“Flying Cloud”–Dinosaur Jr.
“Jealous Guy”–Roxy Music
“Suite bergamasque: III. Clair de lune”–Claude Debussy
“Goodbye Blue Sky”–Pink Floyd
“Blue Clouds”–Mercury Rev
“Big White Cloud”–John Cale
“China Girl”–Iggy Pop
A silver mt. zion.
Arizona into the Rockies.
Music of wide open spaces.
Charles Mingus checks in.
Was QAnon bullshit?
WFMU seems to think so.
And all their hipster listeners.
Missing the Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
My Bloody Valentine.
Automatic for the people.
Rightly asking if this guy, Pauly Deathwish, is Borat.
Elvis working at the truck stop.
Into French philosophy at a Barnes & Noble.
The great philosophers.
Taking on Philip Glass.
Poor girl with grey teeth.
Addicted to Kardashians.
Smoking candy cigarettes.
Brutal, cold world.
No fall back.
Wanna lock me for blood pressure.
It ain’t no cakewalk.
Tech moves fast.
Better than nothing.
You have a printing press.
The Innocence Mission.
Porgy and Bess.
A thousand planes.
Two ambient instrumentals to start this album.
Setting an amber tone.
Time is a luxury.
And Miles comes in.
Like music from Big Pink.
Very much of the Deserter’s Songs type.
And Coltrane leaps in.
A little noodling.
And WHAT THE FUCK.
Now we are in Blue Hawaii.
On a jukebox in Nashville.
Sawdust on the floor.
Just spit that tabaccy anywheres.
It really is Elvis.
We’re in east Texas with George Jones.
Bona fide redneck interpolation.
“Daisies on Your Doorstep”.
And back to EXPANSIVE verb.
Phil Spector would have loved this.
The plandemic that killed Phil Spector.
Biggest celebrity to buy the farm.
Buy the farm?
Or sell the farm?
During this whole plandemic.
You have no publicity.
I block all reposts.
I wanna EARN it.
Dissolve into what?
More Mercury Rev homage.
Drums from “Desperado”.
Another lonely bloke ended by “Holes”.
Favorite song ever.
Back to regularly scheduled programming.
Knife in the Water.
John Cale droning away on the viola.
Definite Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci nod.
Again The Innocence Mission.
Neil Young big time.
Stooges meet Beach Boys meet Messiaen.
But the Bowie knife is orange.
Made in Germany.
Kanye West and Wayne Coyne drop in.
When you can sing, but you get raped by auto-tune.
Loosen that shit up.
Going all Arabic on me.
Clouds of sound on almost every track.
A very ambient album.
Peaches DJ Berlin.
Roger Waters again.
Straight into Bjork.
Does she umlaut?
Sounds of a Mac.
James Bond in Rio.
Spy guitar for reprise.
Rhythm of the saints.
Beethoven emperor concerto.
A masterful track.
NOW WE’RE TALKING.
Papa Trump back in the house.
For the apocalypse.
L.L. Cool J.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Vengeance is his.
Everyone given a chance.
A fair chance.
I hear a single.
Ramthun came through.
About fucking time.
There’s a riot goin’ on.
Tears of a motherfucking clown.
Having the French horns get groovy.
Sketches of Spain.
The Soft Bulletin.
Christ coming down from the clouds.
Like a ton of bricks.
Don’t call it a comeback.
Not all the way.
Rocket pans across stereo field.
AND ROSE AGAIN, MOTHERFUCKERS.
Jesus more space than NASA.
Really a masterpiece of sample placement.
This is like a fucking lost Roland Kirk album.
Concerto for Booty and Orchestra.
Can never spell.
No more spelling.
Adieu au langage.
Ties together album.
Last track coming on like Faust.
Built to Spill.
In memory of a bloke who bit it.
End of Night on Earth.
You will live forever, my friend.
I never knew you.
You aren’t forgotten.
Thought of you put in this track.
Yerself is steam.
Great album by Pauly Deathwish.
We are finally catching up with Pauly Deathwish.
Here on his sixth album, drugs.
