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baritonetcc · 5 years

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Talent

I can’t believe where I am, I look like a protagonist of a cliche anime scene. Allergy-inducing blossoms and buds rain down around me, in a slow breeze, so more like a caramel rain. My only ride is running late, so I’m forced to remain on school grounds past my scheduled time of death. The school courtyard is empty, since school has been out for long enough for the buses to leave, and athletes were changing for sports practice. I’m sitting under a tree, finishing up a book that I stole from my English teacher’s shelf (thanks, Mr. Bradner). Oh hey, speaking of Mr. Bradner, I should go hang out in his room. The breeze is blowing majestic fronds into my not-so-majestic hair and mouth, so an empty classroom would be a nice chance of pace. I’m sure Savannah has stopped annoying him by now and pissed off to whatever hellhole she crawled out of.

I’m walking up to the building where Mr. Bradner’s room is, and Andrew Pratt bursts out of the doors, clearly late for track practice.

“Where have you been, Tommie? I’ve been looking for you forever! I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

Oh boy, here we go with his questions. If he asks me for answers for the math review again I swear-

“So some of the band members have been wanting to perform in an ensemble for the talent show, a big band. We wanted to play ‘Feel The Love Go’ by Franz Ferdinand, and we need someone to play the alto solo...?”

He knows that I’m going to say yes, doesn’t he. He couldn’t have asked any other alto sax player? He couldn’t have had another instrument play it? I think it would be really cool on piano.

Thinking that I wasn’t getting the hint he continued, “So would you be interested in it? We really wanted to give it to you...”

I finally open my mouth, knowing that Andrew’s coach is going to murder him. “Sure. Text me when you can, now go to practice.”

Andrew is so good at life. He gets along with his family, he has an amazing dog, he’s a great trombone player, and he’s a track star. I wish he was better at managing his time.

I sink into a desk in Mr. Bradner’s room, where he’s correcting papers. He likes to work until he’s done with whatever task he assigns himself before going home, so I don’t say much. I go through the tasks I have written in my planner, and it’s quite bare, more than usual. I occasionally look up to see Mr. Bradner scowling at someone’s chicken scratch, or whoever’s in the hallway. Hey. Mr. Heser’s walking by. Eventually, my phone buzzes with a text.

Andrew P(rat)t: Kyre has all the music for the group, u should go take a look ok?

What a slacker, I hope he trips because he was texting me instead of tying his shoes. I gather my things and head down to the band hall, where Mrs. Kyre resides. I get to thinking about the important questions. Who else is in the group? Why can’t I just NOT be in the talent show? I was hoping I could spend the rest of the year taking it easy, without having to worry about the talent show in June. I find myself in the band room, where Mrs. Kyre conveniently remembers to hand me the music upon seeing me. Andrew set me up for this. I whip up my hair and bust out my saxophone. I stay in the actual band room, since it’s not being used and I’d rather not lock myself in a practice room. I glance at the clock while wrestling the ligature onto the mouthpiece. I can’t believe it’s already almost four, I should’ve just walked home. I warm up quickly, look through the music, and begin trying it. Whoever wrote this isn’t half bad at transcribing, and they thankfully took mercy on the alto saxes. It was probably one of Andrew’s nerdy friends. Wait. I’m one of his nerdy friends.

I dig into the piece, and I get into the solo part. I honk my soul out with the epicness that Adolf Sax couldn’t even begin to imagine, when I see someone walk in out of the corner of my eye. I’ve never sightread this well in my entire life before. Hell yeah, check out this badassery, Mrs. Kyre! And then I realize it’s not Mrs. Kyre. It’s Miss Avery. In that moment, I forget what key signature I’m in. I don’t know what measure I’m on. I forget how to finger any of these notes. What’s a note? I hopelessly squeak a half-assed attempt at the rhythm written on the page, then stop because I think my ears have actually fallen off.

Miss Avery smiles at me. Of course she does. She doesn’t know half of the effect she has on me. I try to talk to her, but all the words stick to my throat on the way up. Oh, and my saxophone is still in my mouth.

“Wow, that’s some real nice stuff there. You’re so into your whole band thing. I love it.”

I know she’s lying. That was the worst sound I’ve heard since hearing someone MacGyver a thick layer of aluminum foil in between the rollers of a Polaroid camera, then threw it at a running band saw when the shop teacher walked by. I didn’t even know my instrument could make such racket.

“Thanks, Miss. Are you looking for Mrs. Kyre?”

“Yeah, actually. Oh, there she is.”

Miss Avery and Mrs. Kyre set to getting completely distracted with whatever they talk about, and I get through the rest of the song.

I can’t believe I’m in Andrew’s living room with my saxophone. Honestly, it’s kind of cozy though. All of us practicing together, on these nice pillows and not in the band room. The entire way here, I complained to my friends via text about going to Andrew’s house, but I’m enjoying myself more than I made it seem. It’s a nice tone overall, and it’s a nice change since our drummer isn’t here. It’s a calm and quiet evening, and some jazzy tunes makes it powerful. His mom also makes otherworldly cupcakes. They don’t even have frosting or anything, but they taste like a sweet, buttery blanket of the warmth of innocence. It’s a week before the final show, and we’re really just working on dynamics and expression to really nail the song. Since it’s so close to the show, there’s been a lot of hype. Miss Avery asked me if I was going to see the talent show. I really wanted to surprise her, so I told her I was going, rather than informing her that I was in it, like the good child I usually am.

It’s the night of the show. I’m standing offstage in my snazzy tux (thanks, Andrew’s mom) and holding my saxophone. I usually don’t wear anything like this, which is why I’m borrowing something that Andrew’s mom pulled out of his closet from a couple years ago. He’s tall and skinny, so I didn’t have to steal anything recent from him. Last minute, we figured the stage would be blazing by the time we got on, so we ditched our jackets. The sleeves of my stark white shirt are neatly rolled up, and it’s not a bad look for me. This shirt fits surprisingly well, with the buttons over my chest doing their job, even if Andrew is a stick compared to me. Apparently, one of the trumpet players had a problem with the fact that she wore her nice diamond earrings, and I wore purple gauges. I can’t wait until she finds out that they glow in the dark. They match the album cover of the song we’re playing, so I think I win here.

I peek around the curtain, since nobody really cares at this point. The theatre’s seats are filling in with equal amounts of snickering teenagers and parents with genuine concern for our generation. I silently thank them as my eyes wander. Our theatre has planetarium-style lighting, along with the typical lights lining the wall. It’s calming to see all the bustling shadows of people finding a place to sit. I look up towards the back, and see Miss Avery coming in. She seems like she’s in a rush, and she’s looking around frantically. I dismiss the idea that she’s looking for me...but, is she? She spots a group of other teachers and they wave her over. Probably not, then.

A couple kids eventually take the stage to thank everyone for coming, and begin intoducing the acts. I suck on my reed absentmindedly.

