Your room smells like you, so do your sheets, your pillows. He loved being engulfed like this, he didn't think he could be any more in love with a person.

You follow him in and watch him sit on the bed, eager faced and flushed. He gulps when you take your jeans off, followed by your sweatshirt and socks.

"I just wanted you to see -- surprise!" you cheer quietly, looking back at him. The set was burgundy, made of satin, shiny. Slightly frilled on the ends. Underwear cut high and perfectly laid over the curve of your ass. The cups of the bra in that old timey balconette cut. You bought it on purpose, you bought it for him.

"Oh fuck," he mutters to himself.

"I didn't know if you'd like black or red more so I sorta," you shrug, "Met them in the middle."

"I don't care what color it is," he breathes out, eyes glassy and blown, mouth completely dry. How could you talk so casually to him when you look like this? How could you act like this wasn't a really big fucking deal to have worn a set for him to see? With him in mind? Like, you thought about him while you bought this? His jeans feel tighter by the second. He leans back on his hands on your bed to take you in, "You look -- insane."

"In the good way," he quickly follows up.

"You like it?" you smile.

"I really like it," he nods, gulping again, begging his voice not to crack, "C'mere, let me look at you up close."

He watches you approach him and sits up slowly, hands coming out to caress you. He puts his hands up to cup your breasts, thumbs dragging over the fabric of the bra, drifting down to your hips where he leans forward to kiss the side of your tummy, another by your ribcage, a third on your sternum. He looks up at you afterwards, awaiting your lips when you lean down to kiss him.

"You're so pretty, baby," he mumbles against your lips, "You're beautiful."

He swallows when you get him on his back, biting his lip when you straddle him over his jeans. You take your hair down, he blinks hard to make sure he's not dreaming -- that you're really on top of him, really in lingerie, really looking like that.

"Shouldn't um -- shouldn't I be on top of you?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" you ask with a giggle, "You don't want me to be on top?"

"It's just, like," he sighs, letting his hands rest on the outsides of your thick thighs, "Aren't I supposed to be in charge?"

"You're not supposed to be anything, Ed," you reason, pawing up his chest until you were flat against him. You kiss him but he stays rigid, his mouth rubbery and unmoving.

"You okay?" you ask, his chest pangs.

"Uh, yeah," he says, shaking his head. He racks his brain for anything Steve might've told him, any porn he might've watched. Sure girls were on top but like, they didn't like that did they? Didn't they like being thrown around? Slammed? Fucked? What do you like? Shit, how was he supposed to figure this out? Especially with you grinding your hips like that, slow and teasing -- fuck.

You tug at his shirt and he uses the moment to pull it off, scooching you off him to take off his jeans. Regular, clean, tartan boxers. He wished he'd worn something sexier -- like boxer briefs or something -- something that didn't look so ridiculous with a hard on.

"So we're doing this, right?" he asks, climbing back on the bed and laying you down on the mattress.

"Only if you want to," you smile at him, reaching behind you to snap the bra off throwing it on the floor. All the light in the room was from a single three wick candle on your dresser on the back wall but even then he could see the curves of your chest. The shape of your body under him. Your head hits your pillow and he sighs, using one arm to steady him and the other to glide over you, from your cheek, down your neck, landing on the swell of your breast.

"You're so perfect," he says softly, eyes lingering where his hand was resting. He kneads it gently and smiles when it earns him a small gasp. Your legs part again and he uses his knees to part them further.

You look up at him, a little confused, but part your legs further anyway. He sits up, leaning back to take your arms and pin them against your chest, falling back into his previous position. He kisses roughly, you oblige but it doesn't feel like him.

He bites at your lower lip, hard enough that you let out a whine but he takes it as the go ahead. He lets his mouth wander, nipping down your neck in harsh love bites with nothing to follow up to soothe them. His hand snakes into your hair with a sharp tug.

"Ow," you whisper, but he doesn't hear it. Too busy trying to make sense of this in his head. Is he supposed to lick a stripe up your neck before or after he bites? Is it supposed to be closer to your jaw? Where did he even see this? This would be easier if he wasn't achingly hard.

“Hey, hey, stop — stop,” you say sternly. Eddie recoils immediately, sitting back on his heels and shrinking into himself with a deep blush you can’t see in the low light. His eyes sting with embarrassed tears, adams apple bobbing while he tries to swallow them down. His heart is beating so hard he think it might shoot directly out of his chest. And how awful would that be? First he ruins sex and then he just bleeds all over you?

“What’s going on?” you ask, pulling your blanket up from the end of your bed.

“I just — I’m doing what I thought you might like?” his voice his tight, like he’s holding back a cry, “Am I not doing it right?”

“Ed, I just want you to be yourself,” you sigh. You reach out to him but he slinks away before you can, "You're like, trying to be the DM version of you right now."

"Yeah but he's like, hot and confident," Ed shrugs, "I'm just...Eddie Munson, resident virgin."

"I wanna fuck Eddie Munson, resident virgin," you state plainly. His cock twitches, he thought he might even cum from hearing you say that.

"And you won't know what I like unless you ask me, don't just guess," you instruct softly. He let's you reach back out and touch him, pulling him down to lay next to you. His hand skates over your tummy and he wraps an arm around you to pull you close. The smell of your perfume and shampoo engulfs him instantly -- his brain had to be shutting down at this point.

"This is all about communicating," you assure, "Do you think you like it rough like that? Like how you were doing to me?"

"Um, I don't know," he lies, because he does like that. He thinks he likes doing it and he thinks he'd like it being done to him.

"I like it," you confessed, "Just not right now."

"Oh," he blushes, "You like when I'm rough? Just not all the time?"

"Exactly," you smile.

"So what do you like tonight?" he asks awkwardly, "Or what would you like tonight?"

"Soft," you say, pressing a kiss next to his lips, "And gentle."

You kiss him again, on the lips this time, "You."

With a newfound approach he leans in to kiss you, this he knows he’s good at because Steve overheard you tell Nancy that you ‘never got so wet from making out before’ and that it ‘made you feel like you were in high school again’. He gasps when you break away to kiss his jaw down to his neck, his hand traveling up to get entangled in your hair.

"I really like when you kiss me there," he pants out, eyes rolling when you reach a spot on his neck right above his collar bone, "Fuck."

"There?" you grin against his skin, letting your tongue run over it again before sucking on the spot eagerly.

"Fuck, yeah there," he whines, hips bucking against your thigh. You maneuver him again, crawling on top of him and he succumbs to letting you take the lead. Your hips do that deliciously evil grind over him again, and he can feel how dampened your panties are over his boxers. Each drag of your hips pulls his skin over the head of his cock, sending him hurtling closer to cumming than he anticipated. He reaches feverishly for your hips, holding you to a stop.

"Too much?" you ask. Fuck, why are you so cute?

"A little," he confesses, breaths getting heavy, hips twitching.

"Sorry, I just...I'm really horny," you whisper with a giggle, covering your face with your hand like a visor. He giggles back, shimmying down so your heat was directly over him.

"We can...you know," he says, reaching up to move your hand and place it on his chest, "We can do it."

"You sure?" you ask again.

"I'm sure," he assures, heart still thumping with nerves. He watches you lean over him, breasts directly in his face, knocking his nose, while you fish in your beside table for a condom.

"I brought some, they're in my --"

"Too late," you say, gold foil packet in hand, offering it to him while you sit back between his legs.

"You're too confident in me," he says at the sight of the Magnum XL wrapper.

"I promise I'm not," you laugh, "I've seen a lot of dicks."

You both pause.

"I mean...you...fuck, you know what I mean," you smack your hand to your forehead, "Let me shut the fuck up really quick."

He takes the condom from you and tugs down his boxers slowly, while you help him take them the rest of the way down. He sighs while he reaches down to pump himself a few times before slipping on the latex. He catches your eyes round out when you see it, your soft swallow of the saliva pooling in your mouth.

Maybe you weren't too confident in him.

It was a little tight, if he was being honest.

"I'm gonna be on top, okay?" you ask. He nods, looking at you while you slide off your underwear, nerves building in his throat. Adrenaline coursed through him like he just did a line, like he just played a show. Like you just kissed in Steve Harrington's kitchen. Like when you tasted like peach rings.

You kiss him while you get back over him, sliding over his length with your lips. Your thighs twitch when the rigidness of the underside of his cock runs over your clit.

"Ooh, fuck yes," you mutter to yourself, face crumpling with pleasure.

"That's good? You like that?" he asks, hands resting on your hips while you continue toying with yourself over him. You nod, knowing you're wet enough to take him without foreplay, which will be a different conversation for a different day.

He squirms when you take his cock by the base, guiding the tip to your entrance. "Oh, fuck, fuuuuck me," he gasps while you start sinking down on him, "Jesus fucking Christ. Shit."

He watches you sink all the way down to the base, bodies meeting again. He feels you press your weight on your hands on his chest, eyes rolling when you adjust your hips, walls tightening over him.

"Baby, I -- you're -- Jesus," he gasps, a soft groan follows suit. "Oh my god, oh my god," he hears you whine, eyes begging when he looks up at you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, nerves overriding his pleasure, "I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm okay," you breathe out, "It's just you, fuck, you feel so good."

"I -- I feel good?" he asks, "I'm making you feel good?"

You nod over him, hips dragging up slowly and then back down, little soft gasps and moans coming out of your mouth when you lean your head back. He watches you in awe, light bursting behind his eyes and sparks going off in his belly while you pick up the pace.

"I'm -- oh my god -- I'm not doing -- shit -- I'm not doing anything," he admits, "How am I -- oh god, oh god --"

You slow down, resolving to grinding your hips slowly to answer him, "You don't have to do anything, you just...you fit like, perfectly in me."

