“Sea of Love”–Phil Phillips and the Twilights
“I Only Have Eyes for You”–The Flamingos
“Everlasting Arm”–Mercury Rev
“Comfortably Numb”–Pink Floyd
“What is the Light?”–The Flaming Lips
“Estampes: III. Jardins sous la pluie”–Claude Debussy
“Lose My Breath”–my bloody valentine
“Piano Concerto in G Major, M. 83: 2. Adagio assai”–Maurice Ravel
Recommended if you like Mercury Rev and Smashing Pumpkins
Breakfast cereal video game.
Pauly Deathwish’s 3rd album.
I am behind.
I can’t keep up with this guy.
Out of the gates like Flaming Lips.
30,000 feel of despair.
Right into Isao Tomita.
Like first Stereolab album.
Here Come the Warm Jets.
Cheyenne Mountain jams.
I can no longer see what I’m typing.
- What if I type in white? Ahh, yes. That does the trick. But it ruins my style. Louis-Ferdinand would not be happy. Totally Air. Pocket Symphony. Who is Kevin? Shields? Ayers? Fairlight. Synth clouds. Rich chords. Very sophisticated harmonies and arrangements. Cornelius from Japan. This sounds very modern. OH FUCK! Groove is in the motherfucking heart. Vogue! So on track two, we are straight up on a catwalk. But it could be Alan Vega or Martin Rev. Kinda Sun City Girls. Zoviet France. Fridmann never gets this crazy with bass. Wayne is driving it weirder. This was, from what I hear, done with ZERO budget. Is this a dance album? First you have poetry. Then you are prose. Amateurs. Into Odelay. That was a good drum break. The Strokes. Fuzzy vocals. Paliament/Funkadelic. Sly Stone! Later Stereolab. Tim Gane processing. Counter melody! For fuck’s sake. Somebody listen to this bloke. Whoa. What is up with this chorus? Roland Kirk? Like in Switzerland? Definitely hitting some Os Mutantes twee. Lo-fi as fuck. Great Godard tongue in cheek. Apparently about Neil Young and Rick James being in a band together when they were young and still in Canada. Yonge Street? Beats. Drake needs to hear this. Bit crusher lisp. Spiritualized at the grocery store. Swipe barcode. Song peaks at end. Masterful mix. A true climax. Savage mastering on every album. Whole mix jumps. It works. Needle skipping. American Supreme. Claustrophobic. COVID. Sad. Scared. Apocalyptic. The concept of the gaze in cinema. Bass drops in. Feel it in your sex organs. A sexy song. “Cobra Strike”. This is unequivocally a dance album. EDM all up in here. Lots of panning. Spliff it. Micro gestures. Pandemic planning. How long will it last? Soul-crushing. Zombie metaphor. Shaun of the Dead. Masterpiece. Beatle drums. First Velvets album. Rat trails. “Black Angel’s Death Song”. “The New Pollution”. Dr. No. Walther PPK. What does this kid know? He can’t possibly know, can he? Pure phase. Visconti. Lanois. Acid jazz. Nick Cave. Montage, mon beau souci. Flaming Lips. Jeff Tweedy drawl. Jesus and Mary Chain team up with The Cure. Disintegration. Heartbreak here. Who broke his heart? Bleeps and bloops. Robot noises. Heartbeeps. Jazz funk ’70s experimental upright. Great lyrics. Superimposition. Steenbeck! Fucking great lyrics on “Snip Snip”. Oh, damn. Glockenspiel at just the right time! Icy. Air. Virgin suicides. Dazed and confused. Blonde. Braids. Like glazed bread. German. Texas. Floating world. Old world. No one to smoke a doobie with and stare up at green trees. No tits. What is wrong with this world? Rambo. Fort Bragg. Delta. Boykin. Intelligence Support Activity. Send me. George Crumb. Black angels. Jungle echoes. 