Good psychedelic surf start.
The romance must have seemed possible.
A great opening track.
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.
After the party.
The party at the end of the world.
Certainly song lyrics reminiscent of Wayne Coyne.
Yummy Yummy Yummy.
Maybe the romance has faded.
Even Dire Straits.
Walk of life.
Track 2 with acrobatic chord changes.
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.
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.
But this dude is all about ‘merica.
And i got no problem with it.
Constitution of the USA.
“memes at the ready”.
Information warfare taken into the realm of head music.
This guy is a danger…to the lame liberal establishment.
THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS RELEASED 7 ALBUMS THIS SUMMER!!!!!!!
Martin Rev dipping Copenhagen.
“Latinas for Trump”.
Track 3 is a trucker song.
Set in Switzerland.
With production like Nigel Godrich.
It’s a long track.
Drum machine and acoustic guitar.
And funky clavinet.
Haven’t heard this since Jerry Lee.
But this is the kinda shit cognizant about There’s a Riot Goin’ On.
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.
Except Cortina d’Ampezzo.
NEU! meets Gram Parsons.
Who is/was this “Swiss Alps Truck-Driving Gal”?
Like French band Air.
Dancy filler track of highest quality.
Mike Lindell needs to hear this shit.
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.
And WHAT THE FUCK?!?
Like late-period Dylan.
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.
But with that San Antonio twist.
Pauly Deathwish from the Alamo city.
Is Trump still the President? 😉
When was this written?
Why that move to Bedminster?
A unifying song.
Ask Abraham Lincoln about “Dixie”.
Masked and anonymous.
QAnon line as money shot.
It don’t matter.
This record rocks the Walmart parking lot.
Richard Manuel tickling the ivories.
Band brown album.
Side two for all you vinyl lovers.
“Let’s Get Creative”.
Really special production.
Which just goes to show that anything can be done with an iPhone.
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.
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.
Edgar Wright needs to hear this shit.
Thurston Moore needs to hear this shit.
Watch the water.
Rollerskate Skinny appreciation society.
First Stereolab album.
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.
One if by…two…
First Eno record.
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.
Obviously, Pauly Deathwish loves the instrumentals from Bowie’s Low.
This is a constant touchstone.
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?
Hell to pay.
Criminal networks wiped off the face of the earth.
LeBron James is a worthless cocksucker.
I think I would get along with this Pauly Deathwish guy.
We have it all…in Utah.
“Bluffdale” like Marquee Moon.
Super Marquee Moon.
Even a bit of John Bonham.
Good drum sound.
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.
Hal Blaine back in the barn stoned on some world-class shit.
Ending album on serious note?
“Cotton Ball Soup”.
Will the masses win?
Against the vaccine passport bastards?
No heroes can be found.
Where’s Thom Yorke?
It starts just like Charlotte Gainsbourg.
But there is something different.
A shruti box?
A little distorto guitar.
A little Yo La Tengo.
Built to Spill.
Guitar carries it for a second.
And then into an Amon Düül II warble.
Like Marc Bolan.
Most annoying sound in the world.
Into Pink Floyd.
Circa The Wall.
Almost a premonition of impending doom.
Calm before the storm.
J. Spaceman telephony.
Floating with no highs and no lows.
Strong opening track.
Immediate Delgados shift.
Great counterpoint for a pop musician.
But if you check this bloke’s CV…
You’ll know he went through Fux.
Gonna have to say Elliott Smith.
Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.
Megan Childs violin.
Around the warm fire.
Strings open up.
Orchestral bass that Lou loved.
This guy’s a bastard.
Is this a breakup album?
I thought the last one was a breakup album?
Into Gorwel Owen.
The last GZM album.
Money never runs out.
Cheap air organ.
A very apropos album title.
Spring water Scotch.
And then the Great Reset arrives.
Like a fucking spaceship.
What is this glitch business?
Thom Yorke blasts upon the scene.
Drums James Brown.
Caught by Lee “Scratch”.
Guitar all mangled.
Bert Jansch out of fucking nowhere.
Track rejected by Bond franchise.