There’s a few dance groups, which were definitely all entertaining. Someone did a backflip off of a chair. There’s a lot of people who sing, including Savannah, who sang some basic, repetitive pop song. The musical acts are impressive, but maybe I’m just biased. Finally, the curtains close, to open for one last time. A bored looking junior steps on with a microphone, telling the theatre, “The last, but not least act we have is a band ensemble. They will be performing ‘Feeling Love Go’ by Fronz Ferdindand.” Whatever, close enough. “The group consists of various members of our school’s band, and features a saxophone solo, played by Tommie Byers.” That’s me.

We hurry to get all of our equipment on stage. The most terrifying part was Talon’s fancy Moog keyboard setup, and making sure we were all in the right place. As we’re setting up, ‘Paper Cages’ plays. I’m wondering who’s responsible for shoving Franz Ferdinand down everybody’s throats. It’s probably the drummer. Our bari saxes conveniently bump their stands together, knocking over their music. I stand in my assigned spot perfectly, and the curtain opens. I haven’t even thought about Miss Avery again until now. Did she enjoy the rest of the show? Has she already gotten up to leave early? Once my sight adjusts to the dark sea of humans, I find her, with her eyes trained on the stage.

The song kicks in, starting with just the rhythm section. The winds then pick up on the melody, and the guitarist strums out funky chords. Talon and his brother work magic on the keyboards. The brass delivers a bright punch, lead by Andrew. I swell with anticipation as I feel my solo come up. For some reason, I look right at Miss Avery, who has no idea what’s going to hit her. I wink. God, that was probably so cringe-worthy. I bust into my solo, starting small at first. Then I’m out there, jumping the octave, and tonguing some banging rhythms. The winds start doing this siren sounding pattern to fill in. Am I dancing? Oh God, I’m dancing. I kick out my legs and do that weird swinging squat swing like every dramatic sax player does. The brass kicks out, except for one trumpet, which follows the siren action. My solo ends after some dizzying sixteenth notes, and I’m still swayed by the music. The rhythm section continues the ride with the winds, until the song ends on a kind of questioning note, almost as if we are prompting the audience to react with whatever they were holding in the whole time.

Everybody loses it, maybe because it’s just the last show and they want to go home. All the show’s participants rejoin on the stage for pictures and such. Some kids were getting flowers from friends and family. I run down into the rapidly emptying theatre, still huffing, still red from the lights, and still holding my saxophone. My neck strap digs into my skin, as I chase after Miss Avery. We make eye contact, and she grins at me.

“So, what did you think?” “What did I think? Well, I didn’t! That was awesome, kid! When you stepped up with that solo, my mind was blown. You did great up there, and I’m sure every person in this room enjoyed it!”

“Oh, thanks! I...I worked really hard on it, and it was really fun, actually.” “You don’t have to say that, I think we alllll knew how much fun you were having up there,” at this point, Talon’s younger brother came to retrieve my awkwardly dangling saxophone, “and I had no idea! How come you never told me that you guys were getting together to do this?”

I chuckled, “Well, I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“That was amazing, and I’ve never seen you like that before. Come here!”

Before I know it, her arms are around me. I can’t imagine that it’s pleasant to hug a musician so passionately right after their performance, but my endorphins don’t care. Miss Avery gets a parent to take a picture of us together, and my new lock screen is Miss Avery with her arm around me in front of the stage. I’m still wearing my neck strap.

#miss avery #tc imagine #kind of #this got really long #tcc love #tcc blog #tcc community #tc love #tc community #teacher crush #teacher x student #tc blog #female tc #female teacher crush

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chubsonthemoon · 6 years

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to you, one year in the future

summary: Shopping for ugly sweaters, going on dates, remembering the past. Izuku loves him through it all.

pairing: midoriya izuku/todoroki shouto

words: 3783

also on ao3!

My piece for @natbrowniecupcakes for @tddkexchange! I hope you enjoy! <3

(also part of my Happy Holidays, Class 1-A series)

Izuku stares at the Christmas tree, biting his thumb. A nervous habit.

“Is everything alright?” asks a voice. Arms sneak around his waist, and a chin rests itself on the crown of his head. Izuku lowers his hands to place them on top of Todoroki’s, lacing their fingers together.

He sighs. “Yeah, it’s just…” He looks at the evergreen again. It is nothing overly grand or special, just a Christmas tree, sans ornaments or any other form of decoration. “Don’t you think it’s missing something?”

He turns to face his boyfriend, encircling himself in his arms. “I feel like it should be…I dunno. More Christmas-y? Like in the movies.”

Todoroki hums. “Really? I think it looks fine.” He buries his head further in Izuku’s soft curls, puffing a quiet sigh. “Besides, no one here really believes in the whole Jesus thing. It’s just for fun, I think.”

Izuku nods, taking care not to jostle too much, and he rests his head on Todoroki’s chest. This is nice. “Did you know that Christmas trees weren’t originally Christian? They’re actually Pagan. Decorating them originated in Germany.”

Todoroki’s face is still in his hair, so his words are muffled. “Is that so?”

Izuku traces a scarred finger along one of Todoroki’s wrists. “Yep. Learned it from that hero that debuted a few years back. Evergreen Enigma.”

“Nice.”

They stay like this for awhile, quietly listening to each other’s heartbeats.

Then, the silence is broken with a small explosion. “You two are fucking disgusting.”

“Bakugou, don’t be rude!” A light thump can be heard, followed by a lengthy string of expletives.

Todoroki’s head raises to observe the intruders, and Izuku reluctantly removes his head from Todoroki’s chest to peek around his shoulder. “Oh, hi guys! What’s going on?”

“Hey, Deku!” Uraraka says cheerfully. Bakugo shoots them a look that could curdle milk. “We’re decorating the tree for the party tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah!” Izuku says, remembering the text he had received yesterday. “Ugly sweater themed, right?”

Todoroki lets out an exhale of air that may or may not be a chuckle or an expression of confusion. Probably both. “A what?”

Uraraka nudges Bakugo forward, two boxes of tinsel and various ornaments floating beside her. “You heard me. Ugly sweaters. There’s gonna be a contest, and Aoyama’s judging it, so make sure you wear your worst.”

Izuku returns to his place underneath Todoroki’s chin. “Alright. We should probably go shopping for that today,” he says to Todoroki, sighing.

Bakugou lets another small explosion burst in annoyance. “Oi, you assholes are blocking our way to the tree. Get a room.”

“For once, I agree,” Todoroki deadpans.

Izuku just laughs. “Let’s go get our coats,” he says, unhooking his arms and ignoring Todoroki’s pout. He untangles himself from their embrace and heads for the elevators.

Todoroki sighs and trails behind, their pinkies still hooked together. “Meet me at the entrance?” Izuku asks, while they wait.

Todoroki presses a soft kiss to his temple, and Izuku feels himself smile. “Yes.”

