https://open.spotify.com/track/36qraq6EuJXyfCdyvPeIw2?si=87b62ba81ea04288
Recommended if you like Alan Vega and Martin Rev.
American supreme.
Tag Archives: Martin Rev
“Hold Me Tight” [2021)
https://open.spotify.com/track/5MckQ5ZqwXKyaCXhUYxWKl?si=5299e60430b048af
Recommended if you like the first Suicide album.
And Sonic Youth.
And Lou Reed.
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
zenith [2021)
Jesus and Mary Chain.
Black tar.
Caramelized sugar.
A dangerous confection.
Hit to Death in the Future Head.
Summer is here.
I hear.
Vacuum cleaner solo.
Theremin.
Race cars.
Boys peel out.
High-speed boats.
And again with the UPC scan.
Breaking up on reentry.
Serious audio fuckery.
And from this right into kung fu. Peter Sellers on Bowie’s Low. Trance. But really what we have here is excellent counterpoint. Lunatic Harness. Polyrhythms. Album breaks down soon. Fast. Abruptly. Mental block regarding Wuhan origin. Harmonic outline you would never find in China. Terry Riley. A Rainbow in Curved Air. Eno. Visconti. And the others involved. A beauty that inspired Philip Glass. This is what we have. Low and heroes. Symphonies. Glass. Riley. Minimalism. Album called zenith. Track two already hits “Nadir”. What’s the arc here? Arc-en-ciel? Arkansas? Immediately pensive. Very unnerving. Pop rock track. Into existential oblivion. Abrupt modulation. Uncomfortable. Eccentric. Was there a thought process behind this? Commerce ruins everything. Imperfect masterpieces. The rules of the game. Radiohead. Joseph Arthur? Sparklehorse. The Magnetic Fields. Gay baritone. Sad sack confessional poetry in the world of Berryman’s Dream Songs. Brian Jonestown Massacre. The Verve. Strung out in heaven. J. Spaceman shooting up while praying. Don’t knock it… Drug addiction is real. Mental problems are real. Here we are. 2020 fucked us up. And now we wait for the next shoe to drop. Smashing Pumpkins. “Silver Fuck”? Into Sonny Rollins? Epstein. Gene Ammons. Hard to tell it’s (not) real. Which parts? Yes. No. Fooling the ear with Dave Fridmann. A totally schizophrenic record so far. Here we go! “Belgian Lace, Pale Black Mascara…” This is more like it. Rollerskate Skinny. Martin Rev. Lots of counterpoint here. Fux me up. Disney xylophones. Internal rhyme-sanity. Dylan puking up brilliance. Always Roger Waters with the bass. Always The Wall. Pompeii. Hail to the Thief. Again and again. Trying to break new ground. And it does. Yerself is Steam. Album starts to make sense after five tracks. 1 & 5. This is not bullshit. I don’t know about the jazz. I don’t know about the monotonous instrumentals. Absolutely “Car Wash Hair”. Suzanne Thorpe would be proud. Seems to be talking about tits. A good ride. Drum machine chugging away. Can still have a good groove. Wild Acoustic Chamber Orchestra. W.A.C.O. Woodwinds and glockenspiel. Boces. What the fuck is this shit? O.K. computer. Sounds like some QAnon stuff. I feel Carlos Santana coming on. This is what Assange jams out to. Lots of plays at Fort Meade. Salsa. James Brown. Puerto Rican funk. As AOC goes to jail. Serious national security issues for lyrics. Fictional charges? Tracers everywhere. This theory involves an actual conspiracy. Criminal conspiracy outlined. By players. Event 201. Short circuit. Johnny 5 is alive. Legalistic funk. QAnon wet dream. FISAgate. “Spy