Acoustic to electric.
Now it’s Serge.
More Brian Wilson.
Van Dyke Parks.
Still a sadness.
That the old world is passing away.
Right into some Leonard Cohen shit!
How the FUCK was this recorded?
Sounds like 2″ tape.
how has this Pauly Deathwish released three albums in two months?
I can’t even keep up with this guy.
Like a Christmas album.
See You on the Other Side.
A review in the liner notes.
Record pillaging wizard.
Lots of fucking glockenspiel on this record.
But it’s nice.
Like Ennio Morricone.
Again with sugar plum.
Fresher than the sweetness in water.
Light, British, airy.
Is this the single?
A little neo-psych Hendrix moment.
It’s definitely GZM.
Repetition until transcend.
Stereolab first album.
Definitely some breakup here.
Lots of drum machine.
Drum and bass.
Definitely holds up with Radiohead.
How the fuck was this made?
PD tells us that it was all made on an iPhone with only a Telecaster.
That is some serious trickery.
This is COMPLEX music.
Mixes sound polished.
Some Chinese stuff.
Noise floor fucked for the first time ever.
It’s THAT good.
How was this made?
This heralds a new talent.
But this bloke is 44.
Tour sponsored by Ensure.
Not hearing a sophomore slump here.
Two albums in two months.
Review third forthcoming.
This dude is emo as fuck.
I dig it.
This guy is a mystery.
What is his deal?
This sounds more like a cohesive album that Introversion.
Introversion sounds like a debut album…in all the best ways.
Songs saved up.
A greatest hits.
Go big or go home.
This album deals much more in subtlety.
Not every song here is a home run.
This album breathes.
More Beach Boys vibes.
But mentally sharp.
A spark of genius.
A little bluegrass.
The old world is passing away.
Incredible String Band.
Back and forth.
And across to Ireland.
There’s the single.
“Makes Me Wanna Stay in Bed”.
Hate is all you need.
Coming in from the cold.
Delayed bass from The Wall.
Good fucking song!
All Is Dream.
Hard following up.
Emma Pollock solo.
With Alun Woodward singing.
The Great Eastern.
Let It Come Down.
A Rush of Blood to the Head.
This bloke is serious as fuck.
I’m sensing a Jandek promotional strategy.
Final track Richter.
Big symphony night.
Excitement of New York Phil.
The fucking french horns!
A story in dynamics.
A folk album.
There’s something very weird going on in Hollywood.
And it has been going on for a long time.
You can look for yourself in Kenneth Anger’s books.
Strange stories about Clara Bow.
The first “It” girl.
From the film of the same name.
And how she kept her skin so soft (ostensibly).
But the range of weirdness in Hollywood seems to move along a continuum.
There are levels.
Not unlike Freemasonry.
The hedonism of Henry Miller would be a very low level.
But what we are dealing with here, in this film, is an allusion to a higher level.
Really, the highest level.
There really isn’t a more mot juste for this phenomenon than Satanism.
And, perhaps, even that word does not fully describe what is at issue.
If one was hard-pressed to boil it down–to refine it further, perhaps “evil” would be the essential element.
Recently, the internet collective known only as QAnon “dropped” a crumb of information regarding an establishment in Los Angeles known as the Cannibal Club.
You can find all Q drops here.
The drop in question is #3917 from April 8th of this month.
Here is the website to which Q linked.
It indeed follows the train of thought I delineated above.
You will see the Henry Miller quote (an author I deeply admire).
But then you will see a perversion far beyond (to my knowledge) anything Henry Miller ever wrote about.
What you see on the Cannibal Club website appears to be a restaurant which serves human flesh.
However, with a bit of research, I came to the conclusion that this particular institution (as it is presented) is likely fake.
The names of the principals all come back empty. None of them have a digital footprint that I can find. Sophie Lafitte. Elspeth Blake. Hero Conners. Raven Chan.
The photo of Cannibal Club’s proprietress, Elspeth Blake, was first cached as a stock photo in 2012.