4thPOG. Ghosts. PSYWAR op. Make it loud. Romeo foxtrot. Shall we dance? Charlie don’t surf. Death on the dance floor. Public Image Ltd. Modes of limited transposition. Messiaen. Primal Scream. Standing with Johnny Rotten. #Trump2021 . But this is more about big tits. Giant opals. Garth Hudson. Telegraph. Total loss. Persona non grata. Window still missing. Swastika eyes. Paul Weller. XTRMNTR. Shoot speed. Kill light. Eyes owned 2020. The ugly had a chance. Masks work…if you’re ugly and need to get laid. Back with another block rocking’ beat. Private psychedelic reel. War metaphor. Is this about election? No. Too early. Look at liner notes. Living in COVID times was like a world war. War just beginning? Got my pina colada. Fuck it! Arizona. Living boldly. Masks have lost. Two weeks. Could have been a contender. Circuit bending. Talking about big titty schizophrenic. All footwork ruined. Toys. Falling apart gremlin workmanship. Awkward line about Thora Birch. Explicit warnings a little lazy. Getting a bit Lenny Bruce up in here. Russ Meyer. Second line. Double time. Crazy drums. Smooth as Sade. Tambourine is the star. One organic element. Wrote a song. She didn’t care. Wrote her 200 songs. She didn’t care. One has zero plays globally. She never bothered listening to it. Some things not meant to be. Liberals and conservatives. Go and create. Lobster. Work wasn’t. Bought her every flower imaginable. Thousands of dollars on flowers. Yoshimi laser warfare. A piano not standard. Some Tori Amos bullshit. Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. Only the finest pianos. Internationally famous. Neither deserve it. Pulled the plug at the wrong time. Would he have still kept the same track listing? Maybe so. Heartbreak to rehash. Goes by quick. Good drum programming. James Bond future theme. Brian Wilson. Phil Spector. Absolute Nigel Godrich. Cinematic. The album that never was. But this one is worldwide, motherfuckers. Third this summer. And a fourth already out. I can hardly keep up. I need to review movies. Doesn’t Pauly Deathwish know I don’t have time for Galaga? Falling apart. Short-circuit. Charlotte Gainsbourg. Flashback to Bucolic.
That glow in The World’s End.
But a sadness.
My Bloody Valentine.
Sloshy grunge hats.
I Am the Cosmos.
Yerself Is Steam.
The disappearance of Madeleine McCann.
You don’t know how it feels.
I can only give you everything.
Black magic warded off by honesty.
Serge on the way.
Lenny Bruce, even.
Hit to Death in the Future Head.
Wait at least until track three to break it down.
Southern Harmony and Musical Companion.
The confusion of ridiculous counterpoint.
Tonal, yet dissonant.
Thick Billy Corgan.
Definitely a sadness here.
All you need is hate.
The Inflated Tear.
Columbus, Ohio with duct tape.
Posing with a bass clarinet.
Did I ever write one?
Yes, I did.
Or is it contrabassoon?
Nadia Boulanger can tell you.
My teacher’s teacher (twice over).
The Left Banke.
Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements.
A little lo-fi.
Changes that pull at your heartstrings.
A fucking marimba solo?!?
Are you kidding me???
Pauly Deathwish collaboration with Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes.
Lost Bayou Ramblers.
Gordon knew him as Death.
I have become death.
Tim Gane tone.
Back to J. Spaceman.
Dirty ass rock and roll with pristine horns.
Is this the artist we’ve been waiting for?
R. Stevie Moore?
Sounds like Jack Nitzsche.
Major Velvet vibes.
Dylan with P-bass.
Too much attitude.
Let it Come Down.
Fucker kicked the bucket.
First to be vaxxed.
First Suicide album.
The Soft Bulletin.
Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.
Gimme some lovin’?
La Monte Young.
First rehearsal tapes.
New York City heroin.
Warhol Factory torn down.
Across from YMCA.
Great throwaway lyrics.
Sound of universe.
Direct into mixing console.
Blood pressure rising.
I think I’m in love.
Will the circle remain unbroken?
When I had dinner with Roky.
First Velvets album.
But you gotta buy it.
Cop shoot cop.
On the jukebox.
Eat at the gas station.
First time in Texas.
It’s definitely Bowie.
Old is new again.
A fuck ton of flutes.
Flute loops literally.
Little fluffy clouds.
Gay glam chorus.
Boys peel out.
Gives me pants.
A Shot in the Dark.
Under the Western Freeway.
With Sean Mackowiak.
