Band posts on Good reblogs. Bad days..

She’s Standing Right In The Front Row - A.I.

Summary: This is a continuation of this imagine. Y/N goes to Ashton’s gig.

Pairing: Ashton x Female Reader

A/N: FUN FACT, if you’re an Ashton girl then this imagine applies to you. This takes place at the same time as this Michael imagine. Same setting- the basement show.

- - - 

Y/N followed a crowd of people across Luke’s front yard and down into the cellar, descending a steep staircase before finding a rather massive basement. There was a stage set up against a wall, containing a rack of basses and guitars, followed by a drumset with ASH XX duct-taped on the kickdrum. Y/N always assumed that Ashton was a drummer- he would always drum his hands on the lab table or any surface he could find.

Y/N made her way through the growing crowd, stopping when she was in the front row with her body pressed against the front of the stage. She stood there for a few minutes before she saw Ashton take the stage first, situating himself behind his drumkit. She couldn’t help but giggle when she looked at him, thinking he looked absolutely adorable with his thick-framed glasses and batman shirt. Three other boys took the stage, picking up their instruments from the rack and finding their places behind microphones.

“Hi, we’re 5 Seconds of Summer! Thanks for coming to our show, we really appreciate it. Just a warning, we’re pretty bad.”

The four boys looked at each other before giving Ashton a nod. Ashton started tapping off the first song, Y/N instantly falling in love with the beat. “Back in high school, we used to take it slow…”

Y/N’s eyes were fixed on Ashton the entire show, but he never seemed to notice her. He was so focused on his drumming, she found it absolutely adorable. They played a few more original songs before doing a cover of I Miss You by Blink 182.

During Michael’s talking bit, Ashton’s eyes scanned the crowd hopefully before they found her. His eyes lit up, a grin stretching his lips. “Hi!” He mouthed to her, waving from behind his kit. Y/N reciprocated his grin and shot him a thumbs-up before they took off into their next song called Outer Space. Y/N swore she had discovered her new favorite band that night- and not because she’s technically dating their insanely hot drummer.

Outer Space wrapped up their show, Ashton instantly leaving from behind his drumkit to find Y/N. “You came!” He cheered, bouncing with post-gig adrenaline. His hair was sticking to his face in sweaty strands and his face was a soft pink, but Y/N didn’t mind. He engulfed her in a sweaty hug, which she gladly accepted.

“I didn’t have anything better to do,” Y/N teased, a smirk tugging on her lips. “You guys were really good!”

“Thank you,” Ashton blushed, taking a daring step and letting his hand slip into hers. “I’m really happy you came.”

As the two stood there in a comfortable silence, Y/N swore she saw Ashton starting to stare at her lips. His opposite hand rested on her hip, and a shy smile flickered on his lips. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, looking into her eyes pleadingly. Y/N felt her cheeks burning with a deep red blush before nodding and releasing a nervous giggle. “What are you waiting for?” She shot back, smirking up at him.

Ashton leaned in and tucked a strand of Y/N’s hair out of her eyes before kissing her passionately, feeling his heart grow light and airy. It felt like fireworks were exploding behind them like in the cliche romance movies. Y/N kissed back with the same intensity, her hand tangling in his mocha colored locks and pulling him closer. Ashton giggled against her lips.

“You’re eager,” he smirked, resting his forehead against hers. “I like it.”

“I think it’s just because you’re just a really good kisser,” Y/N retorted, making him blush. They kissed for a little while longer before Calum yelled at the couple to get a room.

“I gotta pack my kit up,” Ashton informed, separating himself from Y/N. “I’ll be done in a few minutes. Do you wanna go get dinner or something after?”

“I’d like that,” Y/N agreed, giving Ashton a chaste kiss on his adorable nose before they parted ways.


