https://open.spotify.com/track/3t7t23DVn6lfFySSxwUwRp?si=a128126804d748ad
Recommended if you like Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci
Tag Archives: cough syrup
Kamikaze 89 [1982)
Here is a strange case.
I thought I was watching a movie by Rainer Werner Fassbinder.
The first I had ever seen.
But I was not.
And I still haven’t seen a Fassbinder movie per se.
This movie was directed by the late- Wolf Gremm.
Gremm might be most well-known for the 1980 film Fabian.
For that movie, Gremm adapted a work of Erich Kästner.
Kästner was always a bridesmaid and never a bride.
Nominated four times for the Nobel in literature, Kästner nevertheless was an important writer in that he used cinematic techniques in his literature.
Think about that for a second.
What might that mean?
Jump cuts, anyone?
‘Tis now that we pay homage to the great Jean-Paul Belmondo.
AND to my favorite drummer ever: Charlie Watts.
Back to Kästner.
The Nazis burned his books.
These book burnings were instigated by (Psaki) Goebbels.
Kästner may not have really been a man of much integrity.
He wrote for UfA in 1942 under the pseudonym Berthold Bürger.
But you may know Kästner most for a Hollywood adaption of one of his children’s books: The Parent Trap.
Made twice.
Which brings us to our film by Wolf Gremm.
It’s true: Gremm and Fassbinder were close friends.
And I was tricked because Fassbinder is the all-consuming star of Gremm’s masterpiece Kamikaze 89 (alternately Kamikaze 1989).
Like a German version of Godard’s Alphaville.
Fassbinder is 100% Lemmy Caution.
But this whole thing needed a premise.
And that story was provide by Swedish author Per Wahlöö.
Before there was Stieg Larsson, there was Per Wahlöö.
Active between 1965 and 1975, and focusing on his character detective Martin Beck (a Stockholm policeman), Wahlöö collaborated with Maj Sjöwall on ten novels featuring Beck.
Like Erich Kästner, Wahlöö and Sjöwall were leftists.
Communists.
Marxists.
Not unusual in Sweden.
You will find the same idealistic naïveté in the biographical details of Steig Larsson.
Gremm’s film did well as Fantasporto in Portugal.
And for good reason.
Because it is a fucking masterpiece!
The soundtrack is even by Tangerine Dream.
Edgar Froese.
Lester Bangs would have been proud.
Bangs died about three months after this film came out.
We see Brigitte Mira.
We see Nicole Heesters.
Someone briefly gets naked.
We might even see Fassbinder’s junk briefly.
I’ve gotta hand it to Xaver Schwarzenberger.
This film is stunning.
It pops!
Like a more punk version of Nicolas Roeg’s work on Truffaut’s Fahrenheit 451.
Schwarzenberger was (and is) perhaps the equivalent of Godard’s Raoul Coutard.
So what?
The world, in general, has not heard of Wolf Gremm.
So this film must be discussed in relation to Fassbinder.
Was Fassbinder as good a director as he was an actor?
I don’t know.
Was Fassbinder as good a director as Gremm?
I don’t know.
Did Fassbinder ever make a film as good as the masterpiece Kamikaze 89?
I don’t know.
Something else should be noted.
Fassbinder himself died two months after Kamikaze 89 was released.
Which is to say, a month before Lester Bangs.
Let’s talk about New German Cinema.
I have devoted plenty of time to my favorite (the Nouvelle Vague aka French New Wave).
But I do not recall ever having broached the topic of Neuer Deutscher Film.
I will say this.
I think Werner Herzog may be the most overrated filmmaker of all-time.
Right next to Tarantino.
I hate to fucking admit it, but Tarantino (whom I hate) has WAY more talent than Herzog.
But hey: my favorite director ever is Godard.
We first join Fassbinder about 1974 with Ali: Fear Eats the Soul.
Eight years later, Fassbinder would be dead.
At age 37.
From a cocaine/barbiturate overdose.
I have lived seven years longer than Fassbinder.
Fassbinder crammed his career into his 30s.
Bangs died of an (accidental?) overdose of an analgesic opioid (Darvon), Valium, and cough syrup.
Bangs was 33.
Someone else important died at that age.
Bangs had a great mustache.
Fassbinder had a weird beard.
A nasty, seven-day stubble.
But Fassbinder fucking had style!
1975 saw him come out with Fox and His Friends.
Fassbinder was married for two years.
He then divorced.
I feel that.
Ingrid Caven.