The photo of Raven Chan also was first cached (before it was used on the Cannibal Club website) as a stock photo. Both photos appear to have originated on the website istockphoto.com . They are generic pictures.
The Cannibal Club website went live with content in 2009. Neither the menu, nor the “events” have changed.
My conclusion was that this was a joke made by demented, artsy liberals in order to seed panic in America’s conservative population.
That was my hypothesis: it is almost certainly a sick joke.
But here’s the rub…
Things like this very well may exist.
Indeed, they probably do.
And thereby we come to the film Lost River.
It came out a mere two years before Trump was elected.
Before Harvey Weinstein was convicted of sex crimes and sent to prison (where, last I heard, he had coronavirus).
Before jet-setter Jeffrey Epstein “hung himself” in a Manhattan jail cell.
You know, Epstein…the guy who flew Bill Clinton and Kevin Spacey to Africa.
All this was before Kevin Spacey had numerous sex crime charges brought against him.
And two of his accusers recently dropped dead (over the past year) bringing both cases to a halt.
I appreciate the style.
Very heavy on the David Lynch (with a modicum of Harmony Korine thrown in).
The focus on “place” is very similar to the technique David Lynch and Mark Frost used to ground the town of Twin Peaks in the TV series of the same name.
In the woods.
And in secret clubs.
Director Ryan Gosling did a pretty good job with this film.
We will forgive him for lifting the ambiance of that Orbison scene from Mulholland Dr. to repurpose it in his Lost River blood-and-guts cabaret.
Because the reason I watched this film at all was for Christina Hendricks.
She has the potential to join a modern pantheon which, at this time, includes only Thora Birch and Kat Dennings.
Though we are never told this in the film, it is set in Detroit.
And that makes sense.
Deserted neighborhoods with crumbling houses.
But it could be anywhere in America if China’s economic warfare (COVID-19) is not soon countered.
Matt Smith does a good job as Bully: the embodiment of serial-killer animalism.
The cartel head.
Gosling did a great job location scouting for the zoo scene.
The abandoned zoo.
Very much like the film Hanna and its scenes in the abandoned Spreepark of East Berlin.
Ben Mendelsohn is a fucker.
Such a prick.
He’s not an animal like Bully, though he has rage inside him.
He is more of a predator.
And he is much more powerful.
His character, Dave, is a banker.
And Dave tells us, during the course of the film, that he sets up a little “club” in each of the towns he goes to.
Seems Dave gets moved around a lot.
Gets the books on a firmer footing.
And moves on to the next town where he can oblige the poor and demented with a bit of blood lust with his clubs.
Lots of blood.
Lots of lust.
Dave overlaps nicely onto the persona of Harvey Weinstein.
Christina Hendricks is immediately propositioned by the bank manager.
Dave is a thoroughly-unscrupulous scumbag.
Hendricks just wants to hang on to her home…dilapidated though it may be.
Saoirse Ronan does a nice job in a relatively-minor role here.
She glitters occasionally…as she plays her Casio on her bed with sparkly finger polish.
Whispering out a little song.
Or as she tucks in her pet rat for the night.
But it is not the ginger Ronan we are used to.
Her hair is black.
To fit with the landscape.
And to let Hendricks (also a redhead) stand out as the star.
Saoirse is the “girl next door”…literally.
In the tradition of American Beauty.
By this method we can trace Gosling’s influences.
The overarching one is David Lynch.
This film is creepy.
Much of the creepiness comes from the casting.
It really is an amalgam of Lynch’s freaks with Harmony Korine’s amateurs.
There is the grief of the mute grandmother.
Caught in a loop of family films.
Mourning her late-husband who died tragically.
It is sad.
The inability to talk for some time after a shock.
The family films are sad.
Watching how they used to be.
The way they were.
And the grandmother still a widow…with a fishnet veil for mourning.
There is some rubbish in this movie.
Kind of how the second season of Twin Peaks went off the rails.
Eva Mendes is good here.
In the basement is something very Ex Machina (also 2014).
And even more so John Cale’s Vintage Violence.
Apparently, customers can come down and “murder” real people in these shells.
The shells are of a hard, clear plastic.
