posted on October 8, 2008 at 8:21 pm

at night i use flying ointment
and leave my tree
thousands of us take to the air
flying over ghent or barcelona
soaring like a weightless thing
coming down in the parks and gardens of the imperators
skimming over the fountains damp aura
and rushing through the flowerheads
easing the dull ache of longing
the friction of the stems
feeding on strawberries and juicy little grapes
drifting through windows in palaces
drinking the leftover wine
tumbling through wee small hours
wrapped up in midnight blue
losing myself in books
or swept up in the music of memory
flung high by some symphony of yesteryear
high in the empty splendid rooms
candlelit and shadows run here and there
i thirst for delicious love
oh love love love
where can love be hiding tonight
when suddenly a hundred mirrors revolve
and dark love is revealed
love gone bad
spoilt love
too much love
love that hurts and hurts
no love
no love at all
no love at all that love
wicked love and stupid love
and brutal love with who doesnt know when to stop
and wayward love with the preening fawn
and sorry love with the excuses
and busy love with absolutely no time for you
and dead love already going off
and the love that shall have no name
and the love that takes every name in vain
and the love that makes you forget
and the love that makes you wish you never remembered
big love
hard on love
stiff love
cheap n nasty love that makes you sick
forbidden love with the veils
bought love that says anything you like
carnal love with the fishnets and hooks
temporary love with a silly smile
funny love but no ones laughing
unloved love that no one wants
love all used up and squeezed out
but where
but when
but who is ..
no sweet love
no lovely love
no ameliorating love
no love to mitigate my crimes of passion
no love to guide me through this tonight
no love to speak of…
i leave the banquet hall of great souls then
my wings beat faster than anger
my eyes see swifter than sky
my hands hold harder than a river
my heart beats stronger than gold
my spells summon the midges of summer
or keep out the winter sprites
i see myself in the dust that sparkles once
and doors that open inwards
and fat rumours spread like butter on tomorrow
whirl around the old masters house
upstairs downstairs
all along the rails
call me uncertain
call me even when you have no voice
when youre lost in the living room with dead love
when something horrible reaches up n squeezes the breath out of you
when you discover the great loneliness at the heart of society
when the best wine makes you puke
when you listen to cocaine
or sniff music
when you fall asleep still aroused
and touch yourself all night
your hands moving like bizzy little snakes
when you lie on your stomach
grunting and groaning
as some mad storm straddles your back
and pounds down along your spine
and flames lick around your harbours
and your little boat catches fire…aw, what a shame…
and waves rear up in your bed
and you sink sink sink
there is no rest
in this life
in a next life
in all other lives
ones you may not even lead
as if you lead a life like you lead a dog
as if trouble dogs you
and follows you to school
where the children laugh and play
to see a beast break that gilt-edged rule
call me if you need me
when your falling through another empty evening
wingless like a crab
or your feline senses desert you
and the birds twitter on the line
and you cant even count to zero
and you cant even be odd
look in the drapes in the folds of the earth
in the sunset modulation of light
in the red and pinks and oranges of dusk
in orchards on the skins of soft peaches
and diving down fleshpots rude jetty
and the catalyst for chemical exchanges
and the formulation of diverse plans
and more white lies about your black deeds
and appearing in court naked as a jailbird
when you think about the jungle that swallows cities
and you think how nature will always prevail
and you think about the lilac clouds from the 14th of february
and you think youve exhausted the mine
but youve only just hit the seam
and you arrive home unexpected and find nothings wrong
and the doctor says what are you doing for christmas
and its so hot as you run down the lane between the houses
and you got a gift that goes on living
and the quick brown docs jump over the lazy fog
think of me when you expire on times avenue
think of me as you broadcast your last good night
think of me in 1973 at my girlfriends listening to raphael
think of me in some cottage in brittany eating my words
think of me on tour with my fender guitar
think of me being executed and grin n say “thats life”
think of world war one and all those great fashions
think of manfred von richtofen and his blue max
think of edward the 5th and a half
who gave it all up in mrs simpson
think of titian aboard the titanic
arriving safely in toronto
after sailing in the himalayan lagoons
think of a white elephant or a jumble sale
think of little steven in the monaro mall
his daddy gave him 5.95 to buy abraxas
think of all that school girl flesh now old like me
think of the kids already gone to the great lyneham high in the sky
think of how the christmas holidays went on n on
identical days of heat and boredom
so you crucified bugs and fired your arrows at birds
think of adolescences big waiting room
where boys jerk off to bitches
and girls jerk off to stallions
where you trade childhoods dreams
for a slap round the head
and a prick in yer hand
and like grey hounds and whippets they set you free
and you come out of the box baying for some bunnies blood
and you chase and you surround
and you tear and tear and tear
and think of the smell of model glue and humbrol paint
made in hull england
and you locate and cement
and you apply the decals
and you choose your options
and you say fuck all this
bring on the dope
bring on the paint strippers
bring on the 22nd century
bring on the pots of unbound pigment
bring on the snow white finns
and the jet black ethiopians
bring on the intellectual ratbags
and the cretinous media
bring on the slobbering execs and vacuous wranglers
bring on the gay dads and the kids with 3 mothers
bring on the scorching mornings of white hot summer
bring on the dead air conditioners and empty ice trays
give me my life back
make me rich
make me a star
make me a break
bake me a cake
take away this ache
get me a halo
shoot me a message
gimme a fix
gimme a panacea
wheres my soy nepenthe
wheres my gram from mickey finns private stash
wheres my morphine cocktail with dylan thomas
wheres my dilaudid n martini with dino martino
wheres my cognac with frank n sammy
wheres my harpoon n my stingray
wheres my baby grande and my precious little
wheres my little wag with his tiny joke
wheres my pests and plagues and famines and wars
wheres my sequence with scott n ricki n polinski
wheres my hollow cast
wheres my mutineers
wheres my ears n eyes
thats where
i fold out my invisible pinions
i take more of the ointment
and you wont see my ass for dust

