https://open.spotify.com/episode/4WBRAewr9PGkpHgDB6eeb3?si=5a2c7822d22343a1
Tag Archives: Miles Davis
Guilty Pleasures [2022)
https://open.spotify.com/episode/1eAvqEXUCoQZz6RFmNNpub?si=6301aa0f4dac409c
Cinematic Music with Pauly Deathwish
Season 1 Episode 5
“Asperger’s Meme” [2021)
https://open.spotify.com/track/6El6QkbQIupqlJBO5HnwSD?si=d992fd40db754994
Recommended if you like Thelonious Monk
Cinematic music 4/2 [2022)
https://share.stationhead.com/7aPmRv5Ojy4
“A Smile and a Ribbon”–Patience & Prudence
“Life on Mars?”–David Bowie
“Try and Love Again”–The Eagles
“Too Late”–Spiritualized
“Warning Sign”–Coldplay
“Summer in Siam”–The Pogues
“In a Silent Way”–Miles Davis
“Don’t Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder)”–The Beach Boys
“Not Going Anywhere”–Keren Ann
“Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space”–Spiritualized
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3HW5UzaROIvB0A21S8VYcN?si=226abaad9c024244
chthonic [2021)
So Pauly Deathwish comes out with a Sonic Youth cover.
“Schizophrenia”.
Sounds like Sade and Yoshimi-era Lips.
Like mental illness is no big deal.
Strange.
Almost bossa nova.
Like an elevator music rendition.
I dig it, though.
Bachelor pad music for hipsters.
Sounds like the chord progression is totally different.
This bloke gonna be locked up with Stravinsky in Boston.
Kinda Herbie Hancock doing Nirvana.
William Shatner.
But then that fucking piano comes in.
Like “Time” from Aladdin Sane.
Fucking hell.
Beautiful and fucked up.
Ratchet up Conlon Nancarrow.
Something Charlie Parker about this.
Impossible arpeggiator.
Talking the Kim Gordon lines.
Muted.
Lou Reed.
Leonard Cohen.
This is good shit.
Gets all ’80s.
Public Image.
Finally Thurston and Ranaldo drop in.
Shit gets real.
The harmonies on this song are insane.
Like Messiaen.
Definitely fits the scordatura.
Something Brian Wilson about this progression too.
Like fuzzed-out Smile.
My fiancee dumped me 12 days ago without even telling me why.
Four year relationship gone.
NEXT SONG!
Suzanne Ciani.
Real guitar?
Sounds a little Built to Spill.
Very circumspect.
Great harmonies again.
This dude didn’t cheat his Fux.
Creeping automation.
Ambient.
What will it do?
Some sad shit like Godspeed.
Silver Mt. Zion.
Hats get going.
In a Silent Way.
Bass drum drops in.
It is obvious Pauly loves “A New Career in a New Town”.
This vibe resurfaces in many of his songs.
But THIS song!
Very “Mayonaise” by Smashing Pumpkins.
Like Glenn Branca with a better childhood.
A long instrumental.
Slow, simmering fire.
Anger.
Sadness.
Mixed together.
Catharsis.
SLOW-LY building.
Arpeggiator about to get wild again.
Mothersbaugh.
Fuzz bass drops in.
Soft Bulletin.
Wow.
What a guitar tone!
Sounds like a fucking harmonica.
Great lo-fi…Devendra Banhart vibe.
But this is straight Velvet Underground.
BRMC.
An instrumental with ooohs and ahhhs.
Bottom drops out.
Drums chugging away like Primal Scream.
Fucking glockenspiel!
A’ight, mate.
Interesting touch, there.
Little bit Mercury Rev.
See You on the Other Side.
Chugging away.
Guitars enjoying themselves.
Ghost of Sterling Morrison.
Tune called “Catharsiss” [sic].
Must be some weird Godard reference.
And the last song of this maxi.
Similar start as track 2.
Strange flange/phase Shepard scale weirdness.
Truly chilled-out, mellow bathtub guitar.
Like Yo La Tengo.
Those fucking pricks.
Why did they block Pauly Deathwish on Twitter?
That’s uncalled for.
Bloke’s just a struggling musician.
But they are holier than thou.
Well, Pauly’s played Maxwell’s in Hoboken too.
YLT never hit a vibe this good except on “Pablo and Andrea”.
