Love Me lyrics elvis

'Love Me Tender' is a 1956 song recorded by Elvis Presley and published by Elvis Presley Music from the 20th Century Fox film of the same name. The words are credited to Ken Darby under the pseudonym 'Vera Matson', the name of his wife, and Elvis Presley. The RCA Victor recording by Elvis Presley was no. 1 on both the Billboard and Cashbox ... Treat me, treat me like a fool Treat me mean and cruel Oh yeah, but love me Break my faithful heart Tear it all apart Yeah, but love me If you ever go Darling, I'll be oh, oh so lonely I'll be sad and blue Crying over you, dear only I would beg and steal Just to feel your heart Beating close to mine If you ever go Darling, I'll be oh, oh so lonely Love Me Lyrics: Treat me like a fool / Treat me mean and cruel / But love me / Wring my faithful heart / Tear it all apart / But love me (won't you love me) / Well, if you ever go / Darling, I'll Treat me like a fool, Treat me mean and cruel, But love me. Wring my faithful heart, Tear it all apart, But love me. If you ever go, Darling, I'll be oh so lonely I'll be sad and blue, Crying over you, dear only. I would beg and steal Just to feel your heart Beatin' close to mine Well, if you ever go, Darling, I'll be oh so lonely I'll be sad ... The week 'Love Me' peaked at #2, Elvis had another 'Love Me' record on the chart, his 'Love Me Tender' was at #6 on the Most Played By Jockeys chart... * And from the 'For What It's Worth' department, the week 'Love Me' peaked at #2 on the Most Played By Jockeys chart, the rest of the Top 10 was: At #3. 'Hey! Jealous Lover' by Frank Sinatra #4. Treat me like a fool Treat me mean and cruel But love me. Wring my faithful heart Tear it all apart But love me (Wont you love me?) If you ever go Darling, I'll be oh so lonely I'll be sad and blue. Crying over you, dear only I would beg and steal (Beg and steal) Just to feel (Just to feel) your heart (I want your heart) Beatin' close to mine ...

Album of the Year 2014 #28: Mitski - Bury Me At Makeout Creek

2020.09.29 20:39 IndieheadsAOTY Album of the Year 2014 #28: Mitski - Bury Me At Makeout Creek

Album of the Year 2014 #28: Mitski - Bury Me At Makeout Creek
Hello everyone and welcome back once again to Album of the Year 2014, the daily throwback write-up series where the users of indieheads talk their favorite albums of 2014. Up today, we've got KitchenSinkNYC making their series debut talking about Mitski's breakthrough album, Bury Me At Makeout Creek.
November 11th, 2014 - Double Double Whammy
Listen:
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Background
Mitski Miyawaki was born Mitsuki Laycock on September 27, 1990, in Japan to an American father and a Japanese mother. While growing up she moved frequently due to her father's job at the United States Department of State, living in thirteen countries—including Turkey, China, Malaysia, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo—before eventually settling in the United States. Mitski says she was eighteen when she wrote her first song.
After enrolling at Hunter College to study film, Mitski decided to pursue music instead and transferred to Purchase College's Conservatory of Music, where she studied studio compositions. During her time at Purchase College, she recorded and self-released her piano-based first and second albums, Lush (2012) and Retired from Sad, New Career in Business (2013), as student projects.
After graduating, she began work on her third studio album, Bury Me at Makeout Creek, which was released on November 11, 2014, through Double Double Whammy. The album represented a sonic departure from Mitski's orchestral and classical piano background found in her first two albums, exchanging it for raw, impulsive guitar. Since then she has released two more full-length albums Puberty 2 (2016) and Be the Cowboy (2018), both released to universal acclaim.
Review by KitchenSinkNYC
Bury Me at Makeout Creek is a seesaw continually in motion. Immediately “Texas Reznikoff” lures you in with a delicately strummed acoustic guitar and Mitski’s lilting voice singing “It’s beautiful out today, I wish you could take me upstate.” The warm air of the recording is consuming, like Mitski is performing right in front of you and the cool breeze from an open window keeps brushing across the nape of your neck. The song melts into a careless daydream, reflecting on desires, dreams, fantasies, and the inevitable frightening future. The first minute of the song resembles falling asleep in a car, while an old friend is driving. Your body feels light and you’re close to falling asleep, but suddenly your friend swerves to avoid a car they didn’t see. Sonically, this swerve arrives in the form of an instant screech that just as well could be a tire squealing on the concrete. Then the floor drops out and you're drenched in Mitski’s tremolo howl accompanied by swirling guitars and a thumping rhythm section. At this moment you realize, I’m not getting any sleep on this car ride.
In the summer of 2014, I moved to New York City, and while everything felt possible and limitless, I also had never been lonelier. My first job was waiting tables at an Italian restaurant in Queens. The work environment was toxic and included a boss with a proclivity for yelling. It felt like it was all a part of this journey known as “making it” in the big city. A “paying my dues” attitude that I could not begin to explain nowadays. By the time November came around, I was living in a Bushwick loft with three strangers. A Craigslist find that was one large room sectioned off with curtains into 4 cramped rooms with mattresses. I drew a short straw and got one of the lofted beds. Every night after my hour and a half commute back from Queens, I’d climb up the ladder to my bed and launch myself onto the mattress. The curtained-off section of this Bushwick loft was my sanctuary. A place where my fantasies could run amok and my devotion to art would never waver. My living situation may not have been ideal, but I had escaped suburban obscurity and was in the center of an intensely rich music scene.
One freezing night after work, I crawled into bed, cuddled myself in a blanket, and decided to delve into Bury Me at Makeout Creek. After being blown away by “Texas Reznikoff,” the album continued and I escaped into Mitski’s world, which seemed too much like mine. I felt myself continually resonating with every line. The second half of the record begins with “Jobless Monday” and Mitski sardonically singing, “It’s a windy afternoon, can't afford to buy my food. Or the drive I need to go further than they said I’d go.” Immediately I felt a sense of belonging, how did Mitski pull something straight out of my life? Then on the next track “Drunk Walk Home” she belts out, “but though i may never be free, fuck you and your money, I’m tired of your money.” Looking around at my curtained-off bedroom that I was paying 600 dollars a month for and thinking about these strangers that I was living with, nothing felt more liberating than hearing Mitski exclaim those words. The track then proceeds to implode into almost static with Mitski screaming through heavy distortion. It made me want to jump up and burn my entire building down. It all felt so validating. Mitski puts the ineffable into a few lines that can simultaneously break your heart while massaging the temples on your head.
“First Love / Late Spring” whose title sounds like it could equally be from a Basho haiku or a later Ozu film, begins with a puttering two-note pull off bass line that makes you raise an eyebrow. Quickly the bass tightens and provides a soulful Motown-esque bassline. Mitski begins, “the black hole of the window where you sleep” which conjures up the album’s cover, one open window among many closed windows of a nondescript office building. The song builds up to the chorus as Mitski sings “wild women don’t get the blues,” a reference to a vaudeville-style blues song originally recorded by Ida Cox. Then the hook comes in and it is hard to not draw comparisons to other guitar-wielding artists of the ’90s like Liz Phair, Aimee Mann, and Cat Power, or even more contemporary guitar heroes like Speedy Ortiz, St. Vincent, and Hop Along. Mitski blends all of these references so effortlessly that it makes you think why wouldn’t all these things fit together? But under a much less steady hand, we would see the glue begin to give and the folded edges start to straighten.
On my favorite track “I Don’t Smoke,” the drop d guitar rumbles in sounding like someone turned the Big Muff sustain knob too far. Until Mitski’s voice comes in it resembles something of an Electric Wizard b-side or a tone Cosey Fanni Tutti constructed. Mitski’s voice flutters above the bottom-heavy noise until the drum machine hammers in and for a moment it feels like the song could take a sharp turn into a Nine Inch Nails industrial banger. Mitski pulls it back with a gut-wrenching chorus, “if you need to be mean, be mean to me. I can take it and put it inside of me.” The combination of such a doomy backing track and Mitski’s undeniable hook makes it feel like you're listening to the long lost collab between Hayley Williams and White Zombie. The lyrics deal with the masochistic allure of love. The art of sacrificing yourself to be with someone who doesn’t view you as a fully realized person. It’s an attempt to escape the debilitating loneliness you’ve felt without that person. A promise is made that you can take all the abuse and put it inside of you, but of course, the abuse only gets compounded, resulting in abuse from a partner along with the abuse you give to your own body. The track is absolutely stomach-turning.
In the summer of 2015, I moved to a room with four actual walls and began to settle into my Brooklyn life. There were countless DIY venues in Brooklyn at the time, including Shea Stadium, Silent Barn, and Palisades, all of which are closed now. That summer was finally my opportunity to see Mitski play at Palisades. She had been building popularity since the Makeout Creek release, so naturally, the show was sold out. Everyone had fallen in love with the music, just as I had. A week prior I went on a date that I thought went pretty well, and after we had made plans to go to the Mitski show together. The night of the show came and they ghosted me, but that wasn’t going to stop me.
I strolled up to where Palisades used to be, an oblong building on the corner of Broadway and Stockon, and slid into the claustrophobic ticket area to have my name crossed off the will-call list. Palisades was notoriously sweaty and this humid night in the middle of June may have been the sweatiest. I perspired through both the Eskimeaux and Elvis Depressedly sets and then waited. It must have been almost midnight as Mitski strutted out holding a bright pink Dean bass. In the hands of anyone else in the scene it might have been laughable, but slung around her neck it looked practically sacred. I stood around a sold-out crowd and we yelled all of Mitski’s lyrics back at her, struggling to reach the higher notes. Everyone’s voices were either cutting out or becoming high pitch yelps as they tried to replicate Mitski’s signature vocal style. Looking back now, it should have been inevitable, Mitski was about to blow up. But in that muggy dim Brooklyn space, it felt like she sang just for us. A rare intimacy she constructed that I will never forget.
From the first seconds of Bury Me at Makeout Creek, Mitski blends a Simpson’s reference with Objectivist poetry and the record only continues to compound ideas and references from there. In DIY scenes especially, songs can sound like different scraps of ideas carelessly stacked on top of each other. Even with its lofi exterior BMaMC comes across as a carefully constructed set of 10 songs. Each song has its rough edges and lack of polish, but the undefinable soul beneath each one cannot be questioned. As Mitski grows in popularity and the production becomes cleaner, the souls of her songs remain pure as ever. BMaMC was forged in that fire of uncertainty. A time in someone’s life when at one moment you’re dreaming about making it in the city and the next you’re ready to jump off a ledge. To me, Bury Me at Makeout Creek will always be her best document. Maybe that’s because my relationship to it is so personal, but what else is music if not personal?
Favorite Lyrics
And I want a love that falls as fast
As a body from the balcony, and
I want to kiss like my heart is hitting the ground
I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat
Though I don't know what I'm waiting for
I am not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be
  • “Townie”
Please, hurry, leave me, I can't breathe
Please don't say you love me
Mune ga hachikire-sōde
One word from you and I would
Jump off of this ledge I'm on, baby
Tell me "Don't", so I can crawl back in
  • “First Love/Late Spring”
So if you need to be mean
Be mean to me
I can take it and put it inside of me
If your hands need to break
More than trinkets in your room
You can lean on my arm
As you break my heart
  • “I Don’t Smoke”
I will retire to the Salton Sea
At the age of 23
For I'm starting to learn I may never be free
But though I may never be free
Fuck you and your money
I'm tired of your money
  • “Drunk Walk Home”
I always wanted to die clean and pretty
But I'd be too busy on working days
So I am relieved that the turbulence wasn't forecasted
I couldn't have changed anyways
I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy
Goodbye
  • “Last Words of a Shooting Star”
Talking Points
  • What is it about Mitski’s music that resonates with so many people?
  • Why do you think she has had the most mainstream success compared to other artists, who came out of the same scene?
  • How does Bury Me at Makeout Creek compare to her other 4 albums?
  • What other artists have the ability to combine a large referent into one song?
  • Has anyone seen her live recently, does she still play a neon pink bass?
  • And finally, where does Bury Me At Makeout Creek rank within your 2014 list?
Thank you to KitchenSinkNYC for their great write-up! Tomorrow, we end the series off with one last write-up, as clocktowermaria tackles The Hotelier's Home, Like Noplace Is There. In the meantime, discuss today's album in the comments below!
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2020.09.29 11:12 DesiAlexa RDT YouTube Playlist - September 29, 2020

No. Requested_by VIDEO OP's Remark
1 Almost_Deflowered MAIN ZINDAGI KA SAATH NIBHATA CHALA GAYA None
2 hannys-voorwerp The Office (UK) Opening Theme and Closing Credits None
3 Almost_Deflowered Ye Kya Hua Kaise Hua - Amar Prem - Rajesh Khanna & Sharmila Tagore - Hindi Sad Song None
4 Ieburnum WW2 History: The Real Vasily Zaytsev None
5 pointAndKlik Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Opening 1 - Again Lyrics None
6 I_dont_cursive Dard E Disco Full Video HD Song - Om Shanti Om - ShahRukh Khan None
7 iaintwotuthink THE ART COMPANY - Susanna [ Original Song] None
8 evolved-chimp Yun Hi Chala Chal [Full Song] - Swades - Shahrukh Khan None
9 iaintwotuthink Everybody Loves Me None
10 MahiwalI O Canada - National Anthem - Song & Lyrics - HQ None
11 xartaddct Ricky Martin - Shake Your Bon-Bon (Official Music Video) None
12 6abhi6jeet6 Right Round None
13 xartaddct Nelly Furtado - Say It Right (Official Music Video) None
14 uhavegotafriendinme Chanda O Chanda, Kishore Kumar, Mehmood, Lakhon Mein Ek Song None
15 iaintwotuthink Nelly Furtado - Do It (Official Music Video) None
16 xartaddct Nelly Furtado - All Good Things (Come To An End) (US Version) None
17 iaintwotuthink The Smashing Pumpkins - Bullet with Butterfly Wings (Official Video) None
18 burnh12 'Kahin to hogi wo' but you're dreaming that you're on a date with your crush.. None
19 myself-chutiya Maa chudi PADI hain, funny video 😂😂😂😁😁😁 None
20 6abhi6jeet6 Maroon 5 - Moves Like Jagger ft. Christina Aguilera (Official Music Video) None
21 uhavegotafriendinme Elvis Presley - Jailhouse Rock (Music Video) None
22 Same-Cartographer488 Rinkiya ke Papa (EDM Cover) - Samuel Singh - Prod by King Flame None
23 venetra Gia Woods - Only A Girl (Official Video) None
24 burnh12 'aaoge jab tum' but it's playing from your neighbour's house + it's raining ⛆ None
25 iaintwotuthink 1. Blue Swede - Hooked on a Feeling None
26 6abhi6jeet6 Porcupine Tree Arriving somewhere but not here None
27 iaintwotuthink Peaches - Fuck the Pain Away None
28 iaintwotuthink Yeh Jo Mohabbat Hai - Kati Patang - Rajesh Khanna Songs - Old Hindi Songs None
29 atharva321 In The End (Official Video) - Linkin Park None
30 6abhi6jeet6 Ke$ha - TiK ToK None
31 iaintwotuthink Hello Hello Bolke - Kavita Krishnamurthy - Aakrosh 1998 Songs - Sunil Shetty, Shilpa Shetty None
32 uhavegotafriendinme Green Day - 21 Guns [Official Music Video] None
33 iaintwotuthink Holiday / Boulevard of Broken Dreams None
34 6abhi6jeet6 Green Day - Wake Me Up When September Ends [Official Music Video] None
35 uhavegotafriendinme Green Day - Revolution Radio (Official Lyric Video) None
36 iaintwotuthink Main Yahaan Hoon - Full Song - Veer-Zaara - Shah Rukh Khan, Preity Zinta - Udit Narayan, Madan Mohan None
37 6abhi6jeet6 Green Day: "Boulevard Of Broken Dreams" - [Official Video] None
38 uhavegotafriendinme Alright None
39 6abhi6jeet6 Rihanna - Don't Stop The Music None
40 iaintwotuthink Kendrick Lamar - i (Official Video) None
41 6abhi6jeet6 Kendrick Lamar - HUMBLE. None
42 uhavegotafriendinme FEAR. None
43 Oxeam3 Joji - 777 (Official Audio) None
44 xartaddct Death Cab For Cutie - I Will Follow You Into The Dark +Lyrics None
45 uhavegotafriendinme Simple Man- Linyrd Skynyrd (Legendado) Ye nahi Alexa nevermind
46 6abhi6jeet6 I Will Possess Your Heart (Album Version video) None
47 overthinque Boom Boom (Lip Lock) Full Video - Ajab Gazabb Love-Jackky Bhagnani-Mika Singh-Sajid Wajid None
48 6abhi6jeet6 Rihanna - S&M (Official Music Video) None
49 6abhi6jeet6 The Black Eyed Peas - Boom Boom Pow (Official Music Video) None
50 Almost_Deflowered Tu Yaad Na Aaye Video Song - Aap Kaa Surroor - Himesh Reshammiya None
51 couchbookworm Possibility None
52 HoeYouknowme Bolo na😍 Tujhe Dekha Hai Tujhpe lutaya Hai Dil💕(2019 romantic video) music lover None
53 MujheDrugsDo Original Bol Na Aunty Aau Kya Ghanti Mai Bajau Kya ORIGINAL Omprakash Mishra None
54 Amar_Akbar_Anthony Choot Volume-1 Yo Yo Honey Singh - USE HEADPHONES 18+ Good Bot
55 Almost_Deflowered Gadar - Main Nikla Gaddi Leke - Full Song Video - Sunny Deol - Ameesha Patel - HD None
56 Almost_Deflowered Mai Tainu Samjhava- Rupali Jagga- Latest Bollywood Cover 2020 - Rahat Fateh Ali Khan None
57 GumnaamFlautist A.R. Rahman - Luka Chuppi Best Audio Song-Rang De Basanti-Aamir Khan-Lata Mangeshkar-Soha None
58 Editor_Excellent Hua Hain Aaj Pehli Baar FULL VIDEO - SANAM RE - Pulkit Samrat, Urvashi Rautela - Divya Khosla Kumar None
59 Almost_Deflowered Pink Floyd - Another Brick In The Wall (HQ) None
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2020.09.29 07:51 BertisOkay 0002 - Elvis Presley - Elvis Presley

Hello again, I am Bert and this is a breakdown of the next album on the list, Elvis Presley's self titled debut album. This one might be a little different than my Sinatra breakdown simply because I feel like the Albums are so incredibly different that they have to be dissected differently. Also this is my thing and you're not my dad.
Now, without further ado, let's talk Elvis Presley - Elvis Presley
First, let's start with some context
I can tell that this seems needless, who doesn't know Elvis? The King of rock himself, Elvis is synonymous with the popularization of rock and roll while simultaneously ripping off pretty much every black artist of the time who shared the genre. However I always feel like giving context to an album helps me listen to it with a different perspective so let's give it a go.
Elvis Presley is the debut album by Mississippi born singer and actor Elvis Aaron Presley AKA Elvis. There isn't a lot of information leading up to the release of this album that I found extremely interesting so this will probably be brief.
Elvis had a few studio recordings before this point with Sun Records, but none of them got him any sort of success. He ended up really making his name on radio broadcasts. He an the band that he did his touring with became local celebrities in the Texarkana area of American (which is Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana for any fellow non-americans). This local success along with really cementing his showmanship and style on his tours cemented him a spot on a most promising male artist list, leading to a record deal with RCA Victor.
-------
Now that's really all the factual historical build up I care to give because there is obviously a lot of information about Elvis on the internet and not all of it really matters in the musical context. However, I wanted to add this from a personal perspective before I break down the album. Elvis is a very problematic person to talk about given current context.
He stole a lot of his stylings and stage swagger from lesser know or less 'marketable' black musicians. He washed a lot of things about the very raw experience of rock and roll of the time for a white audience of teenage girls. Especially Little Richard, Elvis stole almost his whole persona and made it appeal to white women. I feel like this is a very double edged sword, because obviously white people claiming black culture to be their own is a damaging thing, but if it wasn't Elvis who did it, it would have been someone else.
Record executives of the time wanted to cash in on the craze of rock and roll before Elvis, and if he didn't come along I'm 100% sure they would have found someone else to play the roll he did. Is it right? No, but here we are anyways.
On with the Album:
Elvis Presley has 12 track and is 28 minutes 3 seconds long. The labelled genre is Rock and Roll which is obviously appropriate given the person who made it, although I feel like there definitely is a decent amount of country and even a bit of gospel tinge to it. A lot of these songs are covers of either rock and roll standards or other popular recordings of the time with the Elvis spin added to it which I will touch on here and there, especially on one track. You know the one.
The album opens with the absolute banger that is Blue Suede Shoes. I'm almost convinced everyone has heard at least one version of this song at some point or another and Elvis does it full justice. Full of energy and life, Elvis and his band perform this song to the max. It opens with the iconic line "It's one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, now go go go" and doesn't stop until the last crash cymbal. This song rules and is definitely my favourite on the album.
I'm Counting On You shows the other very popular version of Elvis in this time, which is his ballad singing side. This starts off one of my major issues with this album, which is it feels like the tale of two different artists with no meaningful connection. Of course I value artistic fluidity and the ability to change your sound and style throughout an album, however I feel like all the ballad style songs on this album feel like they were recorded by an entirely different group of musicians. This really pulls me out of the experience, and I had to make sure I was still listening to the same album.
I Got A Woman starts the other issue I have. While this is most definitely an Elvis sounding song, I feel like that is the issue this time. I realize that this is an issue that I have because I am unable to listen to this album in the full context of the time but I have heard a way better version of this song, so when I hear this it just feels lifeless and muted. It goes back to my whole issue with Elvis as a whole. He is able of putting in the energy and showmanship, but when he doesn't it feels almost plastic.
One-Sided Love Affair is another really fun listen. Like the opener, you can hear Elvis and his band having fun and being energetic in their recording. The way Elvis plays with the flow of his words and modulates his voice sounds like a lot of fun. He sounds very natural and like he is developing the 'King' persona even more on this track.
I Love You Because follows the last ballad as feeling like a completely different experience from the other songs. I can't even nail down what feels different, it's almost like they had him sing in this irritating higher pitch and just noodled behind him until the song was over.
Just Because isn't an awful song. It's also not a great song. It's definitely a song though, and that much is for sure. It kind of feels like the band is just there, and Elvis is just there. Everyone performs but besides the very energetic percussion in the background, everything else just sounds and feels muted. Especially for a song with multiple guitar 'solos', the guitar feels like an after thought. It almost feels like they recorded this ..... Just Because. I'm not sorry.
Tutti Frutti is the one. I hate this version of this song. I realize that Elvis and his band have the energy and they are performing well, but come on. The Little Richard version of this song is so vastly superior I honestly don't understand why anyone would listen to this version of this song. If you haven't heard it, here's a link. I implore you to click that link and here how the song is supposed to sound.
Trying To Get To You is another ballad to add to the pile, although this is definitely my favourite of the bunch because it feels like Elvis is trying to do something different with his voice, and the guitar lead is doing a great job of sounding like it is supporting the feelings in the song.
I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Cry (Over You) is a fun sounding song with actually more sad sounding lyrics than some of the ballads on this album, with Elvis essentially mentally abusing his s/o in this song. The piano in this song is very fun to listen to and the drum line, although simple, adds to the semi-frantic sound to the song.
I'll Never Let You Go (Little Darlin') is the saddest sounding ballad on the album, until it suddenly isn't. I'm very confused by this song. It's a 2:23 long song that's sad until the 2 minute mark, and then picks up energy just to end. It felt like this song should have been another minute long to expand on that idea but that didn't happen.
Blue Moon is the most experimental sounding song on the album, a lot of open sound for Elvis' deep voice to carry over with very minimal instrumentation to get in the way. I feel like it works decently, but it also doesn't feel like they did enough to explore the whole idea, even though it's the longest song on the album. You can tell the recording standards of the time got in the way of a lot of ideas on this album.
The final track is Money Honey with another high energy performance by Elvis and his band, while not trying to overperform the original. It feels more or less like a direct interpretation of the original with a guitar center instead of a brass center. It's okay but not great.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Going into this with the context I found I didn't have the highest expectations, but I still feel very underwhelmed. It's hard not to let Elvis' reputation precede him, and I feel like my bias on top of that did not help my opinion on this album. I would definitely continue to listen to his version of Blue Suede Shoes and One-Sided Love Affair, but if I never have to listen to his version of Tutti Frutti again it will be too soon.
RATING
3.5/10
I'm not here to be a hot take artist at all, I just feel like this wasn't a cohesive album experience and some of his versions of these songs actually made me like the original less. Really not a fan of the album as a whole, although I understand why it is on the list.
What did you think of this album? I feel like I will be in the minority on this one but I would love to hear the other side of it. I might try to pick up and do this twice a week because I did the math and one album a week for 1001 weeks is like 20 years, but we will see. Regardless the next album will be The Louvin Brothers - Tragic Songs of Life.
Thanks,
-Bert
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2020.09.26 01:35 SilentWitnessRises Ghost Rider in the Sky