A few minutes later, he rejoins Todoroki on the elevator, All-Might beanie secured firmly over his ears.

As they leave, they pass the common room again, and Izuku hears Uraraka sigh. “Ah, it’s hard to believe they’ve been together for almost a year already. Time sure goes by fast when you’re in love,” she says, voice dreamy.

Izuku blushes, and walks a little faster. Todoroki laughs quietly as he walks ahead to hold the door open for him, and a whoosh of cold air nearly drowns out the next part of the conversation.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” he hears from Kacchan next, sounding like his usual mix of annoyed and pissed off. “At least Half-N-Half found the guts to confess. When are you finally gonna woman up and ask Frog-Girl already? I get pissed off every time I’m in the same room as you two.”

“Bakugo!”

They exit the dorms, Uraraka’s flustered protests cut off as soon as they step into the whirling snow.

“Well, Kacchan certainly seems happy to be part of the organization process,” Izuku remarks. They walk towards the station, boots pressing prints into the snow behind them.

“He’s probably going to blow up the tree before we get back,” Shouto says wryly. Izuku giggles, white flakes tickling the tip of his nose. He sneezes.

Todoroki frowns at him. “Here,” he says, offering his right hand.

Izuku obliges, wrapping a mittened hand around Todoroki’s, sighing when the heat begins to seep into his palm. He shuffles closer, looping an arm around Todoroki’s waist. Together, they walk the rest of the way like this, and Izuku is eternally grateful for a boyfriend who doubles as a portable personal heater.

They board their train with no issues, finding seats together. At one point, Todoroki stands so an old lady can sit in his spot, ignoring Izuku’s protests to let him give up his own seat. When he sits back down, Izuku fills the space between them with chatter, about everything and nothing all at once; he’s excited about going home once break officially starts, he thinks the ugly sweater party will be lots of fun, despite Kacchan’s murderous tendencies towards all things festive (but maybe Kirishima-kun can get him to be excited!), oh, did you see the latest hero debut, Todoroki-kun? It was amazing, he hasn’t seen a water-manipulation Quirk used in such a way before in his life—

Todoroki simply nods every now and then, humming in assent to indicate he’s listening. The click-clack of the tracks reverberates throughout the car, setting a comfortable pulse to the flow of Izuku’s words and the beating of his heart. He pauses for a moment, eyes shifting to the calm expression on Todoroki’s face.

One year already, huh?

He thinks that he would very much like to kiss him.

The automated voice announces that their stop is next. Todoroki, sensing his gaze, looks up at him questioningly when Izuku’s words slow to a stop in time with the train.

Izuku shakes his head slightly, snapping out of it. “Nothing, sorry!”

He’ll find some mistletoe later.

“How about this one?” When Todoroki looks up from over his side of the clothing rack, Izuku raises a truly hideous sweater, a stained green color that clashes hilariously with his hair. It has an enormous Christmas tree splayed across the chest. “Ah, but wait,” he says, seeing Todoroki’s amused expression. “It gets better.”

With a quick flick of a small switch, the sweater lights up, the little bulbs on the tree flashing green and blue. “What do ya think?”

“It’s perfect,” Todoroki says approvingly. Izuku grins, then drapes it over his arm for safekeeping.

Overhead, tinny Christmas music plays in the store that sells second-handed clothing and other oddities. It’s a nice little place, with a number of interesting finds—like that vintage Pussycats t-shirt, or that limited edition Best Jeanist figurine— that could keep Izuku here for hours. However, they are here on a mission.

Izuku, having secured his own ugly sweater, begins the search for Todoroki’s.

“I’ve never been to an ugly sweater party before,” he says conversationally. He doesn’t need to look up to know that Todoroki is listening. “Kacchan’s family always had a Christmas get together when we were little, but—well. I stopped going at some point.” He slides the next set of hangers over, ignoring how they screech against the bar. “But the years we did go, it was so much fun. His dad always made the best hot chocolate, and we would watch All Might’s Christmas specials until midnight, waiting for Santa. One year, his dad actually did dress up as Santa to surprise us, but then he tripped over a plate of cookies when Kacchan freaked out and set his beard on fire.” He’s quiet for a moment, just remembering. “Those were fun days.”

Todoroki’s fingers suddenly still over his end of the clothing rack, as if remembering something.

The Christmas music continues overhead, and his next words are almost too soft for Izuku to catch. “That sounds…amazing.”

“What, you mean hanging with Kacchan on Christmas Eve?” Izuku laughs, but he stops the moment he looks up.

Todoroki wears a smile that is very small, like he tried it on and it didn’t fit quite right. It reminds Izuku of the time he saw him unfreeze Sero, in the Sports Festival arena, steam surrounding him, his back turned to the him.

He wants Todoroki to smile again, but he knows that shouting and punching his way there won’t work. Not this time.

He has an idea.

“Hey,” he whispers conspiratorially. When Todoroki looks up, he has composed himself, but Izuku knows the look hidden in his eyes all too well. He crouches low, wedging himself between the funky smelling second-handed sweaters and mothballs. Todoroki does the same, his expression confused, but he lowers himself to his knees meets Izuku halfway anyway.

They probably look like idiots, hiding here under the clothing rack, no doubt blocking the aisleways, but Izuku doesn’t really care at the moment. He gestures frantically for Todoroki to get closer, as if he has a secret to divulge.

“Yes?” Todoroki asks, his voice also a low whisper.

Izuku reaches out and places his hands, scarred and broken as they are, on both sides of Todoroki’s face. He burrows his fingers in the red and white locks, caresses the angry red scar on his left, gentle and unafraid. When Todoroki shudders slightly, rests his head on Izuku’s shoulder, Izuku says, “This year will be different, Shouto. I promise.”

He pulls away to see the thing in Todoroki’s eyes become less like a burden, and more like lightness, and behind that, gratitude.

Todoroki nods slowly, his mouth curving up just slightly. “Ok.”

Even though it’s dark and smelly here, and he’s pretty sure he felt something just brush past his cheek that is not supposed to be there, Izuku would rather be nowhere else.

Then, quick as lightning, he darts forward to press a feather-light kiss to Todoroki’s lips. Funnily enough, despite his Half-n-Half Quirk, both sides of his mouth are warm, beautifully so.

When Izuku pulls away, he grins shyly. “Just wanted to give that to you.”

Leaving Todoroki amongst the nether regions of the clothing rack, Izuku reemerges on the other side, feeling a little winded.

A second and a half later, Todoroki does the same, his hair mussed and the barest hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

Izuku flashes him another smile, then busies himself with the next set of hangers. “We are going to find you the ugliest sweater in this entire store,” he announces.

He picks the nearest random sweater he can find, and—it’s not bad, actually. He removes it from the rack to get a better look—it’s one of those knitted V-necks, patterned with blue-grey X’s, cuffed at the sleeves, and a collar puffed up at the back of the neck. It also smells suspiciously of smoke, but nothing a good cycle in the washing machine can’t fix.