He grabs a pillow and covers his face so you don't see him smiling like an idiot, "Are you saying I have a nice dick?"

You laugh and it sends vibrations down his shaft to his sac, his hips jump involuntarily. He feels you reach for the pillow and he grips it harder.

"C'mon, let me see you," he hears you say, relenting when that soft coaxing tone comes out of your mouth. You tuck the pillow off to the side, still sitting there with him inside of you. He puts his hands on your hips, sliding them down your thighs and then back up again.

He mumbles gently, "Can't believe you're here with me."

"I can," you smile, hips rising and falling again.

"Shit," he gasps, fingers pressing hard into the fat of your hips and back to your ass to steady you. He blanks out his mind, shaking out whatever Steve said, whatever porn he watched, whatever he read online. He lets you keep riding him until he sees stars and on instinct he wraps him arms over your hips to keep you in place and pull you to him.

"Want me to slow down?" you gasp out.

"No," he grins, planting his feet on the mattress. He bucks up into you, once, twice, three times until he gets a steady rythym. You feel like fucking heaven, and you sound like it too.

"Oh fuck, Eddie," you whine out, it's high pitched and needy. He grunts in response, chasing his high while your tits bounce in his face.

"Oh my god, oh fuck that's -- that's so good," you gasp, the end coming out in a yelp. Your nails did into his shoulders and he hisses in response, the pain feels good -- he makes a mental note of that to go back to later.

His thrusts slow as he feels himself getting closer to the edge, taking it away from him as he eases up. He wants this to last forever -- he can't even believe he's lasted this long.

"You good?" you ask, taking his face in your hands. He smiles, it's stupid, pussy-drunk.

"M'good, I'm so good," he says softly, "I wanna be on top now."

"Oh, okay," you chuckle out, "Let me just--"

You raise up off him and he whimpers at the feeling of you leaving. The cold air hitting his cock, his chest -- he feels exposed. You lay back on the mattress, legs open and spread for him while your hand travels down to rub lazily at your clit.

"You can't be serious," he whispers, "That's so hot."

"Me touching myself?" you ask.

"Yeah, you -- shit, you're a like a high preistess or some-something," he says, eyes wide with wonder while your hips squirm. He feels stupid after saying it, mentally scolding himself. You're such a fucking loser, Munson.

"Can you um," he takes a deep breath while he steadies himself between your legs, lining himself up with your opening, "Can you keep doing that while I -- do this?"

"Yeah," you nod, a whimper coming out of you when he pushes in. His body knows what to do but finding a rythym is hard at first. The caveman in him wants to just go for it, jackhammer you until he cums. He starts like that, hard and fast thrusts, grunting and moaning like an animal, hips smacking against the backs of your thighs -- but he can hear Steve in his head.

'Start slow and work your way up, try different angles -- when you feel her like...I don't know -- gush? That's when you know you're hitting it right.' 'Gush?" 'Yeah, gush. You'll know what I mean when you finally do it.'

He takes your legs, pressing them up against your chest -- a position he's definitely seen in porn. But the normal kind. The real couples kind. The kind where they're definitely in love. He readjusts, sliding back into you slowly, he smirks to himself when your eyes roll back, arms falling back to your ears.

Then he feels it.

The gush.

"Ed that feels so good," you whine, tears pricking your eyes, "You're doing so good, baby."

Eddie gasps, cock twitching wildly at the praise. His face gets white hot, biting his lip, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

You catch his reaction, letting yourself get louder for him.

"You're such a good boy, Ed," you coo between moans, "You're so good for me."

"So good," he rasps back, hips starting to snap erratically.

"Oh baby, shit, fuck, I'm gonna cum -- m'gonna fuck -- cum," Eddie grunts out, laying flush against you while he finishes out hard and fast. He groans into your ear while you feel him spasm over you and inside you, riding out his orgasm until he comes to a stop. He takes a shaky breath but he doesn't get up, his chest and shoulders continue to shake, he sniffles.

He's crying.

"Oh, no, Eddie -- baby are you okay? What's wrong?" you ask, running your hand over the back of his head. He lifts up slowly, looking at you and your concerned face, your kiss bitten lips.

It makes him want to cry more, "Oh angel, I'm sorry. I'm not sad I --"

"I just love you so much," he sniffles, laughing at the ridiculousness of this, face already wet with tears, "I love you and I've never like -- felt close to anyone like this before. M'sorry for crying. I know it's stupid --"

"It's not stupid," you smile, pulling him to your chest, "I love you, too."

He laughs again, "Do you think I'm some loser virgin for crying?"

He sighs at the feeling of your nails against his scalp again, his body still so sensitive with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"No," you smile, "Especially not a loser virgin. Since, you know, you're not anymore."

"I guess you're right," he says into your neck.

In the light of the three wick candle on your dresser, you both continued you lay there, naked and wrapped up in each other on your bed. You've switched around, your head on his chest and his hand stroking your hair.

"Do you uh," he starts, "Did you cum?"

You shake your head no, "I didn't, but that's okay."

"No, don't say that," he huffs, "Steve said that girls say 'it's okay' but that it's actually not."

"Psh, you really listen to everything that Steve says?" you argue.

"Well yeah, he's -- you know, he used to get girls before him and Nance were official," he says, "He wouldn't lie to me."

"Well I'm not lying to you either," you say, leaning on your side to look up at him, "It's okay."

He squints down at you, "I don't believe you."

With you on your side, he gets up on his knees again, hands finding your hips to lay them back on the bed.

"What're you doing?"

"I said, I don't believe you," he repeat, leaning down to kiss your stomach, your hip bone, the top of your pubic bone, "So I'm gonna make you cum."

"You're really confident," you say while he opens your legs to get between them.

"You think I can't?" he asks, a small frown falling onto his face.

"No, I'm sure you can," you urge, "I'm just saying, you sound really confident."

"It's sexy."

"Sexy?" he asks with a grin, kissing the inside of your knee, "I'll take it."

He looks down in the low light, your pussy still slick and glistening, still slightly puffy from earlier. No wonder guys ventured down here so often -- you looked delicious.

His fingers graze your inner thighs, making you shiver. His eyes meet yours, a devilish smirk dancing over his features, "Do you like that?"

"M'just excited," you blush, grabbing the pillow from earlier to cover your face. Eddie gets to work, laying down on his stomach, letting his lips slip and slide against your inner thighs before licking a thick flat stripe up through your lips. Your whine is loud enough to leak past the pillow, your hips grind slowly up against his mouth.

This was a skill he felt good about. He'd only done it once before a couple years ago during a really drunk hook up in the city, but he definitely didn't hear any complaints. And he figured, if he was a good kisser he had to be good at like...kissing pussy? That's how he thought about it at least.

His tongue traveled wherever he could let it go. Into your opening, against your lips, up and over the hood of your clit. He listened to your breathing, how your hips would react, the tensing in your thighs, trying to see where you liked it the best.

"Up a little higher," you instruct, pillow discarded, leaning on your forearms to look down at him. Your eyes meet and he melts, nodding while he moves up, waiting for your okay. He reaches up, the gods of cunnilingus speaking to him while he does, and pulls back the hood of your clit to lave his tongue over it.

"Ohmygod," you whisper out, head falling back on its hinge, "Don't stop."

"That's really hot," he croaks out to himself, looking at the expanse of your body above him, your exposed neck. He didn't mean to say it out loud. Fucking christ, he sounds like a teenager. He busies his mouth so he stops talking, sucking gently over you while your hips grind in time with his work.

"You can -- mm -- you can use your fingers, too," you tell him while your hand comes down to entwine in his hair. Eddie's eyes flutter closed, the gentle tug when you hit the right spots sends him reeling. His other hand comes up, tongue still flicking in alternating rhythms over your clit. He lets one finger slide in without resistence and then another -- Steve always said something about using two, but he doesn't remember, he just remembers 'curl upwards'. He pumps slow at first, your moans are getting to him, the sound hitting him right in his pelvis. The tightness of your walls around his fingers feels just as good as it was around his cock.

"Oh just like that, just like that, fuck," you gasp out. The praise sends him into a frenzy, hooking his fingers up to feel a different texture than before -- spongey, rigid.

But that's what it happens -- more than a gush. A flood, all over his fingers while your walls clench down hard on him. Hips rising off the mattress while you cum for him, whimpers and whines pouring out of your mouth.

"Easy, baby, easy," he giggles, free hand gripping your hip to ease it back down, "I got you."

You steady your breathing on the bed, feeling him detach from you, pressing soft kisses back up your tummy to your chest.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"How," you breathe in, and out, "Did you get so good at that?"

He shrugs, "I dunno, just sort of winged it. Was I really that good?"

"You were really that good," you nod, "I came really hard."

"Fuck yeah," he nods to himself, still not realizing that he's thinking out loud, "Sick."

"Sorry," he says with an embarrassed shake of his head. You sit up, pecking him on the lips in a silent 'I love you,' and go to your dresser to throw on some pajamas. He reaches down off the bed to slide on his boxers, pulling his shirt over his head. You meet in the middle of the room and he can't help but hold you to him, feeling closer to you than he ever has. Magnetized, like you're meant to be touching at all times.

"I made brownies," you say, "They're already sliced up and in the microwave. Figured we wouldn't have time to get to dessert, so -- I prepped ahead of time."

"Is it lame to say I already had dessert?" he asks, a boyish grin showing off his teeth.

"Yes," you reply with a smile, "It is."

"Do you wanna watch Grease with me?" you ask while you walk to the door, warm light pooling into the room as you open it.

