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marquee moon
Tag Archives: Marquee Moon
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
glitch [2021)
Cobra and phases.
Emptying a sampler.
Pierre Henry.
Schaeffer.
Always Flaming Lips.
A twist on bass.
Fridmann.
The church of Michael Ivins’ hair.
Jazz odyssey.
He wrote this.
Straight up.
Bold start to Pauly Deathwish’s 5th album.
Stretching out.
Space jazz.
Squiggle.
Sonic Youth.
Watch for upcoming single.
Cleared.
Glenn Branca.
Bitches brew.
Live eviL.
Mercury Rev.
Grassy.
Hit to death.
John McLaughlin.
Tribute to Jack Johnson.
Steve Gadd slow nerve action.
Hendrix.
Chuckin’.
Television.
Tom and Richard.
Hippies cool at CBGB.
Makeover.
Bowery toughened.
Are you experienced?
Paul Simon never sounded this tough.
Or desperate.
Always too cool.
But the lyrics give him a run.
Into Radiohead.
Another COVID album.
The best.
Pauly Deathwish.
Headlines.
Zeitgeist.
Epstein.
McAfee didn’t uninstall himself.
Charlotte Gainsbourg.
Lady Godiva.
A dentist chair in Florida.
Soros’s scumbag Rubin.
Forgot a fuck.
Not for kids.
Not safe for work.
F-bomb Ferguson.
Plastic Ono.
Primal.
John Paul Jones keys.
Real.
Frustration key of E.
The pitched song.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Remember this connection.
“Montreal Heartbreak”.
Pure perfection.
Repetition.
Bravery.
Transient random-noise.
Hal Blaine on Harvest.
Trying to make it pay.
Hotel to Tango.
Stopped in Oklahoma.
Back when concerts were played in Austins.
Tonight’s the night.
Neil in Ontario.
A Canadian pastiche.
Bowie low.
Cohen Quebec.
Visconti.
The cure.
Ivermectin.
Hydroxychloroquine.
Disintegration.
The only artist to review his own albums.
Because, you know, fuck it!
9/11 will come out.
Everything building to a head.
First Zeppelin album.
Black mountain side.
Jimmy’s eyes glowing magenta.
They tell me he’s evil.
Maybe.
But you gotta know the story of the blues.
I tried to sell my soul to the Devil.
But I am saved by the blood of Jesus Christ.
Jesus protected me.
Satan wasn’t buying.
Down in the basement of the Gunter Hotel.
I tried to sell my soul for the world.
But God didn’t let it happen.
Thinking it was bad enough.
Only through Jesus am I saved.
The worst among sinners.
Trying to gain the whole world.
Willing to forfeit my soul.
God is good.
And I can out-produce Jimmy Page.
Because God is my guide.
I have a dirty mouth.
Mary Magdalene.
Go and sin no more.
We’re in a fucking war.
We gotta put Jesus first.
On the battlefield.
Out greatest stealth.
Delta blues.
Emerald Mound.
Barbecue.
Poor.
Rural.
I don’t know how to make copies.
And my black neighbors don’t know how to use the internet.
Joe Biden can get fucked.
But me, I like women with big tits.
Alex Jones quote.
I relate.
I don’t wanna be a part of this sick cult.
We need God on the battlefield.
Mercy is waiting even for Jimmy Page.
Turn from the evil ways.
Recognize King Jesus.
The sky is crying.
Hound dog.
Muddy.
Wolf.
Flange.
Phase.
Straight Thelonious.
With Coltrane.
Miles.
Pre-electric.
Second jazz tune.
Straight off blues.
The Monk solo.
Dissonant as a motherfucker.
MTHRFCKR.
Acciaccatura.
Who, me?
Carnival.
Honing in.
D.
Watery solo.
Buttholes.
Kuntz.
Is a joke?
Weird Al.
The Residents.
Don Cherry.
Malachi Thompson.
Soprano trombone.
Roland Kirk.
Reeded brass.
Klang.
Straight jazz.
Philly Jo.
Watch for first cover.
Unpredictable.
Mercury Rev.
John Peel.
Straight into a QAnon song.
Reggae.
Durham.
CodemonkeyZ.
Flynn, in fact, did not go to jail.
Spy dub.
Bob Marley gets all conspiratorial.
Haiti.
Obama gets arrested at his own birthday party.
Strzok blocked on Twitter.
Army Counterintelligence.
A bunch of cunts?
Not Seth Keshel.
The real deal.
Tony Shaffer.
Counterterrorism.
Will the FBI be shut down?
Department of Justice is the very heart of the Deep State.
Rosenstein is linchpin.
Bill Barr was miss.
Cymbals Eat Guitars.
Each given a chance.
Lou Reed.
Rollerskate Skinny.
Music like this hasn’t been made in 30 years.
Bowie would be proud.
The debris from the Nirvana signing.
The truly good bands.
Some Boo Radleys here.
Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.
Beach Boys.
Good production.
Lee “Scratch”.
Black (Oak) Ark.
A disgusting record collection.
Mildew.
Lovingly preserved in filth.
Vinyl still good.
Cop shoot cop.
Strong statement against Antifa.
Dylan.
This guy is bold.
Deserter’s.
Amy Helm?
Rambo.
J. Spaceman.
Jack Fate.
Dylan tongue cheek.
Summer 2020.
BLM.
