https://open.spotify.com/track/79EpOU9zL9VyIy2lrwDETf?si=56b67209ac284eb0
Recommended if you like Radiohead
kid a
Tag Archives: Kid A
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
The Matrix [1999)
I tried to make her understand.
I tried to tell her what she needed to hear.
I am still waiting.
Waiting for a sea change.
Assange is the superstar hacker.
Mendax.
QAnon lifted “follow the white rabbit” from this film.
Unless this film and the QAnon op stem from the same source.
Smith of 1984.
Turned.
Red-pill me on Tylenol.
LSD implications of Alice.
Mirror from Cocteau.
Keanu Reeves dips his fingers into Orphée (1950).
The Wachowski brothers have both now become trans women.
How fitting.
They are both (incidentally) married to women (Karin and Alisa).
From Walter Carlos to Wendy Carlos.
In which Neo wakes up in the “warm liquid goo” phase.
Brave New Fahrenheit 1984.
Baby farms of dystopia.
Elon Musk has been worried about the very premise of The Matrix.
Worried that his buddies at Google are creating for us the very hell foretold in this movie.
Really.
AI.
Pacified with free porn.
Zion of Joel Silver (producer).
With the “desert of the real”, we get Slavoj Žižek a few years later.
And one of my favorites: Baudrillard.
Or vice versa.
Oracle like Oprah.
With cookies and everything.
Great acting by Gloria Foster who died in September 2001.
After 9/11.
And this film predates flying machines being swallowed by skyscrapers.
And mass shootings.
Indeed, Columbine kicked off a new era…a mere three weeks after The Matrix was released.
Hmmm…
Many kung fu rips.
It would be four more years before Tarantino began ripping kung fu with the first Kill Bill.
So The Matrix was first here.
A new Star Wars.
Luke Skywalker of Neo.
And the Holocaust chic costumes.
Schindler’s List set this up six years previous in 1993.
Kiss of life.
Great romance.
Sparks.
Channeling Bruce Lee the whole way through.
Great drum and bass tracks.
Cool soundtrack.
I can imagine Thom Yorke really getting into this shit.
The next Radiohead album after this film was the start of a new bleep bloop era.
Kid A.
And Carrie-Anne Moss is really pretty.
Good movie!
-PD
Le Livre d’image [2018)
And so I’m back.
Sort of.
Maybe.
With Godard.
Can we go from back to front?
After having gone halfway from front to back?
More importantly: WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST WATCH?!?
I’m guessing JLG might relish such a reaction.
But really.
Le Livre d’image (The Image Book) is a thoroughly fucked-up film.
Music stops and starts.
Ok, standard Godard.
Images run and then go to black screen.
Again, standard Godard.
But something is further about this film.
Perhaps the most accessible touchstone would be the glitchy music of Radiohead circa Kid A and Hail to the Thief (to name my two favorites).
To wit: Godard seems to be enjoying fucking with his audience.
Every possible convention of cinema is destroyed and frustrated by his anti-art approach.
It is Swiss. It is dadaist (in a certain sense).
But it is stranger…
Which brings us to a crossroads.
Is Godard getting senile?
I mean, seriously: is this the work of someone falling apart?
It may be.
There is an achingly-sad moment near the end when we hear that trademarked Godard narrative voice break up.
Coughing.
Too many cigars.
Almost 90 years old…
But there are other possibilities.
Indeed, The Image Book hearkens back to the Godard of his Dziga-Vertov years.
Extremely obtuse.
Painful cinema.
A cinema of cruelty (for Artaud).
We catch glimpses (literally) of Louis-Ferdinand Céline.
Yes.
There is a pessimism here.
But mostly a hard reality.
And yet, is it reality?
The Image Book is surreal…while being mostly in a stark cinematography.
A bit like Picasso’s Guernica.
But more boring.
Can I say that?
Boring.
When you’re 88 years old (like Godard), perhaps things move slower.
Perhaps you could call it “slow cinema”.
But it is FAST and boring.
Many cuts.
Many, many cuts.
Painstakingly (painstakingly?) spliced.
It seems.
Also seems random.
Aleatory.
I Ching.
John Cage.
But onto another aspect.
That of revision.
Revisiting.
The Image Book is to Godard’s oeuvre as Histoire(s) du cinéma is to film history as a whole.
Le Livre d’image could be said to be a sort of CliffsNotes to the work of Jean-Luc Godard.
But there’s just one catch.
You would need to know the oeuvre in its totality to really make much of this pithy summation.
So it is, in a sense, useless.
But it still speaks.
Galileo.
And yet it moves.
Godard is not dead.
Not yet.
And he should know that he will never die.
Not with the timeless body of work he has contributed to humanity.
And yet, that tobacco cough says otherwise.
To live in those lungs.
To feel the weight of mortality pressing down.
Le Livre d’image is a frustrating piece of work.
It has very little (almost none) of the lyrical poeticism that its predecessor Adieu au langage had.
Indeed, perhaps this is a purposeful “let down”.
Like Neil Young’s On The Beach or Lou Reed’s Berlin.
To extend the metaphor there, it is mostly like Metal Machine Music.
It is jarring.
Annoying.
It gets under your skin.
But it makes you think.
And perhaps that is the whole point.
Perhaps Godard is reaching for a new filmic language.
He may not be there yet, but he is reaching.
This is essential, cranky cinema.
The bleeding edge…
-PD
paulydeathwish 