π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ πΊπ‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘¦ π‘π‘’π‘šπ‘Žπ‘›: βˆ°.

The High Priest of quasi-androgynous Synth-Pop/Electronica, the Alien Deity, The Gary Numan.” *That* is the short-duration, deeply personal gist of the above Volume Integral symbol. What has been used to calculate Flux Densities, and has served as one’s WordPress Profile “About Me” content, to boot, now is more—much more—much, much more. It conveys gist; Gary Numan gist. This realm. This symbol. This Gary Numan.

“This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England…”

We’ll lead off with two {you may see three; deal with it} epoch-defining…”performances” {which will, I suppose, have to suffice, word-wise, as there exist no words suitable…}. He is **up** to something…..

The first and third videos are both from Dutch TV program TopPop, 1979. They are *not* identical, however. One, I believe, was not broadcast {the 1st; perhaps the “smiling” was considered too dangerous…}. Both are sublime.

Praying” would have to rank first, or thereabouts, in my own world. Curiously, very few live/TV iterations seem to exist. I did what I could!!

Um. WOW.

Spellbinding is Numan’s performance on Down in the Park, live at the Odeon, 1979. Doom-y, evocative, remarkable.

There’s a realm where no one can touch Gary Numan. I am *not* going to provide: its Name, Address, or Phone Number, at present. {oh, OK!}

*1 Cock Boulevard, Absorto, Chari-Baguirmi, Chad * {quite near the headquarters for Flux Density-measurin’ Volume Integral, noted Theme Park}.

He created aural landscapes which allowed access to the unfathomable. His performances have been described in so many ways. Strikingly “robotic”. Otherworldly. And there’s an edge, accompanying his trenchant intelligence; a certain wariness. At times, an unnerving camaraderie with….whatever it may be, the ritual held out in the open, hauntingly obvious, yet impenetrable. A language we’ve forgotten; mind-argot beyond our ken. Β 

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π·π‘–π‘“π‘“π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘™π‘¦-π‘…π‘’π‘Žπ‘™π‘š’𝑑 πΌπ‘Žπ‘› πΆπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘‘π‘–π‘ .

Go ahead. Choose a realm, any realm. Ian’s not from there; he’s never taken up residence there, and, for that matter, spends precious little—if any—time there. Yes. It’s been proven.

It’s a damn shame that so little halfway decent video footage seems to be available, of Joy Division. The first two are the cream o’, that I have encountered. Prose ought not storm about in the Video {or Image} playground. I panicked. I’m stalling. Wingeing. And on, now, we go. Unto the Breach. We few. We happy few.

This is their greatest achievement. {Yes. In my opinion.} Lyrics such as “On stranger waves, the lows and highs, Our vision touched the sky” {I hear “skies”, but every “authority” says otherwise. It’s skies.} are lyrics that will stop one cold, transported. He’s Rimbaud, but lots better, genius-y-er. Getting It-y-er. And: past tense. Like he’s not there. Maybe never was. Haunting. As. ___________.

Means To An End’s Twin, spire-wise.

Isolation transcends the Isolation genre, or would, if such a genre existed. “I’m doing the best that I can” not to expound. I give you Ian: ” A blindness that touches perfection,
But hurts just like anything else…” I mean…

Also Quite “Good”.

Ian was not only brilliant, fiercely determined, and a de-framer-of-reference…to whom could he be compared?…but he was one brave man. To go out, in public, put self on display, and take unreal chances, and I mean here with his dancing…this must have been terrifying. For one afflicted with epilepsy, to *intentionally* lose control, physically…unreal. But, he *had* to.

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘ƒπ‘’π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ π‘€π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘β„Žπ‘¦: π‘‰π‘Žπ‘šπ‘π‘–π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘π‘Žπ‘™π‘™π‘¦-π‘ƒπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘’π‘Žπ‘ π‘–π‘œπ‘›π‘’π‘‘ 𝐷𝑒𝑖𝑑𝑦.

In re: the above, and the below: One of those riveting performances Peter Murphy has been known to deliver, the kind that provokes ponderings such as “Hmm. Is P.M. the greatest person to ever draw breath? Oh, right. He’s probably *not* a person, as such…”. I’m sure you have entertained such mysteries. Still emphatically vampiric, all the more impressive given the attire; Bela, say, would not be caught dead, undead, or in some interstitial state about which we know little {OK; nothing}, in such garb. But, yep; vampiric as they come. He is in full command of his towering vocal abilities, as per. A mesmerist is in the house. And, *you* let him in!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Cuts You Up {1992, on D. Miller} vid has become somewhat, oh, infamous, due to Murphy’s {elegant} gesture (which was *not* “giving {Miller} the finger”, as the rattled, indignant, incorrect host proclaimed…’twas a nose-thumbing, a snook-cocking); it was a perfect moment in time, making crystal clear that some people are human {Miller, for example: and a jackass to boot. He had just finished offering forth banal, insulting words about his Guest, then plays the Innocent…}, and some are more of the god-like/vampiric/undefinable/ambiguously-formatted persuasion.