Comes back loud.
One song mastered soft.
The main influence of Pauly Deathwish’s debut album.
Chariots of fire.
Such a groove.
By the side of a freeway.
Under an underpass.
Not like RHCP.
How did a Trump supporter make this album?!?
I thought all Trump supporters were redneck morons???
This is way fucking better than Ariel Pink’s dabblings.
This sounds like a debut album.
Songs saved up.
Like The Strokes.
Cinematic as fuck.
Trail of Dead.
Because Pauly wrote the string arrangement on IX.
Snot on the crowd.
Lost Bayou Ramblers lost sessions.
This was all made on an iPhone?!?
Major 7ths in uppermost range of piano.
Almost indistinguishable from octaves.
Only for the sensuous ear.
Waters delayed bass.
No nonsense drums.
Humble Pie reference?!?
Predating new Bob Dylan album.
Check SoundCloud timestamp.
This is definitely the QAnon anthem.
This hook should be on a million conspiracy videos.
“10 Days of Darkness”.
Tell ’em Large Marge sent ya!
My end is my beginning is my end.
Great debut album (if I do say so myself).
Here is a masterpiece.
Not since Aaltra (2004) has a movie so perfectly made use of the dark humor pioneered by Louis-Ferdinand Céline in Voyage au bout de la nuit (1932).
Lapland Odyssey is Finnish film which is currently free to watch on Tubi.
I cannot give enough praise to the director, Dome Karukoski.
This is not just a miraculous feat of storytelling, but the mise-en-scène of a true auteur.
I was born 15 days earlier than Mr. Karukoski: 43 years ago.
Our director hails from Cyprus.
Where Eric Schmidt has recently applied for citizenship.
Funny timing, that.
Wouldn’t Eric Schmidt welcome a Biden Presidency?
Does Mr. Schmidt fear something in the United States?
Perhaps the former CEO of Google knows something we do not?
Might it concern impending public corruption trials?
And, just maybe, a reelection of Donald Trump?
Lapland Odyssey premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2010.
That was the same year that Toronto-based company Dominion Voting Systems acquired not only Premier Election Solutions (an American company [Ohio]) from ES&S (Election Systems & Software [Omaha, Nebraska]), but also Sequoia Voting Systems [California] from Smartmatic [U.K.].
PES had only been acquired by ES&S the previous year (2009). Before that, PES was owned by Diebold.
Premier Election Systems was formerly known as Diebold Election Systems.
Before Diebold bought it, it was known as General Election Systems.
Before General Election Systems bought it, it was known as I-Mark Systems.
You get the picture.
Dominion Voting Systems is now owned by American private equity firm Staple Street Capital (which has extremely strong ties to the Carlyle Group [George H.W. Bush’s former benefactor]).
None of this would have been possible without Jussi Vatanen.
Vatanen is our hero.
He is tasked with the impossible.
Find a digital TV receiver (“digibox”) in one night.
After the local electronics store has closed.
This involves a trip to Rovaniemi: the main city of Lapland.
Hundred of kilometers to get to Finland’s 17th most populated city.
In Finland, Lapland is not only the northernmost province, but it is also the largest province of the country.
It bears mentioning that there is also a Swedish province called Lapland.
The cleavage of these two Laplands dates to 1809: when Russia annexed the eastern part of Sweden and declared it the Grand Duchy of Finland.
My closest brush with this region was a single musical concert I played years ago in the town of Kiruna (in Swedish Lapland): Sweden’s northernmost town [population 22,906].
It was an experience which profoundly changed me and which stays with me till this day.
Finnish Lapland borders Sweden’s Norrbotten County. At Norrbotten’s northernmost point can be found Kiruna (north of the Arctic Circle).
At the southeast corner of Norrbotten County is Piteå: my favorite town in Sweden.
The town of Piteå sits on the Gulf of Bothnia–just across the water from Finland.
I also played a musical concert in Piteå.
It was, perhaps, the happiest time in my life.
So I can imagine Rovaniemi.
A city just four miles south of the Arctic Circle.
Jussi Vatanen plays the loser who makes good.
Which makes him, in fact, not a loser.
I can intimately relate to that.
I have lost my job (again).
