Oriphiel

Looking at obscure Garage Rock is fun, but I think it's time that I expanded my musical horizons. So I asked myself "What's the furthest genre from Garage Rock?" It's raw, minimalistic, brutally unpolished, created on a shoe-string budget, and usually about dark subject matter. The opposite of it would have to be something very light and intricate, as well as being happy and easy-going. The answer was simple; Disco! I've never really given it a fair chance as a valid genre of music, and nowadays it's kind of become an easy target for criticism. I think examining the genre could be a lot of fun, however I don't want to have multiple journals where i'm simply reviewing albums over and over. I'm having a great time writing that Western, so in this journal, i'm going to focus on writing one large story, creating each chapter as I listen to different songs from the genre (an idea that is indebted to journals like http://www.musicbanter.com/members-j...t-schemes.html and http://www.musicbanter.com/members-j...ravaganza.html). Maybe I've been watching The Warriors too often lately, but I think I can make this work! In terms of music, I'll be avoiding Rock in all of it's facets, sticking to the main genres of the late 70's/early 80's dance club scene, which includes Disco, Hi-NRG, Funk, and early Techno (although there were a few bands that combined Rock/Punk with Disco that I might include, like Blondie). Let's get started!

Chapter One



The Red Shark club was legendary for it's anything-goes atmosphere. Located right at the border between the territories of three rival gangs, every night was host to dozens of bloody fights, and while the angry boys were bopping, the shady cats in the corner were pushing whatever drugs they could get their hands on. Situated less than a mile from a metro station, other gangs from all over town often showed up to make guest appearances, looking to join the revelry. However, from the outside, it's dangerous reputation was betrayed by it's humble appearance; it was one of the many brick buildings that comprised the downtown of the city, marked only by a small red neon sign beside the front entrance.

It was summer, and the night air was thick with humidity. The asphalt of the street was wet from a small shower of hot rain that had fallen earlier, and it seemed to glow under the street lamps and neon signs above it. A small group of restless teenagers were sitting on the steps of an apartment building, fiddling with a large boombox that gave out only the sound of static. One of them gave it a good smack, and the music from the radio began to replace the vacant hissing. Just as the music began, a handful of men came up the stairs from the metro tunnel.

There were three of them, and without pause they began walking towards the Red Shark. They were quite different from each other; each was of a different height and skin color, and dressed in an entirely different fashion. However, they all had a red bandana tied around their right arms. While two of them wore dour expressions on their faces, preparing themselves for the inevitable bloodbath that would soon be upon them, the other was smiling and walking with a stylish stagger to their step. He cracked his knuckles, before lightly punching the arm of the man next to him, saying "Well, here we are. The Shark. It may not look like much, but it's where the heart is for guys like us. You ready, new blood?" The man next to him gave out a weak smile, but his eyes remained as intent and serious as before. "Yeah. I'll hold my own," he replied. The third man tightened his bandana, and said "Just watch out for knives and snubnoses. People get sore when you beat 'em fair, 'n try to use their toys to even the odds." The new blood shot him a glance, saying "Yeah. You showed me." The third man laughed and said "I did, didn't I?" as he looked down at his right arm, and the thick scar that ran down it's length, winding through a maze of tattoos.

The three men walked through the front door, and soon found themselves in the heart of the Red Shark. The darkness throughout the club was broken up by the flashing lights that were scattered about, especially in the proximity of the dance floor. It seemed relatively peaceful inside, with a decent amount of men and women dancing to the loud music and sharing drinks at the bar. There were a few people sitting at a table who wore denim jackets with identical patches on the back. The first man eyed them, and elbowed the new blood as he nodded towards them, saying "See those pricks? They're from the 53's. They muscled out the Crypt Boys from this block about a week ago, trying to take the Shark. Guess they never learned that nobody holds the Shark for very long." While they were talking, the third man walked over to the bar and took a bottle from someone who was on the verge of passing out. He joined the other two as they nonchalantly walked towards the table of 53's, who were too busy gambling to notice their approach. The third man took a swig from his bottle, and then asked the first man and the new blood "Want a drink?" as he raised the bottle towards them. They both gave him a questioning glance. He shrugged, said "Alright, then", and threw the bottle towards the table of 53's. It hit one of them in the jaw, refusing to shatter as it bounced off of their face and rattled across the floor.

