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Rating: Exile on main street
What do we ask of our favorite "musicians"?
To live more frenetically than us and to burn through stages by experimenting with things we wouldn't dare to think about even on pain of death. We want them to seize every opportunity to tell immense tall tales to the press. We want them to throw punches and knives in the backstages of mega festivals. We want them to gorge on beer yet keep their beautiful well-toned six-pack. We want stories of escapes, chases, and phantasmagoric clinics in Thailand. We want aggressive women vomiting champagne on fluorescent miniskirts, and we even tolerate their artistic shortcomings, as long as eventually they die of overdose in the midst of an orgy. Oh yes! All of this is very rock'n'roll.
And what do we want from The Kills? For Vv to sway her hips on stage while swinging a rubber phallus like her illustrious colleague? And for Hotel to drag himself among cables like a possessed animal foaming at the mouth? Is this really what we ask of them?
Michigan. A little house in the countryside. Little traffic outside, none of the rumbling noise of the city. Fresh air, fields of grain. The main road is the only option, the rest are just paths. Here, two people, two "musicians," are in the little house at the edge of the only road, in exile, not caring about all the expectations of those outside. No intruders, just them, just the two of them.
Her with matted hair and socks loosened around the ankles, him with a long beard and kangaroo-like circles under his eyes. Two who talk and talk endlessly, argue and argue, shout and rant. Doors slammed. Passion. And then love, peace, a nice gentle lovemaking, then straight back to work. Two brains clashing, forming one that admits no outsiders. A walk in the air, oxygen, and sudden, striking ideas. Rushing home, and notes, words, music, guitars, and then love again, and then more arguments over a guitar riff, his beard grows visibly, she gets sleepy eyes. Many cigarettes, hundreds, butts on the ground. Remembering at four in the morning that they haven't eaten all day. And down to wolfing bread and peanut butter. And then love, despite the crumbs. And the phone ringing and no one answering, and the milk bottle clinking in the morning with the others forgotten outside the door. And music, guitars, songs. Exhausted on the couch, legs intertwined watching a Lynch movie. Heavy breath, sticky tongue, and a few empty liquor bottles rolling on the floor, amongst sheets full of notes and dust balls. Is it day? Is it night? Feeling as one, and to hell with everyone else out there. To the devil with those who imagine us as they want us to be. And let no one meddle. What the heck do they want from us? I have you, you have me. We don't need anyone else, it’s just us.
Few means, saturated guitars, a shared dream: the moog. We can't get a moog, honey... So let's torment the guitars, give them tetanus. And the electronics... you are the blues one, but I am the English one, dirty and radical. Acid voices, resentful, hearts laid bare, eyes locked on eyes. Direct action without any mediation. Live the music, bite it, and suffer like a cat chasing its tail. A path beyond, introverted, instinctive, claustrophobic, misanthropic.
No Wow, no wonder. It's all here, raw and unrefined.
Feeling like martians, like two refugees, two outcasts, while finally on the streets of London, with the recordings in our pocket. The subway thundering at you, frenzied people jostling you, passing by with their meticulous smell of the walking dead. People are strange, when you're a stranger. Lights assaulting the pupils, and the clangor, and the diaphragm above the stomach beating frantically.
Shortly, all of this will be in the hands of others, predators who will lay their greedy claws on it...
A look of understanding, unique and wild.
What do we do now? Do we run away?
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
04 The Good Ones (03:29)
Took a car to the part of the city
Where the city runs out of street lights
God knows, it's the way that it goes
That we're never gonna catch any daylight
My little sister's eyes so wide
They must have been the size of the city moon tonight
My little sister's eyes so wide
Must have been the size of the city
Did you get the real good ones
Did you get the good ones
Did you get the real good ones
Did you get the good ones
Did you got me the good ones
The real good ones, what you got
Take a water full, the water tastes good
I took the water and the water was hot
Once in a while, once in a while
You got to burn your lips, keep your feelings alive
Once in a while, once in a while
You got to burn down your house, keep your dreaming alive
So, did you get the real good ones
Did you get the good ones
Oh, did you get the real good ones
Did you get the good ones
Did you get the good ones
Did you get the good ones
Oh, did you get the real good ones
Did you get the good ones
Did you get the real good ones
Did you get me the good ones
Oh, did you get the real good ones
Did you get me the good ones
Did you get the real good ones
Did you get the good ones
Oh, did you get the real good ones
Did you get me the good ones
09 Rodeo Town (04:24)
If I'm so evil
Why are you satisfied
If I'm so evil
Why are you satisfied
I had a dream about your ghost
You were breathing down my neck
Idiot style in the shower
Flicking your ashes down the drain
You were telling me how
This ain't no Rodeo Town
I caught the gun
But you made me set it down
You were telling me how
This ain't no Rodeo Town
I caught the gun
But you made me set it down
If I'm so evil
Why are you all satisfied
If I'm so evil
Why are you satisfied
When you left you said
I'm gonna keep an eye on you
Well I don't mind if you do
But you can't keep quiet
You were telling me how
This ain't no Rodeo Town
I caught the gun
But you made me set it down
You were telling me how
This ain't no Rodeo Town
I caught the gun
But you made me set it down
You were telling me how
This ain't no Rodeo Town
I caught the gun
But you made me set it down
You were telling me how
This ain't no Rodeo Town
I caught the gun
But you made me set it down
10 Murdermile (04:25)
This ain't murdermile
That's just the way I smile
You're like hot oil
Got your roots down in a fire
Spitting shit like a tire
Got your foot down and your mind down
To it's last little wire
Come on! Come on!
It's a train wreck
You got me on the wrong track, honey
It's a train wreck
You got me on the wrong track, honey
It's piling up one by one
It's piling up one by one
You look bluer, do your do or die
But I ain't pull or push that pin in your side
A body split in two doesn't know how to sleep
A body split in two doesn't know how to sleep
You're standing on your head, while you're standing on your feet
A body split in two doesn't know how to sleep
It's a train wreck
You got me on the wrong track, honey
It's a train wreck
You got me on the wrong track, honey
It's piling up one by one
It's piling up one by one
It's piling up one by one...
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