I am addicted to drugs (again).
And I am addicted to alcohol (a first for me).
It is in these days, when I am having the first true experience in my life with alcohol withdrawal, that I come to this film.
It is the perfect film.
It is just exactly the film I needed at this particular time.
Because I, like Janne (Vatanen’s character), am trying my damnedest to get my life together.
Last week, I got engaged.
I exercise (pacing back and forth in my parents’ garage as my phone records my steps).
I drink less.
I drink less.
And extreme fucking INSOMNIA.
When I was in Kiruna, the sun only went down for four hours.
I didn’t see the Northern Lights.
But you can see them in this film.
And they are glorious.
If it is CGI, then I am losing my touch.
Because I don’t believe it is.
I appears to be the genuine article.
Lots of sunflower seeds.
Big red welts all up and down my arms and torso from nicotine patches.
I can no longer afford my General Snus.
Sure, I have some stashed away…
But my wise old psychologist once told me: “just move one thing at a time”.
I put question marks because I am unsure of the order.
Main goal is STOP DRINKING.
Or, should I say, the FIRST goal.
If I can get an MBA, surely I can stop drinking.
For every hero, there needs to be a doubter.
To provide context.
The hero forges forward (when it would probably be best to just quit).
The hero quits (when it would be much easier to just continue).
The hero is determined.
The hero gives energy and inspiration to those around him.
But the doubter adds richness.
Because it is human to doubt.
Will Donald Trump be reelected President?
We will find out when the Electoral College meets on my birthday to ELECT a new President-Elect.
Till then, Joe Biden is at best the worst kind of poseur.
He is doing exactly what he promised Chris Wallace and the American people he WOULD NOT do: to declare victory before the election is independently certified.
What a hypocrite.
Each state certifies its vote.
Biden does not have enough votes at the moment (by way of certified state votes and their concomitant electors) to declare victory.
N.B. It is the Electoral College which will ELECT the next President (who THEN AND ONLY THEN becomes known as the President-Elect).
And so we doubt.
Me and Jasper Pääkkönen.
Was there fraud?
I believe so.
And you may doubt in the other direction.
Was there fraud?
You doubt there was.
But I know there was.
Because I have basic research skills.
And I availed myself of Rudy Giuliani’s masterful delineation of the case for fraud.
[no thanks to American mass media (which completely blacked out all coverage of Giuliani’s press conference with Sidney Powell and Jenna Ellis)]
So we all doubt, each in our own way.
And someone may convince us.
The law may even compel us.
The U.S. Supreme Court may weigh in on the legality of certain ballots in Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin.
Particularly Michigan and Wisconsin.
Timo Lavikainen is the late-bloomer.
Along for the ride.
But absolutely essential.
Able to love.
You must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven.
News of war.
At some point we might mention the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.
Which lasted about 500 years (until 1795).
For beauty, we have Pamela Tola.
She just wants a fucking digibox, for christsakes!
Something about those blonde bangs.
Then there is the villain.
A bit like Alex “Scott Evil” Soros.
A bit like Martin Vanger.
Kari Ketonen plays the boy who never got anything.
…and let it make him evil.
He plays the cheater.
A character with absolutely no morals.
Strictly driven by lust.
[and a good bit of narcissism]
He comes off looking a bit like Kip in another masterpiece of a film: Napoleon Dynamite.
Imagine Kip as an irredeemably-unscrupulous character and you will have a pretty good idea of who Pikku-Mikko is.
Mikko moves in for the kill while the matrimonial bed is still warm.
Mikko false-flags his way into manipulating his enemy.
Mikko is a master of PSYWAR.
But God wins in the end.
And Moa Gammel is the real star of this film.
In a strange way.
Almost the doppelgänger of Pamela Tola.
The Swede is the world image of beauty.
The Finn is more quixotic.
None of this, of course, means a damn thing.
And all the while Timo Lavikainen just wants to see Miia Nuutila’s tits.
There will be helicopters.
Elections have consequences.
In disguise as what?
Wolves in sheep’s clothing?
Les Fleurs du mal.
The soul of a policeman.
Kids in cages.
But which kids?
