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dojae-huh · 24 days

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Yes, i’ve downplayed doyoung against others. For me being average and having hardwork to bring you this far is a compliment actually. Sorry about that. No worries, it’s just me being pessimistic, I don’t represent the whole fandom. I asked because I want a different perspective from myself (and that I got, haha). I do have a hard time finding good live for his current title track, beginning, from little wave. I know it’s not going to sound the same as recording but still. Or maybe as the moderator suggest, I actually don’t really like this album? Idk i played it all the time tho. Actually now that I think about it, I don’t like the title track. It doesn’t have natural flow in the melody. Instrument are great. Little light just does not work for me. It’s all over the place. The song doesn’t feel whole. And to see dy struggles to sing it live just doesn’t increase my love for the song. It’s maybe the writer, composer style which is not my preference.

Having a song within his range is not a play safe for me. His normal range is already quite high. I want him to be able to sing good quality lives repeatedly is what I mean because of his tendency to want to perform live as much as he wants. Maybe I have different approach. And songs do not need to have really really high notes to be a good song. But if done well, it would be really good. Or else it would be gimmicky. Anyway thanks for the opinions guys. I don’t agree with all but will take some suggestions to re-evaluate. Will come back again, maybe not in the near future for more discussion (Little light live from zico the season is not bad, yeay)

The people you compared Do to are not born talents either, they also practice a lot. And Whitney would't be Whitney without tens of years of many hours of work every day, watch her interviews.

We can't even measure what is the natural speed of Do's progression. He is so occupied, he barely has time for vocal lessons. Not to mention a lack of good teachers.

Recently I've heard an opinion that the love for lipsyncing and heavy post-processing of "live performances" in k-pop makes people forget how real live singing sounds. In addition, the sound that people hear in the venue and what a mic (of a fansite's camera or the stage one) picks up are two different sounds.

I haven't heard all of live stages yet, but among those I've watched some I liked, I thought Do sounded well, and some not so much.

Doyoung won't improve his live singing skills of whole songs without actually singing live. A lot. In different circumstances and time of the day. He already sounds better than majority of Western male singers.

We, ifans who don't understand Korean (you didn't mention the lyrics so I'm assuming you are one as well), can't wholly perceive a song the way it was intended. Think of instrumental versions of songs stripped of a voice, they are often hard to listen to. I can give you an example of a song in Russian. You probably won't be impressed because the pain and desperation, the emptiness and the will to live despite a thought to kill oneself won't be accesseble to you. And the winter landscape and the city won't resonate either, while I need just a glimpse to imagine how bleak is the whole city, how people freeze on bus stops or dream of the sun and summer, the depression due the lack of vitamins and constant surviving.

Same thing with Do's title. It has a message that we don't hear while listening to the song. Notice that most idols prefer Beginning. It's a song about keeping on singing, reaching other people, it resonates with them, the sentiment

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invisibleicewands · 3 years

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His beard bloomed and his hair sprang forth, like a riot of corkscrews, during lockdown. Now Michael Sheen sweeps on to the National Theatre’s Olivier stage in the manner of an Old Testament prophet descending from Mount Snowdon – or must we call it Yr Wyddfa?

Sheen is best known as a great mimic who played Chris Tarrant in last year’s TV series about the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire coughing scandal, Quiz, and Tony Blair in the 2006 film The Queen opposite Helen Mirren – plus David Frost in Peter Morgan’s play and film Frost/Nixon and Brian Clough in the The Damned United movie.

Here though he takes on the role of the narrator in Lyndsey Turner’s bittersweet revival of Dylan Thomas’s verse drama written for radio in 1954 – re-imagined here in a care home. [...]

Looking pallid and paunchy in his creased shirt and saggy trousers, Sheen takes the role of the story’s narrator, made famous by Richard Burton. Only here, Sheen relates the tale not to the audience but to his father, whose memories have been robbed by Alzheimer’s.Inebriated by the whisky he keeps hidden in his jacket, Sheen stumbles eagerly through the verse as if making it up as he goes along – painting pictures of people (and their dreams) in the Carmarthenshire port that lies ‘fast, and slow, asleep’. [...] The care home setting does feel cheerless at first, but it’s a clever way of focusing the rambling yarn. And furniture on casters – including a shop counter, steaming stove and kitchen table, set with multiple cloths to denote different homes – add a sense of magic and playfulness.Nor could you wish for a more loquacious, richer narrator than hirsute, woody-voiced Sheen, who looks like he’s been training outside an off-licence. I just wish it had been bookended with silence rather than someone else’s words. DailyMail

