A modern day romance set in London’s Camden, “Been So Long” sees Michaela Coel star as a dedicated single mother who, on an unusual night on the town, is charmed by a handsome yet troubled stranger, played by Arinzé Kene. It was developed by Greenacre Film and the BFI, which co-financed the film with Film4, from an original play by Che Walker and ”Legends of Tomorrow” actor Arthur Darvill. It is produced by Nadine Marsh-Edwards and Amanda Jenks for Greenacre. Lizzie Francke and Eva Yates serve as executive producers on behalf of the BFI and Film4, respectively.
The film’s soundtrack will feature original tracks composed by Christopher Nicholas Bangs, influenced by the backdrop of London’s historic music scene, ranging from Caribbean Soca and soul jazz, to punk and acid house. [X]
So this is my layout for creating playlist for people based on their birth chart information and how to apply it to music. Feel free to use this however you want; this was inspired by something I found online and just tweeked it some so I take no full credit for this at all; this is just for fun!
1. Dominant Planet* for Birth Chart = Overall Theme of Playlist 2. *Planets = Tempo/Feel of Song Sun = Upbeat/Fiery Moon = Emotional Mercury = Lyrical (either Dancey or Calm depending on overall theme) Venus = Slow/Relaxing/Romantic Mars = Fast beat/Aggressive Jupiter = Upbeat/Dogmatic Saturn = Structured/Classic Uranus = Strange/Futuristic Neptune = Psychedelic/Dreamy Pluto = Lyrical; Deep/Powerful 3. Signs = Genre (varies based on overall theme and tempo) Aries = Rock n’ Roll / Punk Rock / Jazz / Alternative / Rap / Heavy Metal Taurus = Rock n’ Roll / Punk Rock / Classical / Gospel / Jazz / Folk / Alternative / Blues / R&B / Country Gemini = Pop / Pop Rock / EDM / Jazz / Reggae / Rap / Heavy Metal / Trendy Cancer = Pop Rock / Classical / Gospel / Blues / Oldies Leo = Rock n’ Roll / Pop / Pop Rock / EDM / Gospel / Folk / Alternative Virgo = Classical / Heavy Metal / Indie / Jazz Libra = Pop / Reggae / R&B / Classical / Trendy Scorpio = Punk Rock / EDM / Gospel / Jazz / Rap / R&B / Blues / Heavy Metal / Indie Sagittarius = Rock n’ Roll / Pop Rock / EDM / Reggae / Folk / Rap / R&B / Heavy Metal / Foreign / New Age Capricorn = Classical / Alternative / TImeless Classics Aquarius = Rock n’ Roll / Punk Rock / Gospel / Reggae / Folk / Alternative / Techno / Electronic / Progressive Pisces = Pop / Pop Rock / EDM / Jazz / Reggae / Blues / New Age / Dance / Movie or TV Soundtrack / Video Game Soundtrack 4. Houses = Lyrics or Subject 1st House = Self / Appearance / Self-Identity / Personality / Physical Body 2nd House = Money / Possessions / Values / Self-Esteem 3rd House = Siblings / Transportation / Intellect / Early Education / Communication 4th House = Home / Family / Childhood / Roots / Relationship with Parents 5th House = Children / Creativity / Interests / Hobbies / Drama / Romance / Dating / Sex 6th House = Health / Food / Work / Daily Life 7th House = Love / Marriage / Quarrels / Separations / Cooperation / Sharing 8th House = Death / Sex / Legacy / Occult / Loss / Transformation / Healing 9th House = Philosophy / Religion / Law / Morals / Travel / Foreign Places / Dreams / Wisdom 10th House = Status / Reputation / Honor / Career / Achievements / Responsibilities / Sense of Duty 11th House = Friends / Community / Hopes / Goals / Wishes / Ambition / Social Groups / Humanitarianism / Liberty 12th House = Hidden Self / Mental Illness / Escapism / Self-Undoing / Secrets / Grief
Anyway, I’m likely going to be working on this sorta thing after the birth chart analysis’ I’m doing. Have fun using this if so inclined.
This fic is for Jasmin @pmvstump! Basically, Patrick is an angel who’s trying to find his Purpose (how he brings joy) in the world! Please like/rb if you enjoy it and tell me what you think!
It was a sweltering day in Wilmette, probably the hottest it had ever been. Swarms of people wearing t-shirts and loose khaki shorts ducked into and out of the shops that neatly lined the road, hastening to find scraps of cool air. They all moved in a lazy, exhausted fashion, as if the heat was physically pressing down on them, as if God themself was sitting on the suburb. Nevertheless, a young man clad in ripped blue jeans and a navy blue hoodie strode quickly, head down, across the street. His hair, the color of wet sand, was swept back into a baseball cap fairly unsuccessfully, as strands of it fell into his face. He made sure to keep his eyes glued to the asphalt to prevent attracting anyone’s attention, which he had the tendency to do. And so he stared at the boiling blacktop, watching the heat rise in sleepy coils, until his ambling thoughts were disrupted by a hard shove.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going, kid!” exclaimed a rather large, round man who bore a striking and unsettling resemblance to a Red Delicious apple. The boy, startled, glanced up from his intent gaze on the ground. As soon as his eyes connected with those of Apple Man, the whole world seemed to melt away. The boy’s eyes were nebulae, fireworks against the pitch darkness of infinite space. They held at their center a rich aqua green, plucked straight from the foaming ocean, which faded out into a ring of sky blue; the exact shade of the sky on a day where the clouds dance and heaven seems close enough to touch. The boy didn’t have to say a word. His eyes radiated enough power to express “I’m sorry” and “No, I’m not” and every other existing emotion all at the same time.