A beautiful lady.
They say.
Hanna Schygulla.
Godard’s Passion.
1982.
There’s a reason I like Fassbinder.
I think.
Because Fassbinder liked Godard.
The Merchant of Four Seasons.
This precedes my earlier introduction.
1971.
The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant.
1972.
Fassbinder was bisexual.
He bought Günther Kauffman, who appears in Kamikaze 89, four Lamborghinis over the period of one year.
“calculatedly provocative”, they called him.
A verbal kamikaze.
I feel that.
The Tenderness of Wolves.
1973.
As actor.
I have focused on films available in the United States.
On iTunes.
I am.
Pauly Deathwish.
Twenty years coming.
10/11.
-PD
drugs [2021)
We are finally catching up with Pauly Deathwish.
Here on his sixth album, drugs.
Good psychedelic surf start.
The romance must have seemed possible.
Christian trappings.
A great opening track.
Psychedelic Christianity.
Think of those private press releases from the ’60s and ’70s.
I’m hearing the joy and gravity of Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.
The breakdown of this song “An Ocean of Cough Syrup” is where it’s at.
Maybe a bit of Kevin Ayers.
Wasted innocence.
After the party.
The party at the end of the world.
Certainly song lyrics reminiscent of Wayne Coyne.
Sonic Youth.
Yummy Yummy Yummy.
Pop psych.
Monkees.
Maybe the romance has faded.
Tabloid.
Even Dire Straits.
Walk of life.
Track 2 with acrobatic chord changes.
Music school.
Straight-up Fort Leavenworth presentation.
A pop song about biological warfare, economic warfare, psychological warfare, and divide/conquer.
This is some serious shit.
Not sure whether to call Billy Bragg or Glenn Greenwald.
This is the kind of shit that wins Nobels.
So maybe we are hearing the new Dylan here.
Imagine if Thom Yorke actually had something to say.
The bends.
Lift.
Leonard Cohen.
John Cale.
Anthemic.
This dude is definitely right-wing.
I guess you could say.
Imagine if Bob Dylan was actually in the John Birch Society.
That’s what you get here.
Hey, take it or leave it.
Ezra Pound!
But this dude is all about ‘merica.
And i got no problem with it.
Climax.
Constitution of the USA.
Time’s up.
“memes at the ready”.
Information warfare taken into the realm of head music.
Songwriting.
This guy is a danger…to the lame liberal establishment.
THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS RELEASED 7 ALBUMS THIS SUMMER!!!!!!!
Kraftwerk.
Jon Spencer.
Martin Rev dipping Copenhagen.
Ministry?
Butthole Surfers?
Dabbling.
“Latinas for Trump”.
Wow.
Track 3 is a trucker song.
Set in Switzerland.
With production like Nigel Godrich.
It’s a long track.
But enjoyable.
Drum machine and acoustic guitar.
And funky clavinet.
Jerry Reed.
Amos Moses.
Yodeling!
FUcking hell.
Haven’t heard this since Jerry Lee.
Dwight Yoakam.
Chris Isaak.
But this is the kinda shit cognizant about There’s a Riot Goin’ On.
Spaced cowboy.
Travelogue of Swiss sites from cinema history.
I have a feeling this guy would drink Klaus Schwab’s blood.
This conspiracy platter is fine listening.
Variety.
French/German.
No Italian.
Except Cortina d’Ampezzo.
No Romansch.
Motorik.
NEU! meets Gram Parsons.
Who is/was this “Swiss Alps Truck-Driving Gal”?
Cosmic funk.
Like French band Air.
Great bassline.
Dancy filler track of highest quality.
Mike Lindell needs to hear this shit.
mark_packet.
recieve_good.
What if Wayne Coyne and Dave Fridmann actually made songs that spoke to something larger?
They’ve hit it occasionally.
You gotta have Jesus in your heart.
Brian Eno first four records spun out again and again.
Cornelius.
Stereolab.
And WHAT THE FUCK?!?
Delta blues?
Country blues???
Yes, indeed.
“COVID-19 Blues”.
Like late-period Dylan.
Seriously.
If Dylan passes, this dude is next up.
I know it sounds implausible.
Communism used to be risqué.
Now the tables have turned.
Paul Joseph Watson needs to hear this shit.
The human condition.
Dr. Steve Pieczenik needs to hear this song, “COVID-19 Blues”.
This is Stax.
Muscle Shoals.
Atlantic.
Booker T.
But with that San Antonio twist.