Only person to listen to this.
Pet Sounds.
Bellingham.
Fredonia.
SUNY.
Boces.
Wanker jazz.
Deep.
Boys peeling.
Give the anarchist a cigarette.
This is a fucked up record.
Calling David Lynch.
Gonna be hard for the Left to write off this guy.
Paradigm shift.
This dude troublemaker.
Name fits.
Trail of dead.
We know you, but do you know us?
Debord, eh?
Capitalism!
Soundgarden.
Chossudovsky.
Deep Pieczenik research.
9/11.
Space Force.
Satellites.
Leonardo.
NRO.
NGA.
And the beloved NSA.
More accurately: CYBERCOM.
Not yet split?
Nakasone double duty?
Architecture?
Who could bring down?
Two QAnon songs in a row.
Beatles.
White Album.
Magical Mystery.
Macca bass line.
Welcome to the revolution.
Sgt. Pepper.
Euros Childs.
Megan Childs.
Gorwel Owen.
Beautiful breakdown.
Bert Williams.
Good shit!
The jazz and blues build up into rock and roll.
Conspiracy songs.
Fort Meade on repeat.
780thC.
Army G2.
Cheyenne Mountain Alerts.
Air Force Cyber.
MARSOC.
Strobo.
Marquee Moon.
Big Pink.
Rhythm of the saints.
Tuatara.
Crime podcast.
Tettix Wave Accumulator?
The Supremes.
Berry Gordy trippin’ balls.
A Lisbeth Salander ballad.
Noomi Rapace.
FBI + CIA.
Both worthless.
But serves to delineate.
Interior and exterior.
Intel romance.
Smarter than Strzok and Page.
Richard Lloyd.
Too fucked up to catch Velvets.
I hear you.
It’s a bitch.
Rick Danko.
Thom Yorke knob twiddler.
Eno in Roxy.
Bogart.
The big sleep date.
Noir and chill.
Mulholland.
Breathless.
The harder they fall.
Shoot the piano player.
Doug Sahm.
We are here in San Antonio.
We are making the best of it.
Driving around.
Eating ZZ Top nachos.
Beer drinkers and hell raisers.
A real jalapeno.
Australia to steam like teapot.
Last song.
Spiritualized?
Joshua Tree.
Bono.
Epic.
Adam Clayton.
Comes with new iPhone.
An anthem like U2 ain’t written for a bit.
This is Dublin territory.
Sexy God believers.
Cigarette.
Irish whiskey.
A Guinness.
Cloves.
The wraparounds.
Luna.
My heroes.
Sterling Morrison.
And Jack Nitzsche.
But Bono can sing opera.
A good dude.
Needs to drop the carbon bullshit.
Global warming is giant fucking hoax.
Just like COVID.
The Edge knows.
Grow some balls.
Stop kissing the Pope’s ass.
This commie Pope is a fucker.
Jesuit dipshit.
Epic lift.
Pauly can play guitar!
Fucking hell!!!
Album builds up to last song.
Even last song builds up.
Fucking brilliant.
Glitch.
iTunes.
Spotify.
-PD
Viaggio in Italia [1954)
We push ourselves so hard.
For what?
So that we may see beauty.
For me, it’s this.
Though I can barely hold my eyes open, I see it.
I see what Godard saw when he was just a lad.
A very mature film from Roberto Rossellini.
But by mature, we don’t mean sexual.
Actually, more nuanced than that.
A celebration of woman as human being.
A celebration of Ingrid Bergman as auteur.
Just as much as her husband, the director.
It’s there.
The collaboration.
And it’s unlike any other film I’ve ever seen.
Perhaps…
she fell in love with his genius.
The war trilogy.
We have talked about the great films.
Just after WWII.
Rome, Open City.
Germany, Year Zero.
And enfin…
Paisan.
[in not quite that order]
These are our English names.
But Journey to Italy is a weird feast of linguistic absurdity.
“…you shameless hussy”.
It’s like this, see…
George Sanders and Ingrid Bergman are British,
but they’re speaking Italian.
This was so the Italians didn’t have to read subtitles.
But then George says to a prosititute,
“I don’t speak Italian” (or something)
in English…WHEN HE’S BEEN SPEAKING ITALIAN FOR THE FIRST HOUR OF THE FILM!
And then there’s the Italian tradition of postproduction.
No live sound.
In this film, no ambient noises.
It’s like George and Ingrid are touring Italy in a fucking Tesla Model S!!
And a bit of dialogue.
And a clip-clop and a cloche.
Get out of the way, donkey cart!
Such that at a certain point, we wonder whether Roberto was exploding not only genre (to reference James Monaco), but the Italian version of “the tradition of quality” against which the French New Wave set themselves so polemically.
🙂
It’s possible.
“Do you think I’m insane,” asked Elon Musk.
No, of course not.
You’re South African like me.
But at the heart of this film (this is a film review, right?) are the same marital arts (!) which made Benatar sing love is a battlespace. What?
Before Godard and Karina, it was Roberto and Ingrid.
And the tension rubs.
Gimme friction, said Tom Verlaine.
And Paul Verlaine said some stuff which was ignored.
And Rimbaud shot his hand. Or ran guns.
Back when Abyssinia.
Main point is this is beautiful film.
Plain simple.
And it’s no accident Mr. and Ms. Joyce.
-PD
paulydeathwish 