[...] On the circular stage of the reconfigured, socially distanced Olivier auditorium, Brown’s character patiently sets about starting up the day’s routine with the residents drifting in to sit and talk and stare into space. But the temperature climbs with the unexpected arrival of Mr. Jenkins’ son Owain (Michael Sheen), whose short-fuse exasperation turns swiftly to anger when his father cannot or will not communicate with him. Calmed by the staff, he and his father begin looking at an old family photograph album and Thomas’s original text takes over, now presented as a portrait of the village of Mr. Jenkins’ not-quite-forgotten past. [...] Whenever it is staged — it was last seen at the National 25 years ago — the chief problem is the lack of momentum. Characters’ (in)actions lack consequences, which makes it hard to engage with them except on a momentary basis. Owen and Turner’s new frame seeks to address that directly by making Sheen’s character not an inert, impartial observer but a man desperate to tell the story to and with his father in order to connect, to awaken his father’s distracted mind. Previously neutral descriptions are thus charged up, which intermittently animates proceedings. [...] The ultimate moment of connection between father and son is affecting but the production’s dangerous proximity to unearned sentimentality is also visible. And in the foregoing hour and three-quarter running time (with no interval), the sustained inertia grows wearing. There’s welcome tenderness aplenty but, when it comes to storytelling, there’s too much telling and, alas, too little story. Variety

Michael Sheen is terrific in Dylan Thomas’s linguistic tour de force, which remains undimmed by the years [...] The whole home thing is a nice enough idea that ambles on agreeably… but it’s a thrill when the play proper starts: it feels like the air suddenly fizzes and crackles when Sheen’s narrator introduces us to Llareggub on one ‘starless and Bible-black’ night. Ultimately, the care home business feels minor and diversionary, a framework to (kind of) explain why the poem is being performed. But it doesn’t really have a payoff or purpose beyond the performance of the poem itself. I'm not sure anyone really needs my opinion on I ‘Under Milk Wood’ as Thomas wrote it. But for what it’s worth I think it’s brilliant – time hasn’t dimmed it, his language remains bracingly wild, elemental and weird. And this is a very good, detailed performance of it – Sheen is impassioned and urgent, like he’s electrified by the surging flanguage; the cast of mostly older actors tend to get more playful roles, and seem to be having terrific fun. [...] You bought your tickets to see Michael Sheen doing ‘Under Milk Wood’ and you’ve got Michael Sheen doing ‘Under Milk Wood’ – nobody’s going to feel disappointed. Time Out

[...] Sheen – shaggy, bearded and full of humanity – leads as the narrator but this is really an ensemble show, animated with amusing turns by Siân Phillips, Cleo Sylvestre and Ifan Huw Dafydd among others. It comes with an inventive framing device (additional material is written by Siân Owen) in which Sheen plays the son of Richard Jenkins (Karl Johnson), who is losing his bearings when he is visited by Jenkins Junior in his nursing home. [...] While this is a charming production that bewitches, it begs the question of why a drama that is so consciously retreating into the past is revived now, and how it speaks to our pandemic landscape. Thomas draws a picture of a place steeped in stasis and saturated in nostalgia. Time has stood still here, as Thomas makes clear in the symbolism of the village clock’s frozen hands, and it arguably represents his yearning for a bygone world after the second world war. This production seems entirely conscious of its retreat into the past and it resembles a lost world that is both comforting and jarring after the horrors of the pandemic. The Guardian

To hear Michael Sheen deliver Under Milk Wood feels akin to witnessing Gielgud's Hamlet or Rylance's Rooster Byron. It is nothing short of theatrically seminal.As hoped, the poetry is magnificent. He orchestrates Dylan Thomas's posthumously performed masterpiece as a maestro conductor, all waving hands and syncopated rhythm. There are times when his words seem to literally hang in the air, leaving the socially distanced Olivier audience hypnotised. I could listen to him say "Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea…" on loop forever. [...] The concept doesn't always feel completely cohesive - it seems strange that everyone so willingly joins the performance when Sheen's character is so cold and skittish with them initially - but Lyndsey Turner's beautifully choreographed in-the-round production is convincing enough to override such niggles.The metanarrative also has the noticeable effect of causing Sheen to speak as if he is conjuring Dylan's words on the spot. This lends both an immediacy to the language and also a purpose to its rich imagery - after all, here is a man desperately trying to paint pictures in his father's addled imagination. Under Milk Wood is in some sense a victim of its own familiarity, and Turner's staging lends a much-needed freshness over reverence. [...] Whatsonstage