My brother and I made a pact that we would never speak about what happened to us a year ago to anyone...ever. And for a year, I have kept my end of that pact. I haven't even spoken with him about the matter. But my health - both physical and mental, has suffered and continues to suffer under the weight of this secret. I realize now that if I don't relieve myself of this burden, if I don't try to find answers, I'll be next for the grave. And I'm not ready to die... especially not now, after what I've seen.
Imagine experiencing a series of events for which you have no frame of reference - a series of events that defies explanation. What would you do? Who would you talk to? A doctor? A close friend? A preacher?
To what end? That's what I have continued to ask myself. A doctor would tell me that it was a creation of my distressed mind, perhaps a shared hallucination by two people linked by blood and tragedy. A close friend would listen with concern, all outward appearances of sympathy masking that staunchly skeptical inner voice we all have. A preacher would dismiss it as Satan's trickery and mayhem, and encourage me to pray to God.
Well, I have prayed. For twelve long months, I've prayed. And God has been silent. So, now I have no choice but to break my brother's confidence and seek comfort, and maybe answers, outside of the God I've worshipped all of my life.
My dad died of a heart attack last September. The doctors called it a "widowmaker." His left anterior descending artery was almost completely blocked. The survival rate of a widowmaker heart attack for victims who do not receive care within 90 minutes is 12%. Modern medicine can do nothing in such a circumstance for a man who lives alone on 25 acres of land in rural Mississippi. He was found by a neighbor, laying facedown in a field beside his tractor. By that time, he was cold and stiff. The doctors estimated that he'd already been dead 5-6 hours when his body was finally discovered.
I don't need to go into the devastation I felt when I received the call. But it is pertinent to my tale that you know how close my brother and I were to my dad. You see, my mother died when I was very young, and Dad took on the challenge of single-fatherhood with a fierce determination. My brother and I never wanted for anything, including Dad's companionship and care. He never remarried, so my childhood is full of memories of us - three Musketeers watching movies, playing board games, and joy riding in Dad's pickup truck through the fields of his property.
He was an avid music buff as well, and part of his parenting philosophy was to instill in my brother and I a proper appreciation for good music. So, from an early age, I was listening to Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Tom Petty, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Roy Orbison, B.B. King, the Eagles, Marty Robinson, Patsy Cline, Ray Charles, Led Zeppelin...and I could go on. Dad's record and later CD collection were quite extensive, and there was always music playing. He sometimes would ask my brother and I if we knew what a particular set of lyrics meant And if we didn't, which was usually the case when we were small, he'd launch into an explanation, decoding the poetry for us so that we could really love the song the way that he did.
All of the memories I mentioned, when they play in my mind, are set to Dad's soundtrack...all of my childhood epiphanies a result of his teaching.
So, his loss was as heartbreaking as you might imagine. The day of the visitation was surreal. Hot, soupy air was still settled over Mississippi like a heavy blanket, and the few friends and family who trickled into the funeral parlor to pay their respects had sweat beading on their foreheads from the brief walk from their cars to the building's entrance. I didn't stand beside the gleaming coffin at the front of the room. I didn't want to be near it. Instead, I stood at the back beside the door, speaking to visitors as they came and went.
My brother was driving down from Memphis, and was late arriving. By the time he walked through the door, tall and gaunt and glassy-eyed, it was almost 8 p.m. The parlor was empty, save for us.
"Sorry I'm late," he murmured beside me.
"How was your drive?" I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the coffin and its pale inhabitant.
"Shit," he answered.
He walked up to the coffin and placed his hands gently on the side, his head bowed as if in prayer. I followed him and did the same. We stood there, side-by-side, looking down at the pale corpse of our father, silently marveling at how still and lifeless he looked. Ambiguously church-like music filtered softly through the room. Dad would've hated it
After a time, I turned and walked toward the parking lot, my brother following silently behind me.
"Do you want to just ride with me and leave your car here?" I asked him, staring wide-eyed and sightlessly at the night sky. A thin cloud cover obscured the moon and stars. There was nothing to see there.
"Sure."
He retrieved a duffel bag from his car and slid into the passenger seat beside me. I automatically reached for the radio dial. Loud and obtrusive rock music filled the silence, and neither of us minded. At least, at first. After a heinously upbeat song came on, my brother forcefully mashed the tuner button. The next station wasn't on my presets, and the white noise of static sounded. But, as I reached out to change the station again, the static cleared and music started. I leaned back in my seat, not paying attention to the song and focusing on keeping my car between the yellow and white lines of the interstate. But in my periphery, I could see that my brother had tensed up. He was leaning slightly forward in his seat, his hands gripping his knees.
"No fucking way," he whispered.
"What?"
He turned toward me. "Do you remember this song?"
I listened then, and when I recognized what it was, I laughed lightly.
"'Ghost Riders in the Sky.' Nice. The Marty Robbins version, too. That's the best one."
I glanced over at him. He was frowning down at the radio.
"I had a really weird dream last night," he said after a few seconds, shaking his head.
I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be concentrating on the song, so I did, too.
I couldn't help but smile as I listened. A memory came to me in a flash, as vivid as though it had happened yesterday. We were piled in Dad's pickup truck, riding fast through a rain-drenched field on an overcast day. The back was fishtailing and my brother and I were whooping with delight. We were never afraid when we were riding with Dad. He was in perfect control. Both his large, calloused hands maintained a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, and he had an unlit Marlboro dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Ghost Riders in the Sky" was playing - the Marty Robbins version, of course. The fast-paced melody, haunting and thrilling, was the perfect soundtrack.
"Listen to this part!" Dad had shouted over the music as the rain pounded the windshield, and we did.
He turned the volume up, and Marty crooned: "As the riders loped on by him he heard one call out his name: 'If you want to save your soul from hell a-riding on our range - Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, Trying to catch the devil's heard, across these endless skies.'"
"Now," Dad said, turning down the volume, still staring with concentration at the field ahead, though he'd slowed the truck down considerably. "What do you think the rider meant? Why do you think he spoke to the cowboy?"
My brother and I just waited. We knew he'd explain it.
"It's a warning. The riders that the cowboy saw were the souls of damned men. They have to spend eternity chasing a herd of demon cattle because of their sins. The rider who spoke to the cowboy warning him to change his ways, to start living his life right, so that he wouldn't be doomed in the afterlife."
Dad had looked over at us then and grinned at our wide-eyed stares, the cigarette bouncing precariously at the corner of his mouth, and he gunned the truck back into high gear, spraying grass and mud out fantastically behind the tires.
I felt the tears start to sting my eyes. The face in my memory was so similar, and yet, so different from the one belonging to the corpse in the coffin. The contrast was sickening. I glanced again at my brother, and he was staring at me, his face eerily illuminated by the dash lights.
"Last night, I dreamed we were riding with Dad through a field. It was raining. This song was playing. He explained what the words meant to us."
My hands tightened on the wheel as I took the exit to my house. "That really happened. I was just thinking about it. Must've been at least twenty-five years ago, but I remember it specifically."
My brother fell silent again.
When I pulled into my driveway, we both got out wordlessly, my brother behind me with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I mechanically unlocked the front door and we stepped into the gloom of the house. I turned on some lights and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. It was almost 9 p.m., and I knew that neither of us would sleep much this night. While the coffee was brewing, I retrieved a pillow and some blankets to make the couch up for my brother to sleep on. He was standing in front of a small window in the living room, looking up at the night sky. It was an eerie sight. The clouds had cleared, and the ghostly light of the moon was washing in, bathing him in a silver glow. I quickly turned on a lamp, then went back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee.
When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch. I handed him a mug and sat across from him in a recliner. He looked at me then, his brown eyes too large in his thin face.
"That wasn't all of my dream. There was more."
"Okay. Tell me."
"I was standing on a hill, in a field. It was night. It was...really dark. Cloudy. I couldn't see the moon or the stars. And it was windy. The wind was...it was blowing so hard. I had to concentrate on my balance. I felt like it would blow me over."
He paused, his head bending slowly to the side as he stared vacantly ahead, undoubtedly seeing the scene in his mind. The dull glow of the lamp beside him cast one side of his face in light and the other side in shadow. I became afraid then. Truly afraid. I could sense his fear. What he was describing was a dream, yes, but to him, it was more than that.
"There was a huge clap of thunder...God, it was so loud. It hurt my ears. And it kept on and it wouldn't stop and then it started lightening like crazy, like nothing I've ever seen before. I wanted to run, hide, get out of there, but I couldn't, it was like I was glued to the spot. So i just kept looking up at the sky. The clouds were rolling by so fast..."
He paused again, breathing heavily, his head still tilted oddly. "Then... in the next flash of lightening, I saw... cattle."
He looked up at me then with a gaze of such sincerity and fear that tears started rolling down my cheeks.
"I saw cattle...they were...stampeding. It was like they were made of the clouds, but then, something more, too. And God...they were huge. They were bigger than anything I've ever seen....bigger than skyscrapers, than cruise ships, than aircraft carriers. And there were thousands of them."
I waited. "And then?"
"And then I woke up."
We did not speak any more after that. We drank coffee in silence while the television droned in the background. Around midnight, I decided to try and sleep. I patted my brother's shoulder as I trudged past him to my bedroom. He didn't acknowledge me. He was staring unblinkingly out of the window, into the darkness.
At 3:47 a.m., I jerked violently awake. There was a crashing sound coming from the living room, and something else. I threw open the door of my bedroom to see the dark silhouette of my brother standing in front of the window, washed once more in that eerie silver moonglow. And there was music - offensively loud and indistinguishable. I turned the overhead light on and ran to him, spinning him around forcefully to face me.
"What the fuck is going on? Where is that music coming from?"
He looked dazed. "I don't know...it woke me up."
Then, I realized...it was coming from my old radio in the corner of the room. I ran over and bent to unplug it, but my brother grabbed my wrist to stop me. He then turned down the volume to a tolerable level.
"Listen," he said simply.
So I did. It was "Ghost Riders in the Sky," the Marty Robbins version.
"Why did you turn this on? What in the hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted.
"Listen to me. I did not turn that radio on. I'm telling you, it woke me up."
I did not sleep any more that night, and I suspect that my brother didn't either. At 7:15 a.m., I walked out of my bedroom to find him dressed for the funeral, sitting silently on the couch. I patted his shoulder and he rose to follow me out the front door.
The day was much cooler than the last, and was quite overcast. I'd opted to just have a graveside service for Dad, and when we arrived at the cemetery, his coffin was poised over the pit they'd dug for him. There were a few other mourners there, and they nodded to us solemnly. The pastor said a few words about eternal life in the arms of Jesus, read some Bible verses, and that was that. The other mourners drifted away, one by one, squeezing mine and my brother's shoulders and whispering meaningless "I'm so sorry"s as they passed.
We stood there as the workers began to fill in the hole. The sound of the dirt slapping the coffin lid was heinous and unnatural, but gradually, it faded as the hole filled. And finally, there was no hole, only a mound of dirt with a nondescript flower arrangement beside it.
When it was done, my brother turned toward me, the bags under his eyes heavy and pronounced. "There's something I need to do."
I looked up at the sky then. It had gotten darker, the cloud cover heavier, and the wind was starting to howl. "What?" I asked him.
"I need to go to Dad's house. Just once, before I head back. I haven't been in months.
I sighed. "I'll drive."
Wind whipped at my car furiously as I sped down the interstate toward Dad's house. It hadn't started raining, but the clouds were dark grey and foreboding. As I mentioned, Dad lived in a rural area of Mississippi, so the drive was about 45 minutes. The closer we got to his house, the worse the weather conditions got. I'd never seen the sky look so dark with no rainfall. And the wind was blowing so furiously that the clouds had begun to swirl. By the time I turned onto Dad's gravel driveway, I was almost certain that a tornado was imminent.
As soon as I put the car in park in front of the modest ranch-style house, my brother jerked open the car door and jumped out, walking swiftly over to Dad's old pickup.
"Do you have the keys?" He shouted over the howling wind.
"They're in the house," I called back. I hurried up to Dad's front door and unlocked it. I turned back toward my brother, who was still standing beside the pickup, staring up at the bruise-colored sky. "Don't you want to come inside?"
He shook his head. "Just get the truck keys," he called.
I grabbed Dad's truck keys off of a small hook next to the front door. I made sure not to look around, not to inhale the familiar scent of my childhood home.
I tossed the keys to my brother, sensing his urgency. He unlocked the driver's side door and jumped in, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door, motioning wildly for me to get in, too. So I did.
"What the hell are we doing?" I asked.
"Going for a drive."
He turned the key int he ignition and the engine sputtered to life. He reversed a few feet, then drove the truck forward past the house and into the pasture behind it.
The pasture had a gradual rise that began just behind the house and culminated in a pretty impressive hill, and my brother slammed the gas pedal to the floor, gunning for the hill's crest. The engine whined and the tires spun grass and dirt out behind which was immediately picked up and carried wildly away by the ferocious wind. The grass of the pasture looked unnaturally emerald green in the dark glow of the sky above. The scene was otherworldly, frightening, and my brother's demeanor matched it. He had both hands on the wheel, his eyes unnaturally wide, his whole body trembling.
"Slow down," I said, trying to sound calm. But he didn't answer, and I wasn't so sure that he heard me.
We were nearing the crest of the hill now, and the molten grey sky stretched majestically out behind it, the clouds boiling fiercely. My brother suddenly slammed the truck's brakes and jumped out, running like a madman toward the top of the hill, his coattails flapping crazily behind him. I watched him go in awe - a gaunt silhouette all alone in his own dreamscape come to life. I thought of the dream he'd described to me the night before, and I was so overcome with emotion that I felt a sensation like falling backwards.
No - I was rolling backwards, and gaining speed. I realized then that he had forgotten to put the truck in park, and it was speeding back down the hill, on a collision course for the side of Dad's house. Without thinking, I jerked open the door and hurled myself out onto the grass. I looked up just in time to see the pickup slam mightily into the house, the sound of crashing metal and splintering wood swallowed by the wind.
I turned back to look at the top of the hill. My brother stood there, looking up into the sky, his coat, tie, and hair whipping about madly. I pulled myself to my feet and ran up toward him. At the top of the hill, I could see the pasture stretching out below us and the distant tree line, and above, the blackening sky rolled.
I put a hand on his shoulder. "We need to leave!" I shouted. "The weather..." But I couldn't think of a way to describe it.
He turned toward me. "We can't, not yet."
We stared at each other for a moment, my hand still on his shoulder. Then, a clap of thunder sounded, so loud I was sure it had ruptured my ear drums. I cowered with my hands over my ears, but my brother seemed unaffected. He jerked his face up toward the sky as though he were looking for something. Another booming thunderroll came, and then another, until they blended together continuously - I could feel the percussion of it inside my chest. The wind blew harder now....so much that I felt unsteady on my feet.
I looked back to my brother. HIs eyes were wide and expectant, and suddenly, his face was illuminated by a flash. Lightening. I looked back up at the sky, and I could see it snaking through the clouds. It seemed to illuminate them from the inside, and it did not cease. The scene was wild and frightening and...mesmerizing. I could no longer look away. I'd never seen such a thing.
And then... I saw them.
Cattle. They were running through the clouds, or in them, or on them, or they were the clouds. Massive, bigger than the very chariots of God himself, with red glowing eyes, and their numbers were thousands, or tens of thousands. They thundered over our heads, and from our vantage point on top of the hill, seemed to be running straight for us. We could do nothing but watch - two figures of insignificance at the mercy of some unknown power.
We watched them for what seemed like seconds - or hours. Time stopped, or it sped past us, just like that herd. And then, when their numbers seemed to be dwindling, we saw a new sight in the sky.
There was a horse with a rider, both were ten times or a hundred times bigger than the cattle. They filled the sky as the horse galloped toward us head on. Its head was bent forward, its mane streaming grandly behind it, its eyes glowing blinding white. Its rider, seemingly larger than all of earth's mountains combined, had hold of a rope and was spinning it madly above his head with his right hand, his left hand grasping the mighty horse's reins. His eyes also glowed a brilliant white, and they were fixed on my brother and I as he got closer, and....
It was him. It was my dad. I'd know the shape of his face and the slope of his posture anywhere. As he passed over our heads, he looked down on both of us in a single moment that lasted an eternity, and still it was not long enough - a heartbreakingly mournful look in his glowing white eyes.
And then, he was gone. The thunder, lightening, and wind died down - not immediately, but quickly. And my brother and I just stood there. There was nothing we could do, nothing we could say.
***************************
When we left Dad's house that day, the only thing that was said between us was that we wouldn't talk about it.
I had Dad's house repaired, which cost more than it was worth. The pickup was not salvageable, but it's still on the property, parked behind the house.
I sold my house and moved into Dad's. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm hoping I'll see him again. Every day, and most nights, I walk up the hill and stare up at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
But I haven't.
And I don't know what any of this means. All I know is that the look in my father's eyes that day has haunted me, because I know he was trying to convey a message to my brother and I.
A message, or a warning.
submitted by SilentWitnessRises to stayawake [link] [comments]


2020.09.26 01:34 SilentWitnessRises Ghost Rider in the Sky

My brother and I made a pact that we would never speak about what happened to us a year ago to anyone...ever. And for a year, I have kept my end of that pact. I haven't even spoken with him about the matter. But my health - both physical and mental, has suffered and continues to suffer under the weight of this secret. I realize now that if I don't relieve myself of this burden, if I don't try to find answers, I'll be next for the grave. And I'm not ready to die... especially not now, after what I've seen.
Imagine experiencing a series of events for which you have no frame of reference - a series of events that defies explanation. What would you do? Who would you talk to? A doctor? A close friend? A preacher?
To what end? That's what I have continued to ask myself. A doctor would tell me that it was a creation of my distressed mind, perhaps a shared hallucination by two people linked by blood and tragedy. A close friend would listen with concern, all outward appearances of sympathy masking that staunchly skeptical inner voice we all have. A preacher would dismiss it as Satan's trickery and mayhem, and encourage me to pray to God.
Well, I have prayed. For twelve long months, I've prayed. And God has been silent. So, now I have no choice but to break my brother's confidence and seek comfort, and maybe answers, outside of the God I've worshipped all of my life.
My dad died of a heart attack last September. The doctors called it a "widowmaker." His left anterior descending artery was almost completely blocked. The survival rate of a widowmaker heart attack for victims who do not receive care within 90 minutes is 12%. Modern medicine can do nothing in such a circumstance for a man who lives alone on 25 acres of land in rural Mississippi. He was found by a neighbor, laying facedown in a field beside his tractor. By that time, he was cold and stiff. The doctors estimated that he'd already been dead 5-6 hours when his body was finally discovered.
I don't need to go into the devastation I felt when I received the call. But it is pertinent to my tale that you know how close my brother and I were to my dad. You see, my mother died when I was very young, and Dad took on the challenge of single-fatherhood with a fierce determination. My brother and I never wanted for anything, including Dad's companionship and care. He never remarried, so my childhood is full of memories of us - three Musketeers watching movies, playing board games, and joy riding in Dad's pickup truck through the fields of his property.
He was an avid music buff as well, and part of his parenting philosophy was to instill in my brother and I a proper appreciation for good music. So, from an early age, I was listening to Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Tom Petty, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Roy Orbison, B.B. King, the Eagles, Marty Robinson, Patsy Cline, Ray Charles, Led Zeppelin...and I could go on. Dad's record and later CD collection were quite extensive, and there was always music playing. He sometimes would ask my brother and I if we knew what a particular set of lyrics meant And if we didn't, which was usually the case when we were small, he'd launch into an explanation, decoding the poetry for us so that we could really love the song the way that he did.
All of the memories I mentioned, when they play in my mind, are set to Dad's soundtrack...all of my childhood epiphanies a result of his teaching.
So, his loss was as heartbreaking as you might imagine. The day of the visitation was surreal. Hot, soupy air was still settled over Mississippi like a heavy blanket, and the few friends and family who trickled into the funeral parlor to pay their respects had sweat beading on their foreheads from the brief walk from their cars to the building's entrance. I didn't stand beside the gleaming coffin at the front of the room. I didn't want to be near it. Instead, I stood at the back beside the door, speaking to visitors as they came and went.
My brother was driving down from Memphis, and was late arriving. By the time he walked through the door, tall and gaunt and glassy-eyed, it was almost 8 p.m. The parlor was empty, save for us.
"Sorry I'm late," he murmured beside me.
"How was your drive?" I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the coffin and its pale inhabitant.
"Shit," he answered.
He walked up to the coffin and placed his hands gently on the side, his head bowed as if in prayer. I followed him and did the same. We stood there, side-by-side, looking down at the pale corpse of our father, silently marveling at how still and lifeless he looked. Ambiguously church-like music filtered softly through the room. Dad would've hated it
After a time, I turned and walked toward the parking lot, my brother following silently behind me.
"Do you want to just ride with me and leave your car here?" I asked him, staring wide-eyed and sightlessly at the night sky. A thin cloud cover obscured the moon and stars. There was nothing to see there.
"Sure."
He retrieved a duffel bag from his car and slid into the passenger seat beside me. I automatically reached for the radio dial. Loud and obtrusive rock music filled the silence, and neither of us minded. At least, at first. After a heinously upbeat song came on, my brother forcefully mashed the tuner button. The next station wasn't on my presets, and the white noise of static sounded. But, as I reached out to change the station again, the static cleared and music started. I leaned back in my seat, not paying attention to the song and focusing on keeping my car between the yellow and white lines of the interstate. But in my periphery, I could see that my brother had tensed up. He was leaning slightly forward in his seat, his hands gripping his knees.
"No fucking way," he whispered.
"What?"
He turned toward me. "Do you remember this song?"
I listened then, and when I recognized what it was, I laughed lightly.
"'Ghost Riders in the Sky.' Nice. The Marty Robbins version, too. That's the best one."
I glanced over at him. He was frowning down at the radio.
"I had a really weird dream last night," he said after a few seconds, shaking his head.
I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be concentrating on the song, so I did, too.
I couldn't help but smile as I listened. A memory came to me in a flash, as vivid as though it had happened yesterday. We were piled in Dad's pickup truck, riding fast through a rain-drenched field on an overcast day. The back was fishtailing and my brother and I were whooping with delight. We were never afraid when we were riding with Dad. He was in perfect control. Both his large, calloused hands maintained a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, and he had an unlit Marlboro dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Ghost Riders in the Sky" was playing - the Marty Robbins version, of course. The fast-paced melody, haunting and thrilling, was the perfect soundtrack.
"Listen to this part!" Dad had shouted over the music as the rain pounded the windshield, and we did.
He turned the volume up, and Marty crooned: "As the riders loped on by him he heard one call out his name: 'If you want to save your soul from hell a-riding on our range - Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, Trying to catch the devil's heard, across these endless skies.'"
"Now," Dad said, turning down the volume, still staring with concentration at the field ahead, though he'd slowed the truck down considerably. "What do you think the rider meant? Why do you think he spoke to the cowboy?"
My brother and I just waited. We knew he'd explain it.
"It's a warning. The riders that the cowboy saw were the souls of damned men. They have to spend eternity chasing a herd of demon cattle because of their sins. The rider who spoke to the cowboy warning him to change his ways, to start living his life right, so that he wouldn't be doomed in the afterlife."
Dad had looked over at us then and grinned at our wide-eyed stares, the cigarette bouncing precariously at the corner of his mouth, and he gunned the truck back into high gear, spraying grass and mud out fantastically behind the tires.
I felt the tears start to sting my eyes. The face in my memory was so similar, and yet, so different from the one belonging to the corpse in the coffin. The contrast was sickening. I glanced again at my brother, and he was staring at me, his face eerily illuminated by the dash lights.
"Last night, I dreamed we were riding with Dad through a field. It was raining. This song was playing. He explained what the words meant to us."
My hands tightened on the wheel as I took the exit to my house. "That really happened. I was just thinking about it. Must've been at least twenty-five years ago, but I remember it specifically."
My brother fell silent again.
When I pulled into my driveway, we both got out wordlessly, my brother behind me with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I mechanically unlocked the front door and we stepped into the gloom of the house. I turned on some lights and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. It was almost 9 p.m., and I knew that neither of us would sleep much this night. While the coffee was brewing, I retrieved a pillow and some blankets to make the couch up for my brother to sleep on. He was standing in front of a small window in the living room, looking up at the night sky. It was an eerie sight. The clouds had cleared, and the ghostly light of the moon was washing in, bathing him in a silver glow. I quickly turned on a lamp, then went back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee.
When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch. I handed him a mug and sat across from him in a recliner. He looked at me then, his brown eyes too large in his thin face.
"That wasn't all of my dream. There was more."
"Okay. Tell me."
"I was standing on a hill, in a field. It was night. It was...really dark. Cloudy. I couldn't see the moon or the stars. And it was windy. The wind was...it was blowing so hard. I had to concentrate on my balance. I felt like it would blow me over."
He paused, his head bending slowly to the side as he stared vacantly ahead, undoubtedly seeing the scene in his mind. The dull glow of the lamp beside him cast one side of his face in light and the other side in shadow. I became afraid then. Truly afraid. I could sense his fear. What he was describing was a dream, yes, but to him, it was more than that.
"There was a huge clap of thunder...God, it was so loud. It hurt my ears. And it kept on and it wouldn't stop and then it started lightening like crazy, like nothing I've ever seen before. I wanted to run, hide, get out of there, but I couldn't, it was like I was glued to the spot. So i just kept looking up at the sky. The clouds were rolling by so fast..."
He paused again, breathing heavily, his head still tilted oddly. "Then... in the next flash of lightening, I saw... cattle."
He looked up at me then with a gaze of such sincerity and fear that tears started rolling down my cheeks.
"I saw cattle...they were...stampeding. It was like they were made of the clouds, but then, something more, too. And God...they were huge. They were bigger than anything I've ever seen....bigger than skyscrapers, than cruise ships, than aircraft carriers. And there were thousands of them."
I waited. "And then?"
"And then I woke up."
We did not speak any more after that. We drank coffee in silence while the television droned in the background. Around midnight, I decided to try and sleep. I patted my brother's shoulder as I trudged past him to my bedroom. He didn't acknowledge me. He was staring unblinkingly out of the window, into the darkness.
At 3:47 a.m., I jerked violently awake. There was a crashing sound coming from the living room, and something else. I threw open the door of my bedroom to see the dark silhouette of my brother standing in front of the window, washed once more in that eerie silver moonglow. And there was music - offensively loud and indistinguishable. I turned the overhead light on and ran to him, spinning him around forcefully to face me.
"What the fuck is going on? Where is that music coming from?"
He looked dazed. "I don't know...it woke me up."
Then, I realized...it was coming from my old radio in the corner of the room. I ran over and bent to unplug it, but my brother grabbed my wrist to stop me. He then turned down the volume to a tolerable level.
"Listen," he said simply.
So I did. It was "Ghost Riders in the Sky," the Marty Robbins version.
"Why did you turn this on? What in the hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted.
"Listen to me. I did not turn that radio on. I'm telling you, it woke me up."
I did not sleep any more that night, and I suspect that my brother didn't either. At 7:15 a.m., I walked out of my bedroom to find him dressed for the funeral, sitting silently on the couch. I patted his shoulder and he rose to follow me out the front door.
The day was much cooler than the last, and was quite overcast. I'd opted to just have a graveside service for Dad, and when we arrived at the cemetery, his coffin was poised over the pit they'd dug for him. There were a few other mourners there, and they nodded to us solemnly. The pastor said a few words about eternal life in the arms of Jesus, read some Bible verses, and that was that. The other mourners drifted away, one by one, squeezing mine and my brother's shoulders and whispering meaningless "I'm so sorry"s as they passed.
We stood there as the workers began to fill in the hole. The sound of the dirt slapping the coffin lid was heinous and unnatural, but gradually, it faded as the hole filled. And finally, there was no hole, only a mound of dirt with a nondescript flower arrangement beside it.
When it was done, my brother turned toward me, the bags under his eyes heavy and pronounced. "There's something I need to do."
I looked up at the sky then. It had gotten darker, the cloud cover heavier, and the wind was starting to howl. "What?" I asked him.
"I need to go to Dad's house. Just once, before I head back. I haven't been in months.
I sighed. "I'll drive."
Wind whipped at my car furiously as I sped down the interstate toward Dad's house. It hadn't started raining, but the clouds were dark grey and foreboding. As I mentioned, Dad lived in a rural area of Mississippi, so the drive was about 45 minutes. The closer we got to his house, the worse the weather conditions got. I'd never seen the sky look so dark with no rainfall. And the wind was blowing so furiously that the clouds had begun to swirl. By the time I turned onto Dad's gravel driveway, I was almost certain that a tornado was imminent.
As soon as I put the car in park in front of the modest ranch-style house, my brother jerked open the car door and jumped out, walking swiftly over to Dad's old pickup.
"Do you have the keys?" He shouted over the howling wind.
"They're in the house," I called back. I hurried up to Dad's front door and unlocked it. I turned back toward my brother, who was still standing beside the pickup, staring up at the bruise-colored sky. "Don't you want to come inside?"
He shook his head. "Just get the truck keys," he called.
I grabbed Dad's truck keys off of a small hook next to the front door. I made sure not to look around, not to inhale the familiar scent of my childhood home.
I tossed the keys to my brother, sensing his urgency. He unlocked the driver's side door and jumped in, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door, motioning wildly for me to get in, too. So I did.
"What the hell are we doing?" I asked.
"Going for a drive."
He turned the key int he ignition and the engine sputtered to life. He reversed a few feet, then drove the truck forward past the house and into the pasture behind it.
The pasture had a gradual rise that began just behind the house and culminated in a pretty impressive hill, and my brother slammed the gas pedal to the floor, gunning for the hill's crest. The engine whined and the tires spun grass and dirt out behind which was immediately picked up and carried wildly away by the ferocious wind. The grass of the pasture looked unnaturally emerald green in the dark glow of the sky above. The scene was otherworldly, frightening, and my brother's demeanor matched it. He had both hands on the wheel, his eyes unnaturally wide, his whole body trembling.
"Slow down," I said, trying to sound calm. But he didn't answer, and I wasn't so sure that he heard me.
We were nearing the crest of the hill now, and the molten grey sky stretched majestically out behind it, the clouds boiling fiercely. My brother suddenly slammed the truck's brakes and jumped out, running like a madman toward the top of the hill, his coattails flapping crazily behind him. I watched him go in awe - a gaunt silhouette all alone in his own dreamscape come to life. I thought of the dream he'd described to me the night before, and I was so overcome with emotion that I felt a sensation like falling backwards.
No - I was rolling backwards, and gaining speed. I realized then that he had forgotten to put the truck in park, and it was speeding back down the hill, on a collision course for the side of Dad's house. Without thinking, I jerked open the door and hurled myself out onto the grass. I looked up just in time to see the pickup slam mightily into the house, the sound of crashing metal and splintering wood swallowed by the wind.
I turned back to look at the top of the hill. My brother stood there, looking up into the sky, his coat, tie, and hair whipping about madly. I pulled myself to my feet and ran up toward him. At the top of the hill, I could see the pasture stretching out below us and the distant tree line, and above, the blackening sky rolled.
I put a hand on his shoulder. "We need to leave!" I shouted. "The weather..." But I couldn't think of a way to describe it.
He turned toward me. "We can't, not yet."
We stared at each other for a moment, my hand still on his shoulder. Then, a clap of thunder sounded, so loud I was sure it had ruptured my ear drums. I cowered with my hands over my ears, but my brother seemed unaffected. He jerked his face up toward the sky as though he were looking for something. Another booming thunderroll came, and then another, until they blended together continuously - I could feel the percussion of it inside my chest. The wind blew harder now....so much that I felt unsteady on my feet.
I looked back to my brother. HIs eyes were wide and expectant, and suddenly, his face was illuminated by a flash. Lightening. I looked back up at the sky, and I could see it snaking through the clouds. It seemed to illuminate them from the inside, and it did not cease. The scene was wild and frightening and...mesmerizing. I could no longer look away. I'd never seen such a thing.
And then... I saw them.
Cattle. They were running through the clouds, or in them, or on them, or they were the clouds. Massive, bigger than the very chariots of God himself, with red glowing eyes, and their numbers were thousands, or tens of thousands. They thundered over our heads, and from our vantage point on top of the hill, seemed to be running straight for us. We could do nothing but watch - two figures of insignificance at the mercy of some unknown power.
We watched them for what seemed like seconds - or hours. Time stopped, or it sped past us, just like that herd. And then, when their numbers seemed to be dwindling, we saw a new sight in the sky.
There was a horse with a rider, both were ten times or a hundred times bigger than the cattle. They filled the sky as the horse galloped toward us head on. Its head was bent forward, its mane streaming grandly behind it, its eyes glowing blinding white. Its rider, seemingly larger than all of earth's mountains combined, had hold of a rope and was spinning it madly above his head with his right hand, his left hand grasping the mighty horse's reins. His eyes also glowed a brilliant white, and they were fixed on my brother and I as he got closer, and....
It was him. It was my dad. I'd know the shape of his face and the slope of his posture anywhere. As he passed over our heads, he looked down on both of us in a single moment that lasted an eternity, and still it was not long enough - a heartbreakingly mournful look in his glowing white eyes.
And then, he was gone. The thunder, lightening, and wind died down - not immediately, but quickly. And my brother and I just stood there. There was nothing we could do, nothing we could say.
***************************
When we left Dad's house that day, the only thing that was said between us was that we wouldn't talk about it.
I had Dad's house repaired, which cost more than it was worth. The pickup was not salvageable, but it's still on the property, parked behind the house.
I sold my house and moved into Dad's. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm hoping I'll see him again. Every day, and most nights, I walk up the hill and stare up at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
But I haven't.
And I don't know what any of this means. All I know is that the look in my father's eyes that day has haunted me, because I know he was trying to convey a message to my brother and I.
A message, or a warning.
submitted by SilentWitnessRises to creepypasta [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 17:53 SilentWitnessRises Ghost Rider in the Sky