In short, Izuku concludes, it is a sweater befitting a 50-year-old man.

Todoroki comes around the clothing rack and regards the article very seriously. “May I see it?” he asks. Izuku hands it over and Todoroki pulls his arms through the sleeves. He inspects himself for a moment, then after some deliberation, buttons the middle button. Task completed, he turns to Izuku. “Well?”

Izuku takes one look at him and groans loudly.

“Is it that bad?” Todoroki asks, bemused.

“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Izuku answers, hands buried in his face. He peeks through his fingers to take another glance, and—yep, he’s screwed. “It’s just…that’s like, something my grandpa would wear.”

Todoroki looks at himself again. “Yes, and?”

“You…you look…”

Todoroki raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Ugh, you look really, really handsome, alright?” Izuku sighs, exasperated. “It’s unfair.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. Izuku thinks his face is on fire.

“I like it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’ll take it.”

And with that, they leave the store, (not so) ugly sweaters in hand.

It’s Todoroki’s idea to take the detour.

“The plaza?” Izuku asks, once they’re waiting at the station. “Yeah, I’ve been there a couple times, but we never really shopped there often. Stuff’s kinda expensive downtown.”

“It won’t take long,” Todoroki promises, looking a little bashful.

Izuku smiles, hopelessly charmed. “No worries. If you want to go, then I do, too.”

They walk to the other side of the platform, waiting for the line that goes in the opposite direction. Once they board, Todoroki tugs Izuku along to a seat and sets their bags down at their feet. The doors close, and they’re on their way.

Izuku leans his head on Todoroki’s shoulder and watches the darkness of the tunnel give way to the lights of the city, blinking on one by one as night falls. The last traces of dusk are fading away in dying purples and inky blues.

A winter sky painted with sunset and a city of flickering lights. Izuku watches it all pass by, his hand in Todoroki’s, and breathes.

They exit at the stop Todoroki had indicated earlier and set off towards the plaza, feet crunching the snow as they draw nearer the glowing storefronts. They reach the center of the main courtyard—all fairy lights and bells that ring softly in wind—and Izuku stops dead in his tracks.

There, in the center of the whirling snow, among the laughter of children running about with their hats falling over their ears, their parents idly chatting near store windows, is an enormous Christmas tree.

His breath clouds in front of him as he takes it all in. The tree is lit aglow, with floating candles that gleam in the twilight, red and white ribbon winding gracefully up its branches—wait, now the ribbon is blue and silver, and now it’s gold?—and at the very top, so high he has to tilt his head, a crown of golden stars, shining so brightly that Izuku has to squint.

It is ethereal, a fairyland, a winter wonderland in the flesh. It’s beautiful.

Todoroki nods, and Izuku realizes that he had spoken aloud. He takes another step forward, eyes shining.

“How?” Izuku asks, awed. “How are the candles floating? How does the tree not burn down from the fire? How can the ribbon change colors like that? And those stars—oh my All-Might, those don’t even look like they’re from this planet! This is amazing!”

He looks at Todoroki for answers, but all he sees are wide eyes, watching him as if he is the one who is shining.

“Um,” Todoroki says, then shakes his head a little. “

It’s a collaborative effort, I think,” he begins again. He clears his throat and shifts his eyes hastily towards the magnificent tree in front of him. “The owners of the surrounding stores all come together to make it work: one person has a watered down version of Uraraka’s Quirk—levitation of small objects only, but for an indefinite time. Another can create some kind of substance that allows the tree to be fireproof, another can change the color of fabrics. As for the stars—"

He glances at Izuku for a moment. “Well. They say that the more you…care about someone, the more brightly they shine.”

He clears his throat again. “That’s what they say, anyway,” he says.

Izuku wants to ask just how, exactly, Todoroki knows about this place, how he seems to know it so well and yet shy away from the light, and, most importantly, why he sounds so sad when he looks around at a place that should bring joy and happiness.

He wants to ask, and he nearly does, but he senses that Todoroki’s not quite finished yet.

“My…my mom used to take me here. During the holidays,” Todoroki finally says, voice quiet. “When I was little, and…before.”

The noise from the square dies away, and all Izuku can hear, see, feel, is Todoroki. Todoroki, Todoroki, Todoroki. “Mmn.”

“I think I’m going to bring her here on Christmas Eve,” Todoroki whispers. “It’s been a long time.”

Izuku reaches for his hand, curls his fingers around Todoroki’s. “I think she would like that very much, Shouto.”

He hears Todoroki swallow, feels his pulse flutter under his fingertips.

“Me, too.”

For a few minutes, hand in hand, they watch the candlelight flicker and the slivers of color change from red and green, to blue and silver, to pure gold.

Somewhere, perhaps behind the plaza where more shops reside, rings a clock tower, every tone deep and resonating and a promise.

Night officially begins, the wind tosses snow drifts, the children play. Izuku turns slightly, and takes Todoroki’s other hand, their faces only inches apart.

“Merry Christmas, Shouto,” he says, then closes the gap between them.

He tastes snow and a hint of a smile.

The children point in wonder as the stars burst into a million sparks of light.

~ Once, a year or so ago, Izuku had woken up to snow on his window.

It had been sometime at night, when everything is still and quiet. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up, but he quickly stopped trying to remember, because he soon saw, outside his window: it was snowing.

“Wow,” he whispered, breath fogging up the glass.

His first thought was beautiful.

His second was Shouto.

He quickly felt his face warm a little. It wasn’t like his heart sped up whenever one of the most beautiful people in Class 1-A walked into the room before class, or he got all jumpy and nervous whenever he asked Izuku about Present Mic’s English homework during training. Todoroki was Todoroki, the strongest in their class, and no less than an amazing friend, whose eyes were really pretty and who had a nice voice and…

No, none of that.

So, he stared out the window and tried not to see snowy white hair and ice atop fingertips, strong and real but also fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.

He watched the snow for one breath more before he bolted, scrambling off the bed and fumbling with the doorknob, down the hallway and skidding to a stop a few meters away.

He raised one hand, and, with the caution of someone who is aware that it was some unknown hour of the night and that the rest of the dorm was probably sleeping, quietly knocked.

There was a little bit of shuffling around from within, a padding of feet towards the door.

The door opened, and Izuku saw a sleepy Todoroki, mid-yawn. When Todoroki saw Izuku, however, he seemed to stand slightly taller, but maybe Izuku was just imagining it.

“Midoriya?” he asked.

Izuku opened his mouth. He had no logical reason for being there, he knew.

“It’s snowing, Todoroki-kun,” he said instead, slightly breathless.

Todoroki blinked, then turned to the closed curtains over his windows. “Really? That’s…wow.”

“Do you want to watch it with me?”