A charismatic Michael Sheen is part showman, part shaman in this staging of Dylan Thomas’s 1954 radio play, conjuring a Welsh town into lyrical, beguiling life with mostly older actors on a bare stage. Lyndsey Turner’s production marks a triumphant reopening for the National’s Olivier Theatre, where the audience now sits on all sides, a configuration that lends itself to simple production values and a deeper communion between actors and onlookers.It begins oddly, though, in the middle-distant past with Sheen as an angry, wild-bearded writer visiting his demented father (Karl Johnson, heartbreaking) in a care home. Thomas’s poetry is the only way to reach the old man, and his fellow residents are duly summoned to incarnate the townsfolk of the author’s fictional Llareggub (“bugger all” backwards). It’s an awkward framing device with a serious point: to stress the importance of community and memory, and salute the talents and rich lives of elder generations. But what a lovely, bittersweet spell this show casts. Sheen, like Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins, grew up in Port Talbot, an hour from Laugharne where Thomas lived and partially wrote the play. He has the contours of the language and the landscape in his head, and an orator’s relish for Thomas’s evocative phrasing. We first see Llareggub asleep, “starless and bible black” and meet its inhabitants in their dreams. [...] Eveningstandard

#Michael Sheen #Under Milk Wood #Theatre #National Theatre #Reviews

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aijee · 3 years

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I agree. I can’t ever see sending death threats as justifiable, no matter the circumstances. How is that better than making inappropriate jokes when you’re a teenager? How is that better than bullying? This culture of people, in particular ifans, feeling like they have power or have a higher moral ground over their faves/an idol’s life irks me, really. (I guess that’s a result of fans being idols’ source of livelihood, I guess. But what can we do.)

As someone in my twenties who experienced not being on the internet 24/7 and then transitioning into this era where we are, I just get sad seeing how some of the early warnings about the internet (which I personally think still applies) get lost in this generation. Things like “the internet isn’t a safe place. be careful” and “don’t believe everything you see on the internet, people can write anything” are just completely lost now. I’ve always been cautious with information I stumble upon on the internet, and no matter how people younger than me tell me I’m ridiculous for that, I will stand by my principle.

re: intersectionality. I think this intersectionality isn’t just Korea as a whole, but different places in Korea also has these sociocultural circumstances intersect in a different way, albeit maybe being similar. Just as it is in any other place in the world. Even as someone living in asia with some similar values, I can’t just say I know how everything is in Korea. We can’t never know the whole picture of that particular neighborhood and middle school in which mg grew up in. (Also lmao unironic koreaboos...)

It’s disheartening to see people tear someone down without knowing everything. A culture that I hope will die down or at least mellow out in the upcoming decade. At this point people will believe what fits their narrative best about this mg situation. The situation is hard and upsetting for different reasons for different people. I just hope everything will be resolved carefully for all the parties involved. I agree that it is a clusterfuck, but as you said: being empathetic is important, to everyone, to every side :)

Thank you aijee, it’s pleasant to have these discussions with you even when we don’t know each other personally! Although you’re probably tired of me clogging your inbox by now haha! - 🎐

I often use the analogy of blackened windows of a car to describe communicating on the Internet. Outside of it, you might think you’re screaming and flipping the bird at a wall, but there could very well be a real human being on the other side who can see and hear that. The Internet isn’t always the void we think it is. Bots aside, real fucking people use social media sites. CRAZY. Even if we do recognize that, there are simply people there who don’t care because of “free speech” or “it’s the Internet get over it.” Shitty reasons to be an asshole, really. Losing humanity to the digital sea is somehow poetic.

I distinctly recall this one time I saw on the rare time I’m on Twitter, in some iteration of a hateful trending tag, really pitiful tweets along the lines of “Well I’m depressed as fuck, so I’m going to hate on people if I want to” as if having mental illness justifies hate. Nothing justifies being hateful; bad histories are only the explanation.

I respect you greatly for holding on to those principles. I feel a strange sort of pity for the younger generation who were born in a digital world. Despite how much the Internet generation can grate on my nerves sometimes, being submerged in capitalistic advertisement and algorithms isn’t their fault. So many Internet gen kids think they know everything, too, just because their accessibility to media is vast compared to what older generations had at such impressionable ages. There definitely needs to be far more education about how to safely, mindfully navigate the Internet. But with so many schools hesitant to give accurate sex education, we’re fucking eons away from legit Internet safety, my dudes.

