#walter whitney

[brownslair]

Verne Tossey

'Take it out in Trade' by Walter Whitney, 1957 She offered excitement... on the installment plan" Ace D 229 Cover art by Verne Tossey. #PulpArt

[itsblackmagic-blog1]

I gave Lady Lashowe a piece of my mind. And by that I mean I had a calm, civilized conversation with her, regarding the goblins, while making delightful chit chat throughout the encounter. However, if Mac or Grace gave Lady Lashowe a piece of their mind, it would mean something entirely different. I don’t bother to return to the goblins, I’m sure they’ll receive word as to what Lashowe decides of them, eventually. Besides, I’m not a courier, I’m just some adult with magic that acts as a boundary between the innocent and the dark arts.

Not really. Fighting the dark arts just keeps me busy and in shape. That shape being narrow. Jack’s also skinny, and Grace is relatively skinny, but Jack has some healthy weight on him, and Grace has some clear muscles. Not like Mac does, but she could still kick my ass.

I’ve been walking for a while. Less heading back to a flat, more heading back to the goblin alley, keeping a safe distance, walking back to where I first saw the goblin, then returning back to my path to the Iron Duckling, the bar that Grace works at. If I spent any time in pathfinding, I could just go straight from the Lashowe residence to the Iron Duckling, but instead I have to spend an hour returning to where I was in order to head to the bar. When I get there, I’m here two hours later than I originally wanted to arrive, but I’m still here.

The Iron Duckling is a human bar, lacking any form of magic influence outside of Grace. And occasionally the coincidental patron. It’s not a very popular bar, but that makes it more accessible. Grace is getting someone a beer when she sees me, but doesn’t walk over until the beer’s been handed over. “Hey.” She says. “Debs back yet?”

Debbie stays in our flat when she’s in town. She usually thanks us with a stack of bills of varying sizes. The first time she did this, she gave us two months’ worth of rent. Grace and I paid off the next month, and used the rest in transaction for gold, and used it in a magician’s spending spree. If it weren’t for me, she would have spent all two months on a handful of wands. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have self fixing drinking glasses. (Those have been beneficial so many times, I feel a little bad.) We call this compromising.

“No, she’s still gone.” I say, taking a pretzel from a dish, eating it.

“Have another.” Grace says. “The whole bowl. Even the bags in the back, eat all of the pretzels. You’re too skinny.”

I lift my eyebrow, taking another pretzel from the bowl. “I thought you liked how concerningly scrawny I am.”

“I do. But this fat guy, and I mean this really fat guy, was in here, and he told me that he got stabbed, and he didn’t die because he’s so fat that the knife didn’t hit anything important.”

I nod. “Good for him. And?”

“And you’re so skinny that if someone slashed your stomach, they would probably get your stomach, liver, all of your intestines, lungs and heart.”

“There it is.” I say, eating another pretzel.

“See, I really care for your well being. You owe me.”

“I guess I do.” Pretzel number three. “What do I owe you?”

“Your time, your blood, your body, your life.” She says. “You know, the usual.”

“Then I owe you about five of me, at this point.” We both lean over the counter, and we kiss. “When’s your shift over?”

“What time is it?”

I really should start carrying my mobile with me. “Six, six thirty...seven?” I guess.

“Oh, great. My shift’s over at sixty thirty eight. And, I’d say a minute just passed.” She places her hands on the counter, and jumps over it.

I don’t question her decision. She’s wearing dress pants, a dress shirt, and a vest. And damn does she pull it off. She looks skinny with it on, and she is, she just has clear abs under it, and could kick my ass. I kiss her again. “You can just leave the bar like this?”

“Not like anyone’s going to rob this place. If the bar loses enough money, it’ll shut down. And if it shuts down, they’ll have to talk to their families.”

“Oh, God forbid.” I say, walking out with Grace. She doesn’t take a purse with her, she just locks her keys and phone in her car. She either uses a wand or waits for me to unlock the car. I, like the gentleman I am, unlock the car for her, and get in. “Ran into goblins today.” I say.

“Here? Man, I haven’t seen goblins in Clamacre in months, what happened?”

“They got a girl, Gwen Lashowe, and were planning on keeping her until the Lady Representative of Clamacre gave them equal rights.”

“Damn. How long did that last? Did the Rep send you?”

“I came in maybe ten minutes after they kidnapped her. And no, apparently her daughter’s in a group against the dark arts, and she never heard of us.”

“So, after five, six years, still no one knows us?”

“I think everyone’s just been blending the two of us together.”