Gate”. Somebody send this to Sean Hannity. Obamagate. Where is John Durham? Ryan Dark White knows the truth about Rosenstein. How many coup attempts by the Left? Back to Billy Corgan. Ok, so we have an Alex Jones connection. Early-’90s goodness. Butch Vig. Dream pop. James Iha. Bet this guy knows the real story about the Standard Hotel(s). Great lyrics! Must be some inside jokes here. But HOLY FUCK! He nailed the “Holes” trumpet solo. Deserter’s Songs. God damn it. How did they do this? The liner notes say Pauly Deathwish has also produced all four of these albums. Kind of a Jimmy Page thing going on. Great drum sound. Yo La Tengo. “Mayonnaise”. Siamese Dream. Benjamin Britten reference? Slick! So this guy basically had a music education on par with Jack Nitzsche. And then went for scumbag rockroll like Phil Spector. Gotta respect this weird marriage. This fascination with grunge. Dinge. And the facility to clean it up like a chandelier. Very fucking impressive. No record label. Kinda sounds like no funding. No budget. The Delgados. Hate. The Great Eastern. More Spiritualized telephony. The Wall. Which is to say, Bob Erzin. And as dark as Berlin. Which is to say, Bob Ezrin. Neil Young vibe. Tonight’s the Night. Some dark-ass shit. Nick Kent, where y@t? IV Thieves. Coulda done this. What if Chris “Frenchie” Smith had produced this? This kid like a protege. I hear the moniker (stage name) was bestowed by Frenchie Smith. Strings good. Eastern European orchestra. Must have cost a small fortune. Arcade Fire. French cinema. Romantic-era harmony. But pierced. Sophisticated. Absolutely Floyd. “In The Flesh”. Last track on Harvest. Words between the lines. The promise of the ’60s went to shit in the ’70s. Where’s QAnon? Where’s Nakasone? Where’s CYBERCOM? Keith Alexander on Amazon board. Velvet Underground feeding back. Les Rallizes Denudes. Primal Scream. “Swastika Eyes”. ADAT. DAT machine. Sampling. Stereolab. Back to another standout track. “Chaconne”. Will Smith in the summertime. Some slick shit. Messiaen. Jonny Greenwood. Lyrics world-class. All those sand paintings. Write and destroy. Suicide girls. Thom Yorke’s brain doesn’t have this facility. He’s a great stylist. Definitely an homage. And to Godard. Snow white and psycho. Heavy shit for Laetitia Sadier and Tim Gane to check out. Not far from Faust IV. So sweet. John Paul Jones. Ramble on. Charlotte Gainsbourg. Keren Ann. Last track noisy as fuck. Lo-fi. Tom Waits. Sticks together. Some sad shit. Music from Big Pink. Mournful trombone(s). John Simon. “Bird on a Wire”. They don’t make records like this anymore. David Bowie not dead. Great phrasing. Sinatra. Mark Linkous. It’s a Wonderful Life. Believable bass. Upright citizen. Bayou curious. Noise floor drops out. Some perverse humor here. An “album”. It is. Ten songs. Ten different directions. Some tracks stick together. Like a deck of cards shuffled. Lots of variety. Circus peanuts. The orange ones. Pure sugar. Chewy. Strange texture. Lots of melancholy here. What’s this bloke so sad about? Tell Thurston Moore. You gotta hear this shit. Pauly Deathwish’s 4th album (this summer!). Is this guy trying to set a Guinness record or something? And he already has a 5th one out. Christ!
-PD
Mad Max [1979)
Crunch time.
Ghost rider.
Motorcycle hero.
Chain Bowery.
Hand.
Mind games.
Fifi McAfee.