The three men had the advantage of surprise, and they fell upon the 53's before most of them could even get out of their chairs. The first man laughed as he grabbed one of them and threw them across a nearby table, while the third man kicked one of them in the chest as they tried to stand up, sending them stumbling backwards. The new blood grabbed a chair and threw it at the 53's on the other side of the table, before taking a punch to the gut that stole his breath. Before his attacker could land any more hits, the new blood used all of his remaining energy to kick him in the groin. At this point, half of the club-goers were running for the door in a panic, while the other half were either too used to the violence or too amused by it to run away. The fight became a furious mess, as two 53's tackled the first man over the railing that surrounded the dance-floor. He quickly got to his feet as the 53's jumped over the railing, and they began to fight on top of the flashing tiles of the pit. One of the 53's pulled out a switchblade, and carefully approached his prey.

The other two men finished off their enemies at the table, and jumped over the railing to help the first man. The new blood grabbed the 53 with the knife and tried to choke him from behind, however the 53 escaped his hold by stabbing him in the thigh. The new blood yelled in pain, and dragged the 53 to the ground. As the 53 tried to stand up, the third man kicked him in the face, and the first man knocked out the last enemy standing with a heavy punch to the jaw. Out of breath and covered in sweat, the three men took a moment to collect themselves. "Damn it..." said the new blood, as he nursed the deep cut in his leg. The first man laughed and raised his hand, clapping the new blood's back as he said "Looks like you've got a scar of your own now, new blood!" The third man joined him in this laughter, while the new blood remained unamused. "Hey, after you guys are done cracking jokes, can you maybe, I don't know, help me?" The first man ceased his laughter, although he was still smiling, and said "Sure, man. We'll take care of it. Don't worry." "I just got stabbed, man, of course i'm gonna worry! I swear, if my leg gets infected, i'm gonna kick your ass." The third man smiled, and said "If your leg gets infected, we'll have to cut it off. And it'll be kinda hard for you to do any kicking with only one leg." The new blood punched the third man's arm, and eventually the three of them found their way towards the entrance of club as they started back on their way home. As they walked out the door, a man got out from the table he was hiding under, and he asked "What the hell was that?" to the woman sitting at the table beside his. She set down the burger she was eating, and said "The usual. It's why I love coming here, you know? Dinner and a show." He looked at her as if she was crazy. She noticed his expression of shock and smiled, saying "I love this city."

blackdragon123

Can you dig it?......CAAAAAAN YOUUUU DIG ITTTTT?! That did actually remind me of playing The Warriors video game for the PS2.

__________________
'Well, I'm a common working man,
With a half of bitter, bread and jam,
And if it pleases me, I'll put one on ya man,
When the copper fades away!' - Jethro Tull

Oriphiel

Heh, that's exactly what I had in mind when I was writing this! Every time I hear Disco/Hi-NRG, it reminds me of The Warriors. Anyway, later on I'll mix things up to make sure that the story isn't too formulaic. Thanks for reading the first chapter. Oh, and one more thing...

blackdragon123

So much love for this film, man. I'll be keeping my eye out for the next piece.

Fox: Yeah...that's really heavy. The Orphans, right? Yeah, our youth worker talks about you guys all the time...

We ain't got one!

__________________
'Well, I'm a common working man,
With a half of bitter, bread and jam,
And if it pleases me, I'll put one on ya man,
When the copper fades away!' - Jethro Tull

Oriphiel

Chapter Two



The three men were making good time on their way back to their territory, however they sat rather restlessly in the orange plastic seats of the subway train as the overhead lights bore down on them with a tiring brightness. Eventually, the third man stood up and began to stretch, saying "Alright, that's it. I'm gettin' off at this next stop." The new blood looked at him incredulously, and said "What are you talking about? We're only two stops away from the Springs." "I just need... I don't know, to go for a walk or somethin'. All this sitting is startin' to beat the hell outta me. Besides, the night's almost over and I've only gotten into one fight." "I hear that," said the first man through a smile. "You can count me in. A little walk would do me good." Though he wasn't amused by this turn of events, the young blood rolled his eyes, and decided to go along with them.