"Are you gonna say every line as it's being said like you always do?" he responds, following you out of the room, trying not to trip on Brutus who is scurrying past his feet to sleep on your bed.

"Of course I am," you say confidently, going to the kitchen to take out the plate of covered brownies in the microwave above the fridge. He takes them from you, placing them on the counter while he grabs two small plates from the cupboard above your head.

"Then I absolutely want to watch it with you," he smiles, a genuine full smile. Steve is gonna lose his fucking mind when he tells him.

Eddie Munson, resident virgin loverboy.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

[diariesofthelover]

I Put A Spell On You

synopsis: On one of his rare nights off, Dick Grayson decides to check out the bustling, newly reopened underground jazz club in Blüdhaven where he meets a woman that he can’t resist, losing all control of himself.

notes: 18+, Dick Grayson x reader, 3rd person pov, inspired by middle painting & Nina Simone’s “I Put A Spell On You”, put on some jazz while you read💋

Dick didn’t know why he chose to go to a jazz club on his first night off from Nightwing duties in weeks, all he knew was that he had put on his nicest navy silk button up, black dress pants that barely went over his ass, and a black blazer gifted to him by Bruce, all worn with the intention of spending a night at Blüdhaven’s favorite new spot, The Siren’s Den.

There’s been a lot of talk in the city about the former speakeasy. The music was great, hell it was exceptional, the food and drinks were ambrosial, and the singers, the best part, were enchanting.

All of the above were correct. Even though this wasn’t his usual scene, Dick was enjoying himself. The Siren’s Den had the best music, the best food, the best drinks, and by far the best singers he’d ever heard. The space was lit up by soft red lights with one warm spotlight on the stage leaving the table and bar areas pretty dim but light enough to see. Overall, the atmosphere felt sexy and mysterious, and due to the popularity of the place, it was packed this Saturday night.

He’d been sitting at the bar for about half an hour now enjoying the music and the booze when he spotted her. There she was, a woman around his age sitting all alone at a table with a drink in her hand just like him. She had on a silk navy dress that flattered her breathtaking figure, matching perfectly with his button up. One of her straps was teasingly sliding off her shoulder, hair pushed away to the other side leaving the soft skin exposed.

Dick Grayson had seen, and been with, many gorgeous women in his life, but this one felt different. She was tantalizing, swaying to the jazz songs so sensually evoking a familiar feeling deep inside him.

“How could a woman like her be sitting all by herself?” He thought, “How could no one have approached her by now, tried to win her affection? Has she rejected every man who has tried already, god am I about to make a fool of myself?” But when has shame, humiliation, or rejection ever stopped the Boy Wonder, don’t answer that.

With a little more liquid courage, he confidently makes his way over to her without any idea of what he’s gonna say or do when he comes face to face with the beauty.

“Hi,” Dick greets her taking her attention away from the band to him, “Dick Grayson.”

She slowly tilts her head to the side inquisitively, curious as to what he was going to say next. Silence was the only thing to follow his introduction as he himself had nothing prepared making her lips curl up into a small smirk.

“Hi, Dick Grayson,” she broke the silence.

“Hi,” he said again breathlessly, “seat beside you taken?”

“Nope,” she said sweetly paired with an angelic smile that he returned.

“Mind if I join you?”

She didn’t say anything, instead she slowly shifted her herself over making room for him. Without hesitation, Dick relaxes next to her, not using the extra space she gave him resulting in their thighs almost touching. He took off his blazer feeling his body temperature already rising, he already wished to rip off both their clothes and take her right here in this booth, he’s never felt this aroused by a stranger before.

She shifts her attention back onto the performance in an attempt to hide her already rosy cheeks, but Dick was feeling needy and selfish, wanting the beauty’s eyes and ears on him, not the musicians. He gently placed his strong hand under her jaw, slowly moving her head to look at him again, smiling when he does. He had a beautiful smile, the kind that made you smile without even realizing it, even if you tried your best not to.

“How does a beautiful angel like you come here by yourself?”

“Maybe I just enjoy quality time with myself, and you’re interrupting my night,” she giggled sweetly causing Dick’s smile to grow wider.

Dick chuckles, “Interrupting huh,” he leaned in closer, their noses now only an inch apart and thighs touching, “you did after all let me join you, I must be something special for you to let me in like that.” Dick’s always been a forward and bold man but this time around it was different, the place’s erotic energy, the booze, and this gorgeous being in front of him quickly made him crazily hot and bothered.

She felt nervous, knowing that he can read her like a book, knowing that he can tell how attracted she was to him, it was written and painted all over her pretty face. He brushed a lose strand of hair from her face, then dragging his hand down her rosy cheek to caress her, keeping his blue eyes locked on hers. Those pretty blue eyes, she was getting completely lost in them.

“You’re the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever been blessed with,” he softly admits, warm hand still placed on her burning cheek. He made her feel like a little kid talking to a stranger for the first time, like a teenage girl walking past her hallway crush, she was a nervous wreck with him in the best way possible.

“What’s a charming man like you doing single?”

“Looking for a woman like you,” he moved his hand down to her exposed neck, every part of her body was burning up, same with his. His eyes trailed down to her mouth, leaning in closer, brushing his pink lips against her soft ones colored in red from her expensive lipstick.

“Please let me kiss you, I don’t think I can wait a minute more,” he breathed out, looking into her eyes again for approval.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” she teased.

“Please,” he asked again, even more desperately than the last time.

The second she gave him a nod of approval, he pressed his lips to hers, slowly savoring each moment and movement. They hungrily continued kissing each other, like it was the last time they would share this moment together, growing more and more hot with each exchange. Sloppy lipstick stains were marked on Dick’s mouth, claiming him as hers for the night, the sight was salacious. Yes, the place was packed, no, they didn’t care, all they cared about was having each other.

Dick started shifting his lips down her jaw, causing her to lean her head back, hoping he’d soon reach her neck, “That where you want me doll?” She nodded to his suggestive question, “Tell me, tell me how you want me to kiss your neck, tell me how bad you want me to mark you up.”

“Please, Dick,” was all she could muster. Dick didn’t have the patience within him to tease her, he needed to ravage every bit of her, now.

“Anything for you, pretty girl,” He finally connects his lips to her pulsing neck, taking in her sweet scent. He starts drawing purple marks on her neck, licking the spot over once done with his work, earning a sweet sigh from his girl. While continuing his painting on her neck, one hand started to make its way down her body, rubbing up and down the sides of her glorious frame, the other holding the nape of her neck, his long fingers caressing her hair.

She reaches her hands out to feel him up that way he was touching her, one hand in his soft wavy black hair, pulling him closer where she needs him, the other traveling across his muscular thigh.

Dick pulls one of her legs onto his lap, spreading them slightly. He finishes his piece on her neck and focuses back on her eyes again, not wanting to miss a single reaction of hers. He keeps one hand on the base of her neck, the other one now moved down to her spread thighs, rubbing up and down. He watches her closely, seeing how far she’d let him take this in a public setting.

She moves a hand to rest atop his much larger one, guiding him higher up where she’s waiting for him. Once his hand reached the small space between her inner thigh and lacy panties, she pulled herself off, letting him take control.

He rested his calloused hand over her clothed heat, teasingly rubbing small circles in the perfect spot, “Dirty, dirty girl. You want me to please you in front of all these people?” Even if anyone was looking at them, they didn’t care. Their desire for each other was uncontrollable, their bodies felt like they were on fire. The music felt like it was getting louder, the lights more red and the conversations around them more lively.

“Yes,” she breathed out, “Yes, please.”

Her sweet pleads and lustful look was all Dick needed to slip his hand into the fabric she called underwear. He pressed his lips to hers, suppressing any moans she’d make while his he used her slickness to rub her where she craved him and prep himself for her entrance. She moved one of her hands to his shirt, unbuttoning him a bit for her and feeling his toned chest, her arousal growing stronger.

Tell me how much you need this, tell me how much you need me,” he moved his lips to her ear, demanding her response to his risqué request.

She needed him more than air right now. She felt so empty without him, like Dick Grayson was the only man who could ever fill her void, the only man who could sate her hunger. She couldn’t verbalize how eager she was for him, letting her body tell him instead.

She trailed her hand up to his crotch, feeling Dick grow with each movement and sound she made. He was straining against his slacks, desperately trying to free himself, but he wanted to hear her unravel for him first.

Dick quickly slipped in his finger with ease causing her to gasp and bury her head in his neck, “Don’t by shy baby, want everyone to hear how I was the lucky guy to get this pretty pussy tonight,” shamelessly adding another finger in her needy hole that was molding around his long fingers, welcoming him in, hoping he’d never leave. She felt whole with him, he was filling her up so well, making her feel euphoric.

The crude wet sounds of Dick pumping himself into her and her gentle moans were drowned out by the band and crowd getting louder. His curved fingers brushing her sweet spot, thumb rubbing fast circles on her clit, his other hand now pulling her straps further down in an attempt to get more of her, his dirty dirty mouth, “You like this? Like me fucking fingering you in front of all these people yea? You’re a sin,” was enough for her to want to release already.

“Wait, Dick–mm, not here,” she hesitantly pulled herself off of him, “need you all, come with me,” Dick helped her stand up, letting her take him anywhere as long as he had her. Her hair and dress were disheveled, his blazer thrown over his shoulder, button up not even buttoned, bulge very prominent, begging to be inside her, and both their faces red with desire.

