Recommended if you like Primal Scream
Recommended if you like:
my bloody valentine
Clouds Taste Metallic
Jesus and Mary Chain
Recommended if you like Primal Scream and The Chemical Brothers.
So Pauly Deathwish comes out with a Sonic Youth cover.
Sounds like Sade and Yoshimi-era Lips.
Like mental illness is no big deal.
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.
But then that fucking piano comes in.
Like “Time” from Aladdin Sane.
Beautiful and fucked up.
Ratchet up Conlon Nancarrow.
Something Charlie Parker about this.
Talking the Kim Gordon lines.
This is good shit.
Gets all ’80s.
Finally Thurston and Ranaldo drop in.
Shit gets real.
The harmonies on this song are insane.
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.
Sounds a little Built to Spill.
Great harmonies again.
This dude didn’t cheat his Fux.
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.
Arpeggiator about to get wild again.
Fuzz bass drops in.
What a guitar tone!
Sounds like a fucking harmonica.
Great lo-fi…Devendra Banhart vibe.
But this is straight Velvet Underground.
An instrumental with ooohs and ahhhs.
Bottom drops out.
Drums chugging away like Primal Scream.
Interesting touch, there.
Little bit Mercury Rev.
See You on the Other Side.
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.
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.
MBV would have gone for this.
Similar guitar underneath.
A little J. Mascis.
Living with my parents.
Are you in therapy?
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.
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.
Cobra and phases.
Emptying a sampler.
Always Flaming Lips.
A twist on bass.
The church of Michael Ivins’ hair.
He wrote this.
Bold start to Pauly Deathwish’s 5th album.
Watch for upcoming single.
Hit to death.
Tribute to Jack Johnson.
Steve Gadd slow nerve action.
Tom and Richard.
Hippies cool at CBGB.
Are you experienced?
Paul Simon never sounded this tough.
Always too cool.
But the lyrics give him a run.
Another COVID album.
McAfee didn’t uninstall himself.
A dentist chair in Florida.
Soros’s scumbag Rubin.
Forgot a fuck.
Not for kids.
Not safe for work.
John Paul Jones keys.
Frustration key of E.
The pitched song.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Remember this connection.
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.
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.
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.
Go and sin no more.
We’re in a fucking war.
We gotta put Jesus first.
On the battlefield.
Out greatest stealth.
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 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.
Second jazz tune.
Straight off blues.
The Monk solo.
Dissonant as a motherfucker.
Is a joke?
Watch for first cover.
Straight into a QAnon song.
Flynn, in fact, did not go to jail.
Bob Marley gets all conspiratorial.
Obama gets arrested at his own birthday party.
Strzok blocked on Twitter.
A bunch of cunts?
Not Seth Keshel.
The real deal.
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.
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.
Black (Oak) Ark.
A disgusting record collection.
Lovingly preserved in filth.
Vinyl still good.
Cop shoot cop.
Strong statement against Antifa.
This guy is bold.
Dylan tongue cheek.
Only person to listen to this.
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.
This dude troublemaker.
Trail of dead.
We know you, but do you know us?
Deep Pieczenik research.
And the beloved NSA.
More accurately: CYBERCOM.
Not yet split?
Nakasone double duty?
Who could bring down?
Two QAnon songs in a row.
Macca bass line.
Welcome to the revolution.
The jazz and blues build up into rock and roll.
Fort Meade on repeat.
Cheyenne Mountain Alerts.
Air Force Cyber.
Rhythm of the saints.
Tettix Wave Accumulator?
Berry Gordy trippin’ balls.
A Lisbeth Salander ballad.
FBI + CIA.
But serves to delineate.
Interior and exterior.
Smarter than Strzok and Page.
Too fucked up to catch Velvets.
I hear you.
It’s a bitch.
Thom Yorke knob twiddler.
Eno in Roxy.
The big sleep date.
Noir and chill.
The harder they fall.
Shoot the piano player.
We are here in San Antonio.
We are making the best of it.
Eating ZZ Top nachos.
Beer drinkers and hell raisers.
A real jalapeno.
Australia to steam like teapot.