22 Responses to “flying ointment”

  1. avatar
    CSTCoach | 8 October 2008 at 10:16 pm #

    At the risk of being off-topic (and distracting one from a beautifully written blog)…

    I don’t have a musician’s vocabulary and can’t write a review from that perspective (unlike the great reviews by my good friend Stefan and by the wise Altres), but I thought I’d scribble down a few words about my Painkiller experience just the same…

    I’ve made it a habit – well, call it a ritual – that each time I receive a new Church or Steve Kilbey album, I get that first listen in while lying down in a dark room with headphones cranked up. First impressions are important, and I want the music to totally wash over me.

    The first time around, I’m looking for that song that causes goosebumps to ripple up and down my arms. The one that makes my body feel suddenly light. That makes me forget myself. There’s always at least one like that. A song I latch onto immediately. Others sometimes take a few listens to sink in (and often a song I didn’t like for years suddenly worms its way in and becomes an enduring favourite – Night Friends was one of those).

    Well, after all the hype, I plugged in Painkiller around midnight, while the city slept, and I prepared to be amazed. I’d already heard Outbound on the myspace page and been listening to it for a while, so I knew that wouldn’t be the one. I’d heard Wolfe too, on several acoustic bootlegs, so that one wouldn’t startle me either. But… wait a minute! I’d never heard it like this! As the lead-in began and the music swelled, my eyes popped open and that familiar feeling swept over me. It built even more with Celestial, and Crystalline Rush took it to the ecstatic. It’s difficult to describe the beauty of these songs, the feelings of nostalgia and hope they inspire. I guess the best I can do is to say that they cause your chest to expand and swell as though your heart might burst. That’s the sort of energy contained in these songs.

    And then things suddenly turn darker. Song for the Masking slides in with the sort of baseline that makes your skin crawl and your morals do likewise.

    The dissolution truly begins with File Under Travel. This felt like everything Travel by Thought was trying to be but couldn’t quite reach. It drives you relentlessly out of yourself until you don’t know up from down, left from right, fractured from whole. It’s a journey all right, one that shatters your consciousness into a thousand pieces and leaves you disoriented, but strangely open and receptive.

    From there to the end of the album was a sonic blur – the songs blended together and pulled me along with them on a rollercoaster journey of pure emotion such that I can’t really describe my first impressions of each one. I can only throw down my initial thoughts when I came out of my trance.