“What? No way, bullshit, I can’t believe we’re still not well known.”

“I think we are, it’s just that people think we’re one group. Or something, I’ll look into it.”

The drive’s pretty uneventful, but we eventually get to our flat. Not the same flat that Mac and Jack live in, but another flat, a few blocks away. We check for signs if Debbie arrived while we were gone (We still had beer in the fridge, and the couch was relatively untouched, so she wasn’t) and we start making dinner. I never expected life to be like this when we left Harverbrook. But I like it, even if Mac’s on edge and we fight sometimes.

[itsblackmagic-blog1]

I should have grabbed Grace for this. Or Mac, despite smelling like he just bathed in an ashtray. Perhaps even Jack, despite not being proficient in dueling. But a goblin (or, rather, goblins) kidnapped a small girl, and I was in the neighborhood. She’s ten or twelve, goblins don’t have the nerve to kidnap anyone younger. They’re decent like that. Decent being relative, as they still kidnapped a little girl.

It doesn’t take me long to find them, but that’s only because I watched as a goblin walked across the street with a bowl of sugar frosted pastries. It wore a charm to keep itself hidden, but charms stop working on wizards, or anyone who has enough magic in them. They’re stupid like that, forgetting about magicians like myself. The pastries are also what they think human children eat. They’re not wrong, but it’s still not very healthy. I followed the goblin for about ten minutes before the goblin wandered into an alley with two other goblins, and a girl of about twelve years who was tied to a pipe by a piece of string. (Goblins are profoundly stupid.)

It takes all but five seconds before one of the other goblins notices me, and starts screaming in that deep, confused voice that they’re famous for. Well, the one that American goblins are known for, European goblins are high pitched. It takes all of my willpower to not start laughing. It’s not anything that’s racist towards goblins, I just find comical screaming hilarious.

“You stole-en a biggun?” Asked the screaming goblin, who was, as it so happened, still screaming.

The goblin who was carrying the pastries turns around, looks up at me, drops the pastries, and starts screaming as well. “I didn’t steal-ed a biggun! Didn’t, I didn’t!”

The third goblin starts screaming as well. There must be charms among the rubbish, because no one is wondering what’s going on. Or maybe that’s some American hospitality in play. “You stole-en a biggun!” Screams the third.

“I didn't!” Screams the second. Can goblins speak without being in some form of screaming? I should ask Jack. “Must have stole-en him by accidents!”

Apparently I’ve been accidentally stolen by goblins. Or at least, they seem to think so.

“We can’t take cares of many peoples! Not bigguns!” Shouted the first. Or perhaps the third, they’re scrambling right now and I can only identify the second by the sugar across his tunic. At least the girl seems to be entertained.

“If it helps to know, I wasn’t stolen, I followed him back here.” I clarify. This seems to make them stop scrambling.

“You follow? Lady Reh-present send bounty hunter already?” Asks either the first or third goblin. I can’t tell these tiny green people apart. I’m not racist.

“No, I’m not a bounty hunter. But the girl doesn’t belong here.” The one good thing about goblins is that they never try to convince you that you’re mistaken, that you’re some racist magician that treats all creatures falling under the dark arts category as culprits. For one, they’re usually too confused to try anything.

“Then send messages!” I know he means one message, but the implication of being a back-and-forth letter boy already reminds me of extra credit at Harverbrook: sending letters between teachers so the mailman can have a day off from sending letters through spells.

“Yes!” Continues a different goblin. “We wants equals rights!”

“Equal rights?” I ask. “For what?”

“For everything!” The sugar frosted goblin claims.

“What’s everything?”

“Life, liberty! Land!” Shouts a different goblin.

“And your offer is, what, a kidnapped child.” I look over at her. “Are you okay?” She nods. “Did they hurt you?” She shakes her head. I look back at the goblins.

“We would nevers hurt her! Lady Reh-present would kills all of us-es for that!”

“Grand. I’ll send a message if I can take the girl back to her parents.” Speaking of her, she’s calm about this. She might be the child of a magic family, perhaps even a student at Harverford, the goblins don’t scare her at all.

“Nevers! Equals rights!” They shout. “Ee-quill rights! Ee-quill rights!! Ee-quill rights!!!” They all shout. I hate goblins.

“There won’t be any equal rights if the girl stays here.” I explain. “Can you slip your hand out of that?” I ask the girl. The string is loose, so she wouldn’t even be harmed by a string based rope burn. She tugs a bit, and her hand comes loose, and she skips on past the goblins, and to my side. “Great. Now, the girl and I will be returning to her parents, and I’ll consider saying that you deserve due consideration according to your rights.”

