this is a piece I wrote last April for the Elemental zine, a fashion-themed atla fanzine! It's a fic/art collab with EpicGrapes, check this piece out on ao3 (linked in profile) to see their amazing artwork! the zine was such a cool experience and this might be the most fun i've ever had writing a fic, mostly bc reliving my early teens music obsession by deep diving into old Rolling Stone articles for reference.

AVATAR ASCENDING

Our music editor sits down with the eclectic group of indie heroes on the eve of their much-awaited sophomore album tour.

The morning before they play their biggest show ever infront of a sprawling crowd of 35,000 at Republic City's newly built Varrick Industries Arena, the frontman of Avatar sits down with me in a cafe in the city's buzzing downtown. The incessant rain smashing againstthe glass walls of our snazzy art deco venue is no deterrent for frontman Aang, who recounts the moment that he knew his band was destined for greatness with a vibrant charisma. Despite the sudden change in weather, Aang remains at ease in his summer getup, sporting a patch-covered denim jacket over a loose orange tank and signature vintage baggy pants. It was three years ago, right here in town. "I was at Iroh's one day, soon after the release," – that's The Jasmine Dragon, the famous cafe run by local coffee legend Iroh, which doubles as the fledgling stars' longtime haunt – "and I heard this guy just humming our song. Like literally, a dude I've never seen mumbling it over his cabbage soup, just getting on with his day." He grins. "That's when I knew we'd made it big."

But big, they hadn't even seen yet. The band's sophomore album, Hundred Year War, was only released last month, shooting to the top of Republic Radio's Hot 100 and even breaking into the difficult Fire Nation market, already whipping up rumours of a Grammy nomination. "I think this is really it," Aang says. "With Iceberg, we were still finding our feet. All my childhood anxiety is in that album." He cringes, and gracefully welcomes a laugh on my part. "With this one I feel like we've actually gotten past that cloud of insecurity, you know? Just putting something out so it's out. Now I'm writing songs about what I really want." That much is clear. While Iceberg dutifully though still eloquently ticks the indie-debut boxes of ennui and angst, Hundred Year War is aiming for something more groundbreaking.

So what is it that Aang's heart is set on writing about? " Hundred Year is basically a metaphor meaning neverending," he explains, pausing to slurp on his papaya smoothie. "It's a metaphor for how we're always struggling for a better world, struggling for peace and justice without having to sacrifice our principles. Those of us who want a better world – that tension is something we all have to reckon with." Indeed, it's such unashamedly lofty ideals that have inspired the deep emotional connection that many have with the band. "The sound reflects that too. This one's much more level-headed, I think – I leaned into my roots a little in terms of the philosophy of the thing," he says, referring to his Air Nomad upbringing. "Suki is not afraid of synth and when Toph came on to work with us permanently that was a real push in a more unabashedly rocky sound. There's pop songs and also some really… angry songs on this one, but it's all very determined. Yeah. Iceberg was defeatist, this is determined."

Aang, who grew up in a traditional monastic community in the Air Nomad Territories, escaped the smalltown life to chase his childhood aspiration of being a rockstar in the city – proving that perhaps all kids do dream the same. While playing an event at the local college, a serendipitous meeting with fourth-year med student and aspiring musician, Katara, cascaded a chain of events that would change their lives forever. "I thought it was gonna be a date," Aang recalls their first meeting with a bashful scratch of his nose, "but when we went back to the apartment, her brother was there. They played me their stuff, and I was just like, blown away. I never thought you could put a didgeridoo in rock music, but Sokka did." Within a few tireless months, the three of them, an embryonic version of the current six-person band, scrounged together an EP, Iceberg, mixed and recorded by Sokka in that very apartment.

After an initial short tour run, the band quickly recruited drummer Toph and keyboardist Suki to develop Iceberg into an album release. Spurred by the tumultuous emotions of a long winter – the naive Aang's unease about his place in the modern, fast-paced world of music and Katara and Sokka's recent loss of their mother, Iceberg is a gloomy yet radiantly honest gutpunch. Aang's deceptively humorous brand of lyricism belies a startling level of wisdom for a then-19-year-old; combined with the siblings' flair for dramatic orchestral sounds it proved an instant success, with industry veterans such as King Boom and even notorious critic Pakku singing its praises.

At this point Sokka arrives, ducking with a hefty umbrella under the revolving door of the cafe and dragging a chair up next to Aang. With his shaved sides, ponytail and eye-patterned pants, and the fact that he greets us both with a fist bump, it seems at first like he's going to be just as laidback as his bandmate. But there's some serious consideration in his eyes when I pose the next question: what's it like working with such an eclectic mix of people? The band is a surprisingly multicultural unit – musically and nationally – even for Republic City. "There's the good and the bad, y'know," he muses. Aang nods and adds, with genuine gratitude edging into what has so far been a decidedly cavalier tone, "Everyone has their input in this band." Sokka takes a sip out of his double-chocolate frappuccino as soon as it arrives. "It means it does take a while to reach a decision sometimes, but it's also what I'd consider our greatest strength."