My brother and I made a pact that we would never speak about what happened to us a year ago to anyone...ever. And for a year, I have kept my end of that pact. I haven't even spoken with him about the matter. But my health - both physical and mental, has suffered and continues to suffer under the weight of this secret. I realize now that if I don't relieve myself of this burden, if I don't try to find answers, I'll be next for the grave. And I'm not ready to die... especially not now, after what I've seen.
Imagine experiencing a series of events for which you have no frame of reference - a series of events that defies explanation. What would you do? Who would you talk to? A doctor? A close friend? A preacher?
To what end? That's what I have continued to ask myself. A doctor would tell me that it was a creation of my distressed mind, perhaps a shared hallucination by two people linked by blood and tragedy. A close friend would listen with concern, all outward appearances of sympathy masking that staunchly skeptical inner voice we all have. A preacher would dismiss it as Satan's trickery and mayhem, and encourage me to pray to God.
Well, I have prayed. For twelve long months, I've prayed. And God has been silent. So, now I have no choice but to break my brother's confidence and seek comfort, and maybe answers, outside of the God I've worshipped all of my life.
My dad died of a heart attack last September. The doctors called it a "widowmaker." His left anterior descending artery was almost completely blocked. The survival rate of a widowmaker heart attack for victims who do not receive care within 90 minutes is 12%. Modern medicine can do nothing in such a circumstance for a man who lives alone on 25 acres of land in rural Mississippi. He was found by a neighbor, laying facedown in a field beside his tractor. By that time, he was cold and stiff. The doctors estimated that he'd already been dead 5-6 hours when his body was finally discovered.
I don't need to go into the devastation I felt when I received the call. But it is pertinent to my tale that you know how close my brother and I were to my dad. You see, my mother died when I was very young, and Dad took on the challenge of single-fatherhood with a fierce determination. My brother and I never wanted for anything, including Dad's companionship and care. He never remarried, so my childhood is full of memories of us - three Musketeers watching movies, playing board games, and joy riding in Dad's pickup truck through the fields of his property.
He was an avid music buff as well, and part of his parenting philosophy was to instill in my brother and I a proper appreciation for good music. So, from an early age, I was listening to Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Tom Petty, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Roy Orbison, B.B. King, the Eagles, Marty Robinson, Patsy Cline, Ray Charles, Led Zeppelin...and I could go on. Dad's record and later CD collection were quite extensive, and there was always music playing. He sometimes would ask my brother and I if we knew what a particular set of lyrics meant And if we didn't, which was usually the case when we were small, he'd launch into an explanation, decoding the poetry for us so that we could really love the song the way that he did.
All of the memories I mentioned, when they play in my mind, are set to Dad's soundtrack...all of my childhood epiphanies a result of his teaching.
So, his loss was as heartbreaking as you might imagine. The day of the visitation was surreal. Hot, soupy air was still settled over Mississippi like a heavy blanket, and the few friends and family who trickled into the funeral parlor to pay their respects had sweat beading on their foreheads from the brief walk from their cars to the building's entrance. I didn't stand beside the gleaming coffin at the front of the room. I didn't want to be near it. Instead, I stood at the back beside the door, speaking to visitors as they came and went.
My brother was driving down from Memphis, and was late arriving. By the time he walked through the door, tall and gaunt and glassy-eyed, it was almost 8 p.m. The parlor was empty, save for us.
"Sorry I'm late," he murmured beside me.
"How was your drive?" I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the coffin and its pale inhabitant.
"Shit," he answered.
He walked up to the coffin and placed his hands gently on the side, his head bowed as if in prayer. I followed him and did the same. We stood there, side-by-side, looking down at the pale corpse of our father, silently marveling at how still and lifeless he looked. Ambiguously church-like music filtered softly through the room. Dad would've hated it
After a time, I turned and walked toward the parking lot, my brother following silently behind me.
"Do you want to just ride with me and leave your car here?" I asked him, staring wide-eyed and sightlessly at the night sky. A thin cloud cover obscured the moon and stars. There was nothing to see there.
"Sure."
He retrieved a duffel bag from his car and slid into the passenger seat beside me. I automatically reached for the radio dial. Loud and obtrusive rock music filled the silence, and neither of us minded. At least, at first. After a heinously upbeat song came on, my brother forcefully mashed the tuner button. The next station wasn't on my presets, and the white noise of static sounded. But, as I reached out to change the station again, the static cleared and music started. I leaned back in my seat, not paying attention to the song and focusing on keeping my car between the yellow and white lines of the interstate. But in my periphery, I could see that my brother had tensed up. He was leaning slightly forward in his seat, his hands gripping his knees.
"No fucking way," he whispered.
"What?"
He turned toward me. "Do you remember this song?"
I listened then, and when I recognized what it was, I laughed lightly.
"'Ghost Riders in the Sky.' Nice. The Marty Robbins version, too. That's the best one."
I glanced over at him. He was frowning down at the radio.
"I had a really weird dream last night," he said after a few seconds, shaking his head.
I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be concentrating on the song, so I did, too.
I couldn't help but smile as I listened. A memory came to me in a flash, as vivid as though it had happened yesterday. We were piled in Dad's pickup truck, riding fast through a rain-drenched field on an overcast day. The back was fishtailing and my brother and I were whooping with delight. We were never afraid when we were riding with Dad. He was in perfect control. Both his large, calloused hands maintained a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, and he had an unlit Marlboro dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Ghost Riders in the Sky" was playing - the Marty Robbins version, of course. The fast-paced melody, haunting and thrilling, was the perfect soundtrack.
"Listen to this part!" Dad had shouted over the music as the rain pounded the windshield, and we did.
He turned the volume up, and Marty crooned: "As the riders loped on by him he heard one call out his name: 'If you want to save your soul from hell a-riding on our range - Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, Trying to catch the devil's heard, across these endless skies.'"
"Now," Dad said, turning down the volume, still staring with concentration at the field ahead, though he'd slowed the truck down considerably. "What do you think the rider meant? Why do you think he spoke to the cowboy?"
My brother and I just waited. We knew he'd explain it.
"It's a warning. The riders that the cowboy saw were the souls of damned men. They have to spend eternity chasing a herd of demon cattle because of their sins. The rider who spoke to the cowboy warning him to change his ways, to start living his life right, so that he wouldn't be doomed in the afterlife."
Dad had looked over at us then and grinned at our wide-eyed stares, the cigarette bouncing precariously at the corner of his mouth, and he gunned the truck back into high gear, spraying grass and mud out fantastically behind the tires.
I felt the tears start to sting my eyes. The face in my memory was so similar, and yet, so different from the one belonging to the corpse in the coffin. The contrast was sickening. I glanced again at my brother, and he was staring at me, his face eerily illuminated by the dash lights.
"Last night, I dreamed we were riding with Dad through a field. It was raining. This song was playing. He explained what the words meant to us."
My hands tightened on the wheel as I took the exit to my house. "That really happened. I was just thinking about it. Must've been at least twenty-five years ago, but I remember it specifically."
My brother fell silent again.
When I pulled into my driveway, we both got out wordlessly, my brother behind me with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I mechanically unlocked the front door and we stepped into the gloom of the house. I turned on some lights and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. It was almost 9 p.m., and I knew that neither of us would sleep much this night. While the coffee was brewing, I retrieved a pillow and some blankets to make the couch up for my brother to sleep on. He was standing in front of a small window in the living room, looking up at the night sky. It was an eerie sight. The clouds had cleared, and the ghostly light of the moon was washing in, bathing him in a silver glow. I quickly turned on a lamp, then went back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee.
When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch. I handed him a mug and sat across from him in a recliner. He looked at me then, his brown eyes too large in his thin face.
"That wasn't all of my dream. There was more."
"Okay. Tell me."
"I was standing on a hill, in a field. It was night. It was...really dark. Cloudy. I couldn't see the moon or the stars. And it was windy. The wind was...it was blowing so hard. I had to concentrate on my balance. I felt like it would blow me over."
He paused, his head bending slowly to the side as he stared vacantly ahead, undoubtedly seeing the scene in his mind. The dull glow of the lamp beside him cast one side of his face in light and the other side in shadow. I became afraid then. Truly afraid. I could sense his fear. What he was describing was a dream, yes, but to him, it was more than that.
"There was a huge clap of thunder...God, it was so loud. It hurt my ears. And it kept on and it wouldn't stop and then it started lightening like crazy, like nothing I've ever seen before. I wanted to run, hide, get out of there, but I couldn't, it was like I was glued to the spot. So i just kept looking up at the sky. The clouds were rolling by so fast..."
He paused again, breathing heavily, his head still tilted oddly. "Then... in the next flash of lightening, I saw... cattle."
He looked up at me then with a gaze of such sincerity and fear that tears started rolling down my cheeks.
"I saw cattle...they were...stampeding. It was like they were made of the clouds, but then, something more, too. And God...they were huge. They were bigger than anything I've ever seen....bigger than skyscrapers, than cruise ships, than aircraft carriers. And there were thousands of them."
I waited. "And then?"
"And then I woke up."
We did not speak any more after that. We drank coffee in silence while the television droned in the background. Around midnight, I decided to try and sleep. I patted my brother's shoulder as I trudged past him to my bedroom. He didn't acknowledge me. He was staring unblinkingly out of the window, into the darkness.
At 3:47 a.m., I jerked violently awake. There was a crashing sound coming from the living room, and something else. I threw open the door of my bedroom to see the dark silhouette of my brother standing in front of the window, washed once more in that eerie silver moonglow. And there was music - offensively loud and indistinguishable. I turned the overhead light on and ran to him, spinning him around forcefully to face me.
"What the fuck is going on? Where is that music coming from?"
He looked dazed. "I don't know...it woke me up."
Then, I realized...it was coming from my old radio in the corner of the room. I ran over and bent to unplug it, but my brother grabbed my wrist to stop me. He then turned down the volume to a tolerable level.
"Listen," he said simply.
So I did. It was "Ghost Riders in the Sky," the Marty Robbins version.
"Why did you turn this on? What in the hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted.
"Listen to me. I did not turn that radio on. I'm telling you, it woke me up."
I did not sleep any more that night, and I suspect that my brother didn't either. At 7:15 a.m., I walked out of my bedroom to find him dressed for the funeral, sitting silently on the couch. I patted his shoulder and he rose to follow me out the front door.
The day was much cooler than the last, and was quite overcast. I'd opted to just have a graveside service for Dad, and when we arrived at the cemetery, his coffin was poised over the pit they'd dug for him. There were a few other mourners there, and they nodded to us solemnly. The pastor said a few words about eternal life in the arms of Jesus, read some Bible verses, and that was that. The other mourners drifted away, one by one, squeezing mine and my brother's shoulders and whispering meaningless "I'm so sorry"s as they passed.
We stood there as the workers began to fill in the hole. The sound of the dirt slapping the coffin lid was heinous and unnatural, but gradually, it faded as the hole filled. And finally, there was no hole, only a mound of dirt with a nondescript flower arrangement beside it.
When it was done, my brother turned toward me, the bags under his eyes heavy and pronounced. "There's something I need to do."
I looked up at the sky then. It had gotten darker, the cloud cover heavier, and the wind was starting to howl. "What?" I asked him.
"I need to go to Dad's house. Just once, before I head back. I haven't been in months.
I sighed. "I'll drive."
Wind whipped at my car furiously as I sped down the interstate toward Dad's house. It hadn't started raining, but the clouds were dark grey and foreboding. As I mentioned, Dad lived in a rural area of Mississippi, so the drive was about 45 minutes. The closer we got to his house, the worse the weather conditions got. I'd never seen the sky look so dark with no rainfall. And the wind was blowing so furiously that the clouds had begun to swirl. By the time I turned onto Dad's gravel driveway, I was almost certain that a tornado was imminent.
As soon as I put the car in park in front of the modest ranch-style house, my brother jerked open the car door and jumped out, walking swiftly over to Dad's old pickup.
"Do you have the keys?" He shouted over the howling wind.
"They're in the house," I called back. I hurried up to Dad's front door and unlocked it. I turned back toward my brother, who was still standing beside the pickup, staring up at the bruise-colored sky. "Don't you want to come inside?"
He shook his head. "Just get the truck keys," he called.
I grabbed Dad's truck keys off of a small hook next to the front door. I made sure not to look around, not to inhale the familiar scent of my childhood home.
I tossed the keys to my brother, sensing his urgency. He unlocked the driver's side door and jumped in, then leaned over and unlocked the passenger door, motioning wildly for me to get in, too. So I did.
"What the hell are we doing?" I asked.
"Going for a drive."
He turned the key int he ignition and the engine sputtered to life. He reversed a few feet, then drove the truck forward past the house and into the pasture behind it.
The pasture had a gradual rise that began just behind the house and culminated in a pretty impressive hill, and my brother slammed the gas pedal to the floor, gunning for the hill's crest. The engine whined and the tires spun grass and dirt out behind which was immediately picked up and carried wildly away by the ferocious wind. The grass of the pasture looked unnaturally emerald green in the dark glow of the sky above. The scene was otherworldly, frightening, and my brother's demeanor matched it. He had both hands on the wheel, his eyes unnaturally wide, his whole body trembling.
"Slow down," I said, trying to sound calm. But he didn't answer, and I wasn't so sure that he heard me.
We were nearing the crest of the hill now, and the molten grey sky stretched majestically out behind it, the clouds boiling fiercely. My brother suddenly slammed the truck's brakes and jumped out, running like a madman toward the top of the hill, his coattails flapping crazily behind him. I watched him go in awe - a gaunt silhouette all alone in his own dreamscape come to life. I thought of the dream he'd described to me the night before, and I was so overcome with emotion that I felt a sensation like falling backwards.
No - I was rolling backwards, and gaining speed. I realized then that he had forgotten to put the truck in park, and it was speeding back down the hill, on a collision course for the side of Dad's house. Without thinking, I jerked open the door and hurled myself out onto the grass. I looked up just in time to see the pickup slam mightily into the house, the sound of crashing metal and splintering wood swallowed by the wind.
I turned back to look at the top of the hill. My brother stood there, looking up into the sky, his coat, tie, and hair whipping about madly. I pulled myself to my feet and ran up toward him. At the top of the hill, I could see the pasture stretching out below us and the distant tree line, and above, the blackening sky rolled.
I put a hand on his shoulder. "We need to leave!" I shouted. "The weather..." But I couldn't think of a way to describe it.
He turned toward me. "We can't, not yet."
We stared at each other for a moment, my hand still on his shoulder. Then, a clap of thunder sounded, so loud I was sure it had ruptured my ear drums. I cowered with my hands over my ears, but my brother seemed unaffected. He jerked his face up toward the sky as though he were looking for something. Another booming thunderroll came, and then another, until they blended together continuously - I could feel the percussion of it inside my chest. The wind blew harder now....so much that I felt unsteady on my feet.
I looked back to my brother. HIs eyes were wide and expectant, and suddenly, his face was illuminated by a flash. Lightening. I looked back up at the sky, and I could see it snaking through the clouds. It seemed to illuminate them from the inside, and it did not cease. The scene was wild and frightening and...mesmerizing. I could no longer look away. I'd never seen such a thing.
And then... I saw them.
Cattle. They were running through the clouds, or in them, or on them, or they were the clouds. Massive, bigger than the very chariots of God himself, with red glowing eyes, and their numbers were thousands, or tens of thousands. They thundered over our heads, and from our vantage point on top of the hill, seemed to be running straight for us. We could do nothing but watch - two figures of insignificance at the mercy of some unknown power.
We watched them for what seemed like seconds - or hours. Time stopped, or it sped past us, just like that herd. And then, when their numbers seemed to be dwindling, we saw a new sight in the sky.
There was a horse with a rider, both were ten times or a hundred times bigger than the cattle. They filled the sky as the horse galloped toward us head on. Its head was bent forward, its mane streaming grandly behind it, its eyes glowing blinding white. Its rider, seemingly larger than all of earth's mountains combined, had hold of a rope and was spinning it madly above his head with his right hand, his left hand grasping the mighty horse's reins. His eyes also glowed a brilliant white, and they were fixed on my brother and I as he got closer, and....
It was him. It was my dad. I'd know the shape of his face and the slope of his posture anywhere. As he passed over our heads, he looked down on both of us in a single moment that lasted an eternity, and still it was not long enough - a heartbreakingly mournful look in his glowing white eyes.
And then, he was gone. The thunder, lightening, and wind died down - not immediately, but quickly. And my brother and I just stood there. There was nothing we could do, nothing we could say.
***************************
When we left Dad's house that day, the only thing that was said between us was that we wouldn't talk about it.
I had Dad's house repaired, which cost more than it was worth. The pickup was not salvageable, but it's still on the property, parked behind the house.
I sold my house and moved into Dad's. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm hoping I'll see him again. Every day, and most nights, I walk up the hill and stare up at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
But I haven't.
And I don't know what any of this means. All I know is that the look in my father's eyes that day has haunted me, because I know he was trying to convey a message to my brother and I.
A message, or a warning.
submitted by SilentWitnessRises to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.21 09:14 BertisOkay 0001 - In The Wee Small Hours - Frank Sinatra