“No!” Shouts a goblin. “Ee-quill rights!” They start chanting again. Kill me.

“Best I can offer is due consideration.” I say. “Take it or leave it.”

“Leavings it!” Shouts a goblin. God damn it.

“You’re taking it.” I say.

“Leavings it!” They shout in unison.

“Taking it.”

“Leavings it!”

“Taking it.”

“Leavings it!”

“Taking it!” I shout.

“Leavings it!!” They shout, louder.

“Leaving it!” I shout.

“Takings it!” They shout, agreeing with me.

“Taking it! Oh, damn, I guess I gave in, I suppose we’re in agreement, then?”

“Yes!” The goblins cackle. “Go, leavings! Take girl to Lady Reh-present!”

“Been a pleasure working with you.”

I leave with the girl. She’s skipping, and she eventually tells me that her name is Gwen, but her mummy calls her Gwenny, but her real name is Gwendolyn. I tell her that my name is Witt, and that it’s short for Whitney. I treat my last name more like my first name, maybe I’ll have it changed. Maybe I’ll have my new last name changed to Mumchance, but I’ll have to marry Grace, first. Gwen’s smart, she knows the way back to her home, which makes this much easier. Don’t need Jack here to do any pathfinding. I need to start carrying my mobile around.

Gwen walks back to her home with me as her escort. She knocks, her mother answers, who smiles to Gwen as the girl walks on in. Definitely a magic child, her mother’s the Lady Representative of the city of Clamacre, (lady Reh-present, maybe I should give the goblins more credit). Lady Lashowe, I think her name is. Part of the coven that guides everyone in the magic world. They guide loosely, but they guide. I think I graduated with her daughter. That’d mean that Gwen really does go to Harverbrook.

“So, where did my daughter wander off to, this time?” She asks.

“Into an alley of goblins, they didn’t touch a hair on her. Stole some pastries to feed her, actually.” I wear a flannel shirt that makes me look less skinny than I actually am, and a pair of jeans that make me look even more scrawny. Jack says the flannel brings out the color in my eyes (they’re green), Grace says that the jeans compliment my figure, Mac says that both of those with my loafers make me look like an asshole. Point is, Grace has a leather jacket, Mac has a jacket, and Jack has easy to access jeans. They all have a way to occupy their hands. Mine just hover at my hips, I try not to get twitchy fingers because that’s usually when I accidentally start enchanting things.

“Ah, I think I know which ones those were. It’s refreshing that Gwenny was helped by another magic user, but I do have to keep notes on those that know the truth that are inside of Clamacre. Would you like to come in, so we can talk?”

“That would be fine.” I walk in. I keep my shoes on (they’re loafers, and they’re clean.) (I’m not a slob, Mac is.) and follow her to a sitting room. Mac doesn’t like these types of rooms, neither does Grace. Maybe it’s a duelist thing. Maybe it’s a sarcastic jackass thing. Wait, no, it can’t be, then I’d be in on the disdain. “What would you like to know?” I ask her.

She sits, so I sit. “Oh, the usual. What you go by, where you learned magic, if you have any outstanding alignments to magical factions or magical sub-groups.”

I nod. “I go by Witt, but Whitney works.” Walter never even comes up in my mind when giving my name. “I graduated from Harverbrook, never took another school, had a proficiency in sorcery and enchanting, and I’m a general neutralist, but I belong to a dark arts defense group.”

She nods, not seeming too interested by my name or the defense group. “I didn’t know that sorcery could be a proficiency?”

“Yeah, most don’t.” I say, trying to sound like I don’t get asked this question every time I meet a new person.

She nods again, and starts to smile. She seems like a nice old woman, she must have been younger when she had Gwen. Wait, what am I saying? Obviously she must have been younger when she had a twelve year old child. “I had a proficiency in alchemical science and botany.” Oh, Jack would love her. He can’t shut up about his carnivorous chicken-killing plant, or anything above a bacteria. “Did you know my daughter? You look around her age, and she graduated from Harverbrook, too.”

I think of my graduating class, and anyone named Lashowe. Women named Lashowe. Girls named Lashowe. Both Gwen and Lady Lashowe are blonde, so I filter the list down that way. Doesn’t ring any bells. “What was her name?” I ask.

“Her name is Audrey.” She answers.