With that, the two walked out of the club, hands still all over each other, not even bothering to adjust themselves, to continue their night, consuming each other so they will never forget their night at The Siren’s Den.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson fic #dick grayson smut #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing x fem!reader #nightwing x female!reader #nightwing fic #nightwing smut

[thevagabondexpress]

diagnosing the last hours characters with modern music tastes

Cordelia: I feel like she'd have two modes. The first would be soft, upbeat, folk and country but also piano-based stuff, anything major key and with big sound. Caroline Jones, Ruth B., Noah Kahan. I also thing she'd really like Shakira. That's her kind of day-to-day music, it's what she puts on in the car, around the house, when going for a jog, etc. But she also has a collection of women rap artists of the Megan and OSHUN variety which is what she puts on when she's doing hard workouts/training.

James: I agree that he'd be emo but I don't think he'd actually listen to a lot of "traditional canon" emo music. I think he'd find it too loud and intense in the wrong way. I think he'd prefer shoegaze, a la Radiohead, and bands like Five Three Eyes that are fast but fuzzed out. Generally anything with softer mastering where it sounds great at a lower volume.

Matthew: He'd love disco and neuvo-disco/retro-rock. Gloria Gaynor, Suzanne Somers, MonaLisa Twins, the Lemon Twigs. It's fun and silly and also empowering, besides which I think he'd like the fashion and the sparkle of it all. On his bad days, though, when the depression and/or ptsd and/or temptation to return to the addiction hits hard, what used to be his heavy drinking days, I think he'd fall back on an artist like P!NK or Florence + the Machine. Someone who can speak to the truth of the lowest lows of where he's been and remind him that he doesn't have to go back there, that there are other choices, things to live for. That, with time and effort, it does get better.

Thomas: He dug up the local college student indie rock station and he listens to it religiously. It's a habit he picked up in Madrid, he wanted to listen to Spanish music but didn't know where to look/how to search for it so he acquainted himself with radio and just flipped stations until he found something with a sound he liked. When asked to pick songs individually/curate his own music I think he'd end up falling back on his dad's taste in music: Eric Clapton, Bruce Cockburn, the Stones.

Alastair: I feel like Alastair would have unarguably the vastest taste in music of the lot of them, but also that it would generally run to music from well before his time. His mom has vinyls and cassette tapes from Iran before the Revolution and he's dubbed CDs and MP4's of them so he has his own copies and isn't stealing her. He enjoys listener-supported classical music radio, and also newer instrumental of the Haygood Hardy variety. He likes soft jazz and blues, Mahalia Jackson, Mama Thornton. He would ADORE Nina Simone. I think if I had to give a taste in music from after 1970, I'd say he also probably likes artists like Tracy Chapman and Mint Green that speak to a similar lived experience to his own.

Christopher: On one hand, I don't think he really cares that much about music. On the other hand, I think he would be the type to unapologetically listen to high school concert band music. He got hold of Robert W. Smith's storms series (Into the Storm, The Tempest, The Maelstrom), realized there's a crap ton of pieces in this genre that are Inspired By Science, and now every time Matthew comes down to the basement laboratory he ends up lodging a complaint about the sheer amount of French horn.

Grace: Living with Tatiana I don't think she was really allowed much if any access to music but I imagine she found ways around that anyhow. I think she's the other person who would really enjoy Florence + the Machine. I think most of her music would be older, melancholy women folk singers. Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Joni Mitchell, Claudia Schmidt, the McGarrigle Sisters. I think she'd find them soothing. They'd help her calm down when things get difficult, help her to find beauty in a world that's caused her mostly pain. I think her favorite artist would be Lenka. She's got this kind of upbeat, slightly silly vibe that would make Grace smile but I also think she'd find that songs like "Silhouette" and "Ivory Tower" could speak to her truth when she needs someone to, without getting too deep in and triggering her.

Lucie: She listens to Kpop and movie soundtracks. Also if it's appeared in one of those "badass women" edits over on youtube 100% she has it on her playlist or did at some point.

Jesse: Like Grace, he didn't really have access to music living with Tatiana. Also he was dead for like almost a decade so there's that. He probably mostly listens to whatever Lucie listens to, but I like to think he does experiments like picking a new genre/radio station to listen to every day, trying to figure out what he likes and doesn't like independently of his girlfriend.

Anna: idk. She strikes me as someone who'd like Siouxsie and the Banshees. Also Halsey and Hozier. Maybe bands like Linkin Park and Evanescence—she doesn't say it because she doesn't like being dissed for listening to "old cringe emo" but they got her through gender dysphoria when she was twelve so she knows there's some worth in them.

Charles: He really doesn't listen to music. He listens to NPR or Radio Canada or the British equivalent because it makes him feel up-to-date and liberal but he doesn't actually hear the content, it just goes in one ear and out the other.

@alastairstom @chaosandtwo

#the last hours #cordelia carstairs #james herondale #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #christopher lightwood #grace blackthorn #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #anna lightwood #charles fairchild #i didn't include ari because i don't feel like i know her well enough to say

[leonardcohenofficial]

ok sorry sorry another question!! i hope this doesn’t sound annoying but even if i’m not black i get so excited getting to talk about black artists in music because a lot of people i meet never know anything and it makes me sad because i just feel there’s so much incredible stuff. like they are really missing out and it makes me wonder if that’s why they’ll be impressed by a basic short piano solo in a kind of mediocre song like… have they never heard a jazz pianist??

(oh not a black musician but have you ever heard “uncertain smile” by the the? it’s a rad 80s song with a great jazz piano solo by jools holland that was improvised in studio)

anyway what are your top ten black female artists pre-1990? i always have a special place in my heart for billie holiday :)

if they asked me i could write a book (really an encyclopedia) about black women's impact on twentieth century music but to name just a few that have had major impact on me: nina simone, odetta, billie holiday, diana ross, roberta flack, aretha franklin, abbey lincoln, alice coltrane, tina turner, dorothy ashby, anita baker, whitney houston, gladys knight, mavis staples, merry clayton, chaka khan, celia cruz, donna summer, sylvia (robinson), the pointer sisters, carla thomas, the emotions, mahalia jackson, minnie riperton, bettye lavette, sade, gloria gaynor, carmen mcrae, dionne warwick, betty wright, sade—these are off the top of my head, i'm sure i could name more

#people should literally do the exercise; if you cannot name ten black female musicians pre 1990 (OR AT ALL FOR THAT MATTER) you need to put #in the effort and learn some; anyways i have not heard that the the song but i like jools holland so i'll check it out! #foxtraveler

[rhapsodynew]

For most people, House of the Rising Sun evokes memories of the 1964 hit The Animals. The song itself, however, has a hidden and shockingly extensive history that began much earlier than the mid-1960s.

The melody itself is a traditional English ballad, but it has become popular as an African American folk song. It was recorded by Texas Alexander in the 1920s, then by a number of other performers, including Ledbelly, Woody Guthrie, Josh White and later Nina Simone.

But it was Nina's version that The Animals heard.

No one can claim the rights to the song, which means that it can be recorded and sold without royalties. But many bands made covers of it after it became a hit with The Animals.

Historians have not been able to definitively identify what the "House of the Rising Sun" is, but here are two of the most popular theories:

1.This song is about a brothel in New Orleans. The House Of The Rising Sun was named after its owner, Madame Marianne Le Soleil Levant (which means "Rising Sun" in French). The brothel operated from 1862 to 1874, and then closed due to complaints from neighbors.

2.We are talking about a women's prison in New Orleans called the Orleans Parish Women's Prison, the entrance gates of which were decorated with paintings of the rising sun. This could explain the phrase from the song "ball and chain".

Ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax recorded his version of the song in 1937 with a 16-year-old girl named Georgia Turner. In this context, the song is sung in the first person in the present tense, when the singer laments how the House of the Rising Sun destroyed her life. In this traditional folk version, the main character is either a prostitute or a prisoner. The Animals changed the character to a gambling enthusiast to make their version more suitable for radio.

In 1964, this folk song became a worldwide hit for The Animals. Their version reached number one in the UK on July 9, and in America on September 5.

Animals vocalist Eric Burdon explained in a 2010 interview for Songfacts:

House of the Rising Sun is a song that I was just destined to perform. She was made for me, and I was made for her. It was a great song to tour with Chuck Berry because it became a way to reach the audience without copying Chuck Berry himself. It was a great trick, and it worked. In fact, not only a trick, but also a great record.

Bob Dylan included this song on his first album in 1962 with a folk arrangement like that of American folk singer Dave Van Ronk. When The Animals recorded it two years later, it transformed Dylan. The musician realized that he could apply a rock rhythm to a folk song. Bob bought an electric guitar and started playing it, which made him famous at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965, where he performed an electric set for the first time.

The Animals recorded the song in the studio in just one take, as they honed it by constantly performing on tour. John Steele, the band's drummer, recalled this.:

On May 17, 1964, we played in Liverpool, and then went to London, where Mickey Most booked a studio for the ITV show Ready Steady Go! Because of the reaction we got to Rising Sun, we asked to record this song as well, to which he said, "OK, we'll do it in the same session." We tuned in, played a few bars for the sound engineer – it was mono without overdubs – and recorded it only once. After listening, Mickey said: "That's it, it's a finished single." The sound engineer said that the song came out too long, but instead of shortening it a little, Mickey plucked up the courage and said, "Now we live in a microgrove world, we'll release it." A few weeks later, the song became No. 1 worldwide. When we knocked the Beatles off the top in America, they sent us a telegram that read: "Congratulations from The Beatles (band)."

Producer Mickey Most added:

Everything was in the right place, the planets were in the right place, the stars were in the right place, and the wind was blowing in the right direction. It took only 15 minutes to record, so I can't take much credit for producing it. It was just an incident that captured the atmosphere in the studio.