Toecutter is Wayne Coyne. Hugh Keays-Byrne. On Highway 61. In a forrest-green Ford Focus? Oklahoma plates. Near Emerald Mound. Flaming Lips poster tucked into the back of the driver’s seat. Soft Bulletin era. Before Yoshimi. Dead in December of last year in New South Wales. Peacefully? In a hospital? At age 73? 12/2/2020. Gay Bubba is Marc Almond. Satanist. Now says it was a joke. This is quintessential Antifa. As if Johnny the Boy had his eyes gouged out. Dumb driver runs away. Left his woman. Pitiful. Steve Bisley with compassion. Goose is Max von Sydow. We are going to win Australia back for Australians. And win Canada back for Canadians. And win the U.K. back for the English and Scottish and Welsh. And the Irish of Belfast. My mates in The Answer. Google me. No one showed up. And Johnny walked free. It’s time to show up, Australia. Here is your song, Australia. We will make it together. https://soundcloud.com/paulydeathwish/australia-here-i-come-original Bernard Kerik is now on our side. Goose. We won’t lose. Lori “Eraserhead” Lightfoot. 
That THING is not the Mayor of Chicago. Intel from Bobby Piton that she is a CCP operative. Interesting. Singer licking her lips. Could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. Goose’s last taste of life. Went out with a bang. But burnt to a crisp. And not out. Alive and suffering. Bike in the back of a fuck-ugly ute. Under which Goose is cooked. Antifa tactics. Mean, nasty people. Cowards. Sadists. Unhappy adolescents who remain unhappy adolescents for their entire lives. Sick utopians. If only everyone saw things their way, then the world would be a wonderful place. They think. Rebels without an understanding of their cause. Which is to say, without a cause. The cause is only a prop. And so nebulous as to be virtually nonexistent. West side story. Cascadia. Rosa Brooks. Nils Gilman. Transition Integrity Project. Brooks involved in Soros projects like Open Society Foundations. Gilman with Berggruen in California. Which is to say, China. Intimate connection. Berggruen Institute. Satellite offices mainland. Tries to quit and get out. Some good times. Family time. Swimming. A child. Tender moments between man and wife. Sharing childhood memories in vulnerability. Fifi needed him. McAfee. Abandoned. Had to make a choice. Chose family. I chose family. And now I can buy Bitcoin and shrink Abbey Road to the size of a matchbox. More or less. At least as passable as Radiohead glitch fidelity. Sprog is sperg. Autists activate.
Reconcile. Contempt meets Rambo. Again it’s Cascadia. Twin Peaks. Knives in movies. They drew first blood, not me. Paul Hogan. Mel Gibson never finished fixing the fan belt. If you wait, it’s too late. Death Wish. True romance. It would seem they needed Toecutter for the sequel. Good versus evil. The Flaming Lips versus me. Versus the Devil in fuckery. You can saw through the cuffs in 10, or your ankle in 5. Joanne Samuel beautiful and great acting. The Mel Gibson contingent is taking back the world. Just you watch.
-PD
MZFPK [2021)
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.
The gash.
Right into Isao Tomita.
Doing Debussy.
Marching.
Martial.
Fantastic noises.
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.
- -PD
Introversion [2021)
Teenage Fanclub.
That glow in The World’s End.
But a sadness.
THE sadness.
Emily Dickinson.
Unrequited.
Unattainable.
My Bloody Valentine.
Sloshy grunge hats.
Edge echo.
Chris Bell.
I Am the Cosmos.
Yerself Is Steam.
Slowdive.
Rutti.
Brian Eno.
The disappearance of Madeleine McCann.
Tom Petty.
You don’t know how it feels.
J. Spaceman.
Abbey Road.
Air.
George Martin.
Beck.
Badfinger suicides.
Loser.
Spiritualized.
Royal Albert.
I can only give you everything.
Rick Danko.
Loping.
The Delgados.
Dave Fridmann.
Black magic warded off by honesty.
Good timing.
Divine.
Sigur Rós.
Nigel Godrich.
Pocket symphonies.
Charlotte Gainsbourg.
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.
Gorecki.
Arvo Pärt.
Deserter’s Songs.
Absolutely.
The confusion of ridiculous counterpoint.
Aaron Copland.
Tonal, yet dissonant.
Thick Billy Corgan.
Siamese Dream.
Definitely a sadness here.
Dawn Upshaw.