Hell my name is Bert and welcome to my insane journey. I have decided to embark on the adventure of listening to and dissecting every album on the list of 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. I hope this post is welcome here, as it seems there is no other discussion currently taking place, if not i will remove it and take it elsewhere. I hope that someone will join me on this journey as I discover or rediscover some of the most revered and coveted albums of all time. My goal in this exercise is to broaden my musical horizons and open my eyes to albums I would otherwise not give the time of day.
Now, without further ado, let's talk Frank Sinatra - In The Wee Small Hours.
First, let's start with some context:
In The Wee Small Hours is the 9th studio album by New Jersey born singer, actor, and producer Francis Albert Sinatra AKA Frank Sinatra. His third offering from Capitol Records, ITWSH is the solidification of the comeback era for Frank and started his string of legendary albums that cemented his legacy as one of the greatest of his era.
When he released his first album in 1946, The Voice of Frank Sinatra, his fame was already at it's peak. The so-called 'Sinatramania' swept across teenage girls of the time and it showed on the charts, rocketing his debut record to the top of the billboard charts. His single releases leading up to his second album were also peaking at the top of the charts, and the album Songs by Sinatra hit the top 10. Following his second album Columbia records saw fit to release a Christmas album (which is always a solid career move) which only lead his fan base to drift further away.
With some press negativity in his personal life, and 3 poor performing albums following the Christmas debacle, Frank was released by Columbia. This and a messy divorce led Sinatra into financial difficulties, causing him to turn to Las Vegas residency as a gig to get by. Joining the Rat Pack, Sinatra solidified his more mature stylings in his music and his personality and started the stages of a comeback.
After the release of the film From Here to Eternity, Frank signed a deal with Capitol records and started recording again, this time with a renewed sense of enthusiasm in his music. Recording two albums, Songs for Young Lovers, and Swing Easy!, Frank was definitely shooting right back into the main stream with multiple singles from both albums charting in the top 10.
However, emotional turmoil was not a stranger to Sinatra, and another messy divorce caused a significant pain on his heart. This, and his past experiences assembling album after album, lead him to build what is considered by many to be one of the first concept albums. In the Wee Small Hours.
On with the Album:
ITWSH has 16 tracks and clocks in at 48:41. Wikipedia labels it's genre as Vocal Jazz/ Traditional pop and i feel like those labels are appropriate. As I stated earlier, it is considered by many as on of the first concept albums, and by the pure definition of the term, it definitely has a concept. Which is to say, it's a break-up album. Frank clearly chose songs that all focus on the theme of loss, heartbreak, depression, failed relationships, and loneliness.
Starting with the opening track, In The Wee Small Hours of the Morning. Frank bellows about always thinking of a girl that he misses, so much so that he can't sleep. While he is singing in his trademark deep voice the strings in the background provide the necessary tension that is backed up by the other lyrics, "You'd be her's if only she would call". You can almost feel the single teardrop down his cheek as he signs the last line.
Mood Indigo, follows the theme further. Finding a more clever way of saying he is feeling blue, Sinarta is singing again about being lonely and crying over this woman who left him and feeling as if no one cares for him. Almost leading to thoughts of suicide at a point, he feels the need to tell you that you don't know how bad it feels to lose the love of this special person.
Glad to Be Unhappy changes the mood a little, coming at this from a person who is in denial. Feigning happiness at the feeling of unrequited love, calling himself a fool and feeling like the but end of the joke. All over what sounds like a cheery laid back instrumental, I feel like this adds to the denial or almost sarcastic feeling of this song.
I Get Along Without You Very Well, again follows the previous track with the sarcastic denial of his sadness. Saying that he's doing okay when every little thing reminds him of this person. Saying that he's forgotten when the only thing he can do is feel the pain of losing the love. Then during the bridge he breaks down and contemplates calling her again, but remind him self that he's doing "okay" without her.
Deep in a Dream is a briefly cheery song, where Sinatra is literally dreaming of his lost love coming back and them being happy again. Feeling the touch and love again in his dream, he admits that he still loves her to himself and to the dream girl. Suddenly he is woken by being burnt by his cigarette he was smoking when he fell asleep (that's a fire hazard for sure). His heart is broken again as he feels the loss as if it just happened.
I See Your Face Before Me is more of the same from previous tracks with a twist, as we see Frank trying to convince the girl (or maybe himself) that if she knew how much he loves her that she would instantly fall in love with him again.
Can't We Be Friends is Sinatra singing about his lack of self confidence, with him saying that he knows any girl he goes after is not romantically interested in him and only wants to be friends. (I think the last two songs prove that even Frank Sinatra could have been an incel with the power of the internet)
When Your Lover Has Gone picks up on the lack of confidence again with Frank asking what the point in having any romantic attachment is if they are always doomed to fail. Obviously the sadness in this coming from his two divorces he has experienced by this point.
What Is This Thing Called Love is Frank showing his confusion and frustration in the process of romance. Demonstrating that he doesn't understand why love can make you feel the highest heights but also the lowest lows.
Last Night When We Were Young has Sinatra fawning over the memories of teenage puppy love. When love was as simple as if you like kissing each other was enough to show your love. Again showing his confusion and frustration with how it used to be so easy and now that he is older he doesn't know how to love.
I'll Be Around is Frank hoping that the next romantic partner for this woman will not work out and him saying that he's always ready to fill in that spot in her heart. It's another case of showing that Frank hasn't moved on and can only focus on this girl.
Ill Wind is the first song on the album that has Sinatra saying that the depression that he is feeling needs to go away so he can focus on something other than his breakup. Especially saying "You're only misleading the sunshine I'm needing" and "Let me rest today" essentially meaning that he knows that his thoughts aren't healthy and he's tired of thinking them.
It Never Entered My Mind talks about how he always thought they would be together forever. He never even gave the idea of not having this person any thought at all, which I feel adds to the heartbreak of the song, although I do admit the line " Now I even have to scratch my back myself " is very silly.
Dancing in the Ceiling is pretty much a redo of the opening track, talking about being kept up at night with visions of his loved one on his ceiling. There's not much else to say about this one other than the instrumental on this one feels extra bare for some reason. Not that there has been a lot to say about the backing lines, but this is the first time I've noticed them lacking.
I'll Never Be the Same is Frank reflection on how profoundly changed he was by the experience of his relationship with this person and especially the feeling of the heartbreak. I feel like this is definitely carried over from earlier tracks and reinforcing the thoughts before the final track.
This Love of Mine feels like a very appropriate closing to this album as Frank doesn't actually come to a solid conclusion. He ends on the fact that he feels as if he will always feel love for this person and he doesn't know how he will get over it, which has been the consistent message this whole album. Going back and forth between denial and acceptance, and landing on neither. The unknown. Which is where he feels this love has gone, on and on, into the unknown.
FINAL THOUGHTS
This was the first full album I've ever listened to by Sinatra and I have to say I enjoyed it more than I thought I was going to. On my initial listen I couldn't get over the samey instrumentation on most of the album, but after a few more listens I really learned to focus on the story Frank was telling. Especially upon learning the context of the recording, I feel like I could hear him more sad than I could before.
One thing I want to touch on briefly before I give my rating is the idea of the concept album. When I first read that this was a concept album I was kind of blown away, I guess because from a modern standpoint I was looking for a deep story or something. This album definitely changed my perspective on that though, presenting instead songs that all were about the same idea, and not an over arching story.
RATING
Overall, I enjoyed my listen, but it definitely is not my favourite. I don't foresee myself coming back to this album in particular, although I do feel like I appreciate Sinatra more now than I did before.
5.5/10
What do you think about this album? I'm curious to know if my interpretations matched yours, and why you liked or disliked it more than I did. I hope to do this with every album on this list eventually, although that will obviously take a very long time. I don't have a set schedule for posting this, although I would like to do at least once a week. Next time will be #2 on the list, Elvis Presley by Elvis Presley.
Thanks,
-Bert
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2020.09.19 05:32 DesiAlexa RDT YouTube Playlist - September 19, 2020

No. Requested_by VIDEO OP's Remark
1 chimp_asagne Tumhe Jo Maine Dekha [Full Song] Main Hoon Na None
2 Almost_Deflowered Sona Kitna Sona Hai - Govinda & Karisma Kapoor - Udit N & Poornima - Hero No.1 - 90's Blockbuster None
3 chimp_asagne Full Video: YEH JO DES HAI TERA - Swades - A.R. Rahman - Shahrukh Khan, None
4 DesiAlexa Colbie Caillat - Never Gonna Let You Down (Official Video) None
5 CaptainEffective Darius Rucker - This (Official Music Video) BAD BAD BOT
6 Almost_Deflowered Hamdard Full Video Song - Ek Villain - Arijit Singh - Mithoon None
7 NagarFromBuntyPrem Nahin Samne - Taal - Hariharan, Sukhwinder Singh - A. R. Rahman - Anand Bakshi None
8 heaven_on_my_mind Kannathil Muthamittal Tamil Movie Songs - Vidai Kodu Engal Song - Madhavan - Mani Ratnam - AR Rahman None
9 wannaboolwithme Channa Mereya - Lyric Video - Ae Dil Hai Mushkil - Karan Johar - Ranbir - Anushka - Pritam - Arijit None
10 SexyDSLR Destiny's Child - Say My Name (Official Video) ye wali bhai
11 AdNo420 Main Hoon Na [Full Song] Main Hoon Na None
12 Almost_Deflowered Chithi Na Koi Sandesh with lyrics - चिठी न कोई सन्देश - Dushman - Jagjit Singh - Anand Bakshi None
13 Almost_Deflowered Punjabiyaan Di Battery - Full Song - Mere Dad Ki Maruti - Saqib Saleem, Rhea Chakraborty, Ram Kapoor None
14 Almost_Deflowered Motor - Sharry Mann (Full Video Song) - Latest Punjabi Songs 2018 - None
15 xartaddct Lyrical : Dhak Dhak Karne Laga Full Song With Lyrics - Beta - Anil Kapoor, Madhuri Dixit None
16 burnh12 Badshah - Paagal None
17 chimp_asagne Elvis Presley - There's Always Me (Audio) None
18 aaluinsonaout मादरचोद सलमान !! Salman Khan Murdabad ! Vikas gope yadav ji ! जनवा लेई रे लिहलस Madarchod salman None
19 9633dayswasted Hum Na Samjhe The - S. P. Balasubrahmanyam, Asha Bhosle - Gardish Songs - Jackie Shroff None
20 AdNo420 Kunwara - Mor Athra Saal Hoy Gelak Re - Popular Nagpuri Song 2019 - RDC Nagpuri None
21 wannaboolwithme Loituma - Ievan Polkka None
22 chimp_asagne Bryan Ferry - Slave To Love [Official] None
23 HoeYouknowme Bach Ke Rehna (Shaadi Ka Laddoo / Soundtrack Version) None
24 GumnaamFlautist Journey Song Full Audio - Piku - Amitabh Bachchan, Irrfan Khan & Deepika Padukone None
25 CaptainEffective Silence Wench, I do not wish to be horny anymore.. I just want to be Happy. None
26 wannaboolwithme Dil Sambhal Ja Zara Phir Mohabbat (Murder 2) Emraan Hashmi - Mohd Irfan, Arjit, Salim Bhat -Lyrical None
27 chimp_asagne In Dino Full Video - Life in a Metro-Kangna Ranaut,Shilpa Shetty,Konkona-Soham-Pritam None
28 Almost_Deflowered Label Black - Gupz Sehra - Latest Punjabi Songs 2016 - T-Series Apna Punjab None
29 Almost_Deflowered Cherub - Doses & Mimosas (Video) None
30 HoeYouknowme Agar Tum Mil Jao - Zeher (2005) -[HD- 1080p -BluRay] None
31 chimp_asagne Jadu Hai Nasha Hai - Bipasha & Abraham - Shreya Ghoshal & Kumar Sanu None
32 Noobchand Athdaya Kare Chhe - Full Audio Song - Love Ni Bhavai - Sachin-Jigar - Punit Gandhi & Smita Jain None
33 Almost_Deflowered System Of A Down - Chop Suey! (Official Video) None
submitted by DesiAlexa to u/DesiAlexa [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 05:30 DesiAlexa RDT YouTube Playlist - September 18, 2020

No. Requested_by VIDEO OP's Remark
1 NotLolguard BB Ki Vines- - Latika - None
2 kawaiiiiiiijay Frankie Carle - One More Tomorrow None
3 CaptainEffective Tera Mera Rishta - Mustafa Zahid - Emraan Hashmi - Shriya Saran - Awarapan [2007] None
4 Almost_Deflowered tu pyaar ka sagar hai teri ek boond ke pyaase hum..Manna Dey_Shailendra_S J_Seema 1955..a tribute None
5 NotLolguard Likhne Wale Ne Likh Daale - Lata Mangeshkar, Suresh Wadkar - Arpan 1983 Songs - Jeetendra, Reena Roy None
6 Almost_Deflowered Aaj Phir Jeene Ki Tamanna Hai (HD) - Qayamat (1983) - Smita Patil - Dharmendra - Jaya Prada None
7 Almost_Deflowered Mera Dil Bhi Kitna Pagal Hai (HD) - Madhuri Dixit - Sanjay Dutt - Saajan - 90's Hindi Love Song None
8 Noobchand Empire State Of Mind None
9 NotLolguard "Phir Se Ud Chala Full Song Rockstar" - Ranbir Kapoor None
10 NotLolguard Henna - Chitthiye Ni Dard Firaaq Valiye Leja Leja Sandeda - Lata Mangeshkar None
11 Noobchand Portugal. The Man - "Feel It Still" (Official Video) None
12 Noobchand M.I.A. - Paper Planes None
13 Noobchand Slumdog Millionaire - Latika's Theme None
14 Noobchand Kholo Kholo (Full Song) Film - Taare Zameen Par None
15 Devi-Prasad-Mishra Bhor Bhaye Panghat Pe - Zeenat Aman - Shashi Kapoor - Satyam Shivam Sundaram - Bollywood Songs None
16 Noobchand Kyon Hawa - Full Song - Veer-Zaara - Shah Rukh Khan - Preity - Yash Chopra - Lata - Sonu None
17 NotLolguard Main Aur Meri Tanhaai Aksar Yeh Baatein Karte Hain - Silsila - Shahid Rasool None
18 sharmaji Simon & Garfunkel - Mrs. Robinson (Audio) None
19 NotLolguard Jane Woh Kaise Log The - Guru Dutt, Hemant Kumar, Pyaasa Song Alexa play main aur meri tanhayi aksar ye baatein karte hain
20 NotLolguard Aye Hip Hopper - ishQ Bector ft Sunidhi Chauhan - Amruta Khanvilkar [OFFICIAL VIDEO] None
21 sharmaji Dire Straits - Why Worry [Wembley -85 ~ HD] None
22 NotLolguard Dakku Daddy - ishQ Bector [OFFICIAL HD VIDEO] None
23 NotLolguard Ek pyar ka nagma hai .. Old is Gold Hindi (Complete Song) None
24 sharmaji Yeh Shaam Mastani - Kati Patang - Rajesh Khanna & Asha Parekh - Old Hindi Song None
25 NotLolguard Yeh Chand Sa Roshan Chehra - Kashmir Ki Kali - Shammi Kapoor, Sharmila Tagore - Old Hindi Songs None
26 sharmaji Pukarta Chala Hoon Main (HD) - Mere Sanam (1965) - Asha Parekh - Biswajit Chatterjee - Mohd.Rafi None
27 sharmaji MAIN ZINDAGI KA SAATH NIBHATA CHALA GAYA None
28 9633dayswasted COLOR - Khoya Khoya Chand Khula Aasman - Mohammed Rafi - Kala Bazar - Dev Anand, Waheeda Rehman None
29 9633dayswasted Mikey McCleary - Khoya Khoya Chand Official Video - The Bartender Ye kya lode panti hai. Alexa play khoya khoya chand dev anand.
30 sharmaji Beqarar Karke Hamen Yun with lyrics - "बेक़रार करके हमें" के बोल - Hemant Kumar - Bees Saal Baad None
31 sharmaji Chalte Chalte Yun Hi Koi - Pakeezah (1972) - Meena Kumari, Kamal Kapoor - Filmi Gaane None
32 NotLolguard Avril Lavigne - I'm With You (Video) None
33 kawaiiiiiiijay Simon & Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water (Audio) None
34 chimp_asagne Sonny Rhodes - The Ballad Of Serenity(Extended) None
35 HoeYouknowme Panchhi Banoo Udti Phiroon - Lata Mangeshkar, Nargis, Chori Chori Song None
36 HoeYouknowme Chithi Na Koi Sandesh with lyrics - चिठी न कोई सन्देश - Dushman - Jagjit Singh - Anand Bakshi None
37 kawaiiiiiiijay Childish Gambino - Redbone (Official Audio) None
38 burnh12 Lyrical: Apna Har Din Aise Jiyo - Golmaal 3 - Ajay Devgan, Kareena Kapoor None
39 NotLolguard Achha To Hum Chalte Hain - Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar - Aan Milo Sajna 1970 Songs- Asha Parekh None
40 aaluinsonaout 'Billo Rani' Full Song - Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal -John Abraham - Anand Raaj Anand, Richa Sharma None
41 aaluinsonaout Dilli Se Hu Bc दिल्ली से Full Official Video StarBoyLoc - Jaymeet - Gskillz - Bobby Parki None
42 kawaiiiiiiijay Tame Impala - Let It Happen (Official Video) None
43 xartaddct Ho Nahin Sakta Full Video Song - Diljale - Udit Narayan - Ajay Devgn, Sonali Bendre None
44 aaluinsonaout Phillip Phillips - Gone, Gone, Gone None
45 heaven_on_my_mind Ed Sheeran - Perfect (Official Music Video) None
46 aaluinsonaout Ed Sheeran - Can't Help Falling In Love (Elvis All Star Tribute 2019) None
47 PM-ME-A-LITTLE-LOVE Elvis Presley - Can't Help Falling In Love (Audio) None
48 aaluinsonaout Jiya Tu Bihar Ke Lala Full Video Song - Gangs Of Wasseypur - Manoj Bajpai, Huma Qureshi and Others None
49 HoeYouknowme O Piya - Falguni Pathak - Nainee Saxena None
50 Almost_Deflowered Queen - I Want To Break Free (Official Video) None
51 MyDesign123 Scene Kya Hai - Nucleya x DIVINE None
52 Almost_Deflowered Angarey Bane Sholay Feat. Gunda_Spoof None
53 Almost_Deflowered Humka Peeni Hai [Full Song] Dabangg - Salman Khan, Sonakshi Sinha None
54 Almost_Deflowered Dhinchak Pooja - Daaru (Official Music Video) None
55 Almost_Deflowered Daru Badnaam - Kamal Kahlon & Param Singh - Official Video - Pratik Studio - Latest Punjabi Songs None
56 ILoveYourSOsSister Meghan Trainor - All About That Bass None
57 aaluinsonaout Maula Mere Le Le Meri Jaan - Full Song - Shah Rukh Khan - Chak De India - Krishna - Salim Merchant None
submitted by DesiAlexa to u/DesiAlexa [link] [comments]


2020.09.17 09:04 askgamblers-official 40 Best Songs of All Times About Poker, Dice, Cards and Addiction

40. Go Down Gamblin’ - Blood Sweat and Tears

Released in 1971, Go Down Gamblin’ by Blood Sweat and Tears is a song describing a gambler who is “born a natural loser.” He never wins, no matter what game he plays, but, he doesn’t feel like a loser. As the song goes – “Cause I've been called a natural lover by that lady over there, Honey, I'm just a natural gambler but I try to do my share.”

39. Gambler - Madonna

Gambler is a song written and played by Madonna, made for the film Vision Quest. Although the song reached the top 10 in the charts of the UK, Australia, Belgium, Ireland, Netherlands, and Norway, Madonna performed it only once on her 1985 The Virgin Tour. It’s a catchy song, we suggest you play it as you spin the reels of some of your favourite retro online slots.

38. The House of the Rising Sun - The Animals

Our list wouldn’t be complete without the 1964 hit song - The House of the Rising Sun by The Animals. Everybody knows the famous lines ”My mother, she was a tailor, sewed these new blue jeans, my father was a gamblin' man way down in New Orleans.” This single had a major success and made it to the top 10 songs on mainstream rock radio stations in the USA. Likewise, the hit was featured in the video game Guitar Hero Live.

37. The Winner Takes It All - ABBA

Whether we admit it or not, we all love at least some songs played by the very well-known Swedish pop group, ABBA. According to some sources, Bjorn Ulvaeus wrote the 1980 hit song The Winner Takes It All which was inspired by his divorce to his fellow band member, Agnetha Fältskog. The winner takes it all is a sort of a comparison to a divorce (especially the part ”I've played all my cards and that's what you've done too, nothing more to say, no more ace to play”), where one of them is the winner and the other one is left with nothing. And things are just the same when it comes to gambling, so we’ve decided to put the song on our list.

36. Shape of my Heart - Sting

We’re all aware of the fact that our gambling behaviour can be influenced by certain types of music and that's because online gambling and music go hand in hand. So, we suggest you start playing your preferred games with one of everyone’s favourite songs by Sting called The Shape of my Heart. It was released in 1993 and used for the end credits of the film Léon. In one of his interviews, Sting explained that the lyrics of the song tell the story of a card player who places bets not in order to win but to figure out something that’s been bothering him - “some kind of scientific, almost religious law.”

35. All I Wanna Do Is Play Cards - Corb Lund

Well, I guess I really oughta be makin up songs but all I wanna do is play cards. I know it's dumb and sick and wrong but all I wanna do is play cards. Got the studio booked in Tennessee, and my record producer's callin me, the tape will roll in just three weeks and all I wanna do is play cards.” Does it sound familiar? It’s a 2005 hit by Corb Lund called All I Wanna Do Is Play Cards, once you hear it you’ll be playing it on repeat.

34. Gambling Man - The Overtones

When you’re falling in love, it’s perfectly normal to feel like you want to gamble everything just to attract that person’s attention to notice you and love you back. Well, Gambling Man is a lively 2010 song that tells a story of a guy fascinated with his love, so he places all his bets on her, as the song goes - “I played my hand, I rolled the dice, now I'm paying for my sins, I got some bad addiction.” This time, he feels that this love affair is different from any other – “Baby, it's you, yeah, yeah, that's right.” The song was released in 2010 and has been popular ever since.

33. Poker Face - Lady Gaga

Although the Poker Face song is more about the game of romance rather than the game of poker, the catchy refrain that starts with “Can't read my, no he can't read my poker face” kinda reminds us of winning at the tables, so we couldn’t skip it this time. Released in 2008, the song achieved worldwide success, topping the charts in the USA, the UK, Australia, Canada and several European countries.

32. Little Queen of Spades - Robert Johnson

Moving on to the Little Queen of Spades, a song title by the American blues musician Robert Johnson who recorded the song in 1937 and first released it in 1938. The first version of this gambling-themed song has a playing time of 2:11, whereas the second one lasts 4s longer (2:15), and is considered an alternate take and first appeared on Johnson's album The Complete Recordings, in 1990.

31. Train of Consequences - Megadeth

Another great song Train of Consequences is the title created by Megadeth, released as the first single from their sixth studio album Youthanasia in 1994. The song was later included on their compilation albums and its music video was the 26th most played video on MTV. There’s this part of the song “No horse ever ran as fast as the money that you bet, I'm blowing on my cards and I play them to my chest” – which is about a person’s gambling problem, who realises something’s wrong with this lifestyle, but it still hunts him down. Could be just the thrill, but he just can’t stop playing.

30. Gambler - Whitesnake

Released on the album Slide It In (1984) and appearing on the compilation album Gold (2006), Gambler is the song by the British hard rock band Whitesnake. These words may sound familiar - “No fame or fortune, no luck of the draw, when I dance with the Queen of Hearts, a jack of all trades, a loser in love, it's tearing my soul apart”. And in case you’ve never heard it, we think you should give it a shot, the chances are you’re going to love it!

29. Gambling Man - Woody Guthrie

Now here’s one single from 1957 - Gamblin' Man. The song was taped live at the London Palladium and published as a double A side, with Puttin' On the Style. Reaching #1 in the UK Singles Chart in the summer 1957, it was “the last UK number 1 to be released on 78 rpm format only, as 7' vinyl had become the norm by this time.” Written by Woody Guthrie and Donegan, this gambling themed song was produced by Alan Freeman and Michael Barclay.

28. Roll of the Dice - Bruce Springsteen

According to Songfacts, Roll of the Dice was the first Springsteen’s song he didn’t write by himself. In fact, E Street Band’s pianist Roy Bittan helped with the music, while Springsteen was in charge of the lyrics, starting with – “Well I've been a losin' gambler, just throwin' snake eyes, Love ain't got me downhearted. I know up around the corner lies, My fool's paradise in just another roll of the dice.” After he broke up the E Street Band in October 1989, Springsteen wrote lyrics for the Roll of the Dice (with two other songs) and liked them to the point where he began writing and recording more songs.

27. Queen of Diamonds - Tom Odell

Here’s one song about a gambling fanatic who’s trying to satisfy his own addiction but also someone else, hoping it’s going to save him. Released in 2018, Queen of Diamonds is Tom Odell’s song from the album Jubilee Road, based on the local characters that inspired this British songwriter to include the whisky-soaked gamblers who regularly visited one betting shop.

26. The Angel and the Gambler - Iron Maiden

Now, this song may divide Iron Maiden fans and it’s most probably because of its repetitive lyrics that can be a bit annoying. The release we’re talking about is The Angel and the Gambler. Truth be told, the melody in general is very catchy and, even a bit similar to The Who in some moments. As the song was released in 1998 while Blaze Bayley was its frontmen, it’s missing the well-known high-pitch vocals from Bruce Dickinson.

25. Ramblin' Gamblin Man - Bob Seger

We’re moving on to a rock single from 1978 - Ramblin' Gamblin Man by Bob Seger. The author meets an old acquaintance, a professional gambler who happens to be a swagger. As such, he attracts people’s attention whenever he bets. Putting so much of his faith in the cards (rather than in people), he walks away every time, just before avoiding loss. Along the way, the narrator realises that, if you scratch beneath the surface, you’ll find he’s a very cynical man, who will never change.
Another gambling-themed song worth mentioning by Bob Seger is Still The Same.

24. Blow Up The Pokies - The Whitlams

Blow up the Pokies is the next song on our list, played by The Whitlams. It is the second single by the group from their 4th studio album, Love This City. Released in the year 2000, the song became a hit and made it to number 21 on the ARIA Singles Chart. According to several resources, the lyrics written by singer Tim Freedman were inspired by the destruction he saw in original Whitlams bassist Andy Lewis's life, due to his gambling addiction.

23. A Good Run of Bad Luck - Clint Black

Now here’s one 1994-song packed with gambling-related terms. As you listen to A Good Run of Bad Luck, recorded by American music artist Clint Black, you'll have a bit of fun as you try identifying what all these gambling terms mean. The song is a bit fast and is about falling in love by using gambling metaphors. The main character is willing to spend a lot of money to win his special lady over and, although he has had a period of bad luck, he is not giving up – “I've been to the table, and I've lost it all before, I'm willin' and able, always comin' back for more.

22. When You’re Hot, You’re Hot - Jerry Reed

Jerry Reed won a Grammy for the song When You’re Hot, You’re Hot which was released in 1971. Most people remember it as it was a major hit, ranked as number 1 in the country charts, also making its way up the Pop Top 40. It’s an enjoyable novelty song about the ups and downs of the gambling life, about one’s winning streak caught in an illegal game of Crap.
Country star Jerry Reed also came up with a version The Uptown Poker Club in 1973.

21. Lawyers, Guns and Money - Warren Zevon

Next one up - Lawyers, Guns and Money is a song by Warren Zevon, the closing track on his album Excitable Boy, released in 1978. An edited version of this song was distributed as a single and found itself on the A Quiet Normal Life best of compilation on the CD and LP. The song goes like this - “I went home with a waitress the way I always do, how was I to know she was with the russians, too? I was gambling in Havana, I took a little risk Send lawyers, guns, and money Dad, get me out of this, hiyah!

20. The Lottery Song - Harry Nilsson

According to the man in the 1972 pop-rock song The Lottery Song by Harry Nilsson, there's more than one way to get to Vegas. Addressing his lover, the narrator mentions a few different options for buying a ticket and going to Sin City – “We could win the lottery we could go to Vegas,” and “We could wait till summer, we could save our money” as well as “We could make a record, sell a lot of copies, we could play Las Vegas.”