The shells supposedly prevent any real bodily harm.
But we never really see them in action.
Iain De Caestecker is pretty good here.
There is a realness in the urgency of his running.
Gosling’s editing crystalizes this.
Running for love.
Running to save.
To set off running.
Unprepared for how long the journey really is.
Something special here.
Good vs. evil.
To be selfish.
To ignore the needs of others.
To follow the voice of God.
To follow the instruction of the Holy Spirit.
To be humble before God.
To fear God.
To feel evil all around.
When it comes, and when it goes.
But the most quizzical scene is when Christina Hendricks cuts her own face off (in simulation, of course) in exactly the way we have heard about in the infamous, rumored Frazzledrip video.
Two years before such a thing came to light.
What a strange coincidence.
Let us synthesize more.
Could there be clubs (in L.A., for instance) where children have their faces cut off (for real) in front of an audience of sickos?
Further question, how does Hollywood (in L.A.) have the “imagination” to write these sorts of scenes?
Sure, there’s the old French film Eyes Without a Face.
But that was cosmetic.
It wasn’t for the thrill of spectators.
It was a medical procedure gone wrong.
Gory as it was, it was to SAVE the face of his daughter that the misguided doctor went on a hunt for faces.
Here, the faces are potlatched (apparently).
But again, this is just a “cabaret”, we are told.
We see behind the scenes.
So where is the truth in these “jokes”?
What kinds of personalities find humor in this?
John Podesta famously jokes about cannibalism in Time magazine and elsewhere.
He jokes about the cannibalistic Donner party.
He had cannibal art hanging on his office wall (a loan from his art-collector-brother Tony Podesta).
Strange fixation, that.
Verging on Silence of the Lambs.
Really vile stuff.
This is an interesting movie.
Gosling has talent as a director.
He should make more films.
This was his debut.
He has directed nothing sense.
My only quibble is this: Christina Hendricks was so misused here.
Saoirse Ronan was almost equally misused.
Gosling needs to watch more Godard.
You don’t cast Grace Kelly only to have her wear the same sweater for the whole film.
But it’s also Hendricks’ fault.
She has talent.
But she must embrace who she is.
She is not a good enough actor to be a puritan.
This is one of the strangest films I’ve ever seen.
Directed by Juraj Herz.
Even if you are familiar with the Czechoslovak New Wave, this film will still take you by surprise.
It is a mélange of times and themes.
And truly a horror story.
But there is a Brechtian detachment at work.
This would explain labels such as “comedy horror”.
It’s perhaps more absurd and surreal than it is funny.
But it is certainly frightening.
A very creepy piece of cinema.
Everything revolves around a crematory official/director named Kopfrkingl.
That name alone is enough to jar the most languid viewer at each pronunciation.
Historically speaking, this was not a successful film upon release.
No, it was too weird to be incorporated into the Czechoslovak communist pantheon moving forward. And so the world would have to wait until 1989 to get a look at this thing.
The whole film feels like a dream.
A bad dream. With some particularly vivid violence. [Or vintage violence.]
Mr. Kopfrkingl is a truly, outrageously delusional man.
And he only becomes more so as the film goes on.
Modern viewers might notice a bit of Eric Cartman in Rudolf Hrušínský’s performance as Kopfrkingl.
Seen behind an iconic ribbon microphone, Kopfrkingl invokes the manic strains of Hitler and we feel the sick surge of idiocy grab hold of our dear cremator.
The strangest part of Kopfrkingl’s delusion is his obsession with Tibet.
It makes me wonder whether David Lynch saw this prior to Twin Peaks?
Thubten Gyatso dies, and Hitler comes to power.
Based on a novel by Ladislav Fuks, this tale must be seen to be believed.
There are short-circuit edits akin to Sidney Lumet’s The Pawnbroker.
Indeed, director Herz is himself Jewish.
Truth be told, there have been few films which deal with the Holocaust as effectively (if obliquely) as The Cremator
Every shot of Hrušínský from the back evokes the Peter Lorre of M.
This is a thoroughly fascinating cinematic experience.