Mezzo-sopranos, being in the most common vocal register for women, come in a wide variety of types. They can be a wide range of ages, although female characters over fifty tend to be altos more often than mezzos. The majority of mezzo singing, especially nowadays, is belting and as such mezzos are especially common in pop- or rock-oriented musicals. Just as the leads in most operas are sopranos, the secondary female characters - commonly referred to as “witches, bitches and britches (cross-dressing roles)” - are generally mezzos; this is not uncommon in modern musicals, where frequently the soprano will be the main love interest and the mezzo her best friend or rival. Also referred to in many productions as a “belt” voice, for someone who can strongly sing passages in the middle and high register in her chest voice (rather than the soprano’s lighter head voice).
Aces Are Not One Flavor: A Don’t-Do List of Lazy Characterization
When it comes to conceptualizing asexuality - whether you’re writing the protagonist of a young adult novel, world-building an alien race, or trying to understand real aces in your own life - there’s a lot of repeated trends at risk of occurring. And they range from ‘that’s a common stereotype so don’t paint us with such a wide brush’ to ‘ oh my god could you be any more wrong’.
Asexuality = Low Sex Drive. The idea that asexuality is intrinsically tied with low libido is one idea that the world can’t seem to get rid of. Probably because it’s partially true; many aces indeed attribute their (lack of) sexual orientation with a lack of sexual drive. With low desire for sexual intimacy (sometimes) comes a low desire for anyone. And to many aces, that’s their asexuality.
But to many other aces, the two could not be any further apart. My libido is high, even higher since starting HRT, and it hasn’t affected my lack of sexual attraction for other people. And not every Joe identifies as asexual because they find it hard to get sexually aroused; just because physical stimulation does little for you doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed to not feel attracted to others. So asexuality always equating to low libido does no one any favors.
Built by Byzantine workers, the Dome of the Rock was constructed by the order of Umayyad Caliph Abd al-Malik between 689 and 691.
It was the oldest islamic building we have and the site’s significance stems from religious traditions regarding the rock, known as the Foundation Stone, at its heart, which bears great significance for Jews, Christians and Muslims. According to some Islamic scholars, the rock is the spot from which the Islamic prophet Muhammad ascended to Heaven.
Precious Metal: While Jada Pinkett Smith Remains Big Will’s Hollywood Wife She Refuses To Play Second Fiddle To Anyone
When Smith approached Honore four years ago to start up a band, he was a frustrated LA. session guitarist for folks like Erykah Badu. He was feeling pigeonholed as a hip hop and R&B man. This, from a guy who caught the music bug when he saw Roy Clark picking the banjo on Hee-Haw, which, Honore concedes, is unusual for a kid growing up on the black side of segregated Baton Rouge, La. Like Smith, he never bought into the idea that his skin color meant he had to stick to one kind of music.
Smith joins her guitarists in the makeshift studio on wheels. She sometimes rolls separately from the band, and the mood changes a bit when “boss lady” hangs here. “We play the dozens all the time,” Honore says.
“But we don’t mess with her because she does get her feelings hurt,” Graves adds.
“But Will plays! He’ll bang all day long!” Honore says.
The G-rated hip hop star hasn’t been around that much for this tour, but he was there for a lot of the Ozzfest run. Smith says it opened her husband up creatively. “He was really inspired, checking out the dope ass musicians that were on that stage,” she says, “just seeing the difference of live music and what it does to the spirit of man.”
Smith says her husband is now getting jiggy with more rock-oriented signatures and live instrumentation. He’s even called Honore and other band members to get input on how to work with different sounds. “Everybody thinks that cat is one dimensional,” Honore says. “He’s not.”
The subject of Will’s transformation brings up one of the band’s biggest challenges: How does one get more black folks into this? “For black audiences, I think it’s important that we start expanding ourselves,” Smith says. “You know, black people say, ‘Oh, rock 'n’ roll is our music.’ Yeah, but you don’t listen to it. Why’s that?’”
She even complains that there’s no category for rock at the BET Awards, which she co-hosted last year along with her husband. She shakes her head in dismay. “Sometimes I feel like we’re our own worst enemy,” she says. “Because we limit ourselves more than anybody.”
For now the band will settle for a growing fan base of die-hard metal freaks, melanin deficiency and all. After the set Smith and company spend an hour at the souvenir stand signing CD covers, glossy photos, and T-shirts that read, “THIS AINT NO R&B SHIT!”