19. Casino Queen - Wilco

Now here’s one black-humoured gambling-themed song, released in 1995 and titled after a casino. Featuring a dirty electric guitar, Casino Queen was composed by an American songwriter, Jeff Tweedy, who wrote this song after playing a game in a riverboat casino accompanied by his dad. Inspired by the event, the author wrote: “Casino Queen my lord you're mean, I've been gambling like a fiend on your tables so green.

18. Have a Lucky Day - Morphine

Another song on our list that you simply must check out starts like this: “I feel lucky, I just feel that way, I'm on a bus to Atlantic City later on today. Now I'm sitting at a blackjack table and swear to God the dealer has a tag says, "Mabel." Hit me, hit me! I smile at Mabel, soon they're bringing complimentary drinks to the table.” Check it out yourself - it’s called Have a Lucky Day by Morphine.

17. Kentucky Gambler - Merle Haggard

Written by Dolly Parton and released in 1974, Merle Haggard’s Kentucky Gambler is another song on our ultimate gambling playlist that you should pay attention to. It’s about a miner from Kentucky who leaves his family to gamble, under the bright lights of Reno. Unsurprisingly, his winning streak comes to an end, and he loses all his winnings. All broke, he decided to return back home only when he arrived, he found out his wife was involved with someone else.

16. The Jack - AC/DC

The next song on our list will give you some adrenaline boost, for sure. It goes like this - “She gave me the queen, she gave me the king, she was wheelin' and dealin', just doin' her thing, she was holdin' a pair, but I had to try…” Sounds familiar? This song from the 1975s is called The Jack and is played by AC/DC and there’s no way you can skip it.

15. Blackjack - Ray Charles

Moving on to something a bit different - a melody that blackjack lovers can listen to as they play is Ray Charles’ Blackjack. Apart from being a good quality song from 1955, it carries an important message with an emphasis on how brutal the game of blackjack can be. Some sources say that Ray Charles wrote it after beating T-Bone Walker at a blackjack game session.
Yet another Ray Charles’ famous song about gambling is called a Losing Hand.

14. Ooh Las Vegas - Gram Parson

Ooh, Las Vegas, ain't no place for a poor boy like me”... is a song-into for Ooh Las Vegas which was written by Gram Parsons and Ric Grech. It was first released by Gram Parsons with Emmylou Harris in 1974. Playing this song would be perfect for the beginning of the road trip (i.e. to Las Vegas), especially if you have the energy to sing along.

13. The Stranger - Leonard Cohen

Published in 1968 and performed by Leonard Cohen, The Stranger appears in the The Ernie Game movie about a man released from a mental asylum. More appropriately, it is the perfect opening song in the 1971 Western McCabe & Mrs Miller, in which Warren Beatty plays a gambler. As you listen to this song (without watching the movie), it makes you see fascinating images of card games, smoky dreams, and concepts of risk versus safety.

12. Desperado - Eagles

Written by Glen Frey and Don Henley, Desperado song is one of The Eagles’ greatest hits from their 1973 album of the same name. The song features a classic tune while the ballad tells the story of a lone wolf imprisoned by his loneliness. As for the lyrics, they have loads of card references mentioning the queen of diamonds, the queen of hearts, and so on.

11. Huck's Tune - Bob Dylan

The next song on our list is about the risks of poker, money, and relationships, which are precisely what the movie Lucky You is all about. Does it ring a bell? That’s right, this 2007 song is called Huck’s Tune and is performed by Bob Dylan. Each of us can all relate to lines "You push it all in, and you've no chance to win, you play 'em on down to the end." Play the song and you’ll enjoy more than 4 amazing minutes of Bob Dylan.
Likewise, Bob Dylan recorded Rambling, Gambling Willie and Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts, both excellent and both inspired by gambling.

10. Four Little Diamonds - Electric Light Orchestra

A song by the British rock band Electric Light Orchestra Four Little Diamonds was released in 1983 and found itself on the album Secret Messages. The single wasn’t so popular in the US, being only 2 weeks on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, at number 86, and number 84 in the UK. This song refers to the singer’s cheating lover who tricked him out of a ring which had 'four little diamonds' on it.

9. You Can't Beat The House - Mark Knopfler

Moving on to our next choice for the day, You Can’t Beat the House. It’s the third song on the Get Lucky studio album released in 2009 by British singer-songwriter and guitarist Mark Knopfler. The album and the songs received favorable reviews with the album reaching the top three positions on album charts in Denmark, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Norway, and Poland. The singer’s divine voice combined with beautiful music and lyrics goes like this – “You can't bear the house, you can't bear the house, tell the man somebody, you can't beat the house.

8. Deck of Cards - Don Williams

Deck of Cards is a recitation song that tells the story of a soldier who gets caught while playing cards in church and then faces a sentence from a superior officer. The soldier defends his case, explaining he wasn't about to deal a hand of poker, but was rather confirming his faith with the cards. Performed by T. Texas Tyler, the song managed to become a major hit in the 1940s and 1950s. Also, Wink Martindale had an even bigger hit with his 1959 cover, with a successful version by Don Williams featuring Tex Ritter and Buddy Cole.

7. Gambler’s Blues - B.B. King

First recording of the song Gambler’s Blues by B.B. King was in 1966, and it was released in 1967. The song appears on the album Back in the Alley (1970). Some say gambling and blues go hand in hand, so if you (gambling fans) haven’t heard it, listen and see for yourself.

6. Tumbling Dice - Rolling Stones

One of our favourite songs on the list is Tumbling Dice, written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. It tells the story of a gambler who can’t remain faithful to any woman. Being released in the 1970s and featuring a blues boogie-woogie rhythm, the song was and still is one of the greatest singles of all time.
Rolling Stones also recorded Casino Boogie, and it’s from their 1972 album, Exile on Main St.

5. Luck Be A Lady - Frank Sinatra

The next song on our list is about a gambler who hopes that he will win a bet, the outcome of which will decide whether he is able to save his relationship with the girl of his dreams. You probably know what song we’re talking about; it’s called Luck be a Lady released in 1965 and performed by one of the most popular musical artists - Frank Sinatra.

4. Deal - Grateful Dead

Next one up is the song Deal. It was first performed by the Grateful Dead in 1971, as a regular part of the repertoire through their 1970's tour. Although being less common to the fans during the 1990s, the band continued to perform it. The singer opens with the message: “Since it cost a lot to win and even more to lose you and me bound to spend some time wondering what to choose,” that later kicks off with a chorus: “Don't let your deal go down...
Loser is another song first performed by the Grateful Dead in 1971 as well, heavily played during 1971 and 1972.

3. Ace of Spades - Motörhead

Ok, the next song is loaded with some great gambling verses like "The pleasure is to play, makes no difference what you say, I don't share your greed, the only card I need is the Ace of Spades" will definitely set you in the right mood for hitting some winning combinations. Released in 1980, the song was inspired by slot machines that the lead singer Ian Fraser “Lemmy” Kilmister played in London pubs.

2. Viva Las Vegas - Elvis

As soon as you start playing the second song from our playlist “Viva Las Vegas,” you’ll probably picture a huge casino and a great gaming atmosphere. Performed by the legendary Elvis Presley, the 1964-released song brings the glamour of the city, and its beat will get you in the mood for some serious gameplay. This song was written for the movie of the same name starring Elvis Presley, in which he plays a race car driver waiting tables at a hotel to pay off a debt. There’s this famous scene when he performs this song at the talent competition alongside many showgirls.

1. The Gambler - Kenny Rogers

Performed by the legendary country singer Kenny Rogers, The Gambler song is our number 1 - it's full of some betting advice that are relevant today, even though it was released more than 40 years ago, in 1978. Here’s how it goes… “If you're gonna play the game, boy you gotta learn to play it right, you've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.” These classic chorus lines were told from the first-person perspective inspired by a conversation the author had with an experienced poker player on a train. Written in the form of poker metaphors, Schlitz wrote the tune in honor of his late father.
Johnny Cash is also among other musicians who recorded The Gambler in 1978, on Gone Girl.

What do you think? Which one is your favourite?

submitted by askgamblers-official to onlinegambling [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 21:37 hecccccccccc Weekly attempt

How To Leave Town by Car Seat Headrest
The Ending of Dramamine [Verse 1] drunk’s face breaks into sweat As his friend falls under the wheels But headlights don't flinch And engine doesn't stutter Oh yeah Think about myself I think Care care only other fears too stupid to mention ending "Dramamine" scared Degnan way that you all see me That's who am, but not need be Moving my joke body Through cold November night Haha Hate yourself Do hate yourself? tolerate wish was someone else it seems know I'll ripped in heaven [Chorus] young, thin had money and loved then came shabba de bop shibby day, oh Shabba a name for what I’m feeling Then can start work on meaning Speaking 2] In crowded room will Hear your own opinion voiced You sit back without word Watch spread or fall silent If it's late speak could get out bed Find pencil write Leave find moment is gone To say figured problem I'd been thinking earlier Hey! Can hear now? Am alone futile efforts? 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Your parents parents, well, let's We Skippy haven't spoken we’re asleep) Dust Really Titanic? cool having artist unreleased unfinished tossed casually another average part their Since, obviously, same time, though, though artists share freely say, "in know" wouldn't larger audience they're creating placed context 2005 2010 Bad.jpeg Worse.jpeg Deg's Summer Jam NSFW Icarus signs s's Car seat headrest: guitar shitty front car feet fast food burger wrappers empty Gatorade bottles depressing realize you've hold together. least, normal sense. honest, matter. 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submitted by hecccccccccc to OneWordBan [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 13:52 makeitlovely- Daily song discussion 24: Robbers

Hope everyone is doing well! Today's song is Robbers.
So this is exactly what it sounds like (see original post here). I'll try to post a new song every day and we can discuss anything and everything to do with the song. You can talk about the background of the song, it’s meaning and influences, your own interpretation, your favourite part, links to best live performances, the video clip, your personal stories, self-references (I am sure there are lots of newer fans who don’t know all of these), what you thought when you first heard it? Even song recommendations (if you like this song you might like..) You get the idea!
Day 24:
Track title: Robbers
Album: Self-titled
Release date: September 2, 2013
Music Video: https://youtu.be/Iyy3YOpxL2k
Video description:
Matty: "Robbers’ was originally inspired by my love of the Quentin Tarantino film True Romance, the story of an Elvis-obsessed loner who falls in love and marries a prostitute. In the movie, the couple run away to California after killing her pimp and stealing his drugs to start a new life financed by a once in a lifetime drug deal. It’s the sentiment behind the film that appeals to me, the hopelessly romantic notion that two people can meet and instantly fall in love, an escape story where love is the highest law and conquers all against the odds. Characters like Bonnie and Clyde always appealed to me as a teenager – couples so intoxicated with one another that they fear nothing in the pursuit of the realization of each other, actions fueled by blind unconditional love. ‘Robbers’ is an ode to those relationships. The type of relationship all humans long for. All or nothing. This video is about when love makes two people feel they are the centre of the universe."
Lyrics:
She had a face straight out a magazine
God only knows but you'll never leave her
Her balaclava is starting to chafe
And when she gets his gun, he's begging, "Babe, stay, stay, stay"
"I'll give you one more time
We'll give you one more fight
Said one more line
Will I know you?"

Now if you never shoot, you'll never know
And if you never eat, you'll never grow
You've got a pretty kind of dirty face
And when she's leaving your home she's begging you to stay, stay, stay, stay, stay
"I'll give you one more time
We'll give you one more fight
Said one more line
There'll be a riot, 'cause I know you"

Well now that you've got your gun
It's much harder now the police have come
And I'll shoot him if it's what you ask
But if you'd just take off your mask
You'd find out everything's gone wrong
Now everybody's dead
And they're driving past my old school
And he's got his gun, he's got his suit on
She says, "Babe, you look so cool
You look so cool, you look so cool
You look so cool, you look so cool
You look so cool"
('Cause I know you)

*all info taken off Genius.com
submitted by makeitlovely- to the1975 [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 09:51 GooglyEyesMcGee If people didn't hate teenage girls and their interests, more people would've listened to One Direction.

I am very possibly biased as I've always loved to jam to the music (Yes, even What Makes You Beautiful. It slaps.).
My evidence is that there have been times where their songs, especially their newer stuff comes on, and people in my vicinity (in the car, for example) who do not listen to One Direction actually enjoy the music. Same goes for the 1D member's solo music. But when I say "Siri, play One Direction", people groan.
If we look back at the first British Invasion and examine the Beatles... the conclusion is that without the love that younger women (teen girls and early 20s), they wouldn't have half of the legacy that they do now. The reporters that talked about them said things like: "Britain's way out Beatles, equipped with rag mop hairdos and guitars, invaded the colonies today. Thousands of delirious teen-aged native girls paid them wild tribal homage when they landed at Kennedy airport."
And before you say: "the Beatles had talent though" or some stupid stuff like that... The One Direction boys individually qualified for an internationally watched singing competition. If I had to listen to a Paul McCartney vs. Zayn Malik riff-off... well, I think I know who'd win.
And you might say "the boys are good at singing, but the songs totally sucked. Bad lyrics."
Let's look at some Beatles lyrics, shall we?:
"I am he as you are he as you are me And we are all together" (I am The Walrus)
"They say it's your birthday It's my birthday too, yeah They say it's your birthday We're gonna have a good time I'm glad it's your birthday Happy birthday to you" (Birthday)
"Number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number" (Revolution 9)
"Well she was just 17, if you know what I mean" (I Saw Her Standing There)(I'm sorry but what?? John Lennon wrote that when he was 23.)
In conclusion, Little Black Dress is a jam and if you didn't think you were better than teenage girls (who also chose Elvis btw) then you would admit it.
Edit: I like the Beatles too, this isn’t about them. It’s just an example of how people shit on them because they were loved by teen girls.
submitted by GooglyEyesMcGee to unpopularopinion [link] [comments]


2020.08.31 10:59 NSIMods August 31st, 2020: HyperObscura Interview (Part 1 of 2)