Ah, there she is. She liked Mac, Lady Lashowe hated Mac, Audrey liked Mac even more, because of that. Audrey got along with Jack and Grace and I, though. “Yeah, I remember her. Really… uppity.”

“Ah, uppity explains her great. She’s in an anti dark arts group, too. She’s still in the city, actually, she just never stops by.” We continue to have a conversation, one that I forget most of the details about. Grace would have excused herself by now, at the concept of thinking about Harverbrook. Jack might’ve been enthusiastic about it. Mac would have probably walked off when Gwen was on the doorstep. Mac would have probably been busy trying spells on goblin blood stains on his jacket.

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 048: Carl Weingarten & Walter Whitney

The long awaited re-issue of Carl Weingarten & Walter Whitney’s Dreaming in Colors is finally here, courtesy of the reliably brilliant Emotional Rescue. This album kicks off an exciting string of Weingarten related re-issues on the label, bringing to a wider audience the art of this absolute champion of guitar-based kosmische and new age. Recorded in the early 80s during the off-time for Delay Tactic’s Any Questions? and serving as the final vinyl release on Carl’s Multiphase label, Dreaming in Colors sees the duo fusing cosmic aquatic synthesis, dreamy sampling, and gigantic waves of echo guitar, resulting in a shimmering gem of American space music.

Carl Weingarten & Walter Whitney - Dreaming in Colors (Emotional Rescue, 2018 Re-issue) “Mermaid” is well named, evoking both the beauty and mysterious darkness associated to those mythical beings. Aquatic percolating synth bubbles and thick ominous Blade Runner pads surround breathy vocal sounds, and we occasionally swim towards the light with bright chord progressions and climactic fuzz guitar opalescence. “Dreaming in Colors” inhabits a similarly darkened space, with glossy drops of liquid guitar sitting aside cascading zither/harp tones. Dusky fuzz soloing is accented by hugely cosmic washes of echo guitar, vibrant and glowing, reminding me of Mark Banning’s Journey to the Light. And “Pathways” starts with shadowy e-bow effects and layers of sci-fi synthesis before smash cutting to a majestic passage of spellbinding prog sequencing. It’s a triumphant sunrise celebration with new age piano sprinkled over top, light as morning dew, and a soporific ending of airy synths and birdsong. I can’t help but think of the ambient interludes in Yes’s prog epics. Similarly exuberant and progressive is “Pipe Winds”, beginning on trippy vocal sequencing and Berlin school arps. Flutey reverb sounds…the titular pipe winds…dance playfully with abstract flashes of fading fuzz guitar, as soft percussive clicks and snare give everything a heady krautrock pulse. The A-side ends with “Rainsong”, which is especially notable for being an unreleased bonus track. Rain patters and thunder roars while seabirds and other oceanic fauna converse underneath the clouds. Magical waves of space guitar are joined by synth-wind and cascading chimes, all the elements coming together for an organic yet barely there driftscape.

The B-side opener “Ritual” is the album’s most explosive cut. Bouncy sequencing, draped in fog, underlies these angelic waves of synth and guitar while massive stadium sized fuzz leads roar across the sky. It’s positively unhinged space guitar brilliance, presaging Steven Wray Lobdell and his Davis Redford Triad. Blissed out pads and dark droning bass synths move in and out of the mix, with twinkling starlight sequences and propulsive cymbals helping shape the triumphant glide. “Maiden Flight” maintains the intensity, as romantic and mountainous string synths float over swirling bass drones and rapid fire sequencing. Things take on a darker hue as cerebral feedbacking guitar weaves in and out of the entrancing electronic orchestrations and thundering timpanis signal a cinematic climax of emotional soloing and sparkling arpeggiations. There are more fiery guitar atmospherics to be had in “Obsession”, alongside hypnotic loops, meandering bass synths, and some totally alien pads that splash like liquid neon. At times, the disjointed sonic elements come together for these huge and wonderful laser blasts of galactic sound, and the track ends on strange effected vocal samples atop seasick looping. “Painted Lake” is an island of calm amid these three intense tracks, featuring clean guitar curlicues, joyous piano chords, and placid synth leads over methodical bass pulses under panning echo. Another moment of light comes with closer “In the Sun”, here remixed by Noah Perry (who also did a fantastic job on the mastering). It’s a peaceful coda for acoustic guitar, backed by psychedelic synth effects and noisy waves washing ashore on some cosmic beach. The guitar line is is simple and plaintive, bringing a touch of Americana as we return to Earth.

(images taken from my personal copy)

[thesunlounge]

Carl Weingarten & Walter Whitney