Comes with new iPhone.
An anthem like U2 ain’t written for a bit.
This is Dublin territory.
Sexy God believers.
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.
Pauly can play guitar!
Album builds up to last song.
Even last song builds up.
Jesus and Mary Chain.
A dangerous confection.
Hit to Death in the Future Head.
Summer is here.
Vacuum cleaner solo.
Boys peel out.
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!
That glow in The World’s End.
But a sadness.
My Bloody Valentine.
Sloshy grunge hats.
I Am the Cosmos.
Yerself Is Steam.
The disappearance of Madeleine McCann.
You don’t know how it feels.
I can only give you everything.
Black magic warded off by honesty.
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.
The confusion of ridiculous counterpoint.
Tonal, yet dissonant.
Thick Billy Corgan.
Definitely a sadness here.
All you need is hate.
The Inflated Tear.
Columbus, Ohio with duct tape.
Posing with a bass clarinet.
Did I ever write one?
Yes, I did.
Or is it contrabassoon?
Nadia Boulanger can tell you.
My teacher’s teacher (twice over).
The Left Banke.
Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements.
A little lo-fi.
Changes that pull at your heartstrings.
A fucking marimba solo?!?
Are you kidding me???
Pauly Deathwish collaboration with Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes.
Lost Bayou Ramblers.
Gordon knew him as Death.
I have become death.
Tim Gane tone.
Back to J. Spaceman.
Dirty ass rock and roll with pristine horns.
Is this the artist we’ve been waiting for?
R. Stevie Moore?
Sounds like Jack Nitzsche.
Major Velvet vibes.
Dylan with P-bass.
Too much attitude.
Let it Come Down.
Fucker kicked the bucket.
First to be vaxxed.
First Suicide album.
The Soft Bulletin.
Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.
Gimme some lovin’?
La Monte Young.
First rehearsal tapes.
New York City heroin.
Warhol Factory torn down.
Across from YMCA.
Great throwaway lyrics.
Sound of universe.
Direct into mixing console.
Blood pressure rising.
I think I’m in love.
Will the circle remain unbroken?
When I had dinner with Roky.
First Velvets album.
But you gotta buy it.
Cop shoot cop.
On the jukebox.
Eat at the gas station.
First time in Texas.
It’s definitely Bowie.
Old is new again.
A fuck ton of flutes.
Flute loops literally.
Little fluffy clouds.
Gay glam chorus.
Boys peel out.
Gives me pants.
A Shot in the Dark.
Under the Western Freeway.
With Sean Mackowiak.
Comes back loud.
One song mastered soft.
The main influence of Pauly Deathwish’s debut album.
Chariots of fire.
Such a groove.
By the side of a freeway.
Under an underpass.
Not like RHCP.
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.
Trail of Dead.
Because Pauly wrote the string arrangement on IX.
Snot on the crowd.
Lost Bayou Ramblers lost sessions.
This was all made on an iPhone?!?
Major 7ths in uppermost range of piano.
Almost indistinguishable from octaves.
Only for the sensuous ear.
Waters delayed bass.
No nonsense drums.
Humble Pie reference?!?
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.
Great debut album (if I do say so myself).
There is a war on.
Our enemy is brutal.
Our enemy is both foreign and domestic.
Domestic elements have aligned themselves with a foreign agenda.
That agenda is the agenda of communist China.
…and you will know us by the trail of dead.
Where was our airstrike?
Has the radioman been beheaded?
Now we are stuck in the morass of this fetid jungle.
Chickenhawks are the most eager to order assassinations.
PBR Street Gang.
Chef saucier with some Vietnamese and New Orleans French.
Charlie don’t surf.
But General Michael Flynn does.
Look out honey ’cause I’m using technology.
With a heart full of napalm.
Those dedicated few.
We salute you.
In some colonial outpost.
Without a commanding officer.
Legacy of ashes.
A willingness to serve.
This is the unrestricted warfare of the Chinese.
Did he try to right the ship?
It is a bold stratagem.
He who dares, wins.
Mama’s tape plays for dead son.
Not your war.
What happens when it’s not voluntary.
Vietnam as ideological war.