So what about Zuko, Avatar's multi-talented newest member, sometimes guitarist, sometimes bassist and Hundred Year War's main producer? There was a small media circus earlier this year when Zuko's sister Azula, outspoken frontwoman of punk trio Phoenix Kings, publicly disparaged her brother, accusing him of dropping his production duties on the band's upcoming album and instead collaborating with Avatar, whose members he met while working in his Uncle's cafe – you guessed it, The Jasmine Dragon. For those out of the loop, Zuko's father's label, Prozai, gained notoriety last year for trapping and cheating its artists with predatory contracts, having faced multiple lawsuits over the years that just recently came to light. Things have only worsened since allegations of fraud and money laundering surfaced earlier this month. I've barely posed the question when the door opens and the devil himself appears, with Katara in tow. That makes four out of five appearances we've been told to expect. But even I know not to expect Toph – it's common knowledge that the elusive drummer never makes interview appearances, simply, as Sokka puts with a shrug, because "she doesn't really like them".

"There's blood money involved in everything to do with that label," Zuko explains flatly. "I made a conscious decision to part from all that when I moved in with my Uncle after rehab. Breach of contract doesn't hold up if the contract is dirty." His bandmates nod on with quiet admiration. A fine-featured man, clearly with a taste for the punk rocker style despite his new poppier allegiances judging by his shaggy hair and leather jacket, Zuko exudes an undeniable mystery, and not only because of the scandals involving his sister and criminal media mogul father. When I mention the possibility of a deliberate cultivation of this particular image, Katara and Sokka look to each other and burst out laughing. Aang takes pity on me, leaning forward, though he can't contain a smirk. "Look, Zuko's about as cool and mysterious as this papaya juice right here."

Sokka adds with a disbelieving cough, "I remember when we first met him, it was after a show we played at this tiny, dingy club on the bayfront. He came up and said to Aang, 'your energy is good, but your voice needs work and your best songs were the shortest ones.' I thought Katara was gonna slap him." Katara nods, nudging Zuko with an elbow. " That's the kind of tact we're working with." Her long hair is braided tightly along one side, flowing free on the other, an offbeat but dependable style that appears to match her character. Donning a denim skirt and a flowing blouse tucked comfortably into it, Katara takes a careless sip out of her brother's coffee, giving the air of someone who has walked into their fourth appointment of the day, despite it hardly being ten minutes past noon.

The unprovoked laughter that overcomes them at this memory speaks to the tight-knit energy of the group. Though sixth member Suki is also absent – touring the Earth Continent with her other project, The Kyoshi Warriors, inspired by the eponymous glam rock legend – I don't doubt for a second that they collaborate marvellously, not in the least because of the rich, layered sounds of Hundred Year War. On the topic of leadership, Sokka lays it down for me: "Aang's got his sweet musings and all, so we let him pour his soul into it, but he's all over the place for a frontman. I'm the one herding everyone in the direction of, y'know, finishing a record." He sits back with a hand poised to his chin, "And Katara is the one pulling it together musically, usually. I'm pretty sure every song we've written that's resonated with people started from a melody she created." That gets some sage nods and a coy hair flip from her.

I ask Katara and Zuko about what occupied them this morning, and it turns out they were doing last-minute checks of their finances, in the absence of their manager (and Katara's father) Hakoda. Katara talks about the launch of her non-profit organisation, Healing Hands, aimed at helping war-torn families in the Southern Water Tribes get health coverage. A yuan from every ticket that Avatar has sold for the forthcoming tour is funnelled to the charity. She says wistfully, "My homeland has always been really important to me. Even living in Republic City, I'm always drawn to the South because it's the connection I have to my mom. She used to take us to the Winter Solstice festival and we'd dance, it's my earliest musical memory." Yet just as animatedly, she grounds it in reality, "There's a huge dearth of medical and other professional care over there. Now that I'm not training in medicine anymore, I thought, this should be my way of giving back."

Such convictions are laid bare in the rousing, triumphant peaks and solemn troughs of Hundred Year War . From the Roku-inspired nostalgic verses of 'Blue Spirit Blues' to the dizzying electronic flourishes of 'Spiritworld' and the bellowing, anthemic closing track, 'Sozin's Comet', Zuko breaks down his role in this album's process. "It's so much more holistic than what I did before in my dad's studio. Sokka and I worked a lot on the engineering, but I also spent time with Aang and Katara really pushing out the themes of this album, lyrically and sonically. My main goal was to harness that zeal they've always had into something more textured and streamlined. It's a process I've worked on my whole career. But, I also know the power of an honest-to-god scream and shout. That's very cathartic in any climate." Aang slips him an infectious smile that more or less makes it around the table. "It's about striking a balance that resonates. We're all about balance."

Hundred Year War is out on CD, vinyl and VarrickTunes.