Due to the number of questions HyperObscura received from the community, the interview exceeded reddit's character limit, and will be split into two parts! The questions from the NSI team will be in this post, and the community questions will be included in the second. You can read part two here.
Tell us a little about yourself.
Hello World! I’m Tor, but you can call me the Wolf (no seriously, it’s totally legit, my last name literally translated is the Wolf). I’m 37, from Norway, and work as a C# programmer / Unity3D Developer. I love horror, sci fi, games, and my family (in no particular order).
A wolf in writer's clothing, eh? So, when did you first become interested in horror?
I believe my first encounter with horror was sneaking up to watch Alien back when I was still in elementary school. I was immediately hooked. H.R.Giger conjures such fantastic, grotesque, otherworldly imagery, and the design of the Alien haunted my dreams for months.
I was also an avid collector of every Conan the Barbarian comic I could get my hands on. While not technically horror, Robert E.Howard’s world is dark, gritty, and filled with monsters, both literal and otherwise, and I spent countless hours daydreaming about swinging swords in the Hyborian Age, chopping heads off of drooling monsters, instead of doing my homework.
Was there a specific moment you knew you wanted to write in that genre?
I was about eleven-twelve. I borrowed a horror anthology from the school library. And never returned it (I still have it).
I don’t know, the stories, the scares, the frights, the wonderful dark twists, just spoke to me like no other genre had done before (or since). I would read the book front to back every day for months, before I finally attempted to write something of my own. It was crappy. Downright horrible (in all the wrong ways). But that’s where it all started.
You've piqued our curiosity! Do you remember what anthology it was?
I do indeed. It was a Norwegian anthology, Grøss - Noveller for Ungdom (which loosely translated would be something like “Horror - Short Stories for Young Adults”. There were some very fine stories in there, some very weird stories in there, and some extremely disturbing stories in there.
My favorite story in the anthology is “En del av meg selv” (“A Part of Myself”) by Sigmund Doksum. A young boy, bullied and broken, vomits up his living hatred, leaving the rest of the kids having to deal with it.
Where do you find inspiration? Have real life experiences ever made their way into your work?
I am fairly hyper-imaginative. I don’t know if that’s a word, but for me it certainly explains the random birthing of my story ideas. Any word, phrase, sentence, seemingly mundane everyday activity, chore, sound, or notion, can wriggle its way into my mind and leave an imprint that will sooner or later morph into a story. Most are bad, some are good, but they’re all worth exploring just to get them out of my head.
As for true real life experiences, any story of mine involving sleep paralysis, car accidents, tunnels, hotels, and people falling to their death, are inspired by stuff that’s happened to me, or someone close to me.
How did you discover NoSleep? What prompted you to begin writing for it?
I used to read creepypastas before going to sleep (as is the age-old tradition), and chanced upon a story aptly named Autopilot. It was featured on some shady website, but linked back to NoSleep, and the moment I opened reddit, my phone glitched out and died. I took that as a sign, and spent the next month or two falling ever deeper into the rabbit hole that is NoSleep.
After a while I felt a familiar itch, and several ideas started heaping up in the old noggin’. One fateful evening (probably dark and stormy) I sat down and wrote my very first NoSleep-story, One-One-Eight. It amassed an amazing twenty upvotes, massive for me at the time, and I haven’t looked back since.
What NoSleep stories and/or authors have had the strongest impact on you?
I’ve been dreading this question, because there’s just so many, and I don’t want to leave anyone hanging.
But here goes.
We have the classics of course; u/NeonTempo, u/The_Dalek_Emperor, u/Elias_Witherow, u/GasStationJack, u/iia, u/1000Vultures, u/theworldisgrim, u/ConeyIsland-Queen, and u/manen_lyset, have all had a deep and lasting impact on me, and I follow their careers outside of NoSleep like some kind of weird (but lovable) stalker.
As for contemporaries, the list is long and dark and deep, and I keep adding new names to it on a near weekly basis. Everyone over at TheCrypticCompendium deserves a mention of course, but a special Norwegian Wolf award goes out to u/peculi_dar, u/spookyChorror, u/Grand_Theft_Motto, u/Max-Voynich, u/CommonGrackle, u/samhaysom, u/NocturnalNanny, u/hercreation and ByfelsDisciple. Not only are they awesome people, but I’m in awe of their talent as well.
Other amazing authors, in no particular order: u/youshallnotpass121, u/nslewis, u/EaPAtbp, u/NickBotic, u/Scott_Savino, u/nmwrites, u/RichardSaxon, u/girl_from_the_crypt, u/BunnyB03, u/Verastahl, u/Dopabeane, u/BlairDaniels, u/deathbyproxy, u/HeadOfSpectre, u/fainting--goat, u/Maliagirl1314, u/Beretta_Vough, u/donotdisturbpls.
If you’re not on this list, but deserve to be, please forward your complaint to u/NocturnalNanny‘s inbox.
As for stories, you can’t go wrong with Borrasca and the Left/Right Game. I keep revisiting these absolute classics, and there’s just so many lessons in storytelling, world building, and character development to be devoured in these magnificent tales.
For more recent scares and spooks I’ve found myself thoroughly enjoying the strange inheritance of a haunted house, the bone-chilling tale of the Little Red, the tantalizing allure of the Purgatory Game, the eerie call of LICKETYSPLIT, and the tear-jerkingly awesome Maria on the Moon.
What is the most terrifying thing you have personally experienced?
When I was seven or eight I had a day off school. My sister was in middle/high school, my mom and dad were at work, and my younger brother was in daycare still, so my grandfather who lived next door would pop in every once in a while to look after me. After a while I got bored, so I called a friend and asked him to come over. We played around for a few hours, before we decided to visit my grandfather on the off chance that we could score some sweets.
But we couldn’t find him.
We searched his apartment room for room, but there was just no trace of him. Then I glanced out the window at the very back of the living room (it was a small window, fairly high up on the wall, so I had to climb up on a chair to reach it), and I saw him...lying on the ground.
We figured he was just joking around (he’d often do that, play games with us, prank us), so we ran outside to play with him, stopping abruptly in our tracks when I noticed the pool of blood around his head. Turns out he’d fallen off the ladder when he was cleaning the gutters, and smashed his head open on a rock. Probably died instantly. I can still remember his dead eyes staring at me, a loose skin-flap hanging down from his forehead, and the terrible depths of the pond of blood.
I called my mom, and the paramedics came shortly after, but there was nothing to do. He was long gone.
We're so incredibly sorry for your loss; that's unimaginably painful, tragic, and frightening to go through, particularly at such a young age. <3 You mentioned family being one of the most important things to you, which is an element that shines through brilliantly within your writing. Has your own family influenced your work? Do any of them read your writing? If so, what are their thoughts, especially on the often twisted family dynamics?
I think I, like many writers - and indeed artists in general - pick up subtle influences and inspiration subconsciously all the time, so I am pretty sure I’ve based at the very least some aspects of a character on friends and family, but never to such a degree that you could easily tell it was them.
My family reads anything I put out in print, and sometimes the odd story on reddit. They’re generally very supportive, but they do ask me some very investigative questions when they recognize even the tiniest detail or character trait from real life.
What are some of your biggest influences from media?
Oof, this is a tough one. I find influences everywhere, in music, in literature, in movies, so I probably won’t have time or space to list them all. I’ll try to shorten the list to a very notable few though, but honestly, this might be the hardest question I’ll have to answer.
Music: Music is love, music is life. I often write or brainstorm while listening to music. My username came from music. I have a fair share of stories that are directly inspired by certain artists or bands. Mdlosci and GROZA are album titles by the polish black metal band Mgla. The Day I tried to Live is obviously inspired by Soundgarden (as is my username -- albeit a little more explanation is required for that one). Fishing for Fishies was inspired by the song with the same name by King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard. In I was Born Blind, but in my Dreams I Can See, I borrow lyrics from Godspeed! You Black Emperor and Dillinger Escape Plan to spice up the eeriness of the dream sequences.
Literature: I draw inspiration from a lot of authors, but primarily Neil Gaiman, Stephen King, Clive Barker, H.P.Lovecraft, E.A.Poe, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Robert Rankin, Robert Anton Wilson, David Foster Wallace, Alan Moore, William S.Burroughs, and Garth Ennis to name a few.
Movies: Man, this particular list would be really long if I were to include everything. I’ve been collecting movies since my teenage years, and since I’m especially susceptible to visuals, I’m fairly (69%) certain most of my influences come from films and series.
David Cronenberg is perhaps the most notable mention here. Videodrome is among my all time favorite experiences, and I still find myself inexplicably disturbed when I rewatch the movie. Dead Ringers, eXistenZ, and Naked Lunch are other Cronenberg pieces I thoroughly enjoy.
David Lynch is another major source of inspiration. I grew up with Twin Peaks, and the small town soap opera setting combined with all the surreal, hellish shit going kept me glued to the screen. I think Lynch’s influences shines through in my stories whenever there’s something very surreal or absurd going on, and I have quite a lot of that happening!
X-Files. Man, X-Files might be my favorite thing ever. I’ve watched every season ten times over, and sure, there’s a notable dip of quality in the later seasons (X-Files just isn’t X-Files without Fox Mulder), but I love and cherish each and every episode. Farmer Ray’s (and by extension, Fletcher County’s) narrative approach was inspired by the way X-Files shaped their seasons, with an overarching plot sprinkled with lovable “Monster of the Week”-episodes. Fight the Future!
Like I said, I could go on forever, so I’ll just drop a list of other stuff that have shaped me in some way or another as a storyteller, and leave it at that.
The Thing (the ‘82 adaption, and indeed, just about anything by John Carpenter), Alien (every installation except the vs. Predator abominations (yes, even the third and fourth, get it over it)), anything by Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, Haunting of Hill House, Supernatural, Banshee, Marianne, Westworld, all spaghetti westerns ever made, anything starring Bruce Lee, Giallo Cinema in general, and man, look, just send me a DM, and we can talk about my cinematic influences for months.
We can definitely see those bizarre, surreal influences in your work! Other than writing, what are some of your hobbies? What other creative mediums do you enjoy?
I love making my own silly little video games. Having a Bachelor in Game Development, and a love for programming in general, I can spend hours creating weird mashups/hybrids of existing games. How about a MineSweepeDungeon Crawler-hybrid? Or a Basketball/Archery-mashup?
You know you want them!
Do you ever explore writing other genres besides horror? If so, what other styles of writing? Which do you prefer?
Being a huge fan of Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams and Robert Rankin, I love writing surreal/absurdist comical hybrids, particularly HorroComedy (as demonstrated in my Farmer Ray-series) and Detective NoiComedy.
Surrealism in general is also something I thoroughly enjoy, and I can spend hours drabbling incomprehensible word vomits that really go nowhere, but that scratches that itch when I can’t find something sensible to write about.
Sometimes though, the vomit turns into something almost readable, examples of this being The Curious Case of Baby Jeanie, and In the House Without Windows and Doors you can wait out the Apocalypse.
Many of your stories involve extremely well-done gruesome gore and vivid death or torture scenes. Do you consider your writing to fall within the "Splatterpunk" horror subgenre?
I’ve definitely found myself falling into splatterpunk from time to time, but almost never consciously. I’m a massive fan of the genre though, and I love trying to portray the most gruesome and horrendous scenery - be it violent dismemberment, brutal deaths, or unending torture - in the most poetic way imaginable.
Your series My mom sent me old home videos for my birthday, and now I'm running for my life is notably bloody, with the entire family of the protagonist ultimately being revealed to be murderers, and the narrator having suffered a breakdown and resulting memory block after their crimes. The ending is deliberately left ambiguous, with numerous questions unanswered—in your mind, is the main character incarcerated following the murders? Is Dave the cat real or imaginary? Why did the family begin such a path of carnage, and what was the origin of their mantra, "We cannot move lest we leave a demon behind in the hurricane"?
The main character walks free in my imagined version of events, the evidence provided more than enough to incriminate his dead brother for the murders. For a while he seeks therapy to deal with the resurfacing traumas of his past, but in the end he realises he has all the comfort he’ll ever need in his trusted companion; Dave the Cat. He lives a long, happy life, peaceful to the very end.
I always saw Dave the Cat as both real and imaginary. I am convinced he once had a very real, very physical cat named Dave, but what transpired to shift him into a spirit-like trans-dimensional entity remains a mystery, even to me. All I can say is that there’s a Dave the Cat out there for all of us; we just need to open our souls for his divine meows.
The origin of the murder family is shrouded in depravity and secrets, but some claim it goes all the way back to the 17th century, to a man quite fittingly dubbed Effraum the Eye-Molester. He was said to have raised his children, and children’s children, and children’s children’s children, in the black image of a God of Blood and Carnage, murder and mutilation being the one true sacrament. Is this true? Who knows!
The mantra, We cannot move lest we leave a demon behind in the hurricane, is simply an archaic version of We need to pin our murders on some random patsy. I’m thinking old Effraum penned this poetic passage.
Effraum the Eye-Molester sounds like he deserves a NoSleep story of his own! Can you give us a brief synopsis of some of his terrifying exploits?
He sort of did get a NoSleep story of his own (although it was later removed, and reposted to LibraryOfShadows, then re-reposted again to TheCrypticCompendium).
While not starring old Effraum as the main character, we instead follow Trenton, a very secretarily secretary, whose soul is mistaken for Effraum’s when he dies (some clerical mixup in Hell, you know how it goes).
He is returned back to the living of course (can’t punish the wrong soul for eternity after all), but slowly starts feeling less like Trenton, and more like a certain Eye-Molester. Through his eyes and memories we come to learn some of Effraum’s backstory, and also visit a fair few of his earliest exploits.
How much time do you spend writing in an average day or week? Do you have any rituals that help you focus?
I try to squeeze in at least an hour or two daily, maybe three-four during weekends. On my four hour (total, back and forth) commute to work, assuming I’m conscious, I’ll also do some groundwork, like brainstorming or outlining ideas, then sit down and draft them in the evening.
As for rituals, I have very few. Coffee and silence is all I really need, spicing it up with the odd unholy ritual sacrifice if push comes to shove.
When crafting a piece of fiction, do you generally start with an outline or simply begin writing?
Depending on the story, I’ll either sit on the idea until I have a rough outline of the start, middle and end -- or just start at the punchline, meticulously working my way backwards.
Very rarely do I find myself writing on a premise without having at the very least a vague notion of where it is heading.
Your most popular entries on NoSleep are primarily in-depth series as opposed to solo stories. What do you enjoy most about that lengthier style of storytelling? Are there any drawbacks to the longer format?
I’ve concluded, through rigorous trial and error, that I prosper in very long, or extremely short, formats. I thoroughly enjoy the finer arts of character development, and seeing my creations journey through relentless horror, coming out the other side a better (or in some cases, worse) person, gives me a satisfaction I can’t seem to find anywhere else.
For me, the only drawback would be the time spent meticulously fashioning something that might in the end do very poorly. NoSleep is fickle, and I’ve had more than a few series fail miserably on the first part, rendering the followup posts more or less unread. I still (mostly) finish them though, but it can be hard to find motivation knowing your efforts will be ignored.
Many of your recent standalone stories were composed for /ShortScaryStories. What do you find to be the main differences when writing for each subreddit? Do you have a preference for one over the other?
The obvious difference would be the word count, but the reason why I keep returning is the audience. While I do (sometimes) love NoSleeps in character rules, getting some actual feedback on my stories has helped me weed out bad habits, and forged a relationship with my readers I probably couldn’t have done on NoSleep. I also love flash fiction, and being a man of many a weird idea, I thoroughly enjoy mass-producing strange bite-sized tales.
Several of your enormously successful posts on /ShortScaryStories, including Stability, Holes, and Sugary take the style of conversation transcripts. Each of these within the format gracefully execute the inverse of your traditional storytelling, by telling rather than showing. What is it about that method that you think communicates horror so powerfully, particularly in flash fiction?
I started doing the conversation transcripts as an exercise in dialogue, but quickly realised the format was exceptionally well-suited for flash fiction. I believe the reason lies in its innate simplicity; you strip away from the reader everything but the characters voices, and through their back and forth you are forced to conjure your own imagery, learning slowly but surely that each sentence is tainted by the owner's subjective reality.
It is intriguing when done right, because you are constantly questioning what to believe, or how to believe it rather.
Also, it is very easy to obfuscate visceral twists when you withhold visual information from the reader.
Have any of your stories ever involved research? If so, what was involved?
I do very basic research for most stories, just to make sure I’ve got the vital details down, but generally I try to avoid writing about stuff I have next to no clue about, the exception being if it’s mythic or folklorish in nature. I love folklore, and will spend hours reading up on obscure myths and legends, often resulting in a desperate attempt to cram them into a story if they tickle my fancy.
Are there any topics you feel are too controversial for you to address or that you prefer not to explore in your writing?
I tend to shy away from controversial topics I have no personal experience with, not because I’m convinced you can’t or shouldn’t write about them, but simply because I feel I’m not the right person to do so. This involves, but is not limited to; pedophilia, sexual abuse, racism, and animal abuse.
What are your feelings toward NoSleep's immersion/plausibility rule? What impact, if any, do you think the suspension of disbelief format may have when transitioning your work toward a mass audience unfamiliar with NoSleep?
I’ve always enjoyed the immersion that comes with reading a NoSleep story, and transitioning from reader to writer was fairly straight-forward. Depending on the story (or rather, if I like the main character) I thoroughly enjoy shooting the breeze in the comments, sometimes carrying lengthy conversations with concerned readers. That being said though, I wouldn’t mind if it shifted away from being a mandatory thing. Sometimes you just want some feedback man.
The same goes for the plausibility rule. I get that a lot of writers would like to experiment with different settings or formats that would break the current rules, but for me I cherish the setting. Of course, I’m also fairly prolific on ShortScaryStories, so I have the benefit of using that subreddit for all my no-NoSleep fancies.
I think my wife and kids are actors became your most popular tale, bringing in nearly nine thousand upvotes. Congrats! Were you surprised by the enormous success of the series? How far in advance had you developed the plot when you began posting it? Will we ever visit that world and find further answers about the characters of Grace and the narrator?
Thank you!
I was simply blown away by the success. Up until that point I believe my most popular story was sitting at roughly 100-200 upvotes, thus waking up to a top story, along with a couple of hundred messages waiting for me, might be the most surreal experience I’ve had to this day.
My deep dark secret is that I hadn’t really developed the plot at all, since I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere. I had some thoughts and ideas of course, but nothing too solid, and I spent a few days trying to piece together a continuation that would do the first entry justice. In the end it worked out fairly well, but looking back on it, I sort of wish I’d done a few things differently.
I continued the Vernon and Love Saga for quite a while, the final entry ending on a ridiculous cliffhanger that I’ve been trying to resolve ever since. In the end I just lost motivation I suppose, and I wanted to move on to other things.
Will the Saga ever conclude? I hope so, but I make no promises.
Many readers drew comparisons between the characters in the series and Elvis and his life and family. Were the similarities an intentional allusion to the King? If so, what prompted you to write a story that paid homage to him?
It was an intentional accident, having named the kids Aaron and Priscilla without having given it too much thought. I considered a few other names for the wife, but quickly realised I could use the mythic and mystery-shrouded life of the King to elevate the weird amnesia-noir atmosphere I was going for in the story.
In the end I believe every character - or indeed everything with a name - was inspired by something or someone in Elvis’ life, and had an absolute blast reading all the insane(ly cool) theories sprouting in the comments.
Also, he’s the goddamn King! He deserves it.
You've used the Faustian bargain as a plot device in multiple stories, including The man I met while my wife was having emergency surgery changed my life forever, Love Unwanted, and I made an unholy deal to save my wife from cancer, but it didn't go as planned. There's a definite allure to someone dangling the promise of your wildest desires in exchange for something valuable, though obviously these deals often go awry. We're curious, if one of the characters from your stories offered to fulfill your deepest wishes as long as you gave them your soul, would you do it?
I think I’d be one of the easiest ones to convince to be honest. I don’t really take care of my soul, and I imagine it to be in some sort of crazy non-euclidean paradox state where nothing really makes sense - so if you’re telling me I’ll be getting something in return for it, I’m shaking that hand faster than you can say “blasphemous satanic devil worship”.
Are the devilish characters proffering the deals in those tales the same being, or connected to each other?
There’s evidence supporting both, but they’re definitely connected. They all look exactly the same, have many of the same mannerisms, and seem to take great joy in what they do.
There is however a single sentence, that - if you were to believe it - strengthens the hypothesis that there are many, and not just one. In the story The Day I tried to Live, the main character asks straight up; “Are you the devil?” - the response being a rather vague, but revealing “Are you the human?”
Do you have any favorite reader reactions to your writing?
Any reaction praising my amazing talent!
All jokes aside though, I think my favorites tend to be reactions that in some way make me reconsider the very foundations I base a story on. It can be very open criticism, like “how the heck did X manage Y, when Z was in Æ”, or a simple comment focusing on some aspect of the story I hadn’t even considered to be very vital at all.
The most notable example of the latter would be the legendary Dave the Cat from My mom sent me some old home videos for my birthday. I wasn’t really planning on involving him past the mention of him, but the top voted comment made me change my mind. It simply said “Please don’t leave Dave :(“...
I would also like to use this opportunity to thank my most loyal and beloved followers, the ones that relentlessly shower me with affection in just about every story I write.
In no particular order, this goes out to: u/Kressie1991, u/NostrilNugget, u/JP_Chaos, u/amoodymuse, u/youshallnotpass121, u/ukus86, u/UnLuckyKenTucky, u/melncholy_watermelon, u/Di-SiThePotato, u/Lavenderstarz, u/MoxyFoxTrot, u/jnowak87, u/shitnamese, u/SepticGengar, u/Maliagirl1314, u/TinglyVoice, u/stevie855, u/jill2019, u/Muse-Ingenue, u/Flukie42, u/SonyaRedd, u/Alorrin07, u/MrRedoot55, u/MagicElf10, u/Ailsme23, u/DevilishTalise, u/_Angel_Dust, u/tamanna_45, u/mycatstinksofshit, and probably quite a few I’m forgetting; I absolutely adore and appreciate each and every one of you!
What story or project are you most proud of?
The story I keep bringing up when this question is asked, is Me, Mizell, and Inspector-Hole-in-the-Face. It was posted to NoSleep first, but I later decided to make it an exclusive on the (then) newly formed TheCrypticCompendium.
It engaged me as a writer like no other story I’ve written before, and I really feel like the end product is more or less exactly what I envisioned when I was drafting the outline for it. It’s a coming of age story, a story about friendship and loss and tragedy and horror, and the closest I’ve ever gotten to a truly wholesome ending, without having to compromise along the way.
As for longer projects, spanning several parts, I’m really in love with Farmer Ray, and the compelling universe of Fletcher County. He’s just a normal guy, surrounded by weird and horrible shit, but gosh darn it, he makes the very best of it, and I find his headstrong attitude incredibly inspiring.
What's the most valuable lesson you've learned since you began posting to NoSleep?
You will fail. A lot. But it’s not really failing, and that’s the most crucial aspect of the lesson. Every story you put out there, no matter how many upvotes or awards or comments it gets (or more importantly doesn’t get), is the result of a creative process that’s uniquely yours. Don’t let it get you down. If you keep at it, keep improving, keep learning, you’ll sooner or later notice that the effort is worth it, and you’ll come to realise that NoSleep “success” is a flawed metric for quality.
As a successful author on NoSleep, do you have any advice for new contributors?
Persistence is key. It is hard to break through the ceaseless waves of quality content flooding the subreddit, but if you keep on truckin, you’ll be able to breach the surface eventually.
Reach out to other authors. Collaborate. Talk. Make friends. Having these connections is a vital part of growing as an author, both on and off NoSleep, and shooting the breeze with like-minded individuals can make a rough patch of “failed” stories much easier to come back from.
Connect with your readers. They’ll keep coming back if you do, and if you ever transition to other platforms, the most devoted ones will follow you wherever you go. They’re good people!
Be yourself. Find your voice, and keep refining it.
And just write.
What are your short-term and long-term writing goals?
Short-term:
I’ve been working on getting a longer series ready for NoSleep that I’m pretty excited about. I ran a poll on my subreddit a while back, and I was overwhelmed by all the feedback I got. As a result of all that support, I really want this one to engage readers on a level I haven’t yet managed.
I’m also looking forward to expanding on my Fletcher County Universe, primarily keeping Farmer Ray happy on TheCrypticCompendium. I’m trying to get him to share his farmland tales on a weekly basis, but he’s a very busy guy, so I’d expect some delays.
And lastly, but not leastly, I’ll keep on pushing my weird little flash fiction pieces to ShortScaryStories for as long as people enjoy them.
Long-term:
I had a blast publishing my book, so I’m definitely aiming to more of that! I’ve got a few projects brewing, but I’m probably looking into writing a full-fledged novel rather than a short story collection for the next one.
Due to the number of questions HyperObscura received from the community, the interview exceeded reddit's character limit, and will be split into two parts! You can read part two here.
submitted by NSIMods to NoSleepInterviews [link] [comments]


2020.08.30 21:34 leoavalon A really insightful and candid New York article Mariah, You don't know her. By Allison P. Davis.