Fucking unblock Pauly Deathwish, you losers.
Twitter.
Cymbals Eat Guitars vibe.
Very chilled out.
A little “All Cats Are Grey” feel.
Good guitar noodling.
In a Verlaine/Lloyd way.
Why did my fiancee dump me?
She won’t even tell me why.
12 days ago.
The day before thanksgiving.
Drums kick in.
Good beat.
MBV would have gone for this.
Similar guitar underneath.
A little J. Mascis.
Living with my parents.
Are you in therapy?
Haha.
FUCK THAT.
Yes, I review my own albums.
Because no one else will review them.
And because I have put out 16 albums in one year.
I don’t have time for people to catch on.
I worked hard on this shit.
I’m the same age Alan Vega when he started.
About to be 45.
Old as fuck.
So, I have a lot in common with Pauly Deathwish.
I feel his pain.
His fiancee dumped him too.
12 days ago as well.
She also didn’t tell him why.
She just started ignoring him like he was some piece of shit.
So I feel totally justified in helping Pauly out with this review.
To help get his music a wider audience.
Young Heart Attack feedback.
Radiohead clank.
“Creep”.
Back to the Badalamenti synths.
She just turned off her heart.
Maybe she doesn’t realize how much she is hurting me.
But I think she’s just a vindictive bitch.
-PD
41020 [2021)
A silver mt. zion.
Montreal.
Hotel tango.
Sighing synths.
Leonard Cohen.
Getting cold.
Lee Hazlewood.
Arizona into the Rockies.
Wyoming.
Road music.
Music of wide open spaces.
Charles Mingus checks in.
Bob Dylan.
Tumbleweeds.
Was QAnon bullshit?
WFMU seems to think so.
And all their hipster listeners.
Missing the Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Chris Isaak.
My Bloody Valentine.
R.E.M.
Automatic for the people.
Rightly asking if this guy, Pauly Deathwish, is Borat.
Elvis working at the truck stop.
Nevada.
New Mexico.
Into French philosophy at a Barnes & Noble.
Film criticism.
Cinematic music.
The great philosophers.
Taking on Philip Glass.
Rachmaninoff.
Swedish version.
Poor girl with grey teeth.
Dirty bra.
Addicted to Kardashians.
And meth.
Smoking candy cigarettes.
Brutal, cold world.
No fall back.
Withdrawal back.
Wanna lock me for blood pressure.
It ain’t no cakewalk.
Ripoff.
Tech moves fast.
Write anything.
Better than nothing.
Bad press.
No press.
You have a printing press.
The Innocence Mission.
Miles.
Porgy and Bess.
A thousand planes.
Two ambient instrumentals to start this album.
Setting an amber tone.
Pensive.
Ex-pensive.
Time is a luxury.
And Miles comes in.
Bending notes.
Sighing again.
Like music from Big Pink.
John Simon.
Leonard Cohen.
Very much of the Deserter’s Songs type.
Song cycle.
Van Dyke.
And Coltrane leaps in.
No bends.
Solid sax.
Honky.
Low mids.
Leaping up.
Transposition.
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.
Loaded.
Lou Reed.
Doo-wop.
We’re in east Texas with George Jones.
Straight country.
Classic country.
Bona fide redneck interpolation.
“Daisies on Your Doorstep”.
Troubled relationship.
Robert Altman.
Nashville.
Hitchcock.
Traut.
Birds.
Grandaddy invades!
Modesto!!
And back to EXPANSIVE verb.
Cathedral.
Serious shit.
Country gothic.
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.
Write copy.
Boilerplate.
You have no publicity.
I block all reposts.
I wanna EARN it.
Organic.
Diminished 7th.
Dissolve into what?
More Mercury Rev homage.
Drums from “Desperado”.
Another lonely bloke ended by “Holes”.
Favorite song ever.
Happy end.
Drunk room.
Tom Waits.
The chord.
Spring.
Le Sacre.
Back to regularly scheduled programming.
Knife in the Water.
Austin.
R.E.M. again.
Big Star.
John Cale droning away on the viola.
No tremolo.
Swing it.
Ragged time.
Texarkana.
Arkansas.
And Texas.
Definite Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci nod.
Nick Drake.
Again The Innocence Mission.
Birds.
Pink Floyd.
Fairport Convention.
Psych barn.
The Byrds.
Gram Parsons.
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.
An anti-hit.
When you can sing, but you get raped by auto-tune.
Loosen that shit up.
Going all Arabic on me.
Raga.
Spinal Tap.
Clouds of sound on almost every track.
A very ambient album.
Mood set.
Mood retained.
Mature.
Duran Duran.
Peaches DJ Berlin.
Where’s Warhol?
Nigel Godrich.
Jonny Greenwood.
Thom Yorke.
Grinderman.
Roger Waters again.
Microtonal blues.
Straight into Bjork.
Does she umlaut?
Sounds of a Mac.
Swan.
Alarm clock.
Gentle waking.
Paganini.
Rachmaninoff.
Elton John.
Stevie Wonder.
Sly Stone.
James Bond in Rio.
Drax.
Os Mutantes.
Jobim.
Korean frogs.
Shinto.
Spy guitar for reprise.
Tom Verlaine.
Richard Lloyd.
Paul Simon.
Rhythm of the saints.
Graceland.
Beethoven emperor concerto.
Slow.
Beloved.
Tokyo.
Press roll.
Sushi.
Kill bounce.
Phil Selway.
Colin Greenwood?
A masterful track.
“Icelandic Pastiche”.
NOW WE’RE TALKING.
Papa Trump back in the house.
For the apocalypse.
Rocky Balboa.
L.L. Cool J.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Second coming.
To save.
Vengeance is his.
Everyone given a chance.
A fair chance.
NASA.
I hear a single.
“Landslide”.
Wisconsin decertified.
Ramthun came through.
About fucking time.
There’s a riot goin’ on.
Paperclip Nazis.
Eric Carmen.
Smokey Robinson.
Tears of a motherfucking clown.
Oboe.
Michael Stipe.
Gil Evans.
Having the French horns get groovy.
Amelie.
Sketches of Spain.
Sunday morning.
Loveless.
Kevin Shields.
Belinda.
The Soft Bulletin.
Christ coming down from the clouds.
Like a ton of bricks.
Anvil.
Don’t call it a comeback.
Not all the way.
Staple Singers.
Rick Danko.
Rocket pans across stereo field.
Jesus talkin’.
Crucified.
Died.
Buried.
AND ROSE AGAIN, MOTHERFUCKERS.
Jesus more space than NASA.
Really a masterpiece of sample placement.
Crystal-clear mix.
Clouseau.
Peter Sellers.
Bass solo.
Absolute Mingus.
Bloody jaw-dropping.
This is like a fucking lost Roland Kirk album.
This track!
Concerto for Booty and Orchestra.
Montreux.
Can never spell.
System hacked.
No more spelling.
Adieu au langage.
Flute loops.
Cocteau Twins.
Ties together album.
Last track coming on like Faust.
Built to Spill.
Silver Apples.
In memory of a bloke who bit it.
End of Night on Earth.
Real recorder.
Charity.
You will live forever, my friend.
I never knew you.
You aren’t forgotten.
Thought of you put in this track.
Catharsis.
Yerself is steam.
Smashing Pumpkins.
Siamese.
Great album by Pauly Deathwish.
Spotify.
iTunes.
Solid.
-PD
disassemble [2021)
Way behind on Pauly Deathwish.
Right off with XTRMNTR.
Shoot speed.
Kill light.
Spirit of rock and roll.
His most popular track at this time.
Straight rock.
Bad boy.
Drugs flowing through the veins.
Overdose of light.
God is the ultimate drug.
Coming back from depression.
Girlfriend goes on a date with another bloke.
Big depression.
Drugs consume.
Always creative.
From London to Paris.
Vintage keys like French band Air.
Every touch from two tracks imbued with Radiohead experimentation.
Pink Floyd bass.
Waters lives.
Here come the warm jets.
Camera clicking photos.
Virgin suicides.
Tomita.
Amazing groove.
Levon and Robbie Robertson.
Rhythm of the saints.
This bloke has nothing to live for.
His girlfriend is a total fucking bitch.
Alone in the world.
Short circuit.
Trying to overcome.
She don’t give a fuck.
Melancholy.
Info op birthed.
Suicide Girls.
Anti-Antifa.
Bloke has sophistication in attack.
Philosophy.
Wars back started BLM.
Kept powder dry.
Amazing hip hop.
Stevie Wonder.
Shaft.
The Sea and Cake.
Jazzy Jeff.
Fresh Prince.
Young MC.
Stereolab as always.
Trump supporter smart.
Assessment of coup against Deep State.
Progress report.
Situationism.
Velvet Underground.
The balls to review his own albums.
Balls?
Toxic relationship.
Electronic music.
Chemical Brothers.
Dark side of the moon.
Fever dream.
Of the wall.
Oasis.
Noel feeding back.
Liam blowing harp.
Ringo’s son on drums.
Don’t believe the truth.
Soundtrack music.
Hanna.
How she lives now.
Soylent green…2022.
Beastie Boys.
Nigel Godrich as always.
Big Star Third.
Kanga Roo.
As important as the Velvets.
Drug withdrawal.
Big Star early albums.
Chiming.
Like The Byrds.
Phil Spector lives in the glockenspiel.
Lester Bangs lives here.
Lavage.
Many disappointed patriots.
Lamenting the shitty U.S. military.
While honoring the 13.
And Colonel Scheller.
A handful of gems in a culture of shit.
Astrology.
Drag balls.
Berlin.
I love faggots as much as anyone.
David, Lou, Iggy.
Heroes.
God is the only hope.
So I prayed tonight.
Twin peaks.
Nobody loves me.
Keeping real.
Mercury Rev.
See you on the other side.
Rolling the dice.
So long, Charlie.
I’m guessing you got the vaccine.
Poor bastard.
BBC.
AstraZeneca.
Elvis.
Gene Vincent.
Eddie Cochran.
Happy Hairy (?) Hardon Q.
QAnon Christian Slater.
The first of a long succession.
The Verve.
Anthemic melodies befitting Handel.
Air.
Matrix done right.
First song to mention Event 201?
“Follow the White Rabbit”.
Shhh/peaceful.
Very Jefferson Airplane.
Psychedelic march.
Woodstock.
Altamont.
Power to the people.
Pro-Trump psych rock.
Fucking awesome!
AMERICA!!!
Be a rebel.
Kanye poser.
No vaccines, asshole!
Good job.
Adapt.
Drozd.
Great snare work.
Verging on adrenochrome.
Hefner and Monroe.
Sexy dead bodies.
Pay to grind for eternity.
Absolute Flaming Lips.
Transmissions from the satellite heart.
Keith Cleverley.
What is God gonna do for America?
What is America gonna do for God?
Nation falling apart.
Amnesiac.
Hail to the creep.
Rollerskate Skinny.
Darth Vader.
Lloyd Austin.
Scorsese Glass Kundun soundtrack.
Well-done!
Carl Stalling project!
Helmut Lachenmann.
Deserter’s Songs.
Underture.
This is a SOPHISTICATED FUCKING RECORD.
Violent Femmes.
Tom Waits.
Bobby McFerrin.
AUSTRALIA, WAKE UP YOU CUNTS!!!
Invading Sydney!
Give me ANZAC!!
Let’s go!!!
ACK-ACK!!
Fucking awesome return to Bobby Gillespie.
Great fucking song!
“Australia, Here I Come!”
Even uses the comma correctly 🙂
Riot city blues.
“Nitty Gritty”
MC5.
Baby won’t ya?
PERTH!!!
BON SCOTT!!!!
Love and Rockets.
Bitch who dumped me.
How?
By not giving a fuck.
By proxy.
By not participating.
By being a selfish cunt.
Q Team, come in!
How many years?
Second American Revolution.
Miles Davis.
There’s a Riot Goin’ On.
Late-Godard.
Second Pauly Deathwish song to mention Jean-Luc.
Who the fuck is this nigger?!?
Def Leppard.
She’s a fucking black hole.
I take it all back.
A pathetic bleeding vagina.
Money soothes all pains.
Paul Simon.
She’s a loser.
Jack Nitzsche all the way.
Rips your heart out.
Fucking hell.
I will die lonely.
Having given it all away.
Hear the typewriter click.
Are there two people?
Or one?
QAnon stylometric analysis.
Switzerland.
Obvious split in styles.
Who?
Final track.
Primal Scream.
Manchester.
Manchester City.
Gimme the rain, the rain, the rain, the glorious rain!!!!
Luton.
I got close.
Freezing your tits off.
Seeing your breath.
We coming for the sexy bitches.
With stellar boob jobs.
Jazz funk.
Acid.
Trip hop.
Acid house.
World party.
Factory Records above all.
Baggy as fuck.
Gimme them saggy titties.
Real better than fake any day.
Ain’t returning my messages.
Would love that bitch like Cleopatra.
Suck her toes.
Conspiracy theory king and queen.
Blew it several times.
Because heartless bitch usurper.
Same birthday as Lester Bangs and Nostradamus.
Ends with Pocket Symphony.
Everybody hertz.
Ya feel me?
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
Невиност без заштите [1968)
[INNOCENCE UNPROTECTED (1968)]
I’m taking a wild guess here.
Because life is the greatest complexity.
Only yesterday I was tempting death.
But my name is Deathwish.
Death, for short.
A hard name to live up to.
I’m taking a guess that I have been forgotten…by most of those who meant so much to me.
Such a maudlin (Magdalen) sentiment, but fitting after such a lackluster evening.
If you have read this far, then you are likely qualified to view the ikonoclastic (!) film Innocence Unprotected.
It’s a film about a film. Wikipedia really likes Croatian. I suppose because of the Roman letters.
So the original film is question was ostensibly called Nevinost bez zaštite.
It was made during the war. 1941.
Under Nazi occupation (just like Les Visiteurs du soir).
But our 1968 film (the film about a film…sort of) is by my favorite Serbian director: Душан Макавејев. Which is to say (with pity) Dušan Makavejev.
And about that title…well, it sounds the same. That enigma “Serbo-Croatian”…but I can only guess (“taking a wild guess here”) that it was Невиност без заштите.
It flashes before my eyes so quickly.
The H that sounds like N.
The B that sounds like V.
The upside-down N that sounds like I.
The C that sounds like S.
The b with its tail in the crosswind…blowing west to east…which, mercifully, sounds like a B (or b).
The 3 that sounds like a Z.
The Roman numeral III with a floor beneath it…like a Greek temple without a roof…sounds like “Shhh…(peaceful)”.
Those are the tough ones at issue.
Cyrillic letters.
Yes?
Now that I have bent linguistic steel like Dragoljub Aleksić, we shall move on to more pressing matters.
Bending spoons. Like Uri Geller.
An Israeli. You know how much I love Israelis 🙂
It is true, in a sense.
Once upon a time…that the French and the Jews were my favorite people.
Completely true.
What happened? How did I get bent from my Henry Miller humanism?
How did I move to a Jean-Luc Godard humanism?
Shouldn’t humanism value all humans equally?
Yes.
In my wrath…in my protective love for the Palestinians I have said some very unkind things about the Israelis. Nothing I’m sure they haven’t heard before.
I am not really at the vanguard of anti-Semitism.
But I said it to be hurtful.
Strong words.
Because I was mad.
I’m sure Norman Finkelstein is a fine person.
Anyone who would argue with Alan Dershowitz must basically be alright.
As for Dersh, any lawyer who would deign write a book called The Case for Israel (in 2003, no less…year of the Iraq invasion) must have a loose screw.
As for me, all my screws are loose.
I don’t give (nor do I receive) a fuck. Err…
That is Innocence Unprotected…a rather Dodoist film which wonders whether the dots of my most recent ellipsis were italicized. The dots.
It would be like writing a poem about Allen Ginsberg’s poem “Howl” (in full-on ekphrasis mode) and calling it “Howl”.
To say there is a considerable amount of film quotation in Невиност без заштите would be an understatement.
It is truly (Poetically) a film within a film.
I dreamt.
And as I did,
I hawked plywood espadrilles
in Belgrade.
Proudly,
to fund my feature film.
Writing is an attempt to live again.
Which is to say, if I begin to live again, then
I shall have to stop writing.
Not like this.
In misery.
Like Baudelaire.
Who only ever laid a hooker.
Because Jeffrey Immelt has neither the time nor mental capacity to read Walter Benjamin.
And that’s why General Electric will fail.
Because the futures of most things are the opposites of their current states.
The future of marketing? Anti-marketing.
Because people are tired of being tricked.
They want a refreshingly frank admission of inferiority.
And the endearment begins.
Capitalism hasn’t yet cashed in on socialism.
Because to do so would mean its death.
Both.
Trump and Sanders frozen for all time.
Which would mean the humorous death of politics.
And MegYn Kelly would pull her hair out as she stumbled down the steps of the U.S. Capitol.
A lifetime wasted.
But not over yet.
There’s still night school.
She could learn a useful trade.
Now that journalism is dead.
But maybe in some Ethiopian rainforest the last shrub of curiosity/courage/integrity sits waiting for some Amazon former Fox News reporter to scale its unwieldy 39 feet…to take a clipping from the top.
Journalisa arabica.
Caught in the middle like 5 Broken Cameras.
Nothing could curse a presidential candidate more now than positive coverage by Fox News.
Fox News: a more toxic endorsement than David Duke.
So now they change their tune.
Which begs the question: does that mean you think that Republicans were rational (God forbid) to oppose Trump so long?
Or was it merely their house organ which disapproved of the ginger waker?
“Wake up kids! I didn’t go to the University of Pennsylvania for nothing!!”
I would…as a paean to Mr. Georgia Guidestones himself, like to “expand upon” Gone With the Wind. You know…add some rap music to certain scenes, show Clark Gable brushing his teeth, and such. And then call it (wait for it…): Gone With the Wind.
Yes?
Because that last period is almost certainly italicized.
It was not good enough to be amateur.
But Makavejev fixed that.
-PD
Häxan [1922)
One of my ancestors was hung for being a witch.
Susannah Martin.
1692.
When I speak of it or think of it, it gives me chills.
It.
What?
No, she.
As Danish director Benjamin Christensen makes so clear in this masterpiece.
Häxan is Swedish for “witch”.
Our film was released by Svensk Filmindustri: a Swedish film production company which still exists to this day.
Thus the Swedish title. And the Swedish premier(s) in 1922. And the Swedish intertitles.
The Danish would be Heksen.
Swedish, Danish, English…
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered.
This is the horror of religion. The horror of irrationality. Violence against women. Abuse of the elderly. Mistreatment of the mentally ill.
Christensen’s film is a masterpiece precisely because it combines the clarity of modern thought with the mists of medieval superstition.
It begins almost as a documentary.
Unlike me, he lists his sources.
But then the film takes on a life of its own.
As if the director was not quite sure whether to dismiss superstition outright.
As if some dark Freudian specters were haunting his deliberate phantasmagoria.
It was meant to be a lucid montage.
But the letters became transposed.
Lucid, Lurid. Live. Evil.
Miles Davis had it right. And Howlin’ Wolf (by way of Willie Dixon) [not to mention Howlin’ Pelle].
Svensk Filmindustri. Founded a mere three years before Häxan.
Only fitting that the parent company (Bonnier Group) should have its roots in København.
Because Benjamin Christensen is brilliant as the Devil.
And now for the juicy stuff.
Not Hell, but Hellerup. Denmark.
Birthplace of Stine Fischer Christensen (ooh la la!).
But we’re mainly interested in ASA Filmudlejning.
Or are we?
An unfinished symphony of horror.
…eine Symphonie des Grauens
1922.
Possessed by self-punishment.
“More weight!”
And even more wait.
Tom Waits for no man.
I was tricked.
Must have been needles and pins. Voodoo.
He can’t even remember her name.
Ripped my heart from my chest.
Call it punk rock.
Moloch. Bohemian Grove.
If it’s all a bunch of bollocks, then these blokes are just bluffing, right?
-Bechtel
-H.W.
-Warren Christopher
-George Creel (investigative journalist and propagandist)
-Harlan Crow (this guy…son of Trammell Crow…buddy of Clarence Thomas [more on him later]…Thomas, who gave Crow the Bible of Frederick Douglass [what the fuck?!?]…Crow…owns at least one painting by Hitler…Napoleon’s writing desk…the Duke of Wellington’s sword [ca. 1815]…but weirdest is his Alec Trevelyan (006) / Janus sculpture garden which includes such spoils of war as Lenin, Stalin, Castro, Marx, Mubarak, Tito, Ceausescu, and Guevara)
-Draper
-David Gergen (of course)
-Inman
-Kissinger (naturally)
-John Lehman (9/11 commission)
-Henry S. Morgan (cofounder Morgan Stanley)
-Reagan (Owl’s Nest)
-George Shultz [sick]
-Tony Snow [“]
-Caspar Weinberger
Weaving spiders come not here.
-PD
paulydeathwish 