Okay, at this point I don’t think I’ve replied to every possible point you’ve made, but my brain honestly feels a bit like mush now (for a number of reasons). Hopefully the dissertations I’ve offered thus far are satiating enough.

#askaijee

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absolutelyabsolem · 7 years

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A Long, Long Afterlife (2/?)

First part here!!! and reminder that this is post-ending, ifanmance. Also this chapter is doubling as “If you don’t like this world, then change it!” request. This ended up as a behemoth at about 9.3k words, and is also probably the most intensive editing I’ve ever done on a piece lmfao

As Adelliah had predicted, Ifan had bolted as soon as they disembarked from The Lady Vengeance. Since then, she had been traveling from tavern to tavern, following every rumor of his appearance, or of Lucian's. Over the course of that time, she had thought and re-thought everything she could say to him, every way the encounter could play out. On lonely nights, she contemplated simply throwing herself at his feet, begging his forgiveness. She missed his smile, his laugh, his warmth... Her chest ached, and she had never felt its emptiness more keenly than those nights. She wondered if he missed her too, or only thought of her with rage now. Those thoughts hurt the most.

It had taken Adelliah the better part of a month to track Ifan down, finally catching up to him while he was camping in the woods. Suspecting her welcome would not be a warm one, she kept ready to draw her spear as she stepped out into the light of Ifan's campfire.

"Was wondering when you'd show up. You never were the type to just let things go." Ifan grunted, getting to his feet. His hands rested on his sword and shield, eyeing her warily. "So, are you here to stop me?"

"If you mean 'to stop you from hunting Lucian,' of course not. The rest is up to you, Ifan. I'm not here to fight, but I will if you won't listen." One hand fingered her spear, as she stepped closer to Ifan.

"Well, we might as well get this over with then. You know me. I can't just let things go either. If you want me to listen to the words of a traitor, you'll have to make me." As Ifan spit the final words in Adelliah's direction, he whipped his shield around, tossing it straight at her. She deflected it just barely, grunting from the impact. Taking the opportunity his shield throw left, she darted in with her spear, aiming for his unprotected side, but Ifan jumped backward, the spear nicking his armor but doing no damage. They stared each other down, each waiting for the other to move. Adelliah broke the lock first; raising her hands, she summoned her champion incarnate from the campfire beside him. Flames licked at its hulking figure as it brought itself down upon Ifan. As it rose, Adelliah spotted Ifan knocked to the ground, and her soul panged with grief and worry. Still, she steeled herself, advancing forward toward Ifan, spear at the ready. She knew it would come to this, just as it was clear he knew how this fight would end, his countenance resigned but still determined.

"I have traveled this land for millennia before your existence was even conceived. And you think that I do not understand your grief, your rage at being betrayed? At losing everyone you ever cared about? Do you think every story I told you, every wound I shared with you, was naught but that? A bed-time fairy tale? " Adelliah stared Ifan down, spear pointed at his prone form, though her hands shook from the intensity of her emotions. She had thought she was prepared for this conversation, but still his words cut her deep. Her summoned Champion loomed behind her, its flame wrapped body lighting her from behind while the lightning that crackled down the spear illuminated her face, reflecting on the gold plating of her skull. Ifan quivered in fear at the visage. He had never seen her so angry, so upset, and for a moment he truly feared her. "I was there, Ifan. When the deathfog hit, I watched thousands die before my eyes, as I stood among them. I walked through that hell. Do you know how many I've buried, Ifan?" Ifan paled as she spoke, his own memory of that time never far from his mind.

Readjusting her grip to steady her hands, Adelliah tapped his chest with the tip of her spear as she spoke, "Well now I won't give you any choice other than to listen. If you don't like this world, then change it! It is not Source that makes people good or bad. It is not having it or not having it that makes people do wicked things or allow wicked things. We have slain Magister and Sourcerer alike for their misdeeds, and been saved in turn by both Magisters and Sourcerers. I would have thought this, at least, to be something you knew. Clearly I was wrong." Adelliah started to lift her spear up from where it lay against Ifan's chest, and he closed his eyes, preparing for a blow that never came. In an instant, it was all gone. The incarnate unsummoned, her spear lowered. The sight of Ifan fallen before her had slowly broken through all her resolve and emotion, as piercing as surely as her own spear would be.