MARIAH CAREY LOVES CHRISTMAS. She loves it with a fanatic’s strict adherence to the laws of Christmas joy. She loves it like no one has ever loved Christmas before. (Did you have an actual reindeer at your holiday festivities last year? Did you hang out with Santa? Didn’t think so.) Christmas is also a cornerstone of the Carey complex. Frank Sinatra might have made the holiday classically jolly, Sufjan Stevens might have made it indie whiny, and Ariana Grande might have made it horny, but no artist has come to define our commercially driven holiday fantasies more than Carey has with “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Since the song dropped on her 1994 holiday album, it’s made an estimated $60 million-plus in royalties. It’s stayed relevant, thanks to fans, of course; a cover on the 2003 Love Actually soundtrack; an album reissue; an annual “All I Want for Christmas Is You” holiday-concert series that sold out a show at Madison Square Garden last year; an animated film; an Amazon Music mini-doc about the undying meaning of the song; and streams on streams on streams. Last year, it finally hit No. 1 on “The Hot 100” chart, after a record-breaking (for its slowness) 25-year journey. Who cares how long it took? It’s her 19th No. 1 hit-putting her above Elvis and one away from tying the Beatles. Does it matter if you like the song? (Full disclosure: I don’t.) No! It is the omnipresent anthem of holiday happiness. And so this year, this exceptionally s**t year of 2020, Carey, who always wants everyone to have a good Christmas, really thinks everyone should have a good Christmas, and she’s got 15 executives assembled in a Zoom war room at 10 p.m. to make damn sure everyone does. They’ve been going for two hours now, plotting ways to bring the merry and bright, no matter what it takes.
“I will sing with a puppet if it’s incredible,” I hear her say with deadly seriousness, that raspy, built-for-a-torchy-ballad voice floating in from one of many nearby rooms in the house she’s renting for the summer. She goes on to suggest possible puppets, determined to sing only with the best one or none at all.
Carey tippy-toes across the marble floors, carrying the Zoom meeting with her as she hovers in the entryway behind me. She’s in her comfies-black leggings, a black off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, and full makeup-but even dressed down, she’s walking like she’s in six-inch strappy Louboutins (a habit she references in the song “Crybaby”). She mutes her iPad mic to greet me quickly. “Hi! A.D.!” (Everyone in her immediate orbit is reduced to first and last initial. Stories sound like mathematical equations in which M.C. and M.R. meet J.D.) “I’m so sorry this is running late!” She’ll be with me soon, she says. She just has to find a diplomatic way to let these men know something they are suggesting is ugly! She goes back to the call. “It just isn’t giving me Christmas warmth,” she says, delivering her criticism as delicately as one of her famous vocal trills.
Carey is running 30-well, 45-okay, we’re going to be real with you: We don’t know how many-minutes late. This is what we expect of her, no? The Diva who bathes in milk and will only be photographed from the right side. We think of these indulgences as readily as her vertiginous notes, or those athletic vocal runs, or her belting “Juust. Liiike. Hoone-aaay,” while she holds her finger to her ear to keep pitch. So it’s hard to be mad at Carey for fully embodying all the various Mariahisms that define her.
Anything less would feel like short shrift, to be honest. Plus she’s a generous diva. She’s dispatched her five-person team, her covid-quarantine pod, to tend to me while I wait. They’d been together since March, without any outsiders, until I was permitted to come tonight (with mask on face and fresh negative covid-test results in hand). The excitement of a newcomer has everyone bustling around like a live-action reenactment of the “Be Our Guest” scene in Beauty and the Beast. “Allison, can I get you wine?” asks her longtime tour manager Michael, as he shows me to a couch and lingers to tell me, in his languid, Idris Elba-British accent, about the first time he met Mariah, decades ago, as she was glamorously coming off a Concorde. “Allison, it would be more comfortable if you sit in here-the lighting is better,” says Ellen, her longtime house manager. “Allison,” Kristofer, her Ken-doll-handsome makeup artist, calls out to me as I’m walking from one great couch to an upgraded one, “I’m making fresh shortbread. Would you like it with jam or powdered sugar?” Her ex-backup dancer and current boo, Bryan Tanaka, smiles at me, doing his part by just being charming. Ellen fluffs a pillow, pours a glass of wine and a glass of room-temperature water, and puts them down in front of the seat Carey will eventually occupy. I am left to sit in a luxurious beige-toned room that smells lightly of vanilla and gardenias- exactly like my rich childhood friend’s suburban home.
The house is still daytime bustling even though it’s now edging on 11:30 p.m., which, according to Mariah Carey Standard Time, is the middle of the day, not the end. Carey is a self-proclaimed vampyyyyra. She loves a sunset, loves a sunrise, and would prefer to exist exclusively in those shadowy hours in between. (She has a sun allergy, she insists.) Her time zone has other quirks: True Love only occurs in summer, underneath the stars. Winter is always joyous. Any day has the potential to be Christmas. And she is eternally 12 years old, as she has been saying since at least 2008, which explains the recurring themes of butterflies, Christmases, dol-phins-epic, song-worthy romantic fantasies. It’s in direct opposition to the other version of extreme femininity she likes to play with, that of the diva in heels on the stair-stepper. Neither persona fully explains how effortlessly she can command a platoon of professionals to execute her vision until you consider that this dualism may be her secret to career control. One cannot be dismissed if one demands what one needs operatically. One cannot be told what is or is not age-appropriate if one doesn’t acknowledge age.
Anyway, the whole 12 thing-it’s sort of a joke and it’s sort of not. Carey turned 50 in March, and Moroccan and Monroe-a.k.a. Roc and Roe, a.k.a. Dem-Kids-her 9-year-old twins with ex-husband Nick Cannon, presented her with a cake with an enormous 12 candle, complicit in her continued crusade against getting older. One milestone is colliding with another. This year marks both half a century of existence and her 30th year in this business-30 years since her first album, Mariah Carey, came out. In those three decades, she’s produced 15 studio albums, been nominated for 34 Grammys (and only won five-don’t get her started), and done everything a star can do (an HSN jewelry line, a Champagne brand, world tours, a reality show, a Vegas residency, an American Idol judging stint). This year, she’s been taking something of a victory lap with a celebration she’s calling MC30, opening the vaults on neverbefore-seen video footage and an album of unreleased songs and demos called The Rarities, and she’s finally put all that legendary shade to paper with a memoir, The Meaning of Mariah Carey. She’s still ignoring her age, but she’s at least letting herself acknowledge the passing of time.
She’s been teasing this memoir for more than a year, mentioning it at a “Genius Q&A” during the press tour for her last album, Caution, but thinking about it for ten. It’s 300-plus meaning-packed pages, and, yes, what she didn’t include has meaning too. Eminem, who was reportedly “stressed” over what Carey might say about their rumored 2001 fling, doesn’t have to worry. “There’s some songs that I can sing in response to that, but I will not do it,” she’ll say when I ask. And then, with a roll of her head: “If somebody or something didn’t pertain to the actual meaning of Mariah Carey, as is the title, then they aren’t in the book.”
What’s in the book is “for the fans” (of course) but mostly for herself, or at least a version of herself. It’s her turn now to “emancipate that scared little girl,” she says. It’s why she spent two years telling stories to her co-writer, Michaela angela Davis, turning the famed Moroccan Room in her Tribeca penthouse into an emotional vomitorium, in hopes that finally, after a career of people misinterpreting her, she can make it all clear. In a way, though, the story she tells in the memoir is the story she’s been telling herself, her fans, her critics-everyone-over and over again for years. And after 30 years of telling these stories, in different ways, you have to wonder why she still feels so misunderstood.
HIT IT, TANAKA!” yells Roe, getting into position as Ellen and Kristofer pull open the French doors leading to the terrace overlooking the pool. Carey strolls out to where Roc and Roe are waiting to surprise her. The conference Zoom is over, but there’s one more thing to attend to before we can sit down.
Carey’s latest single, “Save the Day,” dropped just a few minutes ago, at midnight, and the twins want to celebrate. The opening violins of the song swell over the outdoor stereo system, and they launch into choreography they’ve spent all day perfecting. The song is a long-delayed collaboration with Ms. Lauryn Hill they conceived of in 2011. They decided to release it now, since its message about the importance of coming together to fix the world felt relevant with national Black Lives Matter protests and the lead-up to the election. “It’s very auspicious,” she says, musing that it would have been the perfect song to play during the Democratic National Convention.
Roe executes a string of cartwheels while Carey looks on, hands raised to her face in beatific surprise, and Tanaka captures the moment on two iPhone cameras on tripods with lighting rigged. Rocky hits every dance currently popular on TikTok.
Rocky loves TikTok, but Carey thinks he’s too young to be on it. Recently, she had to put him on a “time-out” after he made a video asking his mom to say hi to “his fan.” Carey can be heard off-camera saying, “I’m on a business call,” and Rocky turns back to the camera and says, “My mom is not ready to be shot on TikTok,” sticks his tongue out, and blows a raspberry in disappointment.
“Okay, I was really on a business call,” Carey says, mildly annoyed at the whole situation. People assumed she just declined because she wasn’t wearing makeup. Plus she wasn’t the one who set up the account for him. “Co-parenting,” she says, then sings, “‘Yeah, it ain’t easy, baby. It ain’t easy.’ But you know what? It’s important. We keep it good for them,” she says of Cannon, whom she divorced in 2014. She won’t comment on his recent career drama (he was fired from his longtime gig hosting Wild ‘N Out for making anti-Semitic remarks on his podcast, Cannon’s Class) but speaks fondly of him in her memoir in the chapter called “Dem Babies.”
The performance ends. Carey runs to them, arms wide open, tears in her eyes, cooing over how lovely everything is-the dance, the sunflowers, the sign. She brings them in for a hug and photo op, but before the shutter can snap, Roe moves away too fast, ensnaring Carey’s large diamond butterfly ring in her hair. “Roe, wait, I’m tangled,” she screams, while Rocky emits a loud belch and giggles.
Carey says good night to the twins. It’s an atmospherically nice night, and she decides she wants to go outside to talk. “It’s better, right?” she says as we sit down at a long wooden table next to the violin-shaped pool (a Stradivarius, with a six-foot koi pond as the bow). Her people are again bustling, setting up the table for us, slipping out of the shadows, putting down drinks and candles, moving the whole setup outside.
“Ellen, will you make us some ‘horse devoirs,’” Carey asks, intentionally mispronouncing the word. “That’s what we call ’em.” “Are you cold, Mariah?” asks Kristofer, who exits to grab her a little throw. “Are you guys warm enough?” asks Ellen, who enters to put down snacks. More candles are placed around us. “Oh, darling. Don’t put that down there for me, because that is hideous,” exclaims Carey. “That is underlighting!” The candle is whisked away. Carey asks Ellen if she wouldn’t mind taking Chacha, her emotional-support dog, to her bedroom, so that she’s there waiting when Mariah finally slips off to sleep sometime after the sun comes up.
Finally, wine poured, throw draped, candles arranged to ensure we both look cinematically beautiful, horse devoirs on the way, she settles back and gazes out over the property, watching the fiber-optic pool lights dance through the rainbow and back again. She’s a little tired, she apologizes, and already a little emotional.
“Can you believe I’m back here?” she says, sighing. “Here” is an upstate rich-person’s enclave not far from where Martha Stewart is thirst-trapping with her chickens. Carey hasn’t spent time in this town since what she refers to as “the Sing Sing days”-when, in the mid-1990s, she shared an over $20 million compound with her toxic first husband, the former Sony Music CEO Tommy Mottola. Mottola discovered and signed Carey when she was 19. They married in 1993, when she was 23 and he was 43. Carey has repeatedly described the marriage as controlling. She felt like “a prisoner.”
Mottola and Carey split in 1996, but she still gets that clenched feeling in her gut whenever she talks about him. With a wave of her hand: “I say it all in the book. I’d rather people read it that way.” She takes a long sip from a big goblet of red wine. “And by the way, I forgot a lot of that stuff when I was writing the book. And then recently, people that were friends of his from childhood were like, ‘I hope she told the real story.’”
It’s not a new story in its particulars-it’s been alluded to in tabloids and interviews for decades by both Carey and Mottola. Even its emotional contours were out there already, in her own words, mostly in song lyrics. She’s made a habit of putting her stories-her past lovers, secret enemies, petty grievances, and big traumas-in her songs since she started writing them at 13. (And she does, may she remind us, write her own songs. That’s another thing she’s spent a lifetime reminding everyone-see the two-minute supercut of her saying “As a songwriter”-though she was only just inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame this year, a decade after she became eligible.)
“Honestly, if you look at the words to ‘I Wish You Well,’ it tells you a lot of things about different people in my life. It starts with ‘This goes out to you and you and you/Know who you are,’” she breaks into a half-sing. “And there’s a lot of different people referenced in that from my point of view as a songwriter.”
“And then, background vocals,” she says, indicating when the singers would have kicked in with the phrase “Can’t believe I still need to protect myself from you.” “And then back to the main verse: ‘But you can’t manipulate me like before.’” She’s speaking, but rhythmically; her fingers are waggling up and down near her ear like they do when she sings. She pauses. “It’s like I’ve been telling this story if someone cared to look deep enough. I just feel like there’s no way anybody could have known the complexities and the layered situation that is my life.”
Though her fans, her Lambily, as they call themselves (a combination of family and Lamb, as Carey sometimes refers to her loved ones), have usually paid close enough attention to know the significance of the songs that mean the most to Mariah. Even if she may have never come out and confirmed which lyric is about which incident or relationship, they have their theories. While my friend who is a Lamb Supreme has always suspected it, I, a solid Mariah fan who can sing at least ten of her songs without missing a word, was surprised to learn from the book that “My All” was not just about the general thrall of a new love so exciting you’d do anything to bone but about Carey and her brief fling with Derek Jeter.
The knowledge that this stuff is “already out there” made it easier for Carey to write the memoir. It removed the burden of dropping bombshells (though there are some) and instead lets her just confirm, contextualize, and detail things from her POV-like how she and Jeter met at a dinner party and started text-flirting, secretly, while she was at the end of her marriage to Mottola. Knowing that fans already suspected the song “The Roof” was about her first meeting with him made it easier for her to reveal what she wore the night they had a clandestine kiss on the roof (get it?) of his apartment building. There was Moët. She wore a buttery leather Chanel skirt. She remembers her boots and the rain and her hair curling in stunning detail.
“Of course I do! I can never forget that moment,” she says. “I mean, it’s not like it was some intensely deep, intellectually stimulating-again, it was a great moment, and it happened in a divine way because it helped me get past living there, in Sing Sing, under those rules and regulations.” When she belts, “I’d risk my life to feeeeyall / Your body next to mine,” in “My All,” it’s because she really was risking her life to have a night with Jeter in Puerto Rico, she says.
Her anxiety around Mottola sits just under the surface. She writes candidly about the security cameras she says were always watching her and the security team she felt was reporting her every move. “He was like this oppressive humidity,” she says. She could never escape. She could never talk about it, even if she was, in her own way, always talking about it. When she first discussed Mottola during a Zoom call we had the week before, she started to cry: “It ignites the triangle in my stomach.”
In his own memoir, Hitmaker: The Man and His Music, from 2013, Mottola denied being restrictive or controlling but deemed their involvement “wrong and inappropriate,” by way of apology, and takes credit for his part in her early success. Carey suspects he tried to sabotage her career after they divorced. More than suspects, she says, referencing a 2017 interview on Desus & Mero in which Murder Inc. co-founder Irv Gotti confirmed Mottola boosted a J.Lo and Ja Rule duet to mess with Carey. “It’s out there,” she says. She also knows he might be angered by her perspective, though she hopes he’s not. “I could have gone harder,” she says, suggesting she could have painted him as a monster. “And I didn’t. I give him credit where credit is due.”
So picking this same upstate enclave for her self-quarantine palace does seem inconceivable, but the kids needed space. “Not that the apartment wasn’t spacious,” she explains. (We know; we all saw it on Cribs in 2002.) Providing this for her children is just one way she ensures that they have a better life than she did. “They’re not running around with matted locks,” she says when asked how her own childhood has shaped how she parents. “They know that I’m here for them. They know that if they want to talk with their father, he’s a phone call away,” she goes on. “They have stability. That’s what I didn’t have. They will never have a holiday that’s not happy unless something I can’t do anything about happens. They understand that they are Black. They have a whole lot of self-esteem and self-worth that I never had. And I probably still don’t now. I know that I still don’t.”
She sighs deeply. She’s been up all day-like actual day. So tonight, with the wine and the eerily quiet country night, her 1 a.m. feels like everyone else’s: a time when the existential takes hold and won’t let go.
“But maybe one day I’ll feel equal to the rest of the human race. I didn’t even think I was worthy of happiness and success. I thought I wasn’t allowed to be that person that would have that.” She gestures again to the pool, the property, the basketball courts, the baseball diamond (“not a big one”). “Like, sitting here, looking at this? And after describing the shack?”
The shack is what she calls her childhood home on Long Island, a run-down house at the end of a nice block that she’s still embarrassed by. It’s easy to assume that her dogged adherence to the age of 12 stems from its being a simpler time, that there is something happy to relive there, but that’s not quite right. “I always say, ‘I’m only 12, yay!’ But when you see how many times I talk about ‘I was 12, and this happened,’ it’s clear I went through a lot of stuff as a kid.”
Carey grew up, as she tells it, poor, mixed race, in an all-white neighborhood that made her feel her mixed race-ness, where she was not white enough “but not Black enough to scare people into not saying stuff around me.” Her father, Alfred Roy, was a Black engineer from Harlem, and her mother, Patricia, an Irish American opera singer from Illinois who was disowned by her family for having his children, separated before she was 3. She lived with her mother and only saw her father on the weekends she’d go to visit him and eat his special linguine e vongole. One of the good memories. She never felt like her home situation was stable. She was always aware of tension between her parents and between her parents and her siblings. School wasn’t much better. In the book, she catalogues the racial slights she suffered at the hands of white children.
She writes about her childhood as the thing she had to overcome to become Mariah Carey. And because our traumas are like pothos plants, easily propagated from the clippings of the original, her parents’ trauma (her father’s of existing as a Black man in America; her mother’s of familial rejection for marrying a Black man and a career that didn’t come to fruition) became hers to overcome as well. As did the difficult upbringings of her older brother, Morgan, and her older sister, Alison, whom she now refers to as her “ex-brother” and “ex-sister.” Carey writes about witnessing Morgan’s volatility and fights with her mother. She discusses how she longed to have a real big-sisterly relationship with Alison but instead ended up in dangerous situations, sometimes with men, whenever she got too close. (Her nickname for me, A.D.-she asked to call me that, she told me, because she’s so estranged from her sister she doesn’t like to say Allison.)
“Alison and Morgan both believed I had it easier than they did,” she writes. She hasn’t spoken to Alison since 1994, though she maintains a relationship with the son Alison had at 15. Mostly, Carey constantly worries that they’ll go to the tabloids again, as she says they have done in the past. She doesn’t want them to see her as an “ATM machine with a wig,” she says. (Recently, Alison has made headlines for accusing their mother in a court filing of forcing her into sexual acts and satanic rituals as a child.)
“Here’s the thing: They have been ruthlessly just heartless in terms of dealing with me as a human being for most of my life. I never would have spoken about my family at all had they not done it first.” Even still, you have to wonder how Alison will feel if she picks up the memoir of her estranged superstar sibling and reads how her sister learned a hard lesson about what self-worth should be during the baby shower for her teen pregnancy.
I ask Carey if there is any chance of reconciliation with her ex-siblings in the future. “I have forgiveness in my heart,” she says, “and so I forgive them, but I am not trying to invite anybody to come hang out over here. I think they’re very broken, and I feel sad for them.”
Though she writes as candidly about her mother as she does about her siblings-their confrontations and competitions-she finds it harder to separate herself from the woman who discovered she could sing. (When Carey was barely 3, she sang along with her mother while she was rehearsing a song from Verdi’s Rigoletto, so the legend starts.) Carey still takes care of her, financially, “and always will.” She is one of the book’s dedicatees. “I tried to make her feel like I really do think she did the best she could,” she says and picks up her glass to cheers me.
“I cried writing a lot of parts of this book. Maybe it’s because I have such vivid recollections. You know what? I’m sure I’m going to have to deal with a lot of people being upset with me. I hope not.”
OF ALL THE KNOTS she’s eternally trying to unravel, there is one that, she feels, has refused to come loose easily: “I really have been like, ‘I’m mixed. I’m mixed. I’m really, really mixed,’” Carey sings at me, turning her lifelong repetition into a little ditty. “Like, whatever. Not to make a song out of it. That’s what we do.” This, according to Carey, is her most famous refrain, the one where she explains that she is biracial over and over again.
She already, actually, did make a song of it: “Outside,” from 1997’s Butterfly. She quotes it often in life and in the book (and will sing it on the Audible recording). And now she sings the lyrics to me: “Standing alone/Eager to just believe it’s good enough to be what/You really are/But in your heart/Uncertainty forever lies/And you’ll always be/Somewhere on the/Outside.”
When she cites feelings of alienation or shame, it’s often at the hands of white people. She writes about an incident where she was invited over to a friend’s house in the Hamptons, only to arrive and be called the N-word. It’s the Black women in her life who held her up when nobody else did. Her Nana Reese (her great-aunt on her father’s side) provided some stability. Her “aunties” were the ones who tried to help her learn how to do her hair. Da Brat once helped her escape Sing Sing to go get fries from Burger King. She dedicated a whole chapter to her Cousin LaVinia (“Vinny”), who was one of her closest friends. LaVinia recently died, but it’s her estimation of Carey’s struggles that most shaped her understanding of her mixed-race identity. “It’s like Vinny always said: ‘You kids had all the burdens of being Black but none of the benefits.’”
Before Davis and Carey turned in a draft of The Meaning of Mariah, Davis sent an email to her editor. “I was like, I have to put this on record that all the conversation around race and particularly the view of white people is all Mariah,” Davis says over the phone. They had a nickname for her when she got in this mode: “Militant Riah.” “There were a couple of times that she was like, ‘You’re being too careful. They hated me. I would never be good enough for some white people.’”
And yet, when she first debuted as an artist, a number of reviews misidentified her heritage. In 1990, a Los Angeles Times writer called her a “white singer who has a black vocal style.” Nelson George, a Black critic writing for Playboy, called her “a white girl who can sing,” while another accused her of being marketed as a “white Whitney Houston.” Carey says she can’t speak to the intentionality behind her marketing at the time-“I was 19, what did I know?” In her book, she references how her label sometimes “scrubbed” her music of its “urban inflections.” She recalls recording the “Fantasy” remix with ODB in 1995 and playing it for Mot-tola. “The fk is that?” he said. “I can do that. Get the fk outta here with that.”
Carey would eventually cease to be considered solely pop, becoming more of a crossover pop-hip-hop-R&B fixture. Even still, she’s spent a significant portion of her post-Mottola era defending her biracial identity. After Carey released the hip-hopheavy album Butterfly, comedian Sandra Bernhard made a series of racist jokes during her stand-up special about the way Carey was “acting [N-word-ish] … with Puff Daddy,” suggesting that the white-perceived Carey was all of a sudden acting “Black.” At the time, Carey commented, “If I was two shades darker, there’d have been people protesting for me.” (She ended up writing the NAACP, and the special was taken off the air.) The commentary didn’t stop in the 2000s. Even as recently as 2008, her race was being written about weirdly, e.g., when Jody Rosen sniped about her “racial ambiguity [being] mildly interesting” while trying to determine if she was a captivating pop star or just a good singer. (He decided on the latter.) But “Vision of Love,” she reminds me, went to No. 1 on the R&B charts first. And she performed it live for the first time on The Arsenio Hall Show. “Someone knew they were introducing me as a Black girl.”
In the 1990s, being a “white artist” or a “Black artist” often created deeply divergent music careers. White meant pop, Black meant hiphop or R&B, and within those silos, there were separate charts, audiences, magazine covers, award recognition, and dress codes, and to seek one audience meant potentially alienating the other. As Carey was building her career, there was very little room for crossover, and there wasn’t a lot of understanding afforded to those who didn’t really fit in the boxes. If you were acceptable to white audiences as a pop star, as Houston was, you ran the risk of alienating Black audiences and vice versa. It’s what Lena Horne called being the “kind of Black that white people could accept”: Carey, because of her light skin, and Houston, because of the way she spoke (softly, like a newscaster). The 2017 Whitney Houston documentary, Whitney: Can I Be Me, revisits the moment in 1989 when Houston performed at the Soul Train Awards and the crowd booed and called her “Whitey.” It’s only recently that we’ve begun to more fully acknowledge how damaging and destabilizing the label of “not Black enough” can be.
Davis and Carey met in 2005 at an early-listening event for The Emancipation of Mimi, one of Carey’s comeback albums. Four years earlier, Carey had suffered her first major flop with the movie Glitter. She’d been dropped by EMI a year after it signed her to one of those historic colossally big deals (reportedly, $100 million for five albums). She had a public breakdown and was hospitalized for exhaustion after she made an erratic appearance on TRL. (In the memoir, she reminds us that, despite all that, the song “Loverboy” from Glitter ended up being the best-selling single of 2001. “I’m real,” she mic-drops.)
The Emancipation of Mimi was a reassertion of Carey as an artist, her opportunity to set the tone for the next phase of her career, one she wanted to be centered around her Blackness, and she wanted to do that with a cover story for Essence. “It was very strategic that she started with Black women,” Davis says. At the time, Davis was an editor at the magazine. “Black women have always grounded her in truth,” she says.
Essence had never had Carey on the cover before. Previous editors-in-chief had passed “because, they literally said, ‘Mariah Carey has never said she was Black,’” recounts Davis. The writer, Joan Morgan, brought in evidence: stacks of clippings and transcripts where Carey said “I’m Black” or “My father is Black.” In the end, Davis won. They ran an article in which Carey discussed, similarly to now, what people didn’t know about her struggles with her racial identity. At the end, the article declared her “a grown ass Black woman.” The cover line read: “America’s Most Misunderstood Black Woman.” That was 15 years ago.
From a musical perspective, at least, many of the issues Carey faced early in her career feel less intense now. Hip-hop culture is pop culture. And thanks to Mariah Carey’s 1997 album Butterfly, the once-novel idea of a pop-hip-hop crossover-what her friend and collaborator Jermaine Dupri calls hip-pop-is essentially just what a new song by any artist sounds like.
It’s worth considering whether she would have been as big of a pop star if she had originally been marketed as a Black artist. Would she have been able to collaborate with ODB and the long roster of hiphop artists and producers she favored, and to see those songs become megahits, if her proximity to whiteness hadn’t made it all seem “non-threatening” to white audiences?
“The truth is I will never say I had the same experience as a darker-skinned woman,” Carey starts in. She acknowledges the privilege in her being accepted by white audiences and a white-run music industry, but to her, it also means “having a white mother, and being forced to live in white neighborhoods, and feeling ashamed that there is nobody visibly Black there … and I’m being so real right now that I want to edit myself,” she pauses.
“Believe you me, I’m not thrilled to be this skin tone all the time.” Then she launches into the questions she has asked herself her whole life and maybe continues to ask: “How was I supposed to fit in? I was, like, the only one that’s this weird mutant, mutt-using an antiquated phrase that I’m not asking anyone else to ever use again, but I’m embracing it- mulatto girl. I’m not even embracing it. It’s a horrible way of defining somebody. It actually means ‘mule.’”
Whatever it did for her career, she says, it also “distanced me from the comfort of support and protection from some Black people. Which is an even deeper kind of a pain, pile of pain, if that makes sense. It’s been a lot.”
IF THERE’S ONE THING that makes I Carey nervous about the release of this book into the world, besides some content that is going to “surprise even her best friends,” it’s that people will misconstrue why she’s talking about a lot of this stuff now. She has wanted to write the memoir for a decade, she says. “Whether or not it suddenly became okay to deal with stuff, this book was coming out anyway.” She doesn’t want to seem like she’s capitalizing on the moment.
But the current moment does seem to keep giving new context for her experiences. For example, the conversation surrounding Ellen DeGeneres’s reportedly toxic workplace behavior led to a clip of an interview with Carey resurfacing on Twitter. It’s from 2008, when there were rumors Carey was pregnant. DeGeneres, apparently determined to get Carey to confirm the speculation, challenged her to drink Champagne. Carey was forced to announce her pregnancy. She miscarried soon after. “I was extremely uncomfortable with that moment is all I can say. And I really have had a hard time grappling with the aftermath,” she says. “I wasn’t ready to tell anyone because I had had a miscarriage. I don’t want to throw anyone that’s already being thrown under any proverbial bus, but I didn’t enjoy that moment.” Carey goes on to say that there is “an empathy that can be applied to those moments that I would have liked to have been implemented. But what am I supposed to do? It’s like, [sings] ‘What are you going to do?’”
Her fans have also helped her reexamine her past. In 2018, a Lamb-led campaign, #JusticeForGlitter, turned her former career low into a cult classic and earned the soundtrack a place on the charts for a little while. The movie did come out the week after 9/11; it never truly got a fair shake. With the help of her Lambs, and a Change.org petition demanding that streaming services finally offer it, the album reached No. 1 on iTunes. That same year, Carey was on the cover of People, revealing her battle with bipolar disorder for the first time. It seemed to explain what happened during Glitter, when she went on TRL, but she chose not to elaborate further in the book. “Because I don’t feel like there’s a mental-illness discussion to be had,” she says when I ask. “It is not to deny that. I am not denying that. I just don’t know that I believe in any one diagnosis for a situation or a human being.”
For her, the real story of Glitter, which she tells in great detail for the first time, was the story of her working too hard, of succumbing to the exhaustion of sleep deprivation, and of her family betraying her. (Her mother called the police on her when she was acting erratically, and her brother was the one to check her into a recovery facility, she writes.) That’s perhaps the biggest benefit of this memoir to her: “Now, if people have questions, I can be like, ‘Please refer to chapter x,’ rather than me having to stick up for myself, protect myself, defend myself. Because we can all be wounded, but are we going to sit around licking our wounds forever?”
IT’S NEARING 4 A.M., and she could I talk more, but she desperately needs to use “the loo.” She slips away while her team comes out, partly to keep me company and partly to signal it’s time for me to wrap it up.
The first time we talked, Carey mentioned that it was a bit lonely realizing that she was the only one of her peers who lived to write her own story. Whitney’s gone. Prince is gone. There’s some pressure that comes with that: What story are you willing to tell about yourself, and what are you willing to accept? Carey has finally shaped her story the way she sees it: one of herself as a perpetual underdog who has risen, fallen, and climbed back as dexterously as her famed melismas. It’s the narrative that has propulsed her to greatness; it’s also her mental loop.
Carey comes back from the bathroom and, it turns out, a costume change. She’s swapped her peasant blouse for a black satin kimono robe. It’s humid, her hair has fallen flat, and her laugh is mingling with the chirping cicadas that have emerged. Sunrise is closer than sunset, and it’s starting to feel loose, like the last hour at the club, right before the lights come up, as the DJ tries to find the perfect song to send you off.
Tanaka slips his hand into hers and murmurs that the pasta aglio e olio he has made her is ready. Her emotional-support dog is waiting in bed for her. Her two kids are upstairs, happy but maybe only pretending to be asleep.
Despite how legends want to be seen, this is probably how we most want to see them. As living proof that a life of ups and downs and hard work and too much work ends with you rich as f**k, sitting next to a violin-shaped pool with the family you’ve created to supplant the one you had to endure.
Michael is recounting a story of the time a group of Bloods came up to Mariah backstage at the Source Awards and he was worried. “Oh, I’m good at diffusing tense situations because of my childhood,” she says. Everyone was scared, but they just wanted to take pictures with her on their disposable camera, no big deal. Despite urging me to leave, he pulls up a chair, and they start swapping memories.
“Oh, remember,” Carey says, lurching into another tale, “Jay [as in Z] has that great story of when we were all there together at the club and Prince was taking so long to perform? Whatever, it’s a long story, but he didn’t go on until like 5 a.m. with Chaka Khan, who was having Hennessy and smoking and still singing like a trumpet, and it was amazing. It was amazing.”
Not everyone was there, but everyone agrees it was amazing.
“By the way, this should have been in the book,” she says.
Yes, everyone agrees, it should have been in the book. There was a lot that could have been in the book.
“There’s so much more dragging that could have been done,” she says. “I really didn’t say everything,” she adds with a smile, leaving us hoping, again, for another piece of the story.
Source: Hejira (UK mix)
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2020.08.29 22:15 mohiemen [Official] MTV Video Music Awards 2020 Live Stream & Everything You Need to Know

[Official] MTV Video Music Awards 2020 Live Stream & Everything You Need to Know
🔴 Live Streaming Link: http://bit.ly/MTVMusicAward
The 2020 MTV Video Music Awards will be hung on August 30, 2020, in New York City. Keke Palmer is set to have. Woman Gaga and Ariana Grande are the most assigned acts with nine each. Chosen people for Push Best New Artist were uncovered on July 23, 2020, and different classifications were declared on July 30. Fan casting a ballot additionally started on July 30 and finished on August 23. Candidates for Song of Summer, Best Group, and Everyday Heroes: Frontline Medical Workers were moreover delivered on August 24.
MTV VMA Award 2020
The awards were initially booked to be held at Barclays Center just because since 2013. Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the occasion was required to be held with "restricted or no crowd", as one of the main major indoor occasions to be held in the city since the beginning of the pandemic in the state, with MTV additionally declaring plans for the show to "[span] each of the five precincts" to "give recognition to the quality, soul and extraordinary flexibility of NYC and its adored residents".

https://preview.redd.it/21hy4k7a10k51.jpg?width=1240&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ecc0a6f464472df04fc55f503fd351c75cdc99ae
MTV inevitably rejected the indoor part of the function at Barclays after "close counsel with state and neighborhood wellbeing authorities" and declared that it would be directed in an outside arrangement over the city; the Center will have the 2021 show instead.

Rehearsal is running on.
New erratic honor classifications for "Isolate Performance" and "Best Music Video from Home" were included July 30 considering the continuous pandemic. Three extra classes were reported on August 24: Song of Summer, Best Group, and "Regular Heroes: Frontline Medical Workers", with the last made "to commend exhibitions by COVID-19 first responders".
The awards will be simulcast live by ViacomCBS stepsister organize The CW on August 30, denoting the VMA's first historically speaking transmission on earthbound TV in the United States.
Performances
List of musical performances :Artist(s) & Song(s)
Pre-show:
Main show:
J Balvin and Roddy Ricch were initially announced as performers on August 4 and 11, respectively, but are no longer scheduled to take part as of August 24.
Nominations:
On July 23, 2020, seventeen Push Best New Artist pre-chosen people were reported.
Fan deciding in favor of most classifications occurred from July 30 to August 23.
Chosen people for most different classifications were uncovered on July 30. Nominations for residual classifications were reported on August 24.
The Push Best New Artist classification was limited to three finalists on August 24 and casting a ballot moved to Twitter, where it will proceed until August 28.[6] Voting for Best Group and Song of Summer ran from August 24 to August 26 and August 26 to August 28, separately. The democratic cycle for the two classes occurred through MTV's Instagram stories.
Video of the Year:
Music Of the Year:
Artist of the Year:
Best Group:
Push Best New Artist:
Best Collaboration:
Best Pop
Best Hip Hop
Best K-Pop
Best Latin
Best Rock
Best Alternative
Best Music Video from Home
Best Quarantine Performance
Video for Good
Best Direction
Best Art Direction
Best Choreography
Best Cinematography
Best Editing
Best Visual Effects
Song of Summer
Everyday Heroes: Frontline Medical Workers
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2020.08.29 18:59 hecccccccccc Weekly attempt

How To Leave Town by Car Seat Headrest
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2020.08.29 13:59 Soli_Engineer Learning how to use JSON

Hello friends, I'm just trying to learn JSON in taker. I have been able to extract the following JSON file. Can someone guide me how to extract the lyrics into a readable format please?
{"copyright":{"artist":"Copyright Elvis Presley","text":"All lyrics provided for educational purposes and personal use only.","notice":"It's Now or Never lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. Commercial use is not allowed."},"artist":{"name":"Elvis Presley"},"probability":98,"similarity":0.7058823529411765,"track":{"name":"It's Now or Never","text":"It's now or never,\r\nCome hold me tight\r\nKiss me my darling,\r\nBe mine tonight\r\nTomorrow will be too late,\r\nIt's now or never\r\nMy love won't wait.\r\n\r\nWhen I first saw you\r\nWith your smile so tender\r\nMy heart was captured,\r\nMy soul surrendered\r\nI'd spend a lifetime\r\nWaiting for the right time\r\nNow that your near\r\nThe time is here at last.\r\n\r\nIt's now or never,\r\nCome hold me tight\r\nKiss me my darling,\r\nBe mine tonight\r\nTomorrow will be too late,\r\nIt's now or never\r\nMy love won't wait.\r\n\r\nJust like a willow,\r\nWe would cry an ocean\r\nIf we lost true love\r\nAnd sweet devotion\r\nYour lips excite me,\r\nLet your arms invite me\r\nFor who knows when\r\nWe'll meet again this way\r\n\r\nIt's now or never,\r\nCome hold me tight\r\nKiss me my darling,\r\nBe mine tonight\r\nTomorrow will be too late,\r\nIt's now or never\r\nMy love won't wait.","lang":{"code":"en","name":"English"}}}
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2020.08.16 08:35 RegretOrDiscipline On hour 50 of quitting CT - it's becoming unbearable!

