and listening to jazz

Lazy Afternoon
Mabel Mercer
Lazy Afternoon

The beauty of listening to the 50s mono jazz record (if it’s recorded professionally) is you can have the singer singer right in front of you every time you played the record.

Sometimes the voice level is not being adjusted where you can hear the voice level varies when the position from the mic. It somehow shows a more real and honest presentation of the live performance.

Music in Fallout

Music in Fallout is a big part of the games, everyone has a favorite radio station, a favorite song, a memory they associate with the songs. But the 50s tunes are more than just background noise.

Fallout’s music is reflective of the game it appears in in many ways. For example, Fallout New Vegas is set in the American West, so the radio stations play mainly country. Not only is this appropriate for the theme, but it also fits the idea of what Pre-War Americans living in the Nevada area would have listened to. Fallout 3 & 4’s music is very jazz heavy, which also fits the idea of what a Pre War American in New England may have liked.

In Fallout: New Vegas, the country music has heavy themes of love, money, or moving on to something new. The songs all represent these themes in different ways, some songs are about falling in love (Mad About the Boy), leaving a trail of lovers behind you (Jingle, Jangle, Jingle), or missing a lover you had long ago (Johnny Guitar). It’s important that even though there are common themes within the radio songs, they are all very different. The themes of love, money, or moving on are also representative of what many people in the Mojave Wasteland want.

In Fallout 3 and 4, the music has mostly songs of either love, death, or radiation. Even the some of the songs about love have radiation incorporated (Crawl Out Through the Fallout & Rocket 69). The radio playing in the post nuclear apocalypse are almost all about the thing that demised the world. I believe it boils down to something simple that I’ve seen discussed many times.

The East Coast can’t move on from the nuclear war. Even 200 years after the war, people in the Capital Wasteland and Commonwealth are living in dilapidated shacks and have ghouls living in their basement. The ‘successful’ towns are glorified shantytowns of thrown together metal, nestled inside pre war locations (Megaton, Rivet City, Diamond City). The music represents the people of Fallout 3 and 4; they can’t move on.

Fallout: New Vegas, on the other hand, has little to no music relating to death or radiation. The people in New Vegas have towns all over the map, have electricity and the NCR was working on building a railroad all the way around the Mojave. They have simply moved on from the war that happened over 200 years ago.

New Vegas has messages of letting go (Dead Money) and the theme of ‘Old World Blues’, meaning people are clinging onto the pre war past instead of moving on and rebuilding society. The people of the Mojave Wasteland have moved on and rose up, while the people of the East have Old World Blues

Listening to Jazz/cafe music

What experience changed your perspective on life?

I was about 11 years old and I got into a horrible fight at school with my brother who was barely more than a year older than me so we were close growing up, but with a lot of tension. We had a lot of mutual friends and I don’t remember the specifics, but I felt as if he had embarrassed me in front of everyone or diminished me into being some sort of child even though our age difference was small. After school I went to my Grandmother’s as I usually did after school at that time, while my brother went to wrestling practice.


My Grandmother had a thick French accent and lived in an enormous, overgrown looking house that was filled from head to toe with books and I LOVED it. My brother was more sporty than me and that got a lot of attention and appreciation from our father who I was more alienated from for being bookish. My Grandmother was my only kindred spirit in the family and for much of my childhood really.


Anyways I kind of tried to conceal my anger from my Grandmother at first and I was helping her clean (which I enjoyed doing because we would listen to great jazz and blues artists which she loved and she would tell me about the lives of jazz musicians and such, it was all very cool to me). At one point though she said something or other about my brother and I just couldn’t help it, I hadn’t cried in front of my grandmother in years but I was just so angry and frustrated that it all came out. I was so embarrassed, but I just told her everything right then about how overshadowed I felt by him, how my father didn’t love me the way he loved him, feelings I was super ashamed of even having.


