Listen of the Week: Warpaint

Heads Up, by Warpaint

In the main, though, beats are secondary to impressionistic delicacy: lyrics drift past teasingly, like semi-formed thoughts (“Don’t wanna defend myself,” singer Theresa Wayman seems to murmur on Don’t Wanna; defend herself from what, we never learn), while the overdubbed guitars on Don’t Let Go feel like layers of gauze. Many shades of grey and fragments of sound have gone into Heads Up, which is much greater than the sum of its parts.

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/sep/22/warpaint-heads-up-review-album

Listen of the Week: Warpaint

Friday Lyrics Mash: Shut Up and Dance On the Ceiling With Me

she said, ooh-ooh-hoo
she said, shut up and dance with me
i realize this is my last chance
to climb the walls
somebody turn on the light
when we’re dancing on the ceiling
this woman is my destiny
everybody clap your hands, come on
we’re gonna have a party
ooh, it looks like everybody
we took the floor and she said
she took my arm
oh, don’t you dare look back
just keep your eyes on me
she said, shut up and dance with me
i said, you’re holding back
she said, shut up and dance with me
she said, ooh-ooh-hoo
ooh-ooh-hoo, shut up and dance with me
so come on, let’s get loose
i said, you’re holding back

Friday Lyrics Mash: Shut Up and Dance On the Ceiling With Me

Winter is Coming

on a dark winter’s eve,
whiskey infused,
just after solstice,
no candles anywhere,
i fucked a snowman;
no judgment
no fear

no yule logs
no rules
sweet nothings
and hot breaths
tiny, brief clouds
between us

his long carrot nose
tickled and teased
and
i seem to recall
a
corn
cob
pipe

all plans for the future
melted under grey dawn
when i woke to black eyeballs
staring right through me
and a coal mouth refusing
to remember my name

Winter is Coming

Crooked Letter, I (For Stef Russell and Thom Fletcher)

I am eating McDonald’s
     on a sandy shore
     of the Mississippi
     and feeling quite American.

There is trash at my feet,
     in my hands,
          in my belly.

And the trash in my heart?

She carries it away, the river,
     down to the Gulf, to poison
     a pod of pelicans or entrap
     a curious sea turtle.

While I, just a human,
     sit eating McDonald’s
     on the sandy shore
     of the Mississippi.

Crooked Letter, I (For Stef Russell and Thom Fletcher)

Listen of the Week: The Gaslamp Killer

Instrumentalepathy, by The Gaslamp Killer

Throughout Instrumentalepathy, Bensussen pushes himself on a purely technical level. He doesn’t play drums on the record, as he had on Breakthrough; instead he focused on playing synths, pulling the songs together beneath a single overarching sonic template. “Residual Tingles,” “Warm Wind,” and “In the Dark (Part Two)” demonstrate a more optimistic worldview; it’s full of warm tones and moments of unflinching beauty—indications of that deep inner peace.

The Grand Resurrection of The Gaslamp Killer

Listen of the Week: The Gaslamp Killer

Friday Lyrics Mash: Closer, Closer, Older, Closer, Closer

We ain’t ever getting older
I want to fuck you like an animal

We ain’t ever getting older
I want to feel you from the inside

We ain’t ever getting older
I want to fuck you like an animal

We ain’t ever getting older
I want to fuck you like an animal

We ain’t ever getting older
I want to feel you from the inside

We ain’t ever getting older
I want to fuck you like an animal

No, we ain’t ever getting older
No, we ain’t ever getting older
No, we ain’t ever getting older
No, we ain’t ever getting older

You get me closer to god
So, baby, pull me closer

Friday Lyrics Mash: Closer, Closer, Older, Closer, Closer