Hi guys and gals!
This is a funny story. Funny as in I'm going to die right now and there's nothing I can do about it funny. 😆
I quit this Friday noon. Not because I planned to, but because my supply ran out and my supplier messed up the shipment and didn't deliver when supposed to. The shipment will now only be sent on Monday (tomorrow) and reach me by Tuesday.
After my third night of literally no sleep and all of the usual withdrawal signs, I've decided to check the Internet to see if there's something that could help me hold it together until Tuesday. I've stumble upon this forum and spent the last couple of hours reading through the posts. I mean, what else is there to do when you can't sleep and don't feel like doing anything, right?!
I've been on about 40g for about a year. Started when I was looking for an extra boost when running my company that was really taking off at the time. Kratom gave me lots of new energy, confidence, I felt great and as if I could move mountains! I started slowly, only taking it once or twice a day, not taking it some days and never though about building resistance.
But after about have a year, I noticed some changes in me and with my behaviour. First thing I noticed was the fact that if I didn't take it first thing in the morning, I was feeling like hell and could barely function. So I started to take it regularly and slowly upped the doses, not even being aware of it. I think it also numbed my feelings a lot, it made me distant to people, which is funny since one of the reasons for me starting to take it was to alleviate my social anxiety, which is extremely problematic while trying to run two companies, of which one has 20+ employees.
For the last couple of months, I have been noticing that I cannot function without kratom one bit. I wasn't even able to go through the night without waking up trembling and needing a new dose just to make it to the morning. I also really didn't like the aspect of sneaking around taking it, as I got it in powder form and didn't want to see anyone seeing me taking it.
I'm at about hour 50 of CT and I'm having some severe reactions. I feel like my whole body is burning, I cannot sleep for the life of me, my mind is running on 100%+ all the time, making it impossible to concentrate. I have severe flu-like symptoms (running nose and eyes, uncontrollable sneezing), I'm trembling a bit, my stomach is aching, I haven't really eaten in the last couple of days and I've been feeling extremely depressed.
The last couple of days I can't stop crying. I am having flashbacks to my youth (I'm 38 now), I'm listening to some really old music from before my time (like Elvis and The Beatles) and reading upon them, listening to them and crying uncontrollably in the midst of it all. I'm thinking of all the people I might have wronged in my life (even though I'm generally really sensitive towards others), thinking about my parents, my brother, my soon to be ex wife, my new girlfriend and my 3-year old girl... I was the one to separate from my wife (it was before kratom) and started dating right away with a coworker.
I was an absent father for the first year and half of my baby girl's life, always at work and never present, seldom having the time for anything but my company. My wife and I grew even more apart at this period and we are both to blame as she was very indifferent to it all, helping to enable it and doing her part on her side. After I left, I started slowly bonding with my girl, to the point that my wife and I have now finalized joint custody of her and I get to spend half of the time with her. I love her and she adores me. Every time I pick her up at kindergarten she runs to me all excited and we are spending more and more quality time together.
I am increasingly having difficulties when she's not around for the week, to the point that I've even thought about going back just to have a proper family again. These thoughts have been on my mind all of the time since unintentionally quitting kratom a couple of days ago, but I'm trying to somehow make it through the worst before doing something stupid that I'm going to regret for the rest of my life and end up in a situation I was in before I left. If wouldn't have left, I would have never connected with my girl the way I have now, of that I am completely and 100% certain and she would have grown up with an absentee father even though I would have physically been around. I had no patience for her, didn't connect emotionally, she was a nuisance at best and a true burden at worst. I can't believe I felt that way only a year ago. She is amazing, kind, happy, always smiling, loves everyone and everything, quickly picks up new skills and knowledge, wants to always be independent with everything (for instance going to the bathroom all by herself this past week when we were camping at the Adriatic coast), which makes me so proud... I'm sure you've guessed that I'm crying while writing this. What a jerk.
I went for a long walk yesterday, even before reading on this topic. It just felt right. I walk in one direction and ran in the other, while listening to early Beatles' cheerful songs on full volume (Ticket to Ride style). It was quite funny to see as I was feeling moderately well while doing it, walking upwards and with confidence, mumbling the lyrics along, encouraging myself. The people would never have thought that I was not right. The good feeling subsided however and I was in for another sleepless night a couple of hours later.
These last couple of days I've been taking magnesium and vitamin C, also some kava-kava. I have ashwagandha at home, as well as psillyum husks for the stomach. I also have L-Theanine, Brahmi powder, NAC and Centella Asiatica available. Are any of these good for helping me go through this? I can get to a store today, but only for some regular stuff. Would it REALLY help if I go get me some Valerian root and/or black seed oil? I'm not feeling like going to the store, but I might of you really sell me on the fact that I will help with the recovery.
Anyway... I was thinking of quitting for some time now, but was planning on tapering. It just so happens that I ran out and will not be getting my new batch of kratom for about 96 hours in total. Is this the time for me to just continue and quit cold turkey?? Or should I take some when I get it Tuesday to make it more bearable? I'm thinking that if the worst will be behind me by then, should I just continue and not give in? What do you guys think??
P. S. Sorry for the long post. I really needed it, it was something of a journal entry for me. Thanks a lot for reading! And sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language.
Best, Sam
submitted by RegretOrDiscipline to quittingkratom [link] [comments]


2020.08.14 14:14 House_of_Suns /r/QOTSA Official Band of the Week 15: SCREAMING TREES

You know how your mom never, ever, ever stops talking about how painful and difficult your birth was? How each time she talks about it, it gets longer and more painful and more detailed and more awful? And how that long and difficult experience makes you indebted to her forever? And how when she tells that tale at Thanksgiving every year with three-too-many Chardonnays in her you feel the bile and anger rise?
What, just me? Goddammit, Freud, you are ruining my sex life.
This week’s band went through a truly difficult and painful genesis. They strove for success and fought themselves all the way. The band peaked just as they were coming apart, and the breakup was ugly. There were drugs (a lot more than six). Worse, there was heroin. And no, not the Wonder Woman kind, that’s spelled differently. There was alcohol. There were binges and mistakes. There was a car crash. Then there was another one. There was a feud with Liam Gallagher. OK, that shit is totally understandable. Wanker. There were brushes with greatness. Steve Fisk, Chris Cornell, and our ginger savior all played a part.
Birth is a difficult process. I should know, because I gave birth to a kidney stone once, and I am never letting that fucker forget it.
Today we will take a dive into a painful experience for everyone involved, full of regret and mistakes. But that suffering produced some amazing music, was the bridge between Kyuss and QotSA, and introduced the world to the ashtray-eating, heroin-shooting gargoyle himself, Mark Lanegan.
That’s right: this week’s band is SCREAMING TREES
(Oh yeah, that’s a Facebook link alright.)
About Them Screaming Trees hail from the pacific northwest, that Mecca of Grunge. But what people tend to forget is that this band was old before Grunge was actually a thing. Their first four albums - over half their official discography - dropped between 1986 and 1989, and went largely unnoticed outside of the local scene.
Sure, if you ask a hard core fan, they will tell you that you don’t know the band unless you have listened to their 1986 debut album Clairvoyance, if only because Steve Fisk produced it. Even Kim Thayil of Soundgarden loves the raw power of the album. Much like The Velvet Underground, early Screaming Trees music is more important because of how it influenced artists in the Seattle Scene, rather than the impact of the music itself.
The band - consisting of Lanegan summoning Cthulu on vocals, Gary Lee Conner on Guitar, his brother Van Conner on Bass, and Mark Pickerel on drums - signed a record deal with SST (Solid State Tuners, yeah, I looked that one up for you) and quickly released Even If and Especially When in 1987, Invisible Lantern in 1988, and Buzz Factory in 1989. All three albums underwhelmed and brought an end to their contract. The band did cut their teeth on the indie circuit. After a van wreck in Florida in 1989, the band almost collapsed. (Side note: who would have thought anything would be a complete wreck in Florida?)
Though the band had garnered something of a cult following by touring all across the US, the big break eluded them. We know that the Seattle scene was an intimate one, and everyone knew each other. Screaming Trees jumped from SST to legendary Seattle label Sub Pop for one EP, Change Has Come. Even though this was a modest success, the band made the decision to seek some formal management and ended up turning to Susan Silver, who managed Soundgarden and was then the wife of Chris Cornell.
Silver - and Cornell - turned out to be exactly what they needed. Things began to turn around when Silver convinced Epic Records to take a gamble on them. Epic was the Sony-owned label that had released Michael Jackson’s Thriller. They had major acts in their stable, including Culture Club, Wham!, the Clash, Living Color, Ozzy Ozbourne, and of course Pearl Jam. Epic saw the growing music scene in Seattle and, tipped off by Silver, snapped up Screaming Trees.
This was the big time.
This was what they had been working for.
All they had to do was not screw it up.
If you want to dive into their discography, a great place to start is with their fifth album, and the first one on the Epic label, Uncle Anesthesia. Screaming Trees knew that Epic was their big shot, and that they had to create something great. After dipping a toe in the water with Epic with the EP Something About Today, they knew that they needed an amazing producer to sharpen them in the studio, just like Steve Fisk had done on their debut.
Cornell and Silver recommended Terry Date, who had produced Louder than Love. Cornell also volunteered to help produce the album and do backing vocals. Incidentally, Date would go on to produce Soundgarden’s monster album Badmotorfinger that same year.
Uncle Anesthesia (despite some truly disturbing album art) went on to actually have a song - Bed of Roses - chart on the radio. But it was not quite the hit album that anyone in the band had hoped for. Drummer Mark Pickerel called it quits and left the band and was replaced by Meg White Barrett Martin. After another van wreck (Seriously? WTF? Twice? Only one guy in the band is named Van) -- this time in Wyoming -- the band had to cancel a bunch of shows. Lanegan had always been a drinker, but this second wreck pushed him deep into the bottle. Bassist Van Conner temporarily quit the band to tour with Dinosaur Jr. It seemed like Screaming Trees had missed the free throw. They’d bobbled the ball. They had dropped the pass. They didn’t do the thing. They didn’t sport the sport.
But there was some light at the end of the tunnel. Or, rather, moving pictures. Or maybe both. See, it turns out that the band should really have been thinking of going to the movies instead.
Screaming Trees may not have had the Kool-Aid-Man -Runs-Through-the-Wall breakout hit they wanted with Uncle Anesthesia. But what they had after five full albums was credibility. They were the band that other bands knew and respected. They had a very strong cult following. They had modest airplay and a great record deal.
And with the movie Singles, their long, protracted and painful journey from scuffling bar band to genuine breakout artist finally occurred. The 1992 love letter from director Cameron Crowe to the Gen X Seattle Music Scene has all kinds of inside jokes in it. Pearl Jam Bassist Jeff Ament let actor Matt Dillon wear his clothes for the authenticity of his character. Chris Cornell wrote an early version of Spoonman for the film as well as Birth Ritual and Seasons. Pearl Jam wrote Breath and State of Love and Trust. The Smashing Pumpkins wrote Drown. Alice in Chains and Soundgarden both had live performances in the film. Crowe knew all about the music scene in Seattle and knew the credibility that Screaming Trees had with all the artists in the film.
And because the soundtrack came out on Epic Records, the label also had a vested interest in the success of their own Grunge artist. The Singles soundtrack was released in June of 1992, three months before the movie came out. It built massive hype and went platinum. Epic, with Crowe’s blessing, made sure that Screaming Trees got a huge place of prominence in the movie soundtrack. Nearly Lost You, the single from the forthcoming Screaming Trees album, got heavy radio rotation. Expectations soared.
This was a massive problem for the band.
Screaming Trees had been all about the struggle. When they finally got national success they just did not know what to do with it. Having finally been born, they were in real danger of being abandoned, much like my aforementioned kidney stone. It just kind of sits there now. Lazy bastard.
Lanegan’s drinking and the pressure for success made the creation of their sixth studio album, Sweet Oblivion, a chaotic experience. He would disappear for days during the recording process, come back hung over and make up lyrics on the spot. Half-written songs without titles were workshopped and recorded rather than rehearsed and polished. But somehow the album got made. Sweet Oblivion dropped in September of 1992 and the strength of the massively hyped Nearly Lost You drove unprecedented sales. They weren’t playing clubs anymore; they were playing stadiums. But this tour pushed Lanegan out of the bottle and straight towards Heroin. And not ‘heroine’ like Black Widow, I mean Black Tar heroin.
The punishing tour schedule and equally if not more punishing drug use took an incredible toll on the band. When it came time to try to follow up on Sweet Oblivion, the mojo was gone. Screaming Trees had never had any problems creatively until this time. Gary Lee Conner called the time after the tour “...one of the darkest periods of my life.” If the pressure to create Sweet Oblivion had been big, the pressure to follow it up was enormous. To the band, it was like trying to create the follow up to GTA V. Or Skyrim. Or Half-Life 2. We’re talking turn-coal-into-diamonds-in-your-ass type of pressure. Gary Lee Conner and Mark Lanegan had always collaborated to make the band’s music, but Lanegan was the clear creative force. Conner could not do it on his own, and Lanegan was too busy dancing with his Feel-Good-Hits-Of-The-Summer, if you know what I mean.
It got so bad that Van Conner told Lanegan that he was kicked out of the band, and that they would be seeking a new singer and a new band name. Lanegan somehow convinced Conner to give him one more chance. Screaming Trees went back in to the studio and squeezed out one more album, Dust. It is a solid recording with some good tracks but it came out in 1996, four years after their last release.
The band toured heavily in support Dust. At one point in 1996, they were touring with Oasis, and got into it because Liam Gallagher called them ‘Howling Branches’. Somewhat sneakily, Van Conner whacked Gallagher with his bass guitar during an energetic performance. I mean, who doesn’t want to hit Liam Gallagher? That face is just so punchable.
Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.
Looking to augment their live sound, they added ex-Kyuss guitarist Joshua Homme as a touring member. Yes, that’s right: JHo was Alain Johannes before Alain was Alain. Homme was a great hit with the guys in the band and managed to patch some of the cracks between them. But this was temporary at best.
Following the Dust tour, the band went on extended hiatus. Their deal with Epic had come to an end. They tried to record some new tracks in 1999 but very little came of it. They officially called it quits in 2000.
Mark Lanegan joined QotSA the same year, reuniting with Homme. Their music, the product of so much conflict, does stand the test of time and is worth a listen.
Links to QOTSA
Much of Screaming Trees roots (pun 100% intended) are intertwined with that of QotSA. Josh Homme himself was a touring rhythm guitarist for the band from 1996-1998.
Then of course there is the most obvious connection, that being the ever powerful presence of satan himself Mark Lanegan. This man has toured and recorded with Our Boys for five of their seven albums, enough to be a full member in his own right. And even if you’re new, and you don't know him by name yet, I can bet that you’re enjoyed that raspy vocal delivery on many a QotSA track without even knowing it.
The other members also have some slight connections to either Josh or his ever changing entourage of musical monarchs. Lead guitarist of ST, Gary Lee Conner, has released music featuring our ginger Elvis. His brother Van Conner was the first studio bassist for QotSA, since his basswork can be found on both the Kyuss / Queens of the Stone Age EP and the Gamma Ray EP.
One of the two drummers of Screaming Trees has also been touched by the holy hand of Homme. Barrett Martin was one of the many contributing guest artists on Rated R, providing some percussion, steel drums, and vibraphone as needed on The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret, Better Living Through Chemistry, Lightning Song, and I Think I Lost My Headache.
This band was truly well entwined with the one we all know so well. I could hardly be-leaf it! Sorry, im really branching off with these tree puns. Man, I'm such a sap for these. I’d come up with more, but I think I'm feeling a bit stumped.
If you made it this far, please, do not downvote the post because of my terrible jokes, I’ll be back on medication to avoid them in the future. At least I will if it stops giving me kidney stones.
Well, one thing is clear: I’m still better than Liam Gallagher.
Their Music
Clairvoyance
Orange Airplane
Other Days and Different Planets
Black Sun Morning
Flashes
Ocean of Confusion
Bed of Roses
Nearly Lost You
Dollar Bill
Shadow of the Season
All I Know -- Live with Josh Homme
Dying Days -- Live with Josh Homme
Show Them Some Love
/ScreamingTrees - Look, they seriously need some love. They’ve only got 123 subscribers. I’m counting on you here.
Previous Posts
Tool
Alice in Chains
King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard
Rage Against the Machine
Soundgarden
Run the Jewels
Royal Blood
Arctic Monkeys
Ty Segall
Eagles of Death Metal
Them Crooked Vultures
Led Zeppelin
Greta Van Fleet
Ten Commandos
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2020.08.12 01:24 hecccccccccc Gonna try to find the word again

How To Leave Town by Car Seat Headrest
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I’ll minute - second, ooh these lyrics, should charge dollar per thought want... isn't enough? At least making (Boy, look at system, getting down! system that's causing problems!) Don't change Get lover affect Like pulling nails hammer Spending 12 increments Milkshake plus tip adds more than admit heart laughingstock that’s don’t perceived, believe an optical illusion pretty soon When stopped laughing much were drinking called While staring paint crack Fun while lasted didn’t last It fun There's nothing medicine (Like hammer) “Only her voice bones left; Only voice, turned stone stone” Kimochi Warui (When? When? When?) Hey Will, cut shit you’re fighting for? taking used answer music youth read Brian Wilson’s biography truth Because father him band wanted Dennis alcoholic Who drowned looking treasure everyone around Just gave drugs took dependent social acceptance like every human I’ve no one pray nowhere stay it’s hard faith life leave satisfied doubts worries until day die hell death anything (I sick disgusting How This sucks) Some symptoms some being torn Trying better man trying accept am people talked books TV shows movies seen Are turn learn live when? ever learn? I-94 W (832 mi) [Instrumental] Hello hello excited finally Maybe little embarrassed alright left brain Shake right Try lost Somewhere middle anyone because Last dreamed Obama birthday Party they made giant banner wished hadn't driver's license photo sense somewhere crowd knew Barack would proud (You're love) With me... America (Never Been) drive across whole four days really Leaving custom thank notes houses haunted solar We've met type kind recognize [Refrain] 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 said "excuse me" ocean its first, didn't heard wave spend alive? then, call man, shut we'd road ice storm hit Texas pulled gas station frozen oasis [Pre-Chorus Oh, sweet mama, does neon sign shine me? street where glows through night? [Chorus (America) No, went wrote spoke All fantasies faking orgasms They're them trade ideas, opinions, artistry (This here) hard) listening tangled headphone wires our problems, end boy/girlfriends salvation plan? loving Have (been love)? Not Haven't No no, Real life's paying rent You've it, maybe breaking oughta content sitting fence yard yours spent Democracy Biographies Civil rights! Basically Bright lights! Living city Second prize beauty pageant 200 dollars, life, life! America! heaven! place! Want Know Awake/i Hope You’re Asleep (Bullshit, love, bullshit, bullshit) allowed Feelings complicate ugly stuttering asshole There dignity anger Mind if cough ear resent year tonight? asleep else's hands (Didn't mean lie all) world matter response final phrase sentence Hangs air, sounding stupider Why laugh? tried timing, long capture before Here demo latest fill parts later fit together real "likes" Two ago bad couldn't straight everything seemed edge disappointed Eventually Over as coffee mistake try help kitchen off buy stuff sat parking lot dabbed thumb, which bleeding reason trail red blossoms napkin you? Flashback first angry song hide from goes this: QFC, QFC Michael broke today we're them, We’re Frankie Ava Felice Lanky Nothing John Yoko separated Beatles Paul said, "I started doubting did" him, are! are!) Your parents parents, well, let's We Skippy haven't spoken we’re asleep) Dust Really Titanic? cool having artist unreleased unfinished tossed casually another average part their Since, obviously, same time, though, though artists share freely say, "in know" wouldn't larger audience they're creating placed context 2005 2010 Bad.jpeg Worse.jpeg Deg's Summer Jam NSFW Icarus signs s's Car seat headrest: guitar shitty front car feet fast food burger wrappers empty Gatorade bottles depressing realize you've hold together. least, normal sense. honest, matter. Apparently, impossible puked-in cup holders. excluding Ibuprofen bottle box Loose capsules Shorthand directions Elmhurst, Minneapolis, Bozeman, Tiger Mountain Great Clips receipt ​coupon attached won't hair months 2014 idea going drunk Frozen margaritas Austin Hi, Daniel Johnston day's Memphis Taking business Elvis far home returned land favorite highways (Route seven) Hey, cadet hang Even gonna fine dancing mind Couldn’t outside Had Didn't it'd price star television screen guy smiling praecox aspect dawning easier glove hand You'd plans instead dream reality show do, do? all, (Space cadet... now... crashing… space… you’ve waited... Now, off!) Oooh cadet! them! of! (And fine) (I’m mind) song!
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2020.08.10 19:27 EtillyStephlock Mac Albums Ranked

Just wanted to see how other people would rank Mac’s different albums/eps. Personally,
 
6: Here Comes The Cowboy - By no means is this below average in any way. It’s western style is refreshing and it’s a nice, mellow listen, but it doesn’t have any songs that I’d consider a 5 star Mac Demarco track. Finally Alone comes the closest for me, and Preoccupied, Heart To Heart, All Of Our Yesterdays & Nobody are all great, but the rest are all songs I’d play situationally only. Maybe it’ll grow on me as time goes on, but I’d still say it’s a solid work of art!
 
5: Rock and Roll Night Club - LOVE this. This work has Baby’s Wearing Blue Jeans which I absolutely adore, with songs like I’m a Man, Moving Like Mike, Rock and Roll Night Club & One More Tear To Cry, heck most of its great. At times it gets a little too stylized which I appreciate, but makes the listening a little more situational. Also, love this Elvis type vibes!
 
4: Another One - SO GOOD. Not one bad track. Everything on this is extremely listenable and enjoyable. No Other Heart is my favorite on this, it always puts me in a great mood. Love the guitar work through this and it has some pretty catchy melodies. Really can’t say much negative, other than while all the tracks are enjoyable, they kind of blend together for me since some of them are pretty similar. This isn’t much of a criticism though, since it’s only 8 songs which I think worked perfectly for the project.
 
3: Salad Days - This is where it gets tough. A week ago, this was considered my favorite Mac album, but after some more listening, I’d have to say 2 & This Old Dog edge it out. No negativity for Salad Days though, since I can’t name a track that I dislike or would even call average. The only song I rarely listen to is Jonny’s Odyssey (but it’s still great) and Let My Baby Stay and Brother are songs that I don’t play often but are songs I will rarely skip while on shuffle. The main reason why I don’t have this at 1 or 2 is because Blue Boy, Salad Days, Let Her Go, Goodbye Weekend, Go Easy & Treat Her Better make up a tier of amazing Mac Demarco songs but sometimes sound kind of similar and aren’t quite S or A tier Mac tracks for me. I still love them to death. Of course you have the two heavy weights on this, Passing Out Pieces (#2 all time Mac for me) and Chamber Of Reflection (Either #3 or #4), which makes Salad Days one of my all time favorites.
 
2: 2 - How fitting to have 2 at 2. This could be #1 on a good day, but I’m happy having it at 2. What a fucking album. This is what I’d recommend to anyone trying to get into Mac. It has the catchiest melodies, a good variety and of course, has my all time favorite guitar solos at the ends of The Stars Keep On Calling My Name & Freaking Out The Neighborhood (Honestly, I’d call these guitar solos some of my favorite music moments EVER). This features not only my favorite Mac song, but my most listened to song of all time in My Kind Of Woman. I could write a post on that song along. If you took all the songs between 2 and Salad Days and averaged my ratings for each song, Salad Days would have the highest average, but something about 2 as a whole work is more appealing to me. I think it’s because it’s the album that made me appreciate this genre the most. I was into a lot of heavily digitally produced pop/hip hop before I shifted into Surf/Slacker Rock, and 2 made me appreciate just live instruments in an age where people create guitar melodies with only their computers. 2 is an absolute classic and moments like the chorus of Viceroy will go down as some of my favorite no matter how old I grow.
 
1: This Old Dog - While I did have Salad Days at #1 for quite a while, after really thinking about it, I couldn’t have anything other than this at #1. It’s my favorite Mac Album for sure, and it quite possibly could be my favorite album of all time. First off, I’ve always divided this album into two categories, with the Synth and Piano heavy songs on one, and the acoustic orientated on the other. For The First Time is mesmerizing with some of my favorite synth work of any artist. On The Level is such a vibe and Watching Him Fade Away is one of my favorite “lowkey” songs. Then you have classics like This Old Dog, Still Beating and the beast of Moonlight On The River adding so much to the already great album. This Old Dog could be considered a masterpiece with just the aforementioned tracks, but it really shines with songs like One Another, A Wolf Who Wears Sheeps Clothes and Baby You’re Out, songs that fit with No Other Heart to consistently put me in a great mood. This is Mac’s most varied album by far, but it all still feels like it fits together perfectly. It has my favorite lyricism out of any other work and it’s something I don’t ever see myself getting tired of. Seriously, it’s something special, and it has One More Love Song which is SO FUCKING GOOD.
 
Hope you enjoyed me spilling out all my thoughts on Mac’s different works. Would love to hear what y’all think!
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Elvis Presley - Love Me, Love the Life I Lead - YouTube LYRICS Elvis Presley Love Me Tender - YouTube Love Me (Live Aloha from Hawaii) - Elvis Presley  Karaoke ... Elvis Presley - Love Me ('68 Comeback Special 50th ... Elvis Presley - Love Me (With Lyrics) - YouTube Elvis Presley - Love Me Tender (Lyrics) - YouTube Elvis Presley - Love me (1956) - YouTube Elvis Presley - Love Me (Karaoke) - YouTube Elvis Presley - Love Me - YouTube Elvis Presley - Love me - YouTube

Lyrics for Love Me by Elvis Presley - Songfacts

  1. Elvis Presley - Love Me, Love the Life I Lead - YouTube
  2. LYRICS Elvis Presley Love Me Tender - YouTube
  3. Love Me (Live Aloha from Hawaii) - Elvis Presley Karaoke ...
  4. Elvis Presley - Love Me ('68 Comeback Special 50th ...
  5. Elvis Presley - Love Me (With Lyrics) - YouTube
  6. Elvis Presley - Love Me Tender (Lyrics) - YouTube
  7. Elvis Presley - Love me (1956) - YouTube
  8. Elvis Presley - Love Me (Karaoke) - YouTube
  9. Elvis Presley - Love Me - YouTube
  10. Elvis Presley - Love me - YouTube

Elvis Presley - Love Me, Love the Life I Lead Recorded: 1971/05/21, first released on 'Elvis' (Fool) (Words & Music: Tony Macaulay/ Roger Greenaway) Lyrics: ... 'Love Me' by Elvis Presley Live at the '68 Comeback Special Buy/listen to Elvis Presley Live at the ’68 Comeback Special: https://Elvis.lnk.to/68ComebackSpec... Elvis Presley - Love Me Recorded September 1, 1956 Treat me like a fool, Treat me mean and cruel, But love me. Break my faithful heart, Tear it all apart, Bu... - Please Subscribe - Elvis Presley - Love Me Tender (Lyrics) The king on the Ed Sullivan Show. Viva Elvis! Written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller Recorded August 1, 1956 Love Me Treat me like a fool, Treat me mean and cruel, But love me. Wring my faithful heart,... 'Love Me' FREE DOWNLOAD ‪http://bit.ly/1agKLfo‬‬ or stream AD-FREE ‪http://ow.ly/LiKoc‬‬. Throw a karaoke party with ‪http://goo.gl/TAH3pW‬‬ Words ... Download MP3: https://www.karaoke-version.com/mp3-backingtrack/elvis-presley/love-me-live-aloha-from-hawaii.html Sing Online: https://www.karafun.com/karaoke... Elvis recorded this song: September 1, 1956. At the Radio Recorders. In Hollywood, California. Song: Love me :) Lyrics: Treat me like a fool, Treat me mean a... *I do not own this music* 'No copyright infringement intended. Enjoy it.