    One of the things that impressed me most was the intricate structure of the album. It felt like the songs at each end mirrored – or better yet, provided a foil for – each other. The swelling chords and shouted vocals of Wolfe and the easier, wiser, more upbeat retrospective of Forever Lasts for Nothing. The sublime hope of Celestial and the darker, more jaded perspective of Spirit in Flame. But the absolute masterpiece was the placement of the two bookends – Outbound and Not What You Say. Painkiller opens by launching you out into space, beyond the solar system and into unexplored territory. In the middle, the journey turns transdimensional. It’s like being sucked into a black hole and dissolved into your component elements. You’re gradually reassembled in an entirely new and unfamiliar form, until at the end of the journey you suddenly find yourself drifting eerily at the bottom of the sea, a place you never expected to end up – or have you reached another strange galaxy altogether? You could just as easily be floating in the void.

    That last song, Not What You Say, is a particular stroke of genius. It uses some of the same elements as the rest of the songs, a vocal or a melody that gives you something familiar to cling to, setting your mind at ease, before blindsiding you with sounds you never could have anticipated. Its effect is to “unhinge” you. After the initial lyrics set the stage there’s a long middle bit where a few simple notes are repeated over and over. Like a metronome, it’s incredibly effective at dropping you into a meditative state. The music eventually swells once more and lyrics come in, taking you a bit higher, and then those notes come back and reinforce your trance. You’re brought deeper and deeper until finally an odd silence ensues and for twenty minutes you hear the distant song of whales. For a moment I began to come out of it – I thought “what the fuck?” and “how long will that go on for?”, but every time I considered shutting it off, I simply couldn’t. The sounds were absolutely mesmerizing.

    Soundscape is an apt description of Kilbey’s and The Church’s work. This was nothing short of an aural journey through a richly described inner landscape, orchestrated by a master.

    Also, Polinski’s mixing was inventive and effective. Leaving in odd echoey bits of studio conversation at exactly the right moment was a stroke of genius. Nothing about this album is what you predict or what you expect.

    And lest the above sound esoteric or somehow granola, the album totally rocks. It’s base-driven in a way that prior stuff wasn’t. The base comes fully to the forefront and slithers like a houri through a cloud of incense until you’re nearly intoxicated. Combine that with Tim Powles relentless driving beat and you’ve got rock on an entirely new level.

    I have to say that I loved (and still love) Dabble. Blessed One is sublime. Untitled Too, with it’s kickass nautical terminology and shouted delivery, hint at some of the vocal territory that would later be explored here. And Time to Say Goodbye is my funeral song, for when my bones are finally eaten by some animal in the desert. But the contrast between these two consecutive solo albums is night and day. The artistic development that took place in those seven years is staggering. This is another world entirely, with a depth and a layering that was never realized on SK’s prior solo work (though you always felt he was reaching for it).

    Well fucking done, Killa. This is art that rocks.

  2. avatar
    steve kilbey | 8 October 2008 at 10:33 pm #

    hang up your travel writing son
    i pronounce you a ROCK WRITER PAR EXCELLENCE!
    thanks for this review
    youve inspired me….wow!
    you n brian n stefan n florian n jens
    and while im hailing people
    my humble floppy hippy hat goes off to eek a mouse
    without whom….etc
    holly thank you!!!!!

  3. avatar
    princey | 8 October 2008 at 11:19 pm #

    A lovely blog for the lovelorn sk, (ooh you can make love sound so sad and hollow tho!) One of my favourite song titles & music is "Eyes Smeared With The Ointment Of Lurve", beautiful music to make the ol' heart ache.

    Yeah cst, great review, give up your day job, can't wait to get my cd soon, you even made sk write "wow!" we dont see that too often 🙂

    Love Amanda

  4. avatar
    fipster | 8 October 2008 at 11:40 pm #

    Great review, Ryan! Would you be willing to repost it at the Discography? We don’t have any Painkiller reviews yet.

    Painkiller Reviews/Comments Form

  5. avatar
    Brien Comerford | 9 October 2008 at 1:04 am #


    