My old collection of cover version

#animals #bob dylan #nina simone #Georgia Turner #Lonnie Johnson #music story #history music #my music #music #music love #musica #spotify #my spotify #rock #rock music #rock photography #eric burdon #alan price #chas chandler #hilton valentine #john steel #love music #music lovers #The House Of The Rising Sun #musicians #Youtube #Spotify #cover

[didierleclair]

Born Eunice Kathleen Waymon, she became Nina Simone, afraid her religious parents would disapprove her choice of playing jazz. She was classically trained and hoped to become a classical musician. But as she mentioned many times, she didn’t reach her goal because of her race.

This decision of playing, jazz, soul, blues even pop has been out of necessity, however this musician made the best of it.

She has many great songs “I put a spell on you” and “Feelin’ good” are superb renditions. She’s improvising, plays beautiful chords and carries both songs with bravado. As an artist involved in the Civil Rights movement, I should mention “To be young, gifted and Black” or “Mississippi Goddam”. These signature songs show her courageous stand against violence to women, racism, and prejudices of all kinds.

She was at her best on stage. Two days before her death, The Curtis Institute of Music announced that they’ll give an honorary degree to Nina Simone. It’s the music school that had refused to admit her as a student at the beginning of her career. She won after all.

Elle s’appelait Eunice Kathleen Waymon mais elle a pris le nom de Nina Simone pour éviter que ses parents religieux ne sachent qu’elle jouait du jazz, musique qu’ils n’acceptaient pas. Elle voulait devenir une musicienne de musique classique et s’était entraînée pour ça. Cependant, comme elle l’a mentionné à plusieurs reprises, sa race l’en a empêché.

La décision de jouer du jazz devint donc nécessaire pour survivre mais elle s’en est bien servie.

Nina Simone a de nombreuses belles chansons, « I put a spell on you » et « Feelin’ good » sont des versions réussies. Comme artiste engagée dans le mouvement des droits civiques aux USA, il faut mentionner « To be young, gifted and Black » ainsi que « Mississippi Goddam ». Ces chansons-phares révèlent son courage contre la violence faite aux femmes, le racisme et les préjugés de toutes sortes.

Elle était meilleure en direct. Deux jours avant son décès, l’école « The Curtis Institute of Music » a annoncé offrir un doctorat honorifique à Nina Simone. C’était l’école de musique qui avait refusé sa candidature d’étudiante en musique. Elle a gagné, après tout.

#jazz #jazz music #nina simone #didier leclair

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

HERE IS A COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF PROBABLY MOST OF THE STUFF I LIKE! Feel free to ask me about any of it

PERSONALITY TYPING: INFP 4w3 (471)

BOOKS: Grishaverse, Lord of the Rings, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Song of Achilles, The Prince of Tides, The House in the Cerulean Sea, Harry Potter (unfortunately), Gone With the Wind, His Dark Materials, A Far Wilder Magic, The Hate U Give, The Outsiders, The Devil and the Dark Water, They Both Die At The End, Riordanverse, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Warriors

MOVIES: Titanic, Dead Poets Society, It’s A Wonderful Life, Little Women 2019, NOPE, Pan’s Labyrinth, The Sixth Sense, Terminator (especially 2), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Addams Family (1991) The Shawshank Redemption, Parasite, Knives Out/Glass Onion, Tar, Harriet, Romeo and Juliet (1968), Interstellar, Forrest Gump, Schindler’s List, The Princess Bride, Get Out, Lady Bird, Silence of the Lambs, The Truman Show, The Wall, 12 Angry Men, Recovery, so so many animated movies (especially WALL-E, The Prince of Egypt, The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Howl’s Moving Castle!), SOME Marvel movies (mostly guardians and spidey)

TV SHOWS (live action): LOST, Breaking Bad, Doctor Who, Person of Interest, Good Omens, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Downton Abbey, Ted Lasso, My So Called Life, Stranger Things, Broadchurch, Alias, Sherlock, Maid, The Last of Us, Dark, Happy Valley, Takin’ Over The Asylum, The Sandman, Heartstopper, Jessica Jones, Andi Mack, The Queen’s Gambit, Derry Girls, The Office, A Series of Unfortunate Events, 1899, Mare of Easttown, Around the World in 80 Days

ANIME AND CARTOONS: Fullmetal Alchemist (both versions), Avatar, Steven Universe, Phineas and Ferb, Death Note, Assassination Classroom, Demon Slayer, Attack on Titan, Monster, Spy X Family, Ouran High School Host Club, My Hero Academia, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Toradora, Gravity Falls, The Owl House, Cowboy Bebop, Erased, Mob Psycho 100, Kotaro Lives Alone, Ducktales

MUSIC: Queen, Taylor Swift, My Chemical Romance, Adele, Jeff Buckley, Will Wood, Olivia Rodrigo, The Beatles, Billy Joel, Hozier, The Proclaimers, Mitski, Fiona Apple, Brandi Carlile, Janelle Monáe, Alanis Morrissette, Sinead O'Connor, Nina Simone, David Bowie, BTS, Stray Kids, Day-6, Kelly Clarkson; Guns N Roses, Muse, Beyonce, Lana Del Rey, Pink Floyd, Eminem, Kendrick Lamar, George Michael, Heart, Radiohead…

MUSICALS: Les Miserables, Great Comet, Ragtime, Phantom of the Opera, Hadestown, Hamilton, Wicked, Come From Away, Matilda, Falsettos, Jesus Christ Superstar, Anastasia, Evita, The Last Five Years, The Sound of Music, West Side Story, The Clockmaker’s Daughter, Ride the Cyclone, Sweeney Todd, Parade, Little Shop of Horrors, Cats, In The Heights, Into the Woods, She Loves Me, Sunday in the Park with George, Lizzie, Newsies, Bonnie and Clyde, The Secret Garden, The Wild Party, Cabaret, Putnam County Spelling Bee…(I also love Shakespeare!)

VIDEO GAMES: basically just Super Mario Bros and Undertale but boy do I love Super Mario Bros and Undertale

YOUTUBERS: Schaffrillas Productions, Cinema Therapy, The Authentic Observer, Matt Rose, PMSeymour, Katherine Steele, The Swiftologist, FilmCooper, Sideways, Anthony Fantano and too many others to mention

FAVE ROLES I’VE PLAYED: Elsa in Frozen, Morticia in The Addams Family, Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet, Iolanthe in Iolanthe, Juror #8 in 12 Angry Jurors

#not bothering with tags this is just literally for my followers/anyone who visits my page #also I didn’t want to duplicate titles by medium #Like putting LOTR in both the books and movies section #for space ya know #so if there’s a good adaptation of something on this list assume it’s on here too in spirit #LOTR are literally my favorite movies of all time but there’s more space in the book section #Same with PnP Harry Potter etc

[spiderfreedom]

thinking of making more posts about women who got pigeonholed as 'just singers' who had significant other musical skills

like how karen carpenter is mainly remembered for being a singer when her drumming was suppressed and ignored by her brother and her management because 'pretty (skinny) female lead singer' sells, right?

I think Nina Simone is another one who's at risk of being turned into 'only a singer', probably because of all the records she did where she did vocal covers of prominent jazz songs. and those are cool and she does have a great voice and interpretive capacity. but also. her main love was always the piano! classical piano, specifically!

I know there are others too, I think 'female singer' is just a very powerful symbol in our heads, while 'female instrumentalist' less so. there's something cross-cultural happening here (many many cultures only allow women to sing, and forbid them from playing instruments).

singing is something very close to the body, and women are seen as naturally corporeal and in touch with the body. meanwhile playing an instrument puts you at a remove and requires technique, craft, skill, instruction. playing an instrument is more detached than singing. it's in contrast with the image of 'woman as body' to have 'woman as technician'. playing an instrument also isn't very sexy. there's the myth about athena inventing a flute but the other goddesses laughed at her because her cheeks were all puffed up while she played. karen carpenter was seen as 'hiding' when she played the drums, because you couldn't see her face and body clearly. idk. something going on

anyway the problem isn't singing, singing is amazing, the problem is women musicians have their musical skills reduced to 'singer', and this consistently happens, and we should shine a light on the women who yes, sang, but also did something else.

#women in music #radical feminism #feminism #mypost

[ashenpumpkin]

So I'm starting a new corner on my blog which is Hebrew songs i like and the lyrics translation for those that want them This is the song "All this time" by Ravid Plotnik, and I'll note that although the song is sung by a male singer, the grammar of the lyrics is that of a female speaker. [Chorus] And all of this time, i was alone All of this time. Every day over again all of this time, i was alone All of this time. i was alone [1st house] Say, do you remember the gang? do you remember the apartment, the laughs? You told me you're in love with me after barely two and a half days. In inner rooms we cried and outside we laughed to the skies. You told me i have a blessing and kissed my hands You said there are no friends in this world, man to man are wolves. How you brought me into your world, and loved me till it hurt. A lot more from all your exes, with whom you were before me. Do you remember Yafo D. left, and a sea of tears in both my eyes I don't know what I don't know why [Chorus] But for all of this time, i was alone all of this time, every day over again [2nd house] Do you remember sitting on the grass on Cirkin? and backpack rides in the rain to the car? Happy with all we have, denying all that isn't good I was Zina the warrior princess, you were Avi "offended"y I would hear Nina simon sing "you don't know what love is" When i tried changing for you, and be the women of your dreams. When you wanted Classy i was Beyoncé, when you wanted hood i was a bimbo When we dreamed to travel the world, if we'd only survive crises, When you told me how your mom went from hospital to hospital to hospital. I don't know what, i don't know why

[Chorus] But for all of this time, i was alone all of this time, every day over again Say do you remember the good? Remember hugs, remember kisses? Because yes there were moments, rare minutes of heartbeats and passions. Now seriously, do you remember the anger, the fights? do you remember walking down the street angry looking jealously at loving couples? remember the good words? how you hoped to hear 'thank you'? remember i cried quietly in the corner of the room hidden and nobody knew? they talk to you about me, all your family and friends I know you loved me, you loved you never did before but life is stronger than us, and you let that bridge fall you talked like an angry and fucked up kid, when you were jealous and insecure. There's no mom and dad, not in the mood for anything, just weed and cigs and I'm getting myself a puff every night like my life is great I was looking for the way to leave you, without being hurtful. Remember panic attacks and sleepless nights where i thought i was going crazy? I loved you at every given moment, even when you were childish i cured your broken heart, and you in return disappeared. [Chorus]

#hebrew #lyrics #music #foreign music #this song gets me every time #Youtube

[independentartistbuzz]

7 FROM THE WOMEN: MISHA PENTON

Misha Penton is an amazingly versatile artist known for her work as a singer, composer, and filmmaker. 