Of course, they were in good spirits, despite the young blood's wound, which now had a torn piece of fabric wrapped around it as a make-shift bandage. They got off the metro train, left the station tunnel, and walked back into the burning and humid night air that covered the city. A short distance ahead of them, two men were sitting on the steps to an apartment building; they were both wearing blue sleeveless shirts, and nonchalantly drank from the bottles they were holding as they eyed the newcomers. One of them smiled, and said "I think those are Red Sleeves. Probably on their way back home from a fight, judging by the tall one's bloody leg." The man sitting beside him lowered his bottle and wiped his mouth, asking "Big guns?" The first man shook his head, and said "No, just regulars. That's why they're called Red Sleeves, you know. 'Cause once a cat proves himself, makes a reputation, he gets his arms covered in tattoos. Red sleeves, yeah? The unproven have to settle for those scarves." "Well, hell," said the second man, as he set down his bottle and stretched his arms, "looks like they just did me a favor, walking through our territory like that. I was just hoping I'd get to have some fun tonight, and the city provides."

Even though the three Red Sleeves were now walking right past the two rival gang members, they didn't notice them at all, being too caught up in their jokes and revelry to see them. The two men stood up, and began to follow the Red Sleeves. "I'm ready. You ready?" asked the second blue shirt, who seemed a little nervous. "Yeah," said the first blue shirt, "done this a thousand times before. Just remember to keep your hands up. You've got a glass jaw, man." "Go screw yourself," replied the second blue shirt. Before long, they had caught up to the Red Sleeves, and the first blue shirt shouted "Hey! You boys lost?" The Red Sleeves turned to face them, and sized their soon-to-be opponents up. One of the Red Sleeves smiled, and leaned into his steps as he walked towards the two blue shirts. "You know, we might just be. I thought that we were makin' our way back into the Springs, but after running into you two scrawny clowns, it's obvious that we took a wrong turn and ended up in the junkie pits." The first blue shirt stepped towards him, saying "You've got balls, kid, I'll give you that. But if you disrespect us again, I'll rip them off and beat you to death with them."

The impetuous Red Sleeve didn't respond; he simply shot out his fist towards the first blue shirt's face. The blue shirt saw the punch coming, and slipped to the side as he stepped towards the Red Sleeve and struck him hard with a hook to the stomach. The third Red Sleeve ran forward and tackled the second blue shirt, and they fell to the ground in a heap. The new blood tried to save the first Red Sleeve, however with his injury he was seemingly no match for the first blue shirt. After taking a few punches, the new blood came to his senses and raised up his elbows, deflecting a punch from his assailant. Almost immediately, the startled blue shirt grabbed his hand in pain, and the new blood quickly seized the opportunity and punched his enemy in the throat with his foreknuckles. Now that the first blue shirt was out of the fight, all of the Red Sleeves focused on their final enemy, and managed to beat him down without much resistance. Leaving the two blue shirts on the asphalt, groaning in pain, the Red Sleeves started back on their way home. "Wait, hold on..." said the youngblood, as he turned around and ran back towards the blue shirts. Kneeling down over the nearest of his enemies, the young blood looked at his shirt: it had a variety of marks and patches on it, probably indicating status. The young blood smiled, forced his opponent out of his shirt, and gave him one final kick to the ribs before rejoining the rest of the Red Sleeves. "A trophy," he said. "Show the boys back home, build up my reputation, you know?" The first Red Sleeve laughed and clapped the young blood on the back, and the three continued on their way.

blackdragon123

That song was pretty tight cha'mone. you've got good energy in your writing.