U.S. news media only wants to talk about pictures of illegal-immigrant children “in cages” (separated from their families [or those who trafficked them, posing as their respective families]) at the border–photos which positively date to the Obama era.
U.S. news media is passionate to suppress and preemptively debunk children in cages that come up in relation to pizzagate, QAnon, etc..
Why is that?
Is it the wind, or the wail of children?
Ancient voices of children.
Lux aeterna lucent eis, Domine,
cum santis tuis in aeternum,
quia pius es.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
This is about revenge.
Call me Satie.
Wishing to be Debussy.
My biggest blessing in life was not being hired by the CIA.
A sign of divine synchronicity.
Nice to meet you.
Beethoven had no attachments.
I got the message.
Check your inbox.
What did he know?
There are no accidents, James Bond.
I found a better employer.
I receive no money.
They don’t even know I work for them.
Most of them.
But they got to me first.
The flowers of evil.
How many times have I been rejected?
This is a divine matrix.
To unravel Satan.
Aquino checks up.
Don’t run like James Bond.
It’s so fucking sexy that you want to take down the New World Order.
Because they are not elected.
Yet they wield more power than elected governments.
One by one.
Own each agent.
Own each reporter.
Own each vote.
It’s a pleasure.
You’ve never heard of my agency.
It has no Wikipedia.
No structural chart.
Stieg Larsson was killed.
It goes higher than Sweden.
You thought you could destroy her spirit.
The pandemic was planned.
A science of a 1000 details.
What’s the least-creepy song we can destroy?
Musical warfare shall yet have its day.
It is a science requiring an immense knowledge of clever mechanics.
And each harmonical has a point of its own.
Up-to-and-including acoustical physics.
Not the blunt force of Skinny Puppy.
But a more insidious control of mind and emotions.
Which is as primal as Rorschach Crayolas.
Never interrupt your enemies…
I have been absent.
Not working, but looking.
I have been absent because anxiety.
And now the cosmos brings me a perfect film.
Because Pauline Étienne.
Actress full of joy.
But the grand auteur is Stefan Liberski.
You must pinstripe, tuck up your hair you haven’t.
You must primary color.
Yellow and red. Made in U.S.A.
“You must fall in love with me,” says Pauline Étienne.
“I command you.”
And of all the girls in the world, the Belgians and Finnish are the most diabolically beautiful on film.
Godard said the Swiss.
And so we have a Belgian film set in Japan.
If we try hard, we can hear Debussy. Estampes…
Sado Island… […]
To dream in the rain.
Cross the bridge.
And the river steams.
You seek a nectarine.
A noisy kiss.
Buttermilk legs joy rollerskate skinny.
Was taken from Salinger.
Joyce said spittoon.
The most beautiful word.
Some films, books so good…too much to handle.
To have that happiness.
A mere handful of fives away from Valentine’s.
When Colombia and Ecuador will be pumping out roses for Starbuckers.
They said that sex was uncouth.
Or resorted to farm metaphors of propagating species.
They couldn’t talk about love.
When your breath is stolen by a cold kiss.
In the autumn.
And yet warmth from optimism.
But we must get on to the little back alleys of Tokyo.
And for a moment stop this dream.
To be born.
Of Belgian parents.
Does not a Japanese make.
I can suck the life out of Auden.
Though I thought I was aping Céline.
But director Stefan Liberski is aping no one.
We must mention the author and not the auteur, though in French there is no difference (save for the milieu of cinema).
And she gives us a fantastic story.
Better than “all thumbs”.
Can you suck on a diamond lozenge from a ring?
Lots of sucking.
But that’s the aw-kward + loneliness which makes a great film.
This one just happens to pull in Belgique and Nippon to boot.
On her yellow socks.
On her haircut.
On sweater with blue stripes.
Like Edward Hopper did the cinematography.
But the Francophones have it figured out.
Which is to say.
Embrace the history of film.
Compare and contrast.
What works? What doesn’t?
What speaks to you? How does a culture (French, par exemple) see a film?
Answer: it doesn’t fucking matter.
What matters is the overflowing love and romance which infuses Tokyo Fiancée.
Only thing Lars von Trier ever did well was film Kirsten Dunst in the nude.