Third-wave feminism put to music:
guitar picks and dark purple nail polish,
putting the “girl power” in punk rock where it belongs.
There are pro-choice and equal rights buttons
on our jean and leather jackets,
rocking floral dresses and
empowerment like brass knuckles.
A sugary sweet persona,
capable of knocking patriarchal teeth in before they can become cavity.
We are forces of nature who refuse to be uprooted,
proving wrong those who said that
womanhood was weak enough to be
broken like twigs.
We are no ash, all fire

searing imprints into the frets,
scratchy voices screaming into microphones,
shredding and speaking up for those
who have had violet bruises kickdrummed into their eye sockets,
shamed for their sexuality,
for those told that their “no” was not
loud enough to be worth listening to,
we are drowning out the catcalls with supersonic reverb,
wanting to reveal our retracted claws

when we are flirted with and crudely asked to give out our numbers on the bus,
our silence does not equal consent.
We know we are in danger if we speak up.
We know we are in danger if we don’t.

We carry deceivingly friendly feline
keychain weapons on our college lanyards,
wishing we could prowl the streets
without paranoia of the shadows,
fearing we will be the 1 in 4.

We participate in Slut Walks,
sick of being called sluts on our walks home.
We ask the music to help us feel that
we have our voices back,
that they were never stripped into silence,
reminding us that we still have
songs in our throats, why we want to keep singing, to continue to love fearlessly

and why we never want to stop.
REVIEW: Lady Gaga’s ‘JOANNE’

Better get a good look, baby, cause soon I’m breaking out of here.” It’s Gaga’s red flare to pop listeners, a bombastic warning sign sung with firepower over the the accelerating kickdrum and woozy guitar bridge of album opener “Diamond Heart.” Lady Gaga’s fifth studio LP, JOANNE, executive produced by Mark Ronson, might be her most peculiar album to date. It’s pop music at the fringes, flirting with country and blues and folk and jazz and rock. JOANNE is an 11-song portfolio of bullheaded eclecticism and reinvention, zigzagging through genres and emotions. The album swings from the grief-stricken Bowie-tinged title track, “Joanne,” to the springing Beck-penned “Dancin’ in Circles” before pivoting to twang-tinged trailerpark rockabilly.

On the brooding, bluesy Johnny Cash knockoff “Sinner’s Prayer,” Gaga dips into her bewitching lower register over the classic country freight train rhythms courtesy of Bloodpop and Mark Ronson. “I get on my knees and beg you,” she sings over the parading spaghetti western whims of the song’s hook,  “Hear my sinner’s prayer.”

The permeating country influences throughout the impressively balanced LP are not entirely coincidental. Gaga teamed up with famed country songwriter Hillary Lindsey (“Jesus, Take The Wheel,” “Girl Crush”) for the project. The pair co-wrote two of Gaga’s best efforts on JOANNE. The bluesy folk ballad with a wistful nod to Bruce Springsteen era Americana, “Million Reasons,” braids Gaga’s newfound artistic self-awareness within the endearing honesty of her lyricism. “I’ve got a hundred million reasons to walk away,” Gaga croons over the subtle guitar and piano-driven production, “Baby, I just need one good one to stay.”

A-Yo” (also co-written with Lindsey) is a firestorm of spirited handclaps and muddied power chords. “I can’t wait to smoke them all,” a defiant Gaga asserts herself on the flailing rock-infused anthem, “Blow it in your face, blow it in your face.”

There’s an underlying confidence imbued in the essence of JOANNE’s spirit and conception. The motown-injected, jazz-drenched, Father John Misty collaboration, “Come To Mama,” is that confidence incarnate.  It’s got enough over-sentimental schmaltz to rival Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas.” It walks the line of 1960s glam rock pastiche, complete with a Neil Diamond pre-chorus breakdowns and a Springsteen-sized finale.  It’s ballsy, no-holds-barred, kitchen sink approach to pop music that, against every cookie-cutter musical convention should not work, and yet, it succeeds in a way only Lady Gaga could pull off.

For all its successes and, to some extent, for all of its failures (see the emotionally vapid, ARTPOP B-Side, “John Wayne”), Lady Gaga’s fifth studio album is her most ambitious work to date: it’s a genre-spanning statement of refinement and self-awareness.