__________________
'Well, I'm a common working man,
With a half of bitter, bread and jam,
And if it pleases me, I'll put one on ya man,
When the copper fades away!' - Jethro Tull

Oriphiel

Chapter Three



Cleo didn't have much going for her in life. And, considering that her table was littered with empty bottles and glasses, it was a fact that was readily apparent (although, to be fair, she wasn't solely responsible for the mess). She felt a cold sickness in her stomach, and began to get a headache as her eyes refused to focus on anything in particular for more than a moment. She leaned over her table on her elbows, running a hand across her forehead and through her hair, holding back the urge to vomit. After she had somewhat collected herself, she pulled the notebook on the other side of the table towards her and began to write in it. She was, after all, a writer by trade, though not by choice. You see, she was homeless, having been evicted from her apartment just a week ago, and had to settle for the first job that had revealed itself to her. After losing her home, she had drifted around the city, crashing on the couches of any friends that could spare the favor, and it was on one such couch that a friend offered her employment. His name was John, and he had been a co-worker alongside Cleo at the sketchy pizza parlor that they had both worked at last summer.

One night, as they were both sprawled on the couch in a heap of beer and popcorn while a truly awful movie flashed across the television, he asked "Cleo, you're a writer, right?" She smiled, snorted her nose, and said "No, i'm not. Not even close." He straightened up, saying "Hey, don't piss on yourself like that. I remember those stories you used to write, you know, when things were slow down at the parlor. They were awesome! Like the one about about the guy with the dancing robot that could-" Cleo cut off him with laughter, saying "Oh come on! Those were terrible, man! They were just a way to pass the time. I mean, the guys who write those paragraphs on the back of shampoo bottles have more chops than me!" "That's bull," replied John, "and you know it. Anyway, if you're willing to humor me and pick up the pen again, I think I know where you can finally hold down a job." Cleo said "Oh, do tell," as she raised her bottle to her lips. "My friend is a photographer for some local magazine, real seedy, you know? Anyway, he told me that their writers just got busted by the boys in blue, caught havin' a coke party with some hookers in a motel, so now they need new talent. How 'bout it? I could vouch for you." Cleo looked at John incredulously, asking "A writer for a skin mag?" He nodded, and she thought about it for a moment, before saying "Actually, it'd probably be a pretty easy job, getting paid to write up some shlock story in five minutes. Does it pay well?" He finished the drink he was taking, and replied "It pays something, which in my experience is way better than the nothing of unemployment."

And that was that. It was pornography, plain and simple, and her specialty was writing erotic short stories for those who preferred words over pictures. Tonight, one of the main causes of her apprehension was that she had a deadline tomorrow morning. Usually, when it came to simple stories for the magazine, she was able to force herself to think up stories and translate them to the page in time to collect her paycheck, however tonight she found herself unable to finish even the first paragraph. In the past, whenever she lost herself in a fog of depression that had clouded her ability to focus, she found relief in loud music and crowds, letting the chaos around her give her a sort of calming anonymity. So she had come to the nearest dance club, a place called the Three Fingers, hoping that the noise would give her relief. And, as a matter of fact, after an hour of sitting in the club and drinking, her inspiration was slowly starting to come back to her. She jotted down a few paragraphs, lost to the possession of the ghost of inspiration, and smiled as she finally began to see her paycheck taking form. Just then, two Red Sleeves walked into the bar; they were the same boppers who had just tussled their way through enemy territory, sans the new blood, who they had dropped off at the gang's hideout for a patch-up.

The Red Sleeves had come to the club for the same inclination that had brought the rest of the crowd around them; they were restless, unable to sleep or relax, and needed a night-cap. As the club was in their territory, they spotted a few fellow Red Sleeves amidst the chaos, and they greeted each other with laughs and light punches. However, the two Red Sleeves were of the sort that had trouble follow them as if it were their shadow. A blue shirt scout had witnessed their earlier fight, and tailed them all the way back into their territory. After the Red Sleeves stepped into the club and began to mingle, the scout used a pay phone outside to call a few fellow blue shirts, telling them what had happened and requesting reinforcements. Within a half hour, a warparty of blue shirts were stepping out of the nearby metro station and heading for the Three Fingers. They came across a few Red Sleeves along the way, and attacked them without any sense of caution, which attracted the attention of every nearby Red Sleeve scout. As these scouts ran to gather an army of their own, it became apparent that a great deal of blood would be spilled tonight, and the Three Fingers would be at the heart of it all.