She has been recognised for her unique blend of art song, sound poetry, and chamber electronica. Her upcoming projects include the release of a music video titled “Earthshine” in celebration of the winter solstice 2023, along with a performance and release party in collaboration with Sawyers Yard Houston, where she is based.

Additionally, she has a forthcoming EP inspired by a 19th century fairytale book in the works. 

Misha’s diverse body of work has been featured at prestigious institutions such as the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, Dallas Museum of Art, and Rothko Chapel. She has worked closely with influential mentors in voice, opera, and experimental voice, including Lois Alba, Kathleen Kaun, Katherine Ciesinski, and Richard Armstrong, and has collaborated with organisations like Houston Grand Opera, Liminal Space Contemporary Music Ensemble and the Quartus Chamber Players.

Penton holds a BA in Music from Skidmore College, as well as an MFA in Interdisciplinary Arts from Goddard College, and a PhD in voice and composition from Bath Spa University UK. 

We caught up with Misha for an Exclusive Interview below! 

What Have You Been Working to Promote Lately?

“Earthshine” is my new single and music video. The work celebrates the winter solstice season, the longest night of the year. This dark and introspective time is a pause before the lengthening days bring us toward summer. I love the idea of going inward and engaging with stillness before the beginning of a new cycle. Earthshine is the dim glow on the darkened part of a crescent moon — the reflected sunlight from Earth shining on the night side of the moon. My music video and song conjures the subtle illuminating energies of beautiful things unseen or unnoticed. I created “Earthshine” to honor the cycle of the seasons. I often work creatively with the wheel of the year: the solstices, equinoxes, and moon phases. Noticing these cycles taps into the ebb and flow of natural energies. I sometimes feel caught up in our fast-paced and chaotic digital world. Observing the waxing and waning of the moon or remembering the tilt of the earth and the changing angle of the sun feels grounding.

2. Please tell us about your favorite song written, recorded or produced by another woman and why it’s meaningful to you.

So many! I’ll choose “Moments of Pleasure” by Kate Bush from The Red Shoes. The lyrics capture fleeting, beautiful images of her life with a rip-your-heart out vibe. And her singing is intimate and deeply connected to the emotional experience — “Just being alive / It can really hurt / And these moments given / Are a gift from time / Just let us try / To give these moments back / To those we love / To those who will survive.”

3. What does it mean to you to be a woman making music/in the music business today and do you feel a responsibility to other women to create messages and themes in your music?

My music is about following my creative vision and that’s what I encourage other artists to do. Stay inspired by surrounding yourself with others committed to their unique journeys, only do projects worthy of your time, skills, and attention (in other words, say “No” a lot) and always honor your work.            

4. What female artists have inspired you and influenced you?

Björk, Kate Bush, and Annie Lennox, for their unique music, musicianship, embrace of technology, and beautifully crafted and singular images. Meredith Monk, for her innovative vocal compositions and large-scale theatrical performances that blend classical, folk, and experimental music. Cathy Berberian, the mid 20th century contemporary classical and opera singer—she’s the grandmother of vocal new music and avant-garde singing. Diamanda Galas who is utterly unique, stunning, and fearless. And of course, the soul, blues, jazz, and R&B greats like Nina Simone, Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald — and artists who took up their mantle like India Arie, Alicia Keys, Lauryn Hill, and H.E.R. There are so many amazing artists—too many to list!                                                                                                        

5. Who's Your Favorite Female Icon (dead or alive) and why?

Audrey Hepburn. Funny Face with Fred Astaire is probably my favorite of her movies. It’s set in NYC and Paris in the 1950s and features the Gershwin classics, “How Long Has This Been Going On?” and “’S Wonderful.” There’s a great scene set in a bohemian coffeehouse in Greenwich Village and another where she floats down the Daru staircase at the Louvre in a red Givenchy gown. She embodied elegant and fashionable stardom (she was a muse of Hubert de Givenchy). She was also an activist and humanitarian, working with UNICEF and raising awareness of global children’s needs.                                                         

6. What was the most challenging thing you have had to face as a female artist?

Challenges or unfair professional situations usually evoke my anger and I’ve used that anger as a catalyst to create my own work. I only do projects that are a good fit for me artistically and personally. In the past, I’ve worked with men who were immature and not nearly as hard-working and intensely creative as I am. My work deserves far better—so I strive to create an ideal environment for my work, myself. Don’t take any sh*t from anyone. Do your own thing and you’ll find the right creative tribe.                             

7. Finally – Where can we find you online? Website | Instagram | Facebook |

Spotify | Apple Music | Bandcamp | Misha on Streaming Platforms

Misha has been praised for her ability to create immersive musical experiences, incorporating layered voices, swirling guitars, and electronic textures. Her collaborative efforts with other artists contribute to the richness of her work, showcasing a diverse range of influences and creative approaches.

We look forward to hearing more from her in the upcoming year! 

#spotify #music #interview #new music #Youtube

[mr-divabetic]

GREAT NEWS!! Our song, Crystal Penny’s STANDARDS, produced by Ivan Hampden Jr. holds strong at #3 on the BCfm Official Soul Chart with Tony Griffin. 

Crystal Penny's new single is a loving tribute to the extraordinary soulful divas whose timeless romantic classics still capture our hearts today. The song's hook mentions Dionne Warwick, Gladys Knight, Etta James, Sarah Vaughan, Phyllis Hyman, Nina Simone, Chaka Khan, and Patti LaBelle by name. Every generation has a different way of talking about love through music. Fortunately, our ears were tuned into the sweet sounds of the Quiet Storm during the 80's. 

The soothing rhythms and soft and warm sensuality in these women's songs have guided how we love and express love. We thank these eight black female artists and many more for their enduring classics. Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/track/3B1Ash4Rhg7HcZzD3sx4tP?si=400a2994471d4471

#bcfm #bcfm soul #soul chart #uk soul chart #uk soul #etta james #chaka khan #gladys knight #dionne warwick #dionne #sarah vaughan #phyllis hyman #patti labelle #nina simone #new soul #soul music #sisters #new music #new single #rnbsong #rnb icons #rnb diva #rnbsoul #rnb singer #soul divas #soul #singing sister #songrwriter #quiet storm

[imnothinginparticular]

#finishedbooks The Three Penny Opera by Bertolt Brecht. Was happy to find this at my favorite book store in mitaka for a mere 300 yen. I have read Brecht on Brecht, several theories on his plays, even his house of un-American activities statement, to enjoying the jazz standard 'Mack the Knife' and Nina Simone's beautifully tortured live rendition of 'Pirate Jenny' from the play (will get into later)...but never what is often considered his most known play here. Which makes sense, I really enjoy breaking things down on layers to understand why they are great in search of something (I perhaps will never find) and Brecht's dialectical theatre offers so much through his philosophical aesthetics: alienation, Epic Theatre, gestus, 4th wall, mimesis, empathy, illusion, psychological dissonance, etc. With that the story is rather straightforward as it has become an archetype. It is about the rise and fall of an underworld figure known as Mac the Knife (for his use of the weapon) who decides rather matter of factly to marry above his class, is betrayed, caught, and awaits death before a Brechtian device intervenes. What becomes special are the details: the moral dilemmas, the challenges to the audience empathy, the introduction of jazz into theatre, and the Epic Theatre acting requirements. But think from here I will go into just the enduring power of what it all comes to and really the specific reason why I wanted to read THIS play. I always loved Nina Simone and I remember hearing a bonus track on that Hi-Tek Reflection Eternal album called "Four Women" inspired by her in high school. I searched my dad's cds and he had a greatest hits Simone album and I absorbed it. I have always been an album person (don't like playlists) as I want to hear the artist's statement...that is what an album should be. During tbe pandemic I was like let me just spend days with each Nina Simone record on repeat and it was her 'In Concert' album that just had a huge effect on me. As far as live albums go...off the top I mean that Parker record where he played with a plastic saxophone, Cash's prison record, James Brown at the Apollo, Cobain's unplugged, Cooke at the Harlem Square, Jarret's Köln Concert...I think Simone's is my favorite, just the sustained intensity she plays simultaneously attacking and humoring the very timid Carnegie Hall audience at the height of civil rights. So what she did with Pirate Jenny was just add an adjective a single adjective and it changed the whole context of the song...both a testament to Brecht's universality and Simone's ingenuity. But in just saying crummy "southern" town that song becomes the most sinister piece of music I have ever heard about black revenge. Glad I finally got the complete context with the Three Penny Opera which all relates because US systemic racism is economic at its base as was the preoccupation with Brecht's play.