Stefan Liberski surpasses von Trier’s entire oeuvre with this one film.
Yes, I’m polemic as fuck!
I’ll take François Truffaut (the film critic) and a bottle of white wine for my friend.
I like red.
And Guy Debord.
I’ll take chances.
I have taken so many fucking chances.
But we get scared.
Frightened by inexperience.
All of that is in the film.
Taichi Inoue is really sweet as Rinri.
But I keep coming back to Pauline Étienne.
She has cast a spell over me.
And I must ask: who does she signify?
Forget the character name.
For each sad soul who dreams their way to the end.
She represents someone.
Teeth which nave never left the village.
New born yellow as unripe baby corn.
On the farm.
A different register (accent?) of French in Belgium.
Immediately recognizable to a Parisian.
And with little modesty lambasted as yokel French.
But perhaps the Belgians and Quebecois have this in common.
A cause for solidarity.
And add in the Swiss…with their weird counting and smoky lisp.
Tokyo Fiancée hits harder than La Religieuse (2013) because it is not stilted nor steeped in period costumes.
Just tell a fucking story, we say.
Pauline Étienne. Born in Ixelles.
How could anyone from such a place be any less than ravishing?
When we think in microcosm.
If we only know one Indian person.
They become India.
And complicate this with a multicultural relationship.
That is the gasoline of Tokyo Fiancée.
It is clean. And genius. Like Magritte.
A bowler hat. An apple. And MoMA depth.
We want to be in this Japan.
Because the eyes have captured the essence of magic.
Tokyo Fiancée succeeds at every point where Lost in Translation failed (which was at every point).
This is the real deal.
Not a dilettante piece.
Sofia Coppola should send her usage permissions for My Bloody Valentine and Kevin Shields tracks to Stefan Liberski posthaste.
Such music is the only thing which could make Tokyo Fiancée any better.
And yet, it is a perfect film.
Don’t fuck with perfection.
Maybe again MBV and Liberski can have a meeting of minds.
But make sure to include the Anna Karina of our age.
An actress for which Francophonie has been searching for 60 years.
Well, here she is.
And this is the model: Tokyo Fiancée.
Let the joy in her heart hit the screen (splat!).
Jump on the bed. Ahhh!!!
In the mountains. Wooh! The rush.
An actress with all 21 petals on her Fibonacci daisy.
Which is to say, fully capable of cinema immortality.
I believe it was Mallarmé who wrote of “bursting pomegranates” (!)
Very few films have ever had this effect on me.
And I needed this one very bad.
To confirm that there are quirky, special people in the world.
That there are eyes who see beauty in the details I notice.
And that genius in the cinema is not dead.
Thank you Mr. Liberski.
And thank you Pauline Étienne for your performance which has brought hope to a very sad person in Texas.
Je veux exprimer ma plus profonde gratitude.
This may be the hardest film I’ve ever had to review.
And that’s the beauty of cinema.
Movies can challenge the way we think.
They can show us a perspective we’ve never seen.
This particular masterpiece (and I mean it) comes from my neighbors to the south.
Director Rigoberto Perezcano strikes all the right chords here.
In these days of division, we must humble ourselves before God.
That is my direction to myself.
I must humble myself.
Because there are struggles I cannot realistically imagine.
Could you cross a desert?
Me…I don’t think so.
Humble before God.
It must be the Sonoran Desert.
All the way from Oaxaca.
The acting is perfect.
In the bus station.
But things get real in the desert.
The Tijuana moods of Mingus.
Loneliness of Alicia Laguna.
Desperation of Sonia Couoh.
And every day the trabajo of Harold Torres.
But mostly misery.
This could have been a very bad film, but director Perezcano knows exactly when Debussy must enter and exit.
Perhaps he saw Atonement.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because Northless (its title on Netflix) is twice as good as Joe Wright’s 2007 effort.
But don’t underestimate the presence of Luis Cárdenas.
It is really hard to sum up this film.
Perhaps: if you think you have it bad, walk a mile in Harold Torres’ shoes.
I’m simply at a loss for words.
Never before has a La-Z-Boy made me cry.
And so I salute my neighbors to the south.
May we all prosper with love in each interaction.
May God’s grace and mercy be upon us.