Todoroki turns back, his face half hidden in darkness, covering his scarred side. Izuku wanted to brush away the shadow, like it was something tangible. He wanted to see Todoroki’s eyes, the firm line of his mouth, which, if he was lucky, he sometimes saw curve up, usually when he thought he wasn’t looking—

“Yeah.”

Izuku felt something inside him turn into pure happiness. “Great.” It was only then that he realized that they were both whispering. “My room or yours?”

Todoroki said, “Yours,” and that was that.

Together, they tiptoed back to Izuku’s room, where the familiar silhouettes of All-Might figurines watched over grinned at them, as if he, too, were excited.

Izuku sat on his bed facing the window, legs crossed, and heard the soft sound of Todoroki shutting the door behind him. A second later, Todoroki joined him, the mattress dipping under his weight. After he got situated, facing the window just like Izuku was, it was silent.

Outside, the snow fell steadily, like it had all the time in the world. Since they were on the third floor, they could see the streetlights illuminating little flurries here and there, carrying schools of snow around and about, up and down, dusting the treetops and rooftops and sidewalks with sugar.

Izuku sighed contentedly.

“This is nice,” Todoroki said softly. Izuku turned to look at him.

He was looking out the window, his right side facing Izuku, a small smile on his lips. He blinked every now and then, turned his head, taking it all in. The curve of his back was more relaxed than Izuku had seen in weeks.

With a smile to himself, Izuku had turned back to the window. “Yeah.”

They sat like that for a few minutes, just watching the world build itself up in white.

“Midoriya.” Izuku sensed a question.

“Yes?”

There was a pause, quiet deliberation. Izuku waited patiently.

“Thank you.”

Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. He breathed a little huff of nervous laughter. “Of course. Though, uh…for what?”

Todoroki looked away from the window to find green eyes already watching him curiously. “For waking me up.”

Izuku felt the earth tilt a little, and he remembered.

A shout, a fist, a punch. More shouting, a challenge, a promise.

And finally, finally, fire.

He moved his hand a little over to the left, the bedsheets warm and soft under his hand, (then) newly scarred from a battle neither would ever forget.

When his fingers brushed Todoroki’s hand, he stopped. He couldn’t see the way Todoroki’s eyes widened because he was facing the window, but he did hear the quiet intake of breath, felt the slight shiver that was probably because of the cold.

Probably.

When he had felt Todoroki’s fingers inch forward a little, moving to cover his own, he had smiled, and closed his eyes.

They woke up that morning with their legs tangled, their backs against the window, Izuku’s head on Todoroki’s shoulder. When he looked over, he saw Todoroki already awake, but he was not watching dawn break on the winter’s first snowfall.

(They later saw that it was beautiful, though).

His eyes were light, his smile unbelievably fond, and Izuku felt the tips of his ears heat slightly. He had tucked a curl behind his ear shyly, and squeezed Todoroki’s hand, because sometime through the night, they had found each other, and never let go.

One year later, somewhere in the city, Todoroki breaks apart slightly, and smiles as brightly as the stars.

“Merry Christmas, Izuku.”

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #tododeku #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #todoroki x midoriya #fic

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blewnotes · 7 years

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Trombone Shorty, Parking Lot Symphony

Geo’s Jazziversary Ramblings

Troy Andrews, aka Trombone Shorty released a new album earlier this year. His first on the classic Blue Note label. I finally picked it up and here’s my thoughts:

This starts out with a real New Orleans homage, a funeral style trumpet led dirge that leads us down through the dusty streets and gets you leaning over the balcony to catch the parade passing by, then there’s the moment when we get that full on soulful bank of horns. Still with that distinctive bayou flavour and incessant chattering guitar before fading to that snare and there’s Shorty, nonchalant, leaning against that balcony, sliding beautifully above the growling horns before the angels join in to “ahh-ahh-ahh” him onwards. Shorty’s music combines funk and neo-soul with a heavy dose of rock slung in for good measure. But throughout the whole thing is in distinctive that New Orleans twang.

The title track is a beauty. A funky harmonic groove that is destined to be classic neo-soul tune replete with driving handclaps, syncopated chorus and a downplayed ‘bone solo form the leader. The arrangement has an amazing downward flowing glissando vocal break that leads us out to the bar beside the parking lot, where there’s one of those classic white shirted pianists playing the chord intro to the next track. You can practically smell the Dirty Water.

Toussaint’s Here Come the Girls is a real foot stomper. Andrews' arrangements are never far from the dust and heat of New Orleans. It’s all over this album. You feel like you gotta blow it before you hit play. Trust me this is one dirty joint! You can feel those girls coming right on down the street. You just now they are heading for that Bar just off the parking lot.

Then it gets funky. I mean proper fatback style funky. Like how they used to do. Now we’re grooving. I haven’t heard horns this sharp and beats this heavy for a full thirty years! Tripped Out Slim is replete with twanging guitar covering the bar over four on the floor, hit the one bass and drums powering this over the line.

Familiar is another nod towards the Neo-Soul school, yet it’s got this menacing Tarantino horn arrangement hanging over it like something bad is surely going to happen any second. This song has some kind of menace woven through it. Shorty’s soulful joints are just that, truly soulful, but there’s a poignancy to his lyrics. Dude, nobody mightn’t learn nothing from No Good Times, but boy they surely will enjoy them. Especially when they orchestrated as soulfully as this.

You know you have got to come to a musician like Trombone Shorty open and ready to hear. I didn’t get his stuff at first. I thought he was this jazz musician and expected a standard type of trombone jazz album. My bad. Yeah, he’s a jazz musician, but he’s also a lot more. He’s an innovator, a chef of sound, with a love of his hometown. He stews neo-soul beats with Orleans horns and throws in some bare bones backbeats while he uses blue jazz chords to flavour the pot. We are so fortunate to have so many musicians willing to go somewhere new and to take us along for the ride. See Andrews has got something here that may leave the jazz purists scratching their heads, but once you get it, this is irresistible stuff. Grooves that go in a new direction leaving a dust trail behind that points firmly to their roots. With Shorty, you’re riding along in a fat Cadillac driving out of New Orleans and heading someplace new on his sonic adventure.

Check out the chattering guitar driven highway glide of Fanfare. If this was back in the day, you’d have been moving those platformed shoes, flares flying, shaking your butt, soul-training, but sadly we far too cool for this kind of raw deal. Shorty doubles on trumpet on this and the solo’s short and sweet before we back to gut wrenching funk and then the horns and drums tweet us out.

That highway vibe is continued as the slow-mo low-down police wail style horn arrangement introduces Like a Dog. Like Familiar this piece has an undeclared threat in its tone. It’s like when you see the cop’s lights in your rear-view kind of tension.