“I… uh… I…” managed Apple Man, before quickly turning back to his conversation with his equally apple-esque wife.
The boy pulled the acrylic glasses (which, of course, he didn’t actually need) from his hoodie pocket and slid them onto his face. He really did hate looking humans straight in the eye, but his glasses were just so bulky and he loathed wearing them, even if they did protect the humans. THEY had warned him many times the damage eye contact did to mortals. “זמר, מביא אור”, he had been scolded the first time this had occurred, maybe a couple millennia ago, “You mustn’t ever look a mortal directly in their eyes. If you do, they will either fall helplessly in love with you, or die”.
Of course, In 2001 America, the boy didn’t go by זמר, מביא אור anymore— he hadn’t for some twelve centuries. His new name, the one that had been chosen by THEM, was Patrick Stumph.
Panicked now, Patrick ducked into the nearest shop, not bothering to read the awning above the door, which happened to have spelled out upon it “Borders Bookstore” in faded, white lettering. A bell produced a tinny jingle, one that seemed just as exhausted as the world outside, as Patrick shoved open the door.
“Hello,” said a lanky woman sitting at the checkout desk in a monotone voice, “Welcome to Borders. Is there anythi—“
“No, sorry. I mean, thanks. I mean, I can do this. I’ve got it. Thank you,” stuttered Patrick, without even turning his gaze toward her. He sped, eyes lowered once again, through rows upon rows of books: vapid romance stories for middle aged women, young adult fantasy novels, children’s picture books about anthropomorphic animals making poor decisions. Usually he would love to take all day exploring what the humans had “discovered” recently and what were hot topics in their society, but now was not the time. He stopped abruptly, slightly winded, at a sign that read: “Non-Fiction: 1) Biographies 2) Science and Nature 3) Music”.
“No dude, Neurosis isn’t just metal… they’re like, hardcore punk doom metal or something”. Patrick glanced over at the speaker, a young man in a Metallica t-shirt, perhaps Patrick’s human age.
“No way!” countered his friend, a thin, short-ish, awkward looking boy with a mess of chocolate curls adorning his head, as he flipped nonchalantly through a book, “Neurosis is, like, avant garde sludge metal with British Invasion punk influence! You can totally hear, like, The Smiths in there!”
Without realizing it, Patrick had begun to walk towards the bickering pair, and before he could stop himself, blurted “Actually, Neurosis is hardcore doom metal and avant-garde sludge metal. They’re both. They defy genre classification, really”.
Both boys stared at Patrick as if he were an alien (which, by the human definition, he sort of was). Then, the taller one spoke: “Dude… you’re totally right! See, this guy knows what the hell he’s talking about!”
The curly-haired boy rolled his eyes, and shrugged. “I guess,” he said, crossing his arms and looking Patrick up and down.
Patrick winced at his own idiocy. Fuck. Why did he have to insert himself into this conversation? And why did it still feel like it was the right thing to do?
Truthfully, Patrick hadn’t been bluffing about Neurosis. Music had fascinated him first when he heard Louis Armstrong play the trumpet in a jazz club back in 1922. He spent the next seventy-nine years studying American music, from jazz and soul to punk and screamo. He knew just about every artist, when they existed, and what genre they played. Recently, he had become very interested in the underground hardcore scene and how it related to the American youth’s pent up aggression towards their government and their elders. He was even a part of a few bands, drumming for all of them.
After a seemingly eternal silence, Patrick mumbled “Well… I better be going now… y’know, books and stuff…”
“No, wait,” said the curly-haired boy, causing Patrick to freeze in his tracks. “Do you play? Music, I mean?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Patrick, “I play drums” and, as an afterthought: “Also I sing, sometimes”.
“You play guitar?”
“You have one?”
“Well, uh…” the curly-haired boy trailed off, clearly searching for the right words. “My friend and I were thinking of starting a band, y’know, and we’re holding auditions on Saturday. You should come! Me and Pete, we’d love to—”
“Yeah, my friend. Pete Wentz. Heard of him?”
Patrick’s eyes widened. Who in the Chicago underground scene hadn’t heard of him? Pete Wentz was the debonair prince of punk in Chicago hardcore, the bassist for Arma Angelus, among other bands, and the absolute coolest dude you could ever hope to meet. If you wanted to make it big in music, you needed someone like Pete.
“Yeah, rings a bell, I think,” Patrick said coolly, attempting to play off how star- struck he was and failing miserably. “Sure, I’ll come. You got a drum set there?”
“Yeah. But bring your acoustic. I wanna hear you sing.”
“But… I’m a drummer,” Patrick protested weakly.
“Just bring your acoustic, okay?”
Patrick reluctantly nodded, fearing his chance to meet Pete Wentz would vanish if he didn’t.
“Cool. See you around, then”. The boy and his friend started to leave, but he turned around abruptly.
“Joe Trohman, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Um… Patrick Stumph,” said Patrick, reaching to shake it.
“Patrick,” said Joe, seemingly pleased. “See you on Saturday”.