On this day in music history: June 6, 1978 - “The Cars”, the debut album by The Cars is released. Produced by Roy Thomas Baker. it is recorded at AIR Studios in London in February 1978. Written over a period of two years, the material that makes up The Cars debut release are largely composed by guitarist and primary lead vocalist Ric Ocasek and bassist and vocalist Benjamin Orr. The bands demo of the track “Just What I Needed” receives airplay on local Boston radio station WCBN, which creates enough buzz to attract the attention of Elektra Records who sign them. Paired with producer Roy Thomas Baker (Queen, Journey, Free). They travel to London to record at George Martin’s AIR Studios. Recorded in just two weeks worth of studio time, the first album by the Boston based new wave/rock band becomes a staple of album oriented rock radio (AOR), soon after its release and beyond. It spins off three singles including “Just What I Needed” (#27 Pop), “Good Times Roll” (#41 Pop), and “My Best Friend’s Girl” (#35 Pop) and spends over two and a half years (139 weeks) on the Billboard pop album chart. The albums iconic cover photo features a shot of Russian born model Natalya Medvedeva. Regarded as a landmark new wave rock album, it is The Cars best selling studio release. The track “Moving In Stereo” is further immortalized when it used to great comic effect in the 80’s teen comedy “Fast Times At Ridgemont High”. The song is featured in a sequence when Brad (Judge Reinhold) is fantasizing about Linda (Phoebe Cates) while gazing at her out of the bathroom window. The scene ends with Linda accidentally walking in on Brad in the bathroom, catching him red handed. The album is first remastered and reissued on CD in 1999 as two disc deluxe edition with the original nine song album on the first disc. The second CD features thirteen bonus tracks including live performances and demos. It is also released as a hybrid SACD by Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab in 2015. “The Cars” is also reissued on vinyl by Rhino Records in January of 2016, as part of their “Start Your Ear Off Right” series, pressing the LP on blue translucent vinyl, also replicating the original packaging and inner sleeve. Another colored vinyl pressing (yellow) of the album is issued as part of the box set "The Elektra Years - 1978 - 1987” in June of 2016. “The Cars” peaks at number eighteen on the Billboard Top 200, and is certified 6x Platinum in the US by the RIAA.
Prompt: Waking up after staying over at their house for the first time (after the fist fight with the mob), and trying to sneak out to avoid embarrassment. You end up getting caught and interacting with them. 1000% fluff
TW: Spicy language, moderately bad French, reference to bruising due to fighting, ADORABLE FLUFF AND BAD MEMES
A/N: you don’t have to read the previous fic for this to make sense, but here it is if you’re into that: https://hamilkilo.tumblr.com/post/159215378999/brawl-in-the-streets Anyways, thank you for reading, as always. Thank you for all the support and kindness y'all have shown me on my previous posts! I love you! Also, If you want me to tag anything, let me know! I want you to feel safe when reading my work! Please enjoy!
Word Count: 2792
The morning after you fist fought the protestors, you woke up in a ton of pain. Everything hurt. In retrospect, you wished you had eaten four or five dozen eggs as a child so that you could’ve been as large as Gaston, but you didn’t. You barely even knew how to fight. Your face showed that.
You groaned as you sat up, feeling your pulse in your face. You knew it was going to be a swollen mess. Your mouth felt full of cotton, and your head was pounding. You looked over at the nightstand to see that the digital clock read 5:14. You groaned again. You were awake with pain, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. You figured it was for the best. This way, you could sneak out like it was a one night stand, only a lot worse.
You got up, wincing and cursing the entire way, and limped your way over to your clothes, wallet, and phone on the love seat. They really did have a nice guest room. Come to think of it though, you don’t remember their house being all that big. Did they each have their own rooms, or did they share rooms and have bunk beds? You guessed it didn’t matter. You quickly, well, as quickly as one in your condition could, changed and crept to the door. The room was fairly dark, but due to the open blinds, the moonlight spilled on the floor. You pulled the door open slowly, and thanked the universe for the fact that it did not squeak on its hinges. You tiptoed and groped your way down the dark hallway, then frowned when you saw dim light coming from the living room. You moved slowly, trying not to give yourself away to whatever, or whoever, was in there. You slowly peaked around the corner and saw Alex sitting on the couch, typing away on his laptop. There was a small burrito of John curled up against him and out like a light. A kid’s show played on the TV in the background. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to make it to the door without being detected. The couch was forward far enough that you’d be able to go behind it to reach the exit. You began to ninja your way towards the door, crawling on your hands and knees behind the couch when a floorboard creaked, and the typing stopped.