Adelliah dropped to her knees before Ifan, the spear clattering on the ground. Her voice was filled with tears she could not shed, and the fatigue of thousands of years without sleep. "Please, Ifan, I am not asking you to forgive Lucian. I certainly never will. I am not even asking you to forgive me - I do not deserve it, after sacrificing my dearest friends. But no one in this world needs such power, let alone everyone! Could you imagine a world where everyone was a Sourcerer? Only half of them would ever learn to wield it, and who knows how many would even be using it for good. I only want you to see that the fate of this world is bigger than one man. One evil man that can still be brought to justice, regardless of the state of the world. And if you want revenge on me too, then so be it; I did not plan to survive this adventure anyway. But I cannot stand by as this rage consumes you. And I could not let the thousands of Sourcerers sacrificed be in vain. Too many have paid the price of Lucian's reign already." Adelliah’s hands were limp at her sides, head bowed before Ifan, a penitent awaiting judgement. She had said her piece. Whether he took her words to heart or not, she could not tell, too scared to raise her head. She heard a clatter, saw him pick up her spear from the corner of her eye. Eyes she wished desperately she could close, so that she would not see the blow coming.

And come it did. Adelliah's own spear pierced through her armor, straight through where her heart would have been, and out the other side. But Ifan had missed every one of her bones, and she looked up, confused. He had not harmed her at all. Ifan stood above her, hands still clutching the haft of the spear. He was breathing hard, one lock of hair noticeably singed from earlier. Closing his eyes, he screamed his frustration at the sky. Adelliah flinched, the spear creating an uncomfortable pressure between her ribs, which creaked at the movement.

"If I don't like this world, then change it? What kind of bullshit is that. The world is bigger than one man, but if I don't like it, I should change it? I am one man, Adelliah. One human, mortal man, who up until recently was nothing but a husk because of you. I have no power, no influence, no millennia to spend on such a venture. A wolf without a pack. You changed this world, for better or for worse. Lucian changed this world. That doesn't mean everyone can." He sat before her, shoulders slumped and head upturned. He took a moment, steeling himself to admit, "But... Hunting Lucian this past month, I've had a lot of time to think. It's true that you betrayed me but... I said I know you. And I like to think that I do, ass though I've made of myself. I gave Alexander a chance to talk.. Hell, I even gave Lucian a chance to talk. But I never listened to you - it was too fresh, too soon. I was wrong to compare you to Lucian, too. You did not use me, and you did not sacrifice thousands for an easy win."

Ifan took a deep breath, turning to stare into the flames of the campfire. He had looked everywhere but at her by this point, the spear still embedded in her chest. Adelliah sat quietly, giving him time to say all he had to say. "Everyone having source, and no one having source... Maybe they're just two sides of the same coin, eh? I'm still not convinced, but we can't change what's in the past and... I'm willing to give it a chance. I'm willing to give you a chance. Same quest, but a fresh start. This time let's make sure Lucian stays dead, though. Only then will Divinity truly be over." Finally, Ifan looked at Adelliah. His eyes were wet with tears unshed, but his expression was a comfortingly familiar mixture of wry humor and his own gruff countenance.

Adelliah's voice cracked, her hands covering her face as she whispered, over and over, "Thank you... Thank you, thank you, thank you." Ifan reached out, yanking the spear from her body with a grunt. Tossing it to the side, he gathered her up in his arms. Adelliah clung to him, her head pressed into his chest, still muttering her thanks repeatedly. He sighed, some of the tension leaving his body as the tears he had been holding back rolled down his cheeks. Though the issue was far from settled, in this moment they could be at peace in each other's arms.

Pulling away from Ifan, Adelliah traced the edge of the hole in armor, her voice shaky but joking. "Did you really have to stab me? This is going to cost me a pretty penny to repair..."

Ifan shrugged. "It made me feel better. Besides, I happen to know you have plenty of money, you hoard it like a dragon. You could just buy a whole new set if you wanted. Maybe you should - we can't lose Lucian waiting for your armor to get repaired." The way Ifan said we put a spring in Adelliah's step, the sun rising over their backs as they continued the hunt, together.

#DOS2 fanfic #DOS2 #Divinity: Original Sin 2 #ifan ben-mezd #Chandelier Writes #IDK If I'm going to keep going after this lmfao #I kind of left it so the ending was like... Enough closure to be okay ending here but open enough that I could continue if I wanted #ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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