Tabula rasa.
Death.
Immense Mellotron.
Tchaikovsky.
Abrupt modulation.
Sugar plum.
Lou Reed.
Ennio Morricone.
Cinema Paradiso.
All you need is hate.
Upstate.
Chaliapin.
Basso profundo.
Jussi Björling.
Dvořák.
Memorial day.
The Inflated Tear.
Columbus, Ohio with duct tape.
Debussy.
Posing with a bass clarinet.
Primal Scream.
Get Duffy.
Rock ferry.
Smokey Robinson.
Sad clown.
Dead clown.
Kinks.
Grasshopper.
Suzanne.
Woodwind quintet.
Did I ever write one?
Yes, I did.
César Franck.
Saint-Saëns.
Organ symphony.
Or is it contrabassoon?
Nadia Boulanger can tell you.
My teacher’s teacher (twice over).
The Left Banke.
LSD.
Herb Alpert?
Hummel.
Handel.
Strawberry fields.
Stereolab.
Unequivocally.
Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements.
A little lo-fi.
Vocal doubled.
Vox continental.
Great hook.
Changes that pull at your heartstrings.
More melancholy.
A fucking marimba solo?!?
Are you kidding me???
Makes sense.
Pauly Deathwish collaboration with Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes.
Lost Bayou Ramblers.
Gordon knew him as Death.
I have become death.
96 Tears.
Farfisa.
Partials.
Tim Gane tone.
Faust IV.
Doogie Howser?
Scary.
Impending.
Suspense.
Rock bass.
Ozzy.
Black Sabbath.
Amazing Grace.
Pete Townshend.
Front.
Back to J. Spaceman.
Dirty ass rock and roll with pristine horns.
Expensive drugs.
Sophisticated changes.
Éminence grise?
Is this the artist we’ve been waiting for?
Rodriguez?
R. Stevie Moore?
Wesley Willis?
Sounds like Jack Nitzsche.
Major Velvet vibes.
Suck-ceed twice.
Dylan with P-bass.
Mick Taylor.
Too much attitude.
Keith Richards.
Let it Come Down.
Shakespeare.
Fucker kicked the bucket.
First to be vaxxed.
Maricopa.
First Suicide album.
Bossa nova.
The Soft Bulletin.
Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.
Gimme some lovin’?
Steve Winwood?
How old?
La Monte Young.
Slow changes.
First rehearsal tapes.
Alan Vega.
Martin Rev.
New York City heroin.
Warhol Factory torn down.
Across from YMCA.
Trump dances.
Great throwaway lyrics.
George Harrison.
Sound of universe.
Spacemen 3.
Savage tone.
Revolution.
Direct into mixing console.
Fried signal.
White album.
Sonic Youth.
Derek Bailey.
Lou ecstacy.
Late Lou.
European son.
Blood pressure rising.
Brutal.
Frankie Teardrop.
I think I’m in love.
Dub bass.
Will the circle remain unbroken?
When I had dinner with Roky.
13th Floor.
First Velvets album.
Heroin.
Drug rush.
Invincible.
But you gotta buy it.
Dirty Baltimore.
Cop shoot cop.
Cheree.
On the jukebox.
Eat at the gas station.
On tour.
First time in Texas.
American Supreme.
Iceland.
13 Angels.
It’s definitely Bowie.
New career.
Same town.
New old.
Old is new again.
Mercury Rev.
Savvy programming.
Dynamics.
Break beat.
A fuck ton of flutes.
Flute loops literally.
Bowie sax.
Little fluffy clouds.
Every drop.
Gay glam chorus.
Tony Visconti.
Don’t underestimate.
Pere Ubu.
First album.
Méliès.
Boys peel out.
Boces.
Inspector Clouseau.
Phone.
French ambulance.
Pants.
Gives me pants.
Videogames.
Cutting hole.
Pink Panther.
Herbert Lom.
A Shot in the Dark.
Grandaddy.