“Laf?” Alex’s voice was soft and raspy from how tired he was. You were frozen in your position, holding your breath. After a moment of silence, he returned to typing, and you let out a sigh of relief. You began to move again, your muscles tight and sore. You bit your lip to hold back the pain, desperate to get out of this awkward situation.
“Hey, Alex?” You heard a groggy voice from the couch. Shit. John must’ve woken up. You really picked a shitty time for your escape.
“Dearest?” If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve cooed out loud at how adorable they were.
“It’s late; we should go to bed,” John mumbled before he yawned, and without warning, he began to stretch, and he managed to bap you in the face. You cried out in surprise and pain, causing both of the boys to leap off the couch.
“Y/N?!” Alex was incredulous. He couldn’t fathom why you’d be behind the couch.
“Mornin’,” you greeted them both sheepishly. So much for a stealth escape.
“What are you doing up?” John asked as he came around the couch to stand in front of you. He squatted down beside you and gently grabbed your chin. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Jeez, I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz!”
You blushed and picked yourself up, stumbling in the process. John steadied you and held onto your arm. “No, no. I’m fine. I was… uh… just going for my morning stroll!”
He frowned at you, “Do I look like an idiot?”
You bit your lip to keep from giving him a sassy response, and instead, you shook your head. “I was actually going to go home. I’ve caused y'all enough trouble lately-”
“Nonsense!” Alex interrupted you. He had joined the two of you behind the couch and grabbed your hand in his. These two were turning out to be very touch oriented. “You threw rocks at bigots! That’s iconic! And, now you’ve been in a fight! You’re bad ass, Y/N!”
“Alex, shhh,” John shushed him since he was getting excited. He didn’t want to wake the others.
“Right,” Alex gave you an apologetic grin, “Anyways. Do you want some coffee?”
You shook your head in bewilderment. “It’s like five thirty in the morning on a Saturday…”
“Exactly!” He looked at you like you’d just stated that the sky was blue. “I do my best work when I stay up all night.”
“That’s arguable,” John grumbled, and you giggled. “Your typo count goes up when you don’t sleep. Your writing starts to sound paranoid and-”
“Everyone’s a critic!” He scoffed, and John rolled his eyes.
“Come on, you go to bed, and I’ll get Y/N some coffee,” John offered, and Alex scoffed this time.
“Do you even know me?” He demanded, throwing his hands on his hips. This was like the opera, only better. So much drama. And for free!
“Alexander, don’t you sass me!” John scolded him. Then he leaned forward and put his lips by his ear. In a voice you could barely hear, he growled lowly, “If you go to bed right now, I’ll do that thing you like later tonight.”
Alex’s eyes got wide, and he blushed deeply. You bit your lip to keep from squealing. Why didn’t you have a guy like that?
“Good night, John! Good night, Y/N! See you in the morning!” He rushed out, and he leaned over and pecked John on the lips, before he tensed like he caught himself in a mistake. Then, he turned to you and quickly pecked your lips, too. You didn’t move, you were too stunned. He quickly went off down the hallway, and you heard a door shut.
“Well,” John cleared his throat, ducking to hide his slight blush. “Let’s get you some breakfast, shall we?”
You held up your hands, “It’s fine, really-”
“No, I insist! It’s the least we can do. Come on!” He sounded almost offended, and you relented.
You followed him into the kitchen where he opened the cabinets. “What are we feeling today? Cereal? Waffles? Pancakes? Eggs? Tequila?”
John gave you a sly smirk on the last one, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Cereal is fine.”
“Awesome. This one’s actually my favorite!” He pulled down a box of Lucky Charms and put it on the counter. He brought down two bowls for you, then he got the milk.
He poured you some cereal, and you grinned. “For some reason,” you began, “I feel like that Jefferson guy would be the kind to pour his milk first, then the cereal.”
John paused in pouring the milk, and you cringed. Why did you even speak? You probably offended him. Way to go. Then, he dropped the carton on the counter, milk sloshing out, and he began to absolutely cackle like he was losing his mind. You watched him in mild alarm as he gripped the edge to keep himself from falling over. Then, you found yourself laughing with him. You were being loud, you knew that, but his laugh was just so contagious.
