Papa's Got a Brand New...Bling (Late July 2008)

[nomorekaraoke]

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life--

Wrong theme song, even though the theme certainly applies. It's a new day in Lorne's life. He quite enjoys dawn, thank you very much. He's found a new place to live - another penthouse in the middle of Youdon'tneedtoknow-ville. And recently, he's been indulging more and more in taking breathers at Milliways.

In short: good times all around.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

"'Kay." Andrew cranes his neck. "I think I can see Belvedere Castle from here."

[nomorekaraoke]

Why, if that doesn't bring back memories.

...of a not entirely pleasant kind.

"You should see it at sun-up. It's a feast for the senses, I'm telling you," he calls from inside the bedroom, rummaging about in his closet for a decent pair of jeans. Why on Earth he thought he could find a pair, he'll never know.

Oh, well. Rummaging Lorne is rummaging.

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah."

Reluctantly pulling himself away from the view, Andrew looks around the rest of the room.

(Subconsciously, he's looking for the bookshelves.)

[nomorekaraoke]

The single most eye-catching piece of furniture in the entire room, open plan or not, must be the book shelves taking up the vast majority of the wall next to the bedroom door. What becomes immediately apparent, however, is that it's more of a storage place for what is now considered somewhat old-fashioned: records. LPs, EPs, and to some extent CDs. Albums, singles, collections.

Edith Piaf mingling snugly with Nat King Cole and Louis Armstrong, Erasure with Aretha Franklin, Depeche Mode and Michael Jackson. The list goes on (and it's not that there's dust anywhere near his music collection - maybe it's the way everything's so neatly arranged alphabetically and by genre - but something might just give the impression that he doesn't listen to half of it as much as he used to).

One shelf is dedicated to literature, and like his taste in music, so is his taste in books. Old books, and varied authors, similarly arranged, and most of them lovingly worn around the edges. Shakespeare, Douglas Adams, Ondaatje, Edgar Allan Poe... Though it's far less vast, the literature list goes on with similar flair.

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew looks at the books first, and notes the authors he recognizes -- but there is so much more of the music, and it would take him a while just to read the album names.

He's not going to take anything down for a closer look. That's just rude.

(Lorne may notice that his guest has fallen silent.)

[nomorekaraoke]

It doesn't take him long to notice the very obvious lack of flowing conversation. Granted, that sort of thing comes with the territory of staying in separate rooms for the sake of privacy, but still...

Lorne comes ambling back out in a pair of slate gray-meets-brown jeans that haven't seen much wear and tear (or sunshine for that matter), an unbuttoned, muted blue shirt over his undershirt, and several scarves slung over his shoulder for mixy matchy purposes.

"...see anything you like?"

[stilljustandrew]

He glances over his shoulder as Lorne speaks, and his face lights up in appreciation. "Oh, look at you."

[nomorekaraoke]

There's a first (-or-is-that-second-?) time for everything. Lorne ducks his head with a shrug. "Oh, this old thing." Cue twirling, 360 degrees. "I have to say, though, when you're used to pressed slacks, jeans feel weird."

Says the guy whose idea of casual involves button down shirts and cuff links.

[stilljustandrew]

"And vice versa," Andrew points out.

"You've got an awesome music collection here, you know that?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"Touché," retorts Lorne, ambling on over to stand beside his friend-in-the-making, and gives said music collection a scrutinizing look. "Some people hoard post-its, I hoard music."

Even if he hasn't added to his collection in years, now. But that, like so many other things, is a very well kept secret.

[stilljustandrew]

He reaches out and carefully brushes his fingertips over the spine of one record.

"Edith Piaf," he says in distant recognition. "Meg used to like that one."

[nomorekaraoke]

"La Môme," he murmurs, nodding slowly. He reaches out for that very same album, taking it out from its snug little nook to give Andrew a closer look. "Life in Pink... That's a classic. This record was released in 1961, with visuals very typical of the period." Muted colours, soft lens portrait photograph... It's almost like an echo of a time and place, far, far away.

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew leans in to study the cover art.

"Only song of hers I remember is La Vie En Rose."

His accent isn't too bad, but it's still very American.

[nomorekaraoke]

...as if Lorne's pronunciation is any less American, despite his decidedly un-American heritage.

"'Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast - this is la vie en rose...' ...I won't mangle the original lyrics, never fear."

[stilljustandrew]

He perks up. "I didn't know it got translated into English."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Oh, yes it did!" Lorne beams. "Edith Piaf recorded it herself, and then came Louis Armstrong and the rest, as they say, is history."

Coincidentally, "I have several versions of it. Seems to be one of those songs that get re-recorded time and time again."

(Lorne's obviously a closet romantic. Shush)

[stilljustandrew]

"I never heard it."

Half a beat, and he looks back at the album titles again. "...Is that The Police?"

[nomorekaraoke]

Lorne lingers a moment longer with the Edith Piaf album, until the question registers along with the slightly dubious tone of voice.

"Of course it is. Roxanne, Message in a Bottle, Don't Stand So Close to Me, what's not to absolutely adork?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Synchronicity," Andrew says happily. "That was always my favorite."

Beat.

"Okay, Moulin Rouge, El Tango de Roxanne: best thing ever or hideous travesty?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"Are you kidding me?!" He exclaims happily, completely unapologetic about it (and the expression is exactly the same regardless of his friendly hyooman face). "How can you go wrong with a hunky, bellowing, narcoleptic Argentinean?! It's fabulous!"

[stilljustandrew]

"Absolutely," he agrees.

"... what they did to 'Like A Virgin' was scary, though."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Yeah," the beaming happy face is swiftly replaced by a very emotive 'oh, ew'. "I'll never forget Lurhmann for that one. The Show Must Go On, though? Killer. Absolutely lethal, break-your-heart goodness."

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah," Andrew sighs, and this time a faint shadow crosses his face.

[nomorekaraoke]

Lorne tilts his head, noticing very well indeed. "Music...can bring back the most distant memories. Both good and bad, of course, but you know what? That's why I love it."

He's quite proud of himself that it doesn't even sound fake. He's professed this love so often it just rolls off his tongue.

[stilljustandrew]

It doesn't sound fake. It sounds ... something.

"And of course," he adds, "you've got the whole aura-reading thing with music too ... Does that work with recorded music, or does it have to be live?"