This film (INLAND EMPIRE) was a real trip, blurring the lines between the real and the imagined. It’s not an easy watch at all and it laments at length the effect that Hollywood can have on an actor. Nothing as trite as marks out of ten here. This was fierce acid. It’s more art than box office.
January 27, 2025 at 3:27 PM
This film (INLAND EMPIRE) was a real trip, blurring the lines between the real and the imagined. It’s not an easy watch at all and it laments at length the effect that Hollywood can have on an actor. Nothing as trite as marks out of ten here. This was fierce acid. It’s more art than box office.
I know this because he wrote his name all over it. Never officially told me what I did wrong though. Left it up to me to guess, while fending off lots of Elon-a-like scammers.
January 21, 2025 at 11:49 AM
I know this because he wrote his name all over it. Never officially told me what I did wrong though. Left it up to me to guess, while fending off lots of Elon-a-like scammers.
Very Anton Corbijn. ✔️
January 19, 2025 at 8:43 AM
Very Anton Corbijn. ✔️
This album clearly wouldn’t be the masterwork that it is, without Flood (producer) and Francois Kevorkian (engineer).
In searching for reasons contributing to perfection here, it becomes readily apparent that it only exists in the form it does because of the absolute tessellation of all elements.
In searching for reasons contributing to perfection here, it becomes readily apparent that it only exists in the form it does because of the absolute tessellation of all elements.
January 19, 2025 at 8:31 AM
This album clearly wouldn’t be the masterwork that it is, without Flood (producer) and Francois Kevorkian (engineer).
In searching for reasons contributing to perfection here, it becomes readily apparent that it only exists in the form it does because of the absolute tessellation of all elements.
In searching for reasons contributing to perfection here, it becomes readily apparent that it only exists in the form it does because of the absolute tessellation of all elements.
That there is my dream Mode production team—along with Alan Wilder of course.
January 18, 2025 at 9:41 PM
That there is my dream Mode production team—along with Alan Wilder of course.
No, I’m not Alan Wilder.
If you’ve heard other Depeche Mode, then don’t think you know Violator. It’s 1,000 times over their most polished product. Total perfection.
I tried again with Black Celebration this morning. That’s like comparing a rough sketch with the Mona Lisa.
If you’ve heard other Depeche Mode, then don’t think you know Violator. It’s 1,000 times over their most polished product. Total perfection.
I tried again with Black Celebration this morning. That’s like comparing a rough sketch with the Mona Lisa.
January 18, 2025 at 12:46 PM
No, I’m not Alan Wilder.
If you’ve heard other Depeche Mode, then don’t think you know Violator. It’s 1,000 times over their most polished product. Total perfection.
I tried again with Black Celebration this morning. That’s like comparing a rough sketch with the Mona Lisa.
If you’ve heard other Depeche Mode, then don’t think you know Violator. It’s 1,000 times over their most polished product. Total perfection.
I tried again with Black Celebration this morning. That’s like comparing a rough sketch with the Mona Lisa.
🙄
(Music doesn’t record anything. I do talk tosh at times. The replaying of old bangers, (or floor-fillers) clearly tickles the neurons though, and can propel our consciousness swiftly back to the memory of the environment we best associate with them)
(Music doesn’t record anything. I do talk tosh at times. The replaying of old bangers, (or floor-fillers) clearly tickles the neurons though, and can propel our consciousness swiftly back to the memory of the environment we best associate with them)
January 17, 2025 at 5:12 PM
🙄
(Music doesn’t record anything. I do talk tosh at times. The replaying of old bangers, (or floor-fillers) clearly tickles the neurons though, and can propel our consciousness swiftly back to the memory of the environment we best associate with them)
(Music doesn’t record anything. I do talk tosh at times. The replaying of old bangers, (or floor-fillers) clearly tickles the neurons though, and can propel our consciousness swiftly back to the memory of the environment we best associate with them)