{above prose appended 8/8/2019; I’d already referenced this topic in post originale, below, but I feel a need to avoid revising/excising. And, you cannot make me.}

The ever enigmatic and other-worldly Peter Murphy still presents an imposing, daunting figure, one who seems unlacking in self-assurance. And, if anything, his *astonishing* vocal talents are fully—possibly more than fully—intact. Like unto a god. Or whatever he is.

His immense powers, presence, and unearthly priest-like {Ambiguously Benevolence’d Category} attributes are all on display in these videos; and, for the connoisseurs, the Great Man delivers (whilst exiting the stage, post “Cuts You Up”) unto host and mere mortal Dennis Miller a profound gesture, one flawless, snook-cocking nose thumb, with all the impeccable style and ease that would be expected.

To reiterate: I am *not* removing, now, or ever, the Miller quasi-debacle bit here, addenda or no addenda.

π‘Ίπ’‘π’“π’Šπ’π’ˆπ’”π’•π’†π’†π’.

The songΒ BadlandsΒ is belted out with supreme force (Get It Straight!!) and something else I won’t attempt to name. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crowd react in quite this way. 2002, in Barcelona.Β Badlands, defiant and uplifting,Β is one of Bruce’s best, to meβ€”the first cut off Darknessβ€”but this is simply transcendent. One sees here, for reals, why many witnesses to Springsteen’s legendary shows view him as an almost religious figure.

From 2009. The mighty and just a bit intense Bruce Springsteen unleashes the goods, ALL of β€˜em, on the moving Something in the Night. This song, from the great 1978 album Darkness on the Edge of Town, is, probably, if gun were put to head , to me, the greatest song the great man wrote. There are many. But this, this just totally embodies Springsteen.

𝑿𝑻π‘ͺ, π’‡π’†π’‚π’•π’–π’“π’Šπ’π’ˆ π‘¨π’π’…π’š π‘·π’‚π’“π’•π’“π’Šπ’…π’ˆπ’†.

Few bands can match XTC’s accomplishments as far as writing/performing memorably quirky, intellectual, and, yes, catchy songs. Lead vocalist Andy Partridge provides the oddball genius charisma to generate a potent cocktail of aural nirvana.

A masterpiece from Rockpalast.
A brilliant, somewhat crazed version.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 π‘―π’π’π’π’Šπ’†π’”.

The Hollies, a superb three-part harmony group {primarily}, fronted by the amazing Allan Clarke, had many a monster hit, including the Albert Hammond-penned The Air That I Breathe; these are their three finest—all live performances—to mine ear.

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ 𝑋-𝐹𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠: {π΅π‘’π‘¦π‘œπ‘›π‘‘ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘†π‘’π‘Ž} – π΅π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘‘ π·π‘œπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘“.

The brilliant actor Brad Dourif gives a mind-boggling portrayal of convicted—and soon to be executed—serial killer Luther Lee Boggs. In this story, there’s a catch—a quite big one—in that the murderer claims to have acquired psychic powers, and might be able to help capture a predator who has abducted two people, and has killed ritualistically in the past. Mulder (David Duchovny), for one, is less than convinced.

In these two subsequent scenes, firstly… although Agent Scully would dearly love to converse with her recently deceased father, it’s quite possible that Luther Lee Boggs’ (Brad Dourif loses his mind, in the best possible way) intense aversion to the electric chair has even greater motivational potency. Lastly, in the poignant, haunting final scene (the final scene *we’re* going to present…), the correct warning Boggs had given to Scully ended up saving her life, and convinces her that he’s been telling the truth. He’s only willing to convey her father’s message if she is his witness when he’s strapped to the chair in a few hours. Is this one last trick, one potential last act of cruelty? Or does he truly value the agent whose life he saved? This ambiguity is part of what makes him such an intriguing character…and Dourif’s masterful performance makes Boggs truly indelible.

Amen. Simply one of the greatest performances I’ve seen, ever.

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ 𝐿𝑒𝑛𝑒 πΏπ‘œπ‘£π‘–π‘β„Ž

Bewildering Semaphore-like Movements.

Lili-Marlene Premilovich, later known as Lene Lovich, preternaturally idiosyncratic—and gifted—songstress, happens to play saxophone, is an animal rights activist, and initially wore her hair in braids to keep the locks from the clay, when in art school, studying sculpture. And, damn, she can deliver a tune. With octaves to spare {hear: Momentary Breakdown}.

π˜›π˜©π˜¦ 𝘊𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘡𝘳𝘺 π˜”π˜Άπ˜΄π˜ͺ𝘀𝘴

Willie Nelson

Titans of music abound in this post. From the preternatural pipes of Mr. Yoakam, to the not-in-need-of-rocking-chairs legend George Jones, to the inimitable Hoyt Axton, to the Lanois-ing Willie Nelson…then the hugely underappreciated Dick Curless, the irresistible Lucinda Williams, to Dan Auerbach and his mesmerizing ways, Buck Owens in his prime with Don Rich, the great Merle Haggard, the Silver Fox…and we conclude with Dwight once more, with Eddy Shaver.

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘–π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘‘π‘¦ {π΄π‘›π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘€ π‘†π‘π‘œπ‘‘𝑑}.

Actor Andrew Scott turns in a bravura performance as criminal mastermind James Moriarty in the BBC series Sherlock. Truly mesmerizing.