Pauly Deathwish from the Alamo city.
Augie Meyers.
Flaco Jimenez.
Is Trump still the President? 😉
When was this written?
Why that move to Bedminster?
Cabinet meeting.
A unifying song.
Like “Dixie”.
Ask Abraham Lincoln about “Dixie”.
Masked and anonymous.
QAnon line as money shot.
Sweet harmonica.
Linn drums.
Beck.
Loop.
It don’t matter.
This record rocks the Walmart parking lot.
GUITAR SOLO!
Jimmy Vaughn.
B.B. King.
Richard Manuel tickling the ivories.
Band brown album.
Call Q.
Call Mojo.
Call Uncut.
Side two for all you vinyl lovers.
“Let’s Get Creative”.
Floyd delay.
Sexy song.
J. Spaceman.
Jeff Tweedy.
Kid A.
Really special production.
Which just goes to show that anything can be done with an iPhone.
Except privacy.
Tim Cook cocksucker.
In shitty record store.
Radiohead were our Beatles.
Or their Beatles.
Now many friends have left.
You can’t say White Lives Matter.
Can someone please tell Pauly Deathwish this?
Not that he SAID it.
Because he didn’t.
Trail of Dead.
Which makes sense.
Read this motherfucker’s bio on Spotify.
No slouch.
I happen to know some extra details which I may divulge at a later date.
Lots of training in music composition.
Multiple touches with Nadia Boulanger.
Sexy song.
T. Rex.
Bolan.
Jonny Greenwood.
Scott Pilgrim.
Edgar Wright needs to hear this shit.
No cap.
Dead ass.
Trans.
Neil Young.
Dead Man.
Thurston Moore needs to hear this shit.
Funny mention.
Watch the water.
August 20.
Rollerskate Skinny appreciation society.
St. Johnny.
Boo Radleys.
First Stereolab album.
Grandaddy.
Harvest drums.
Like it!
Like a Sonic Youth country album.
Made in a barn.
Nothing Ween about this shit.
Except for the trucker song.
Which is funny as fuck.
This dude definitely a QAnon.
“Midnight Rider”.
Paul Revere.
One if by…two…
Mercury Rev.
Suzanne Thorpe.
Applied memetics.
Oh shit.
First Eno record.
Desert island.
THIS is impressive.
Turns out to be motto of 4th Psychological Operations Group (4thPOG) at Fort Bragg.
The PSYWAR just got real.
Vietnamese ghosts amplified.
But this is Chinese.
China bio attack.
Fauci through China.
Focus on Peter Daszak and his absurd opera-singer brother.
There is going to be hell to pay.
Q-uantum of solace.
PCAPs.
Obviously, Pauly Deathwish loves the instrumentals from Bowie’s Low.
This is a constant touchstone.
Trance.
Meditative techno.
Ugh.
When the bass drops in on “Verbum Vincet ’72”.
Who was Q?
Who is Q?
Was Q a psychological operation?
From whence might it have emanated?
Roger Waters.
Hell to pay.
Criminal networks wiped off the face of the earth.
Peking opera.
Sue me.
LeBron James is a worthless cocksucker.
I think I would get along with this Pauly Deathwish guy.
8964.
We have it all…in Utah.
“Bluffdale” like Marquee Moon.
Meets chiptune.
Super Marquee Moon.
Even a bit of John Bonham.
Good drum sound.
Dubstep?
Riots worldwide.
No vaccine passports.
Here’s where BLM and MAGA come together.
Don’t vax us, man.
A unifying event.
The real racists are the totalitarian Democrats.
Am I doing this right?
Pepe Lives Matter needs to hear this shit.
Klaus Voorman bass.
Leave it in.
Smacked out of your gourd.
Phil Spector murdered by the Rona.
Lee “Scratch” producing The Clash.
People want to sleep forever.
Sleep through this global nightmare.
Gotta wake up.
But the reality is crushing.
So God gives us solace here and there.
Black ark.
Meandering.
Oar.
Moby grape.
Hal Blaine back in the barn stoned on some world-class shit.
Nodding.
Space-age.
Astral weeks.
Nick Drake.
Ending album on serious note?
“Cotton Ball Soup”.
Will the masses win?
Against the vaccine passport bastards?
Montreal.
Where’s GYBE?
No heroes can be found.
Where’s Thom Yorke?
Radiohead?
Bob Dylan?
WWIII.
iTunes.
Spotify.
-PD
paulydeathwish 