Under the Western Freeway.
Weeping willow.
Under that.
With Sean Mackowiak.
Square waves.
WarGames.
Tympani.
Rollerskate Skinny.
Dublin.
Kevin Shields.
Comes back loud.
One song mastered soft.
Definitely Low.
The main influence of Pauly Deathwish’s debut album.
Honegger.
Pacific 231.
Chariots of fire.
Vangelis.
Such a groove.
Nancarrow.
Polyrhythm.
Immense sadness.
By the side of a freeway.
Under an underpass.
Not like RHCP.
Much darker.
Like Godspeed.
Philip Glass.
Eno.
Blackstar.
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.
Glitch Radiohead.
Trail of Dead.
Makes sense.
Because Pauly wrote the string arrangement on IX.
Dark.
Killers.
Disco compression.
Distressed.
These lyrics!
Johnny Rotten.
Trump 2021.
Snot on the crowd.
Arcade Fire.
Makes sense.
Lost Bayou Ramblers lost sessions.
Montreal studio.
This was all made on an iPhone?!?
Guy Debord.
Aladdin Sane.
Time.
Rick Wakeman?
Olivier Messiaen.
Major 7ths in uppermost range of piano.
Almost indistinguishable from octaves.
Eerie.
Slight.
Only for the sensuous ear.
The Wall.
Waters delayed bass.
No nonsense drums.
Humble Pie reference?!?
Ha!
Great lyrics!!
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.
Grinderman.
No pussy.
Early-’90s.
Nirvana’s wake.
Finnegans Wake.
Great debut album (if I do say so myself).
Usual suspects.
Spotify.
iTunes.
Pauly Deathwish.
-PD
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo [2011)
Elections have consequences.
Thyssen.
Krupp.
IG Farben.
Klangfarbenmelodie.
Serial killers
Schönberg.
4th Reich.
In disguise as what?
Wolves in sheep’s clothing?
Liberalism.
Degenerate art.
Hasselblad.
Von Braun.
Badminton.
Les Fleurs du mal.
A hunch.
Proof.
Bobby Fischer.
Kurt Vonnegut.
Sous rature.
Frozen ink
François Villon.
JFK.
Epstein.
Ruby.
Rebecca.
Hitchcock.
The soul of a policeman.
Michael Ruppert.
Cui bono?
Reee!!!
Henry Cowell.
The banshee.
Charles Ives
Bucolic.
Kids in cages.
But which kids?
Which cages?
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?
George Crumb.
Ancient voices of children.
Kindertotenlieder.
Lux aeterna lucent eis, Domine,
cum santis tuis in aeternum,
quia pius es.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Happy meal.
Weiner.
Hunter.
This is about revenge.
9/11.
5:5?
φ.
Regular Pentagon.
Call me Satie.
Wishing to be Debussy.
FDR.
Middle.
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.
9 incoming.
I got the message.
Check your inbox.
What did he know?
Toys.
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.
They knew.
[Dorsey].
Checking up.
Group assignment.
Mother Jones.
The flowers of evil.
How many times have I been rejected?
This is a divine matrix.
To unravel Satan.
Aquino checks up.
Set theory.
01234689.
Quartermaster.
Ampico.
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.
Special.
Own each reporter.
Silenced.
Own each vote.
Legislative.
It’s a pleasure.
You’ve never heard of my agency.
It has no Wikipedia.
No structural chart.
Isaiah 53.
Stieg Larsson was killed.
It goes higher than Sweden.
The network.
Franz Kline.
Strindberg’s paintings.
You thought you could destroy her spirit.
Purell.
The pandemic was planned.
Coronariots.
A science of a 1000 details.
What’s the least-creepy song we can destroy?
Enya.
Orinoco Flow.
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.
Timbres.
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.
Ghost rider.
Rocket USA.
Frankie Teardrop.
Johnsburg, Illinois.
Never interrupt your enemies…
Victor Sjöström.