“John! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hercules came running into the kitchen, baseball bat in one hand (a/n low key considered putting “dildo in the other” but refrained, yw), teddy bear in the other. He let the bat drop down to his side when he saw the both of you rearing like hyenas.
“Y-y-y/N,” John stuttered between fits of laughter and gasps for breath, “Tell Herc what you told me!”
Herc looked at you in anticipation, and butterflies filled your stomach. You managed to stifle a nervous giggle, “Jefferson’s the guy that pours his milk before the cereal-”
“POURS HIS MILK BEFORE THE CEREAL! AHAHA!” John lost it again, and you followed suit. Herc just looked between the town of you in fear, then he chuckled to himself.
“You two are something else,” he said as he propped the bat against the counter.
“John,” you wheezed, hunched over the counter in another peel of laughter, “the cereal’s going to get soggy-”
“Just like JEFFERSON!” He hollered out, erupting at the end of the phrase again, and this time, Herc’s booming laugh followed.
“He probably indulges in soggy cereal!” Herc added, laughing with John and you.
“Qu'est-ce c'est?” You turned around to see Lafayette slowly approaching the kitchen, his hair up in pig tails as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.
“Um, comment est-ce tu dit… Jefferson aime le soggy cereal?” You managed to form half of a sentence in botched French, which, unknowingly to you, made it unbearably hilarious to Lafayette.
“Mon Dieu! Merde! C'est marrant!” And soon, the four of you were laughing your asses off in the kitchen, the cereal long forgotten. By some work of God, you’d managed to not wake up Alex. That kid could sleep like the dead.
After what seemed like forever, you had managed to calm down, and John dumped the soggy cereal in the sink.
“So, eggs?” He offered, and you smiled at him.
“Do you have hot sauce?” You questioned, and Hercules laughed before high fiving you.
“Bad ass!” He exclaimed, and you giggled again. For some reason, these boys just put you in such a good mood. You couldn’t believe that you’d tried to sneak out.
“Uh, tu aimes les omelettes?” Lafayette asked. You thought it was cute how French he was in the mornings.
“Don’t mind him,” Herc cut in, “He tends to slip back into French more when he’s tired. Besides, it’s hot as hell!”
You laughed, then turned to Lafayette. “Oui, je préfère les omelettes, mais j'aime les œufs. Et toi?” You knew it was sloppy and horribly mispronounced. It had been a while since your French class.
“Oui! Moi aussi! Tu es très adorable, mon ami!” He pulled you into his arms, squeezing you tightly, causing you to groan out in pain. He let you go quickly, muttering apologies in French.
“Sorry,” you admitted, “I’m not very good at French!”
“Non! C'est stupide! Ce n'est pas mal!” He ruffled your hair in response.
“Oui, oui, hon, hon, baguette, Eiffel Tower!” John exclaimed as he slid a plate with a cheese omelette to you. Hercules laughed and kissed John on the cheek before sliding the hot sauce to you. You couldn’t decide if they were all in a relationship together or if they were just really tight bros. Once again, you scolded yourself for sticking your nose into other people’s relationships.
You poured hot sauce on your omelette and ate it quickly, finding yourself ravenous. Lafayette rambled on about God only knows what in French, much too fast for you to comprehend any of it. You picked up on a few words, but none of them made sense in combination. You just smiled and nodded in between bites of eggs.
Once you had finished, the sun was starting to rise outside. “Thank you for the breakfast, but I’m afraid I really should be going.”
You didn’t want to overstay your welcome or take advantage of their hospitality, and you felt guilty for getting them all up so early.
“Hold on! Let me put on some shoes, and I’ll drive you to your car!” John offered, but Hercules stopped him.
“Nonsense, John. You didn’t go to bed last night. Go get some sleep, I’ll drive her,” He put his hand on John’s back and gently nudged him down the hall. How did Herc know that John hadn’t gone to bed? Whatever. John didn’t argue with Herc. Instead, he grabbed Lafayette by the wrist, Herc’s bear with his other hand, and walked off. Maybe they were room mates or something.
“Come on, Y/N,” Herc said as he took your hand and grabbed his keys from the counter. He was wearing loose, blue pajama bottoms and a navy shirt that said “Salty.” He led you out the door and opened the passenger door to the SUV. After you’d climbed in, he shut the door and started the car. He handed you the aux chord, and you froze. Oh no. You didn’t need this kind of pressure. He put his arm on your seat before he turned and looked out the back window, backing down the driveway.