Oriphiel

Thanks! I'm having a lot of fun writing this one so far, which is surprising considering that i'm normally not crazy about dance music.

Oriphiel

Even though I've stopped updating my journals, they've somehow continued to get quite a few views, so I figured that I should give you all some new content to look at as a big "Thanks!" for all of the support! As I wrote this next chapter I forgot that curse words are censored, a fact that I didn't realize until I previewed it and saw a bunch of asterisks in front of me. While I could just use loopholes to sneak them in, I actually find all of the asterisks really funny for some reason, so I decided to just leave it as it is. Have fun using your imagination!

Chapter Four



Cleo was furiously writing down her story, eager to catch something interesting before her inspiration disappeared, when she finally dropped her pen and rubbed her eyes. A small part of her was proud of her work, while the rest couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of her situation. "Truly, this is your best work yet, Cleo. This is, like, the Hamlet of porn," she joked to herself, leaning back in her chair as she stretched, now beginning to realize how late it was. Though writing didn't always come easily to her, Cleo felt a remarkable sense of satisfaction whenever she finished a new story. Still, writing was a strain on her, and she preferred to find a different way to make a living, though she had to admit that she had always thought that she'd like to create an interesting story someday, sometimes imagining it as a novel and other times as a screenplay that went on to become an iconic movie. And, even though she longed to one day create a story that meant far more to her than her usual pulp, she could never truly bring herself to hate even the most wretched of her works; each one was, even if only in a small way, a creation of hers, and she felt a strange sort of connection to all of them. As Cleo sat there pondering whether or not anyone would care if she fell asleep at her table, one of the Red Sleeves suddenly sat down beside her. "This seat taken?" he asked. Cleo opened her tired eyes and said "Yup. Full table. Sorry." He took a drink and set his bottle down, asking "Really? You mind if I ask who you're with?" "No, I don't mind," she responded, before setting down her head on the table and closing her eyes once again. The man laughed, and said "Hey, you never answered my question. Who else is here with you?" "Oh, you know," she responded in a muffled voice, "there's one seat for me and three for my ego. But you know what? Feel free to stay. I'm pretty much ready to call it a night, so it's all yours."

The other Red Sleeve walked over to the table, and said "Hey, we've got problems. Leroy just came in, said that a whole army's muscling it's way through our territory, headed right for this club." Cleo looked up, and gave him a questioning look. "Who's the girl?" he asked. The Red Sleeve at the table took another drink, and answered "Oh, her? Name's Cleopatra, and she's a secret agent that moonlights as a professional disco dancer. We're old friends." Cleo narrowed her eyes and said "That's bull****." The Red Sleeve laughed and said "Hey, when people don't introduce themselves to me, I just let my imagination fill in the blanks!" "I'm Cleo," she responded, putting her notepad in her pocket, "and I write. Nice meeting you."

The man sitting down smiled, and said "No ****! Cleo, Cleopatra... I was ****ing close, wasn't I?" Cleo shrugged, and said "I guess. It's just a nickname. Started using it 'cause my real name is absolute ****." The Red Sleeve at the table smiled, and replied "Well, I'm Ricardo, and I'm a... well, I'm not a writer." "No ****," said Cleo, feigning a tone of surprise as she looked him over. The other Red Sleeve interrupted with "Hey Ricardo, I'm glad that you're making friends and ****, but we've got a ****ing army after us. Maybe this **** can wait for later?" Ricardo leaned back in his chair and said "Why? Let 'em come. If ****ing Leroy and his blind ass saw 'em coming, then every scout from here to the station's hot on the word and raising an army of their own."