JOANNE closes with the stunning, politically-charged hymn, “Angel Down,” a moment of such acute historical relevance and musical palpability that it has every potential to be something of this generation’s “Imagine.” Lady Gaga reflects over a floating piano arrangement misted with fluttering strings, “Shots were fired on the street by the church where we used to meet. Angel down, angel down. But the people just stood around.”

As the song reaches its middle eight, Gaga concedes to the poignancy of the melody, humming in reflection in a moment of thoughtful meditation.

“I’m a believer. It’s chaos. Where are our leaders? I’d rather save an angel down,” she beckons in a moment of earth-shattering earnestness, letting the cracks in her voice fill the void that seems to be erupting from her soul. It’s delivered with punctuating and unfiltered honesty.

Angel Down” embodies the candor and continued self-awareness that makes Lady Gaga’s JOANNE, though far from perfect, such an affecting moment for an artist taking full advantage of her second chance.

Grade: B+

Montag, 2. Januar 2017

Erster Schnee, ein Grad, schön grau.

In Dormagen empfing uns Samstag ein beständig buzzender Türöffner. Das sind die Zigeuner, sagte S., weil deren Sippe so groß ist und da ständig rein und rausgegangen wird, die kleben da einfach Tape drauf oder so, dann können die immer rein und raus. Der Buzzer ins Nichts, er geht stundenlang. 

Nicht ins Nichts, sondern bis weit in den frühen Morgen ballerte der Kitschpop mit den europäischen Kickdrums und den osteuropäischen Harmonien direkt unter uns. Es war mir gelungen, es irgendwie egal zu finden, zwischen 3 und 4 Uhr schlief ich ein, der Kopf heilsam leer.

Am ersten Morgen des neuen Jahres war das Erste, was ich sah: ein sehr weißer Balkon, dahinter ein wolkenloser, gleißender, leicht flirrender Horizont. Ein starker Wind fuhr in den Bauch einer auf dem Balkon liegenden Plastiktüte, es rauschte sanft und es war Frieden, echt wahr. 


#StonerSunday Soundtrack

#GetLifted To The Most Dank Tracks From The Third Week Of August 2015

Keznamdi - Chance The Rapper & Noname Gypsy - Vic Mensa - Yasiin Bey - Kygo - Purple - Dillon Francis - Duckwrth x The Kickdrums - Hippie Sabotage - BOSCO - Dillon Francis & Calvin Harris 

Kill Them with the Positive Vibes

Made with SoundCloud

Ayyy so here are the winner, congrats and sorry to those who didn’t to make it, thanks for entering, ily all

Best Fall Out Boy blogs:

centurese fall-out-boy-is-life01 gayvalley patrickpotato peteyandpatso shes-number-than-gold stillfeelthatrushinmyveins fedorablefob americaspoophearts trohvocaine

Best Twenty One Pilots blogs:

pastelweekes lane-boyy joshdxnned blurryfacehtml locallyfair afeverthatstooraretodie diabeetusfeetus skeletonstwin

Best multifandom:

tricky-stump i-look-so-seattle-but-feel-so-la pastelstump emodaddyclub umaturdman mairimamenix rickstervonstump

Rad mutuals:

lollipopninjamaster lukass-hemmings mychemicalfalloutboyisatthedisco those-goddamned-fangirls writteninsane severelyrainysandwich

and I said something else so a little special shout out to kickdrums-and-bass for reblogging literally 20 times (well that may be an exaggeration buuuuut whatever)

again thanks to everyone who entered and best of luck next time

Text posts on Good reblogs. Bad days.

What my drums mean to me..

They’re my channel for all my energy or emotion. It’s my break free, my secret island, the thing one looks at and sees as an obsession, but I see as a best friend. They’re me. I breath through my limbs. My emotion speaks through my cymbals, my anger is released through my snare, my energy through my toms, and my heart beat is matched with my kick drum. My sticks are my extensions. I’m naked without them. It’s the way I show the world this is who I am. My connection to a greater reality inside me.