You know if I wanted to carry on this metaphor thing I could say that Laveau Dirge Finale has that clang of cuffs in its opening before it devolves to a beautiful little horn and vocal duet, but there’s still that chain-gang beat pounding behind it all. Shorty is an artist. I don’t know what he was going for with this album but I love it. That trombone choir duet thing evolves into a beautiful churchified chorus. You know you are standing at the side of that grave. The one the parade was going to at the start of the album, that had you looking over the balcony. We got there. This was an incredible little journey.

New, New Orleans from start to finish. If you haven’t got it and you looking for something to pick up, this one��s a doozy.

Personnel: Troy Andrews: trombone, trumpet, tuba, vocals, guitar, piano, Rhodes, Wurtlizer, Hammond B-3, drums, percussion, snare, tom-toms, glockenspiel, vibraphone; Dan Oestereicher: baritone saxophone; BK Jackson: tenor saxophone; Pete Murano: electric guitar; Tony Hall: bass; Joey Peebles: drums; Chris Seefried: glockenspiel, mellotron, sitar; Leo Nocentelli: acoustic guitar; Ramon Islas: conga, tambourine; viola, violin; Ivan Neville: piano; Juan Covarraubias: synthesizer; Wurlitzer; Tracci Lee, Ashley Doucett, Sabrina Hayes, India Favorite, Faith Mack, Chrishira Perrier, Remonda Davis, Raion Ramsey, Ashley Watson, Lonel Simmons: choir.

#trombone shorty #blue note #parking lot symphony

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myselfinserts · 5 years

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’ If you were me, you’d be good looking. ’

Hell.

This was hell. He knew it had to be.

Not only had Darnell been torn from his vacation early, but he forgot to get the number of that pretty girl he’d met at the bar. And now he was on a cargo plane over Belarus trying not to get knocked out of the open ramp. And to make matters worse, he’d ten calls from his grandmother.

Worst. Assignment. Ever.

“FOCUS ON ME, ASSHOLE!”

Darnell rolled his eyes, throwing a kick and knocking a goon flat on his back. He spun around, snapping his fingers and letting out sparks and sending fireworks flying after another. He was tired. He knew he had only about ten minutes left. And these were all death row inmates.

Dammit. What am I going to do?

The boss caught him off guard, kicking him and throwing several punches, nearly knocking his mask off. The new suit was good. It keep him from dying. But could it keep him alive if the ship crashed?

He’d probably find out soon. A few more kicks and one well placed toss, and he found himself hanging out the back of the plane.

“If I were you, Calendar,” the boss villain snickered. “I’d give up while I still had some life left in me.”

Darnell couldn’t help but snicker. “If you were me, West End, you’d be good looking.”

West End sneered, stomping his foot onto Darnell’s fingers and making them start to slip. “You’re better suited to catching lower level punks in downtown Kiev, you overhyped buffoon.”

“That so?” Darnell smiled, letting his hands slip further. “Then I guess I better hurry and head down to earth. I have other planes to catch.”

He felt himself fall away, heat building in his hands as he threw them together in a hard clap. The fireworks flew forward, hitting the turbines and setting the plane alight in a display of bright rainbow sparks. The high pitched whistling hurt his ears as he zoomed toward the earth, his impact imminent.

But at least the West End Society wouldn’t be terrorizing Europe anymore. There was no way anyone survived that explosion.

“Fucking English villains and their flare for the dramatic!” he screamed. He pressed a button on his belt, feeling a slight tingle going through his nerves as a thin layer of blue light covered him. He closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and allowed himself to fall into coffin position.

And everything went black.

When Darnell came to, his beacon had been beeping, and there were other heroes around. He was unharmed, and the remains of the plane had been located and taped off. He was laying on a cot in the medical tent, listening as everyone started gathering for water.

“You’re awake.”

Darnell looked up, half expecting the pretty Elspie heroine to be there by his bedside. She’d mentioned she was a healer. Instead, it was a field medic from his agency; the American college graduate to be precise, with the funky pastel Mohawk. He let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Sounds like someone’s not too happy to see me,” the medic sighed.

“Sorry,” Darnell grumbled. “Been a long day.”

“I can tell.” The medic smiled, handing him some water. “You’re completely fine though. That new suit works wonders. Any other hero might had died or gone completely comatose from that kind of fall.”

Darnell nodded. “I asked Mousier Allard if he could make it so I could possibly survive falling out of a plane or out a window on high buildings while also using my quirk. He said it should work indefinitely, but not to push it, since this is only his second best material.”

The medic looked offended. “Only his second best?!”

“We cannot afford the best, kid. But for what we got? I’d gladly take the seconds of Atelier Allard over anyone else.” He glanced at his watch, wincing as he saw the time. “May I borrow your phone? My screen got cracked before the mission.”

“Sure.”

Darnell took the phone and waited for the medic to step out. He’d memorized every important number he’d ever gotten. He could remember them well. One of the perks of Yearling. Made him feel worse about forgetting to ask for Marianne’s contact info.

There was a gentle click, a charming old voice, and Darnell’s stress melted away.

“Ahoj, babička. Ospravedlňujeme sa za chýbajúce hovory. Hej, práve som opustil Paríž. Nie, teraz nie som v lietadle. Vlastne som na malebnej ceste. Sľubujem, že sa vrátim domov včas pre vašu narodeninovú oslavu. Áno. Áno, dám vám nejaké víno z pekného rohu obchodu. Áno, babička. Tiež ťa milujem. Zbohom.”

He hung up the phone, sighing as he lay there in silence. The rest of the night flew by. Everyone asking him about what happened. Why the plain crashed. Why he couldn’t take them in alive. God, he hated not being able to bring them in. Killing them hurt so much. But he couldn’t let them get out of Europe. Not after two years of tracking. Those bastards would have gotten away and found a new place to start their crimes in. It was either kill them or lose them.

And his little pacifist heart broke with the decision.

Dammit...god fuckin’ dammit.

Darnell kept to himself in the weeks following the crash. Smaller hero gigs as he tried to get back to his usual self. He found more and more often he’d take the train places. Tonight, it was to the next city over. He needed to get out to one of the lesser known clubs to party. Something to take his mind off the guilt. He dressed in his best, fluffed his hair, and made sure he had his good jacket before heading out.

The club was called ‘Hidden Desire”. The owner, infamous for her ability to grant your deepest desire for a night of bliss. He didn’t think it was worth the hype.

At least, that’s what he thought before walking through the doors.

The music blared over speakers as well dressed patrons danced in the glittering lights. The liquor and dinner kept coming. Everyone was smiling and enjoying vibrant conversation. There were no heroes. There were no villains. Just civilians enjoying the night.

And the belle of the ball was the woman with long, curled, two-toned hair tied back with a white ribbon, dressed in a sparkling black swing dress. Her eyes shone like stars in the light of the room. And her smile. Oh, that smile. He knew it anywhere. He hurried to the dance floor, gently swept her into his arms with a cheeky grin.

“Long time no see, Marianne” he said. “You’re looking particularly beautiful this evening.”