#finishedbooks

[musicarenagh]

Nadirah X Collaborates With Bosaya On New Single 'Let Love Surround You' Nadirah X is a rising talent in the music business who is creating waves with her explosive lyrics, wordplays, and punchlines. She lives in Los Angeles and is a singer, songwriter, and rapper. Nadirah's musical talent is unmatched, and she has made a name for herself as one of the best female MCs in the business. Her position in the business has been firmly established. The journey that Nadirah has taken with her music has been nothing short of incredible. She is the first rapper in the history of the genre to have collaborated with the great Annie Lennox in terms of songwriting and performance. In the movie "The Women," you can hear the pair perform their version of "Womankind" which is included in Annie Lennox's solo album "Songs of Mass Destruction." A number of Nadirah's songs have reached number one on the charts in the past, including "Nobody's Coming" with Olaf Blackwood and "Brainstorm" starring Chali 2NA of Jurassic 5, both of which were released in the past. "Let Love Surround You," her most recent studio album, is a powerful emotional outpouring that shows off her skills as a singer and composer. Ned Douglas made the album, which features the singing and songwriting skills of the Russian musician Galina Bosaya. The song "Let Love Surround You" is the album's first single, and it is a slow-paced yet emotionally charged piece with a powerful ethereal hook and chorus performed by Bosaya. Bosaya's voice is featured prominently throughout the song. The bonus music video, which was directed by Cindy Gomez and shot by Vadim Zariuta, is a simple but stunning piece of art. It shows Bosaya performing in front of beautiful mountains and a gorgeous sunset. The music of Nadirah X is not only creative, but it is also a reflection of her own personal experiences, which helps listeners connect with the music on a deeper level. Her music has the unrivalled ability to connect with listeners on an emotional level. Because she has a unique way of singing and is very good at music, she is quickly becoming one of the most anticipated performers in the music business. [caption id="attachment_42234" align="alignnone" width="1440"] Nadirah X Collaborates With Bosaya On New Single 'Let Love Surround You'[/caption] Who are your biggest musical influences? Peter Tosh, Queen Latifah, Nina Simone, Tanya Stephens, and Jimmy Cliff, to name a few. What inspired you to write your latest album/song? I’m always writing, you know, there is a lot going on, on this planet. I enjoy observing not only society but also myself and where I am as a human being as I move from one situation to the next. I believe that shows in the presentation of my music. I try to write from an honest place. So living itself is my inspiration… What message do you hope to convey through your music? Love and self-reflection, striving to be a better person, while maintaining strength and patience…. What was the most challenging aspect of recording your latest album? This project moves with great ease, I’m in no rush. I’m making the music I want and collaborating with my dear friend and super producer Ned Douglas. Having a lot of fun. So far recording with artists I am a fan of like Olaf Blackwood, Chali 2Na, Bosaya and a few more surprises on the way. What has been your favourite moment or experience as a musician so far? So many. It's difficult to narrow it down, hahaha... I’d say performing, recording, and writing with Jimmy Cliff are up there. [embed]https://youtu.be/fUtSRAky0qA[/embed] How do you balance your personal life with your music career? I’m the same person, always. So I don’t really have any major balancing acts, lol. It's a smooth merge. How do you handle negative criticism or feedback on your music? I really think when you make authentic art, something that you need to express it’s counterproductive to sit in the moments of someone's disconnect with the art you’ve created.

Some will gravitate because it speaks to them and some won’t and that’s quite fine. What advice would you give to aspiring musicians trying to make it in the industry? I don't have a formula for "success," but I would say enjoy what you're doing; the process should be enjoyed. Do you have any upcoming projects or releases that you're excited about? Yes. A few things are in the pipeline that I’m working on… Do you have any plans to branch out into other genres or styles of music? I think over my career so far I’ve touched on quite a few genres, I love collaborations so I’m always open to making different types of music. [embed]https://open.spotify.com/album/1AaYOsIGquf5T1ZW0lxoPu?si=mrzN0m1FTC29ZbxcAhd4DA[/embed]

#Interviews #NadirahSabreenSeid #NadirahX #NadirahXLetLoveSurroundYou #NadirahXCollaboratesWithBosaya #NadirahXCollaboratesWithBosayaOnNewSingleLetLoveSurroundYou #NadirahXFeat.Bosaya–“LetLoveSurroundYou” #NadirahXgetsdeepandemotiveonlatesttrack #NadirahXJamaicanmusician

[t1gerlilly]

Love and Fanfic

I’m not sure love really exists. Not the way it is in song and story. Most ‘romance’ just seems like it’s a way of convincing women that getting married and becoming an unpaid maid and broodmare is a good idea. This particularly struck me listening to “You Can Have Him” by Nina Simone, especially this section of the lyrics... “  … All I ever wanted to do was Run my fingers through his curly locks Mend his underwear and darn his socks Fetch his slippers and remove his shoes Wipe his glasses when he's read the news Rub his forehead with a gentle touch Mornings after when he's had a little too much Kiss him gently when he cuddles near And give him babies one for every year” I mean.... really. (you can’t see me, but I’m raising one eyebrow )  I’m supposed to think that the end all be all of existence is darning some guy’s socks? Fetching his slippers? What am I, a dog? That’s what it means to love someone?  ‘Why yes, now you ask, I knew I loved him when I got that insatiable urge, that all us girls do, you know how it is to mend his underwear.’ Sigh.  And this kind of thing is all-pervasive. Almost all the stories in our culture are manufactured and men own all of the means of production. I sometimes think that the way gender identification has shifted has as much to do with how narrow “woman” has become as a label. That the image of femininity has become so constrained and yolked to submission that it’s inevitable that many, many people would be unable to identify with it. The narrative sought to mould women into a small slice of human experience and instead made it so impossible that people simply had to find new ways to define themselves.  Like, when people started talking about nonbinary identities I kept asking questions to help understand and it always made me more confused. Because it was like ‘well, I do that. And I think that. And that’s me too. But I’m a woman. So...I don’t get it.” And eventually I figured out that if I was 15 years younger, I’d probably self-identify as non-binary. Because the categories had changed. It felt like people younger than me had figured out a way to slip out of a cage made of gendered assumptions. I applaud them for that, even if I’m used to my own shackles. I never paid them much mind anyway. Romantic love is hard to observe. My parents weren’t great examples and I only know one or two couples who seem genuinely happy - and they’ve been in therapy for the better part of a decade. So I don’t have a lot of faith that love is something worth giving up your independence for. In some ways it seems like a misnomer for lust, infatuation, and all the various chemical indulgences that evolution has afforded us.  It used to be that romances were tragic - stories of warning for women who followed their heart and loins into the bed of a man not sanctioned by their father. Now romance is a tool to convince women to center their lives around men. (And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that even corporate attempts at lesbian rom coms generally end up being more complex than the typical straight ones.) But there is one thing that gives me hope that love really exists. The kind of honest, faithful, supportive, joyous feeling that is poured into ballads. That’s fanfic. Fanfic has those kinds of relationships in it. And while I often find them to be patently unrealistic, sometimes to the point of humor, they are beautiful.  Reading fanfic, I often found myself torn between disbelief (people don’t talk like that and I don’t know any guys who just burst out sobbing all the time) and savoring a lingering sweetness. An aftertaste of someone’s imaginings that was full of affection and hope. It occurred to me eventually that if there was any proof that love exists, it’s the dreams of all the people who write about it. That the capacity for love is there, even if it never becomes a reality. A little like god - an idea so powerful that it has shaped centuries of war. Love lives on the page and in the minds that make it. 

#love #fanfic #t1gerlilly

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

THE FORTY-FIVE: ST. VINCENT

Sleazy, gritty, grimy – these are the words used to describe the latest iteration of St. Vincent, Annie Clark’s alter ego. As she teases the release of her upcoming new album, ‘Daddy’s Home’, Eve Barlow finds out who’s wearing the trousers now.

Photos: Zackery Michael

Yellow may be the colour of gold, the hue of a perfect blonde or the shade of the sun, but when it’s too garish, yellow denotes the stain of sickness and the luridness of sleaze. On ‘Pay Your Way In Pain’ – the first single from St. Vincent’s forthcoming sixth album ‘Daddy’s Home’ – Annie Clark basks in the palette of cheap 1970s yellows; a dirty, salacious yellow that even the most prudish of individuals find difficult to avert their gaze from. It’s a yellow that recalls the smell of cigarettes on fingers, the tape across tomorrow’s crime scene or the dull ache of bad penetration.

The video for the single, which dropped last Thursday, features Clark in a blonde wig and suit, channeling a John Cassavetes anti-heroine (think Gena Rowlands in Gloria) and ‘Fame’-era Bowie. She twists in front of too-bright disco lights. She roughs up her voice. She sings about the price we pay for searching for acceptance while being outcast from society. “So I went to the park just to watch the little children/ The mothers saw my heels and they said I wasn’t welcome,” she coos, and you immediately recognise the scene of a free woman threatening the post-nuclear families aspiring to innocence. Clark is here to pervert them.

She laughs. “That’s how I feel!” From her studio in Los Angeles, she begins quoting lyrics from Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Red House’. “It’s a blues song for 2021.” LA is a city Clark reluctantly only half calls home, and one that is opposed to her vastly preferred New York. “I don’t feel any romantic attachment to Los Angeles,” she says of the place she coined the song ‘Los Ageless’ about on 2017’s ‘Masseduction’ (“The Los Ageless hang out by the bar/ Burn the pages of unwritten memoirs”).“The best that could be said of LA is, ‘Yeah it’s nice.’ And it is! LA is easy and pleasant. But if you were a person the last thing you’d want someone to say about you is: ‘She’s nice!’”