“What do you want me to play?” You asked timidly, searching his face, almost like you were hoping his favorite band would just be scrawled across his forehead.
“Um, I don’t care. Surprise me! Whatever you like!” He glanced over at you with a laid back smile, and you gave him a weak one.
You scrolled through your low-charged phone, then threw all caution to the wind. If you embarrassed yourself, you never had to see these people again.
“Everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days, one two three four!” Hannah Montana shouted over the radio, and you began to cackle. You had to do it. You just had to. Do it for the meme.
You looked over, expecting to see Herc giving you a look, but instead, he was grinning from ear to ear. He sang along to the next lyrics, “Everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days, everybody knows what-what I’m talking about, everybody gets that way!”
You screamed in awe, causing him to look over at you with a dazzling smile.
“Betcha didn’t expect that, did ya, darlin’?” He drawled, and you shook your head.
“Okay, Mr. Big Shot, how about this one?” You switched the song to a different one, smiling down at your phone.
The intro played, then when the lyrics started, Herc, to your utter disbelief, nailed it. “Make it count, play it straight, don’t look back, don’t hesitate, when you go big time!”
You shrieked again, utterly delighted. You couldn’t believe it.
“What? I’m cultured in my memes, Y/N,” he teased you, and you grinned.
“I’m bringing the big guns,” you told him with a smirk, and he mirrored it.
You were ashamed that you had this saved on your phone, but it didn’t matter in that moment.
The disco track started playing, and Herc cried out, the emotion unfathomable.
“We’re no strangers to love,” you both wailed, cackling and carrying on. Embarrassingly, you were both able to sing the entire song. On the final loop of the chorus, Herc pulled up beside your car and parked. He turned the radio down and gave you a small smile.
“So this is it, Y/N,” he sounded almost disappointed. “Thanks again for taking on the mob.”
You cringed at the memory, “I’m sorry for dragging y'all into that-”
“Don’t be! No worries! Besides, if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten Rick Roll’d this morning!”
You laughed again, undoing your seatbelt. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t die in my sleep and for the ride to my car.”
“No problem! Hey, if you want, give me your number; I’m sure the guys would love to grab coffee with you!”
You smiled bashfully, amazed any of them would want to keep in contact with you, especially Herc, after you made the entire car ride a meme. You really were meme trash.
“You sure?” You mumbled, cheeks red.
“Yeah! You’re fun to be around! I’ve never seen John laugh that hard about anything in my life!”
You bit your lip and nodded. He gave you a grin before he unlocked his phone and handed it to you. You filled out the contact, putting hearts around your name. You loved yourself that much. Then, you passed his phone back.
“Hey, let us know if you need anything, ‘Kay? Like, even if it’s stupid, like you’re bored one night, and you want some drinking buddies. Let us know, and we’ll be there!” You glanced up at him to see him giving you a soft smile that caused your stomach to churn. You opened the door and got out, giving him a soft “okay”.
“Bye, Herc,” you called over your shoulder.
“Bye, darlin’!” He called as you shut the door.
He waited until you started your car before he left, wanting to make sure you would be able to get home. You plugged in your phone and played Taylor Swift’s “Enchanted” the entire way home. You smiled all day long.
On this day in music history: April 16, 1979 - “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer is released. Written Pete Belotte, Harold Faltermeyer and Keith Forsey, it is the first single from the landmark “Bad Girls” album. The rock oriented dance track further broadens Summer’s audience, and is an immediate smash upon its release. For the song’s blistering solo, Doobie Brothers guitarist Jeff “Skunk” Baxter is brought in to play the part (on a vintage Danelectro guitar). After the single’s initial release as a commercial 45, and promotional 12", the longer mix of the track is issued commercially as 12" single shortly afterward, seguing it together with the follow up single “Bad Girls” (the way they appear on the LP, but with a shorter version of “Hot Stuff” appearing on the album). Entering the Hot 100 at #79 on April 21, 1979, the single rockets to the top of the chart six weeks later, spending 3 non-consecutive weeks at #1. It yields to The Bee Gees “Love You Inside Out” for one week on June 9, 1979, then regain the top spot for an additional two weeks on June 16, 1979. Summer also wins a Grammy Award for Best Rock Vocal Performance, Female for the song, becoming the first woman, and first African American artist to ever win that category.