“Are we destined to meet in bars?” she asked, a deadpan tartness to her voice.

Darnell smiled fondly. “Maybe. If I forget to ask for your contact info this time too.”

Marianne couldn’t help but roll her eyes, taking full lead with him. “I’m here on a job. Bait for a serial killer. Turns out I’m his type.”

Darnell’s heart began to quake. “What?”

“Relax,” she cooed softly. “My friend is locating him as we speak. Once I leave here, I’ll head back to my hotel and wait for the matter to be resolved.” She leaned in close, lightly blowing on his ears. “And you’re putting that mission at risk talking to me. You’re not exactly an unknown in this part of the world.”

“True,” he whispered, trying not to blush. “But I’m not that known either.”

“Very true.”

He smiled. “After your mission...would you like to get dinner? Maybe tomorrow at six?”

“I’d like that, Dar-”

“You may call me Myko. After all-” he smirked, lightly running a finger up her spine “-we know each other pretty damn well already.”

Marianne’s cheeks went read. “Let me slap you right now and I’ll make it dinner, movie, and maybe something extra.”

“Deal.”

Marianne pushed him off and gave him a hard smack across the face, glaring at him. “Ty zvrhlík!” she screamed, before turning on her heal and walking out.

Darnell watched her go, completely forgetting he was in public and trying hard to resist the urge to chase after her. His heart seemed all a flutter as he rested his hand where she’d smacked him.

If this turns out well, he thought, I just might ask her to marry me.

#Just make a one off OC!#There's no way you'll get attached!#myselfinserts #mybnhaocs #the au of class #Tales of Elspie: Marianne's Romance #I said #Anonymous

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eliashiebert · 6 years

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Instrumental Soul

Rolled by: Me For: A., J., D. and the rest Late Summer 2018 TRT: 1h19m21s

There are a few instrumentals I’ve been putting on evry tape for years…Bar-Kays’ “Knucklehead”, Kool & The Gang’s “Street Corner Symphony” and Ike Turner’s “Funky Mule”. For awhile I’ve been thinking about a mixtape of all instrumentals. Normally I like making tapes that go off in all directions. I don’t usually do themes, altho I think of a lot of them. I have almost never done a tape of tunes from mostly just one genre. I like this one a lot tho. Maybe I’ll do more. Settle down a bit, stop childishly trying to impress you with my hard lefts & flying leaps.

Once I finally started, this tape came together super-quick. It wasnt hard to find another hour of funky jazzy soul-ey instrumental toons. I assumed, as you might, confronted with a mix calld Instrumental Soul, I’d eventually get around to some Booker T. and the M.G.’s. Somehow, tho, they are not here…but their influence is defnilly present.

I usually try to make my mixes fit on an old-school 74-minute ceedee…you know, just like the 9th Symphony. I like to use the most restrictive definition, even tho I’ll ultimately be dumping it onto an 80-minute CDR. Or, these days I’d as soon keep it as file, but my friends they all still like getting the “physical” disk, don’t ask me why. Anyway, this is all to say I broke that rule this time around. I already weeded out a bunch of stuff I wanted to put in to get it under the 80 minute mark (yes I’m already planning a Part 2), and I didnt want to lose any more.

Another thing I did different with this one is give the songs some room to breathe with a couple seconds of silence between each one instead of running them all together like I usually do.

Here we go….

Roger & the Gypsies “Pass The Hatchet Pt. 1” Seven B 7001 (1966)

Happy hypnotic groover from New Orleans funkmaster Eddie Bo, a dude with really excellent hair. Like a lot of what’s on here, he came to my attention originally thru Funky16Corners. The original 45 costs mad cheddar but it’s on lotsa collections…various little indie N.O. funk comps and even the Desperado soundtrack. I took it from Mojo’s “Southern Soul” disc. I don’t think it’s on any of the main Eddie Bo collections, Funky Delicacies’ Funky Funky New Orleans or Vampisoul’s In The Pocket with Eddie Bo or etc. It’d be nice if there were something truly comprehensive out there, but ya know.

The J.B.’s “Pass The Peas” From Food For Thought (People 1972)

Maybe part of the reason the JB’s have been looped so often is that they sound like a loop to begin with. No one can lock like they could. Long solo from leader Fred Wesley…I love a good trombone solo, but the player has to have a fabulous tone and mad technique, both which of course the legendary Fred Wesley has by the bucketful. What he doesnt have is the vocabulary of a jazz player—it’s pure funksoul; it stays inside its box. You might find that a little repetitious after some 36 bars but I don’t care I don’t care. Some organ in the background from the Creator himself. I playfully referred to the instrument as the “pipes,” as in, “Is that James Brown on the pipes?” and Jen would not have it. “It’s a Hammond organ!” she yelled, “There’s no pipes!!”

Some of my sources for this tape are vintage elpees and some, like this one, are slightly suspect vinyl re-issues. They look good but questions like Are they properly licensed? and Were they mastered from the original tapes or some inferior copy? are anyone’s guess. I don’t know, it sounds good to me. That’s how a lot of this type of material is available these days. Many of these albums never got any official re-issues, digital or analog. You can’t be too picky unless you want to lay out for first pressings.

Dizzy Gillespie “Matrix” From The Real Thing (Perception 1970)

The jazz legend (is legend a strong enuf word?) ’s soul-flavord The Real Thing album gets my highest recommendation. A heat rock if ever there was one. You wanna hear Dizzy Gillespie and his fine collaborators blow over hard beats from a funky rhythm section? Yes you do.

Eddie Harris “Listen Here” From The Electrifying Eddie Harris (Atlantic 1968)

Some cool elevator jazz from the electric saxophonist once referenced in a Beastie Boys hit. Is it fair to call it elevator music? Does that term even mean anything other than an offhand dis? When I say it, I’m talking about something specific, at least in my own head. Elevator music, like disco, is something I wasnt supposed to like but which I now have a growing appreciation for. Maybe I shud make a tape of all elevator music, like the stuff I used to hear at Kohl’s when I was a kid. Maybe I’ll make it for my friend J. who likes to listen to the smooth jazz station when he’s hungover.

This tune evokes a train moving underground, and it might inject some joy in yer commute if you put it in your headphones.

J. C. Davis “A New Day (Is Here At Last)” New Day 1373 (1969), remixed and re-issued on A New Day! The Complete Mus-I-Col Recordings Of J. C. Davis (Cali-Tex 2005)

My brother A. put me on to this dude. The saxophonist and bandleader (not to be confused with the other J. C. Davis who played guitar with Hank Ballard and the Midnighters) backed James Brown in the early 60s and around ’69 released a few singles on his own label. Around ’05, Josh Davis AKA DJ Shadow went back to the studio in Columbus, Ohio, where those records were made and he remixed them “on the original mix board” because he’s the king of the nerds. That irresistible smooth, slightly edgy sax sound crooning over haaard mutherfuckin drums begging to be sampled—and they have been!—with that cool 60s chickenwing funk guitar & organ.