On ‘Daddy’s Home’, Clark writes about a past derelict New York; a place Los Angeles would suffocate in. “The idea of New York, the art that came out of it, and my living there,” she says. “I’ve not given up my card. I don’t feel in any way ready to renounce my New York citizenship. I bought an apartment so I didn’t have to.” Her down-and-out New York is one a true masochist would love, and it’s sleazy in excess. Sleaze is usually the thing men flaunt at a woman’s expense. In 2021, the proverbial Daddy in the title is Clark. But there’s also a literal Daddy. He came home in the winter of 2019.

On the title track, Clark sings about “inmate 502”: her father. He was sentenced to 12 years in prison for his involvement in a $43m stock fraud scheme. He went away in May 2010. Clark reacted by writing her third breakthrough album ‘Strange Mercy’ in 2011; inspired not just by her father’s imprisonment but the effects it had on her life.“I mean it was rough stuff,” she says. “It was a fuck show. Absolutely terrible. Gut-wrenching. Like so many times in life, music saved me from all kinds of personal peril. I was angry. I was devastated. There’s a sort of dullness to incarceration where you don’t have any control. It’s like a thud at the basement of your being. So I wrote all about it,” she says.

Back then, she was aloof about meaning. In an interview we did that year, she called from a hotel rooftop in Phoenix and was fried from analytical questions. She excused her lack of desire to talk about ‘Strange Mercy’ as a means of protecting fans who could interpret it at will. Really she was protecting an audience closer to home. It’s clear now that the title track is about her father’s imprisonment (“Our father in exile/ For God only knows how many years”). Clark’s parents divorced when she was a child, and they have eight children in their mixed family, some of whom were very young when ‘Strange Mercy’ came out. She explains this discretion now as her method of sheltering them.

“I am protective of my family,” she says. “It didn’t feel safe to me. I disliked the fact that it was taken as malicious obfuscations. No.” Clark wanted to deal with the family drama in art but not in press. She managed to remain tight-lipped until she became the subject of a different intrusion. As St. Vincent’s star continued to rocket, Clark found herself in a relationship with British model Cara Delevingne from 2014 to 2016, and attracted celebrity tabloid attention. Details of her family’s past were exposed. The Daily Mail came knocking on her sister’s door in Texas, where Clark is from.

“Luckily I’m super tight with my family and the Daily Mail didn’t find anybody who was gonna sell me out,” she says. “They were looking for it. Clark girls are a fucking impenetrable force. We will cut a bitch.”

Four years later, Clark gets to own the narrative herself in the medium that’s most apt: music. “The story has evolved. I’ve evolved. People have grown up. I would rather be the one to tell my story,” she says, ruminating on the misfortune that this was robbed from her: a story that writes itself. “My father’s release from prison is a great starting point, right?” Between tours and whenever she could manage, Clark would go and visit him in prison and would be signing autographs in the visitation room for the inmates, who all followed her success with every album release, press clipping and late night TV spot. She joked to her sisters that she’d become the belle of the ball there. “I don’t have to make that up,” she says.

There’s an ease to Clark’s interview manner that hasn’t existed before. She seems ready not just to discuss her father’s story, but to own certain elements of herself. “Hell where can you run when the outlaw’s inside you,” she sings on the title track, alluding to her common traits with her father. “I’ve always had a relationship with my dad and a good one. We’re very similar,” she says. “The movies we like, the books, he liked fashion. He’s really funny, he’s a good time.” Her father’s release gave Clark and her brothers and sisters permission to joke. “The title, ‘Daddy’s Home’ makes me laugh. It sounds fucking pervy as hell. But it’s about a real father ten years later. I’m Daddy now!”

The question of who’s fathering who is a serious one, but it’s also not serious. Clark wears the idea of Daddy as a costume. She likes to play. She joins today’s Zoom in a pair of sunglasses wider than her face and a silk scarf framing her head. The sunglasses come off, and the scarf is a tool for distraction. She ties it above her forehead, attempts a neckerchief, eventually tosses it aside. Clark can only be earnest for so long before she seeks some mischief. She doesn’t like to stay in reality for extensive periods. “I like to create a world and then I get to live in it and be somebody new every two or three years,” she says. “Who wants to be themselves all the time?”

‘Daddy’s Home‘ began in New York at Electric Lady studios before COVID hit and was finished in her studio in LA. She worked on it with “my friend Jack” [Jack Antonoff, producer for Lana Del Rey, Lorde, Taylor Swift]. Antonoff and Clark worked on ‘Masseduction’ and found a winning formula, pushing Clark’s guitar-orientated electronic universe to its poppiest maximum, without compromising her idiosyncrasies. “We’re simpatico. He’s a dream,” she says. “He played the hell outta instruments on this record. He’s crushing it on drums, crushing it on Wurlitzer.” The pair let loose. They began with ‘The Holiday Party’, one of the warmest tracks Clark’s ever written. It’s as inviting as a winter fireplace, stoked by soulful horns, acoustic guitar and backing singers. “Every time they sang something I’d say, ‘Yeah but can you do it sleazier? Make your voice sound like you’ve been up for three days.” Clark speaks of an unspoken understanding with Antonoff as regards the vibe: “Familiar sounds. The opposite of my hands coming out of the speaker to choke you till you like it. This is not submission. Just inviting. I can tell a story in a different way.”

The entire record is familiar, giving the listener the satisfaction that they’ve heard the songs before but can’t quite place them. It’s a satisfying accompaniment to a pandemic that encouraged nostalgic listening. Clark was nostalgic too. She reverted to records she enjoyed with her father: Stevie Wonder’s catalogue from the 1970s (‘Songs In The Key Of Life’, ‘Innervisions’, ‘Talking Book’) and Steely Dan. “Not to be the dude at the record store but it’s specifically post-flower child idealism of the ’60s,” she explains. “It’s when it flipped into nihilism, which I much prefer. Pre disco, pre punk. That music is in me in a deep way. It’s in my ears.”

On ‘The Melting Of The Sun’ she has a delicious time creating a psychedelic Pink Floyd odyssey while exploring the path tread by her heroes Marilyn Monroe, Joni Mitchell, Joan Didion and Nina Simone. It’s a series of beautiful vignettes of brilliant women who were met with a hostile environment. Clark considers what they did to overcome that. “I’m thanking all these women for making it easier for me to do it. I hope I didn’t totally let them down.” Clark is often the only woman sharing a stage with rock luminaries such as Dave Grohl, Damon Albarn and David Byrne, and has appeared to have shattered a male-centric glass ceiling. She’s unsure she’s doing enough to redress the imbalance. “There are little things I can do and control,” she says of hiring women on her team. “God! Now I feel like I should do more. What should I do? It’s a big question. You know what I have seen a lot more from when I started to now? Girls playing guitar.”

If one woman reinvented the guitar in the past decade, it’s Clark. Behind her is a rack of them. The pandemic has taken her out of the wild in which she’s accustomed to tantalising audiences at night with her displays of riffing and heel-balancing. Instead, she’s chained to her desk. Her obsession with heels in the lyrics of ‘Daddy’s Home’ she reckons may be a reflection of her nights performing ‘Masseduction’ in thigh highs. “I made sure that nothing I wore was comfortable,” she recalls. “Everything was about stricture and structure and latex. I had to train all the time to make sure I could handle it.” Is she taking the heels off when live shows return? “Absofuckinglutely not.”

Clark is interested in the new generation. She’s recently tweeted about Arlo Parks and has become a big fan of Russian singer-songwriter Kate NV. “I’m obsessed with Russia,” she says. In a recent LA Times profile, she professed to a pandemic intellectual fixation on Stalin. “Yeah! I mean right now my computer is propped up on stuff. You are sitting on The Gulag Archipelago, The Best Short Stories Of Dostoyevsky andThe Plays Of Chekhov. I’m kinda in it.” The pop world interests Clark, too. She was credited with a co-write on Swift’s 2019 album ‘Lover’. At last year’s Grammys she performed a duet with Dua Lipa. It was one of the queerest performances the Grammys has ever aired. Clark interrupts.

“What about it seemed queer?!”

You know… The lip bite, for one!

“Wait. Did she bite her lip?”

No, you bit your lip.

“I did?!”

Everyone was talking about it. Come on, Annie.

“Serious? I…”

You both waltzed around each other with matching hairdos, making eyes…

“I have no memory of it.”

Frustrating as it may be in a world of too much information, Clark’s lack of willingness to overanalyse every creative decision she makes or participates in is something to treasure. “I want to be a writer who can write great songs,” she says. “I’m so glad I can play guitar and fuck around in the studio to my heart’s desire but it’s about what you can say. What’s a great song? What lyric is gonna rip your guts open. Just make great shit! That’s where I was with this record. That’s all I wanna do with my life.”

More than a decade into St. Vincent, Clark doesn’t reflect. She looks strictly forward. “I’m like a horse with blinders,” she says. She did make an exception to take stock lately when the phone rang. “I saw a +44 and that gets me excited,” she says. “Who could this be?” Well, who was it? “Paul McCartney,” she says, in disbelief. “Anything I’ve done, any mistake I’ve made, somehow it’s forgiven, assuaged. I did something right in my life if a fucking Beatle called me.”

Now there’s a get out of jail free card if ever she needed one.

Daddy’s Home by St. Vincent is out May 14, 2021.

#‘I HAVE NO MEMORY OF IT’ #LOOOOOL #WHY ARE U LIKE THIS #st vincent #full of shit #annie clark #Annie Clark on beds #yellow is the color for dull ache of bad penetration?