She kind of let my emotions hang in the air and just quietly comforted me by rubbing my back, but then she told me to come upstairs with her to her bedroom. Her bedroom had a lot of character like a lot of the house and it was filled with photos and books and albums she loved and especially had a lot of Jewish art on the walls.


She fumbled around in her desk pulling out random papers and odds and ends until she pulled out a dusty photo album that I had never seen before which was in itself remarkable because my grandmother loved to show me photos of when she first came to America and my mother and uncles as children, all that.
We sat down on the bed and she opened it and there were all of these black and white photos of my great-grandparents when they were alive. It started with very small children and my great-grandparents looking very finely dressed and happy and page by page there was just this horrible transformation of the children getting older and my great grandparents looking like they had aged 20 years when their children had only aged a few years. I had some understanding of what was going on of course, I knew about WW2, the holocaust etc. Which is to say, I knew an age appropriate version of all that, but I was beginning to get old enough that something darker was lurking, a more visceral reality to what I knew factually to be true.


We got to the exact center of the album with my Grandmother saying very little except people’s names, when the photos were taken, etc. Then right there, over a photo, pressed between the pages, was a patch, a patch of a yellow star with the word “Juif” on it. And my grandmother, pressed the star to her chest, as if holding it to where it would have been sewn an age ago and gave me a small nod and said in her soft-breazy accent “This one was not mine, I don’t think, but Claudette’s” and she pointed down at the picture that the star had been covering.


It was of two teenage girls, young, perhaps 13 or 14, smiling in front of some sort of railing overlooking a river, stars visible in their clothing. One, I immediately recognized to be my grandmother, who… while a wonderful human being had sort of a crooked smile and a big nose that was altogether too interesting looking to be mainstream beautiful. The girl next to her in the photo looked in many ways like her, but definitely had more classic good looks and a certain radiance that really came off the page.


“This is her. Claudette, my sister. We were very close in age, closer even than you and your brother.” she kept punctuating her sentences with a sort of bitter, humorless laugh and would pause, look away and then look back at the photo.
“She was my best friend, but I was very jealous of her, very. She was beautiful, funny. It hurt to even be jealous of her, she was so likable.” She sighed and I caught sight of the numbers tattooed on her arm, my earliest memory was and is of my grandmother giving me my first hair cut in front of the mirror and her guest room and my eyes catching those numbers in the reflection as if for the first time and the sudden curiosity they inspired. I felt a morbid echo of that curiosity then.


Then she said to me “I never would have thought then. That I would have been the lucky one. Your granmere has gotten old. Claudette will be 15 forever.” and her voice broke on that last word, not quite finishing it.
“Try not to fight with your brother Ezra, or else, do not let the fight go on for too long. You’re young, but you’re smart enough to know that most of us are not young forever. Trust me, the older you get, the more desperately you will need those who knew you when you were young.”


And then just like that the moment was over, she replaced the star, shut the album and shut it all away. Then she went back to cleaning, as if her own heart hadn’t broken all those years ago, as if she hadn’t just blown my own fucking young mind.


My Grandmother died when I was 16, but wrote me a card for my high school graduation in advance knowing that she probably wasn’t going to make it. On the day I graduated I opened and read her advice, her hopes for me, all good stuff. It ended with her recalling that day and what it had meant for her and how she hoped I could find balance in life between being true to myself and not sacrificing happiness. The last line was “We all have a responsibility to remember the bad times, even when it hurts to admit that they happened; just as we have a responsibility to remember the good times, even when it hurts to admit that they’re gone. Congratulations on your graduation, I love you with all of my heart.”


I bawled then, I’m tearing up now just thinking about it. Never has another human being had more of an impact on another than my grandmother had on me.

anonymous asked:

Yo could you share some of your headcanons for the deh kiddos :O ?! I'm really curious!!

*cracks knuckles* HEADCANONS UNDER THE CUT (these are generally feel-good and going off of a Connor Lived And Everything Gets Better AU set of ten [+ one extra] headcanons for the kids where they’re all friends)

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