Tom Scott and the L.A. Express “Sneakin’ In The Back” Originally from their self-titled album (Ode/Epic 1974), later appearing on volume whatever of the Ultimate Breaks ’n’ beats (Street Beat 1990)

A little misterioso now. This smoothie I got from my bootleg version of Lenny Roberts & Lou Flores’ collection of evry essential breakbeat ever. No doubt Tom Scott & the L.A. Express would find their way to my elevator music tape too.

Willie Bobo and the Bo-Gents “Do What You Want to Do” From Do What You Want To Do… (Sussex 1971)

Of course it was Larry who first introduced me to this album. Try to be unhappy listnin to this sawng. Try. Classic example of that East Side salsa n soul I love.

Freddie Hubbard “Backlash” From Backlash (Atlantic 1967)

Again, a great jazz artist doin’ a record in a funksoul-influenced style. Freddie Hubbard is one of my favorite trumpet players, and this tune scorches.

Bar-Kays “Knucklehead” The flip side of “Soul Finger”, Volt 168 (1967)

I bought the Soul Finger album (yet another suspect re-issue) becuz the title track is essential, but this hard hitter is my faverit tune on it. The B side wins again!

Dizzy Gillespie “Soul Kiss” From The Real Thing (Perception 1970)

Another tune from The Real Thing, a more frantic one, with kissy noises from the trumpet. By the way, if you sound like this when you kiss, I’m pretty sure you arnt doing it right.

The Mohawks “The Champ” Pama PM 719 (1968)

It’s called “Champ” but it sounds more like “tramp” a la Carla Thomas. The band is doin’ the Booker T., and that screamin organ riff by Alan Hawkshaw (sampled many, many times of course) over top of it is un dee nigh uh bull.

Zap-Pow “Soul Revival” Jaywax 45 (1974?). Also on the album Revolutionary (Roosevelt 1976?), but most likely to be found on the compilation Funky Kingston: Reggae Dance Floor Grooves 1968–74 (Trojan 2002)

Another gem brought to my attn by Funky16Corners. Heard it on the blog and had to run out right away and buy the comp just for one song. Probably the tightest record on here next to the JB’s. Usually filed as reggae due to its place of origin, but this is str8 funksoul.

Kool & The Gang “Street Corner Symphony” From Light Of Worlds (De-Lite 1974)

I love it when Kool & The Gang does their fake jazz thing. Got soul-jazz from both sides of the fence on here. At the end the sax quotes “My Favorite Things” (a nod to Trane I assume) which always cracks me up.

Ike Turner & the Kings Of Rhythm “Funky Mule” From A Black Man’s Soul (Pompeii 1969)

Ike & Tina Turner made a lot of really cool records and a lot of mediocre ones (and I wish I knew which was which), and these days they are scattered across a hundred seedy bargain compilation ceedees. The act has never been anthologized properly, maybe due to Ike’s reputation (which I’m sure is well-deserved…recent attempts to rehabilitate him kind of piss me off…tho also irritating is the popular image of him as a cartoonish monster, mostly due to the movie, which even Tina said didnt happen like that. Evrybody does good and bad things in their life. The good things don’t take away the bad things and vice versa, and you can dig music with eyes open to the fact that some of the ones who made it were not cool people). I pickt up one such random comp choosing it mostly for the title: I Smell Trouble!!! (yes with three exclamation points !). It included this hard funk instrumental that cracked my head open wit a axe. It’s one of those songs where they just crammd in evry badass riff they could think of. Again, hard, hard muthafuckin drums, driving horns growling and belching smoke, funkee geetar, a busy bassline dancing underneath it all. Wish I knew who the players were but no credits given.

Dr. Octagon “Bear Witness” From Dr. Octagonecologyst (Bulk 1996)

Dr Octagonecologyst is a goofball boom-bap classic. I remember hearing Blue Flowers on AMP. For a while that was the best or one of the only good things on MTV, and it turnd me on to a lot of cool stuff. This instrumental showcases DJ Q-Bert’s scratching and a bevy of funky breaks. The sampled battlecry, “Creating rap music ’cause I never dug disco” sure sounds like Chuck D (thanks to some processing) but it’s actually an obsure MC from the 80s called 4-Ever Fresh. Automator and a supercrew of DJ/producers including Prince Paul & Shadow would revisit this track a few years later on Handsome Boy Modeling School’s equally classic first album.

James Brown “Spinning Wheel” From Sex Machine (King 1970)

James Brown’s mellow organ version of Blood, Sweat & Tears’ Spinnin Wheel is an unsung classic.

Bill Doggett “Honky Tonk Pt. 2” King 4950 (1956)

Long ago, my former coworker K. turnd me on to Bill Doggett and this much-coverd happy, handclapping, sax-driven early rocknroll hit. I took it from this comp.

Doc Bagby “Crazy Chemistry” Okeh 4-7098 (1958)

My good, good friend M. once gave me, for my birthday maybe, when I was like 20, a big stack of 45s from his own collection. I still prize them to this day. This was one. Demented carnival music with Wurlitzer organ and bouncy guitar.

The 45 King “Get Funky” On The Lost Breakbeats Volume 1 & 2 (The Yellow Album) (45 King Records 1983)

Super duper beat maker the 45 King. Lotsa gems on this collection, which I got on bootleg download.

Hugh Masekela “Grazing In The Grass” From The Promise of a Future (Universal City 1968)

It’s a gas. The original, instrumental version by South African trumpet player Hugh Masekela. Only 2 anna half minutes. Supposedly recorded just to fill time on the album. Huge hit. Gotta have more cowbell, more overdriven brass, more POP!

The Meters “Sophisticated Cissy” Josie 1001 (1968), the band’s first single I think. Also on The Meters

Aww, such a badass slow groove, makes you say “UH!” KRS-One and Scott LaRock sampled this on “Essays On BDP-ism”, a very cool record made just before Scott LaRock’s death in 1987 and unreleased until 2000. I’m surpised it hasnt been sampled more. Great way to come in for the close.

Ray Charles “Doodlin’” From The Great Ray Charles

Ray Charles and his associates do a sweet version of the Horace Silver tune, with a muted trumpet by John Hunt and tenor sax David Newman. I was first introduced to Ray Charles’s jazz material and this tune in particular via a tape in my brother’s car he was way into around, oh, twenty years ago. A tape he got from his friend G. probably. Ray Charles made a couplefew jazz albums. Highlights from them appear on this odd artifact, with its yellow cover and monochrome portrait that looks like a zeerox. With a title like The Best of Ray Charles, you might expect material like “What’d I Say” and “Georgia” rather than 6 instrumental jazz tunes. Nevertheless it is highly recommended.

Boom!

#music #mixtapes #mixlog

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