Cleo raised an eyebrow, and said "So I'm guessing you guys are gangsters, right?" Ricardo laughed and took another drink, while the other Red Sleeve sarcastically said "No, we're just very competitive accountants, and a rival company is coming to, like, math us to death." Cleo smiled and widened her eyes, saying "And I thought that my jokes were bad..." "Look, John," said Ricardo to the Red Sleeve, "the bartender has a sawed-off under the counter. If you're really worried about those boys coming to try and take us out, go grab the shotgun and get a table near the door. If they're packing heat, blast away, but if they're naked then you can just leave them to me. That sound good?" John looked to the side as if to roll his eyes, but after a moment of thought he nodded and left for the bar. Ricardo took another drink, and then looked at Cleo and said "Last time we had a quick scuffle like this, they brought about fifty people. Probably be the same amount this time. I can work with that. Anyway, you up for some dancing?" "You dance?" Cleo asked incredulously. "Only till the day I die! So how 'bout it?"

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------

Oriphiel

Chapter Five



It wasn't long before the army of Blue Shirts arrived, and they immediately set about destroying the club to draw out the Red Sleeves that had disrespected them. John smiled as he stood up, pointing his sawed-off shotgun into the heart of the army, and they ceased their attack on the club as they glared at him. A few began to talk among themselves, with a few laughs escaping the crowd, and one of the Blue Shirts at the head of the army said "Let's do this. Either throw down, or shoot your shot." The Red Sleeves throughout the club jogged to the front, and now stood beside John, looking quite defiant despite being greatly outnumbered. Ricardo, however, was still on the dance floor with Cleo, the loud music and flashing lights making him completely oblivious to the arrival of his enemies. John looked at the Red Sleeves beside him, smiled, and shrugged as he threw his shotgun back to the bartender. With that, the battle began, and the two gangs fell upon each other in a bloody mix.

The Red Sleeves fought bravely, but they were quickly overwhelmed and knocked to the floor, and the kicking of the Blue Shirts prevented them from getting back up. However, John grabbed the legs of one of his attackers, and quickly shot to his feet despite being grabbed and punched. Before returning to the floor, he stumbled across a table and grabbed a bottle, smashing it across the face of someone in the crowd. Just then, Red Sleeves started to pour into the club, and they began to attack the Blue Shirts from behind. The chaos at the front of the club quickly gave way to a massive fight that spanned the entirety of the scene, until it eventually reached the dance floor.

"No, this is how you do the Hustle," said Ricardo, as he was about to demonstrate a dance to Cleo, and he was summarily tackled from behind by a Blue Shirt. "Oh, ****!" he groaned as he fell to the floor. He was caught by surprise, and the Blue Shirt hit him hard in the jaw. However, Cleo kicked the Blue Shirt hard in the nose, leaving a nasty gash, and helped Ricardo up as he wiped away the blood that was escaping a cut on his cheek. "Thanks," said Ricardo, as he shot Cleo a curious glance. She looked at him with a dead serious expression, and replied "Nobody interrupts the Hustle." He let out a short laugh and rolled his eyes, before noticing a few Blue Shirts attacking a Red Sleeve nearby, and he jumped into the fray without any hesitation.

As reinforcements continued to arrive at the scene, the Blue Shirts were very quickly losing their momentum as well as the advantage of numbers, and many of them left the fight and ran for the front and back doors. The leader of the Blue Shirt army noticed that the fight was nearing it's end, and he applied pressure to his right eye as he found his way out of the club; he was the one who John had struck with a bottle, and the shattered glass left numerous cuts all around his eye. Blood began to flow through his fingers as he stumbled into the alleyway behind the club. He jogged away from the scene of the fight, and eventually ducked into another alleyway so that he could stop and rest. Falling to his knees, he used his shirt to wipe away some of the blood off of his face, and he began to catch his breath, when suddenly the darkness of night was broken by a strange beam of light that came from deeper in the alley. The Blue Shirt looked at the beam with a tired eye, and a strange sound began to emit from it, not unlike the sound of a synthesizer. His hand slowly left his eye, with droplets of blood dripping off of his chin and unto the ground, and he stared at the beam in wonder and confusion. "What the f-"

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------