And war profiteering.
Each side of the coin with heart blinded to the obverse/reverse truth.
They were only toy arrows.
To scare us.
But you insisted upon killing.
And you were killed.
You were by the book.
Yet you had no wisdom.
You could have been a great leader.
But you lacked agility.
To turn on a dime.
Make hats, go nuts.
Make deaths, go nuts.
Did Kathy Griffin incite violence when she held up a bloody prop head intended to look like a realistic beheading of President Trump?
Trip up the river.
What a surfeit of patriotism will do.
Present a schism.
To fight harder.
To fight even after the war is over.
But it is not over.
It was a great plan.
What went wrong?
Was the radioman beheaded?
Almighty standing by?
This is perhaps the best film ever made.
Francis Ford Coppola.
And it contains several of the greatest performances ever committed to film.
But the most important is Martin Sheen.
We are now living in a country strewn with decapitations.
All illusion of democracy is gone.
Our republic is no longer one where dissent is allowed.
From two parties, one has coalesced.
A totalitarism state is emerging.
Technocrats as the ruling council.
What are patriots to do?
We who are left alive?
Soon to be targeted by our own government…as if we were terrorists.
We only want our votes to count.
We only want free and fair elections.
What will you do, digital soldier?
Directed by George Scott.
Martin Duffy from Felt.
Bobby Gillespie perpetually sounding wasted.
Andrew Innes like an elf.
That Bo Diddley bit.
Denise Johnson bringing the party.
I could look-alike.
Henry Olson big beard bass. Free jazz. Bebop. Front lounge.
Toby Tomanov like Clash smacked.
Andrew Weatherall seems to be the essential dance element.
Robert “Throb” Young.
What a name!
Row after row of shitty brown-ale housing blocks.
No space between.
Like northern communism.
Exactly how I remember.
One of my favorite bands.
In this world, we look for goodness.
And we think back.
The name is not quite right.
But Robin Wright is perfect.
To conjure memories of wonder.
La fille aux cheveux de lin.
We are getting closer.
Fever dreams of distant possibilities.
And Secretary of Defense, William “The Refrigerator” Perry.
The kissing had to be cut out.
The censors, you understand.
And perhaps we have saved these kisses for the finish line.
As you wish. As you like it.
Have it your way. I love you.
But enter from offstage the Dread Pirate Pico de Gallo.
Lisping speech impediments abound.
Wallace Shawn in The Seventh Seal.
And the sartorial strap of André the Giant.
We are getting closer.
We learn that Saul Berenson is a very good actor.
Hound Dog Taylor didn’t need no bass.
Enter from orchestra pit Johnny Cash.
When you are tumbling in love…weightless…in an orchard of God’s making.
Abloom. In Stockholm.
Pretexts. False flags. It’s all here.
But Rob Reiner insists on cinema.
From the quicksand.
Don’t believe in yourself.
To his credit.
But this one goes to 50.
Off your life.
Two skinned appendages. Comes with the package.
Houellebecq quote. Creeley.
Could have sworn Mel Smith was Viv Savage (David Kaff).
Hyperlinks to Rare Bird (Charisma, Polydor).
Abandon all hope…in the hand of Dante.
The cries of the innocent.
Clouds of blood.
Slaying the witch.
On live television.
Strategic management from Stephen Hawking.
Weekend at Bernie’s.
The only good thing Billy Crystal ever did.
Daniel Craig in writer’s strike watching The Princess Bride.
Voilá Quantum of Solace.
Rachmaninov would live again…after the first symphony…in the Symphonic Dances…quoting himself…like John Fogerty…but just momentarily…to remember…conquering a state…percussing an albino…leaping from a cliff…holding up the memory of the dead…and thick glasses…on a young boy…this string quartet is for you.
“Feel sick and dirty/More dead than alive”
“I could sleep for a thousand years…Different colors made of tears”
I was friends with André. And he with me.
The holocaust cloak in Histoire(s) du cinéma.
“Look out honey ’cause I’m using technology”
Come too far.
Not limousine liberal.
“She’ll be driving six white horses when she comes”
Honor thy father and mother.