-PD
A Fantastic Fear of Everything [2012)
I found this one difficult to watch.
Multiple attempts.
I’m still alive.
Lon-don.
Tell them I’ll call them back.
Hackney.
Hacked.
Hanoi.
Humbert Humbert.
This is a rather inventive film.
Insular.
Wrapped up in web mind.
Cobwebs.
Webby.
Super glues a knife to his hand!
For fuck’s sake!!!
That’s when it started to get good.
But God knows how long it took me to survive the punishing beginning.
Boredom.
My Beautiful Laundrette.
[sic]
Working Title Films.
Jackpot!
Bean, Lebowski, Ali G., Johnny English, Shaun, Fuzz, Paul, World’s End, Grimsby, Saoirse Scots…
These are my films.
The auteurs of comedy.
Bona fide.
The twins.
And the muse.
My journey through addiction.
Knowing you’re an addict.
And not a patient on medicine.
Step 1.
Can I recapture?
Which way?
What???
Scissorhand.
Shatterhand.
Forgot the soap.
An opera.
Slow-motion underwear.
Soiled with blood.
Dust.
Attic.
Beautiful curry.
Had burned off the hair on one side of his head.
Scrotum.
FaTE.
Very much like lovely bones.
Hatch.
Soft bulletin.
Swung open.
Brochure.
Kiss to remove my gag.
Little ‘Nam.
Indeed.
Martin Rev suicides the wrap arounds from Wal-Mart.
Blinking LEDs chasing across the brow.
Creepy as fuck!
But bathos.
Bathetic.
Maudlin.
Yet in the mold of Frank Giustra (suing Twitter for comments I and others made).
Free speech, mate.
Yes, you have a psychopathic vibe.
It is my human right to state so.
Fuck Canada!
Hackneyed serial killer.
Trite.
Headbutt dog and duck.
Scotch egg.
1001 nights…
The star here (besides our subject of study, Simon Pegg) is the beautiful Amara Karan.
Breathtaking!
Sri Lanka.
Bikini.
Atoll.
Darjeeling.
Investment banker (!): M&As.
Get the fuck out!
Oxford,
not a terminal degree, but quite academic for iTunes fare.
Pegg’s least-purchased movie (it appears).
But really a fine job by Crispian Mills (Kula Shaker, wot?!?) and Chris Hopewell.
-PD
Les Visiteurs du soir [1942)
I don’t know what I’m doing.
But I’m happy.
For once.
Quarante-deux.
She could slow down time with her Aeolian harp.
Silk strings. So tired. Suddenly…
Arletty. Femme fatale.
And Alain Cuny. Homme fatal.
The first punk rock band.
A duo.
The Devil’s Envoys.
Yeah…look at us! In chain… With the dogs!
Like Alan Vega and Martin Rev.
Except Arletty’s in drag, see?
So she’s taping her breasts down like a fashion model.
Which is exactly what she was.
Reified.
But Marie Déa breaks my heart the most.
You want to know where Adèle Exarchopoulos comes from?
Well, here you go.
No doubt. Kechiche.
Quarante-et-un. Quarante-deux.
A perfect film from Marcel Carné.
Existentialism is a Humanism.
And Bob Marley.
But never a more convincing devil than Jules Berry.
No doubt. Rolling Stones.
Master is a Margarita.
Same death-rattle laugh as Keith Richards.
As flaming a devil as Elmyr de Hory.
Raffinato!
Like Sergio Marchionne after 11 espressos.
And all while a love shines through which you might find in the quiet thoughts of Clayton Christensen.
As you might expect: the devil is all business.
A harsh exterior.
Nay…merely forbidding. Yes.
Only the highest level of French society.
True censorship would have forbidden a villain altogether.
In occupied France.
Glorious, glorious. Never let on your form!
Complete your poésies.
From Peshawar to Prussia.
From Barvikha to Batman, Turkey.
-PD
paulydeathwish 