https://open.spotify.com/track/5aMjxcdBO8ToDr0supS8sJ?si=ee39ddab54104ec0
Recommended if you like Stereolab and Pierre Henry
Tag Archives: Pierre Henry
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
SNL Season 1 Episode 10 [1976)
“…I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know…”
Ah, Bill Withers. A lyrical genius. And though I kid, I mean it. This section of “Ain’t No Sunshine” is one of the most tense portions of pop music ever laid down on tape. In case you’re wondering, there’s 26 “I know”s.
And indeed, the powerful Mr. Withers performed this very song on SNL backed up by Howard Shore’s band to amazing dramatic effect.
Now, if you have been following along with my clinically-insane review of the entire Saturday Night Live oeuvre (or canon, if you will) you will know that the musical guests thus far had been:
Billy Preston, Janis Ian, Simon & Garfunkel, Randy Newman, Phoebe Snow, Esther Philips , ABBA, Loudon Wainwright III, Gil Scott-Heron, and Anne Murray. [Hopefully I didn’t leave anyone out.]
I mention them again because almost all of them (with the notable exception of Simon & Garfunkel) were pushing product. To use the terminology which Kurt Cobain so presciently keyed in on, they were attempting to be “radio friendly unit shifters”. Shift those units. Move that product.
This is significant when viewing Bill Withers’ performance. “Ain’t No Sunshine” was from his 1971 album Just As I Am (that’s five years before this broadcast). He’d had at least four albums come out since 1971. He would have a fifth released in 1976. And though he only got to perform one song, he went back to his big hit.
It makes me wonder whose idea that was. Lorne Michaels? Perhaps even a wily A&R man trying a counterintuitive tactic. Kinda like, “Hey…I’m Bill Withers. Remember me?”
All…that…having…been…said:
this is a fantastic episode!!!
I must admit I had no idea who Buck Henry was upon viewing this.
Pierre Henry? Of course. But Buck Henry? No way.
Sure, I’d seen The Graduate, but paying attention to who the screenwriter was had to be the last thing on my mind as the credits rolled.
I like films without scripts. Godard.
The only script I can honestly say I’ve ever read out of admiration for the film (and writing) is Ernest Lehman’s fantastic North by Northwest (brought to the screen, of course, by Alfred Hitchcock).
To make a short story long, Buck Henry is an amazing actor.
I don’t know to what extent he was involved in the writing of skits for this episode, but I can confidently say that this show surpasses all the others before it.
What is more, Buck Henry is ten times the actor that is Elliott Gould (the previous week’s host).
So, there. Buck Henry is great. From his role in John Belushi’s Samurai Delicatessen to his part as Gerald Ford’s aide in the Oval Office.
Speaking of these two skits, they are certainly among the highlights (if not the outright best two).
Belushi was improving with every episode. From Samurai Hotel came Samurai Delicatessen. It is an artful role on par with the talent of Peter Sellers.
The extra portion Belushi brought to the table was his singing (yes, singing). We heard him earlier in the debut season doing a send-up of Joe Cocker. In the episode under consideration, Belushi and Dan Aykroyd debut a proto version of The Blues Brothers…in bee costumes!
I must say that their performance of “I’m a King Bee” is infused with the punk spirit which was then coursing through the veins of New York City. Belushi takes his breaks from singing as opportunities to do ridiculous, stumbling cartwheels around the stage.
This is one thing for which you have to give the Not Ready for Prime Time Players credit: they would do anything for a laugh.
The precedent had been set early on by Chevy Chase. No one could fall quite like Chevy, and thus it was natural for him to portray the unlucky Gerald Ford.
One of Chevy’s real miracles was a failed attempt (as Ford) to put the star on a 15-foot Christmas tree. I don’t know if Chase had stunt training, but his falls are impressively wild.
But again, in this episode we see Chase developing his comic timing and humorous subtleties which he would later parlay into a successful movie career. Chase’s portrayal of Ford is particularly smooth (peppered, of course, with appropriately clunky dementia).
Two more bits bear mentioning. Michael O’Donoghue’s anti-impression illustrates all that was good about the early days of SNL. It’s flailing about, but it is such a refreshing flailing.
And finally, I must mention that Toni Basil returned to the show (after making an appearance earlier in the season with the dance troupe The Lockers). This time Basil does some great scat singing (and, of course, dancing) on the old tune “Wham”…(re bop boom bam).
It’s an impressive performance with a touch of Cyd Charisse in the choreography.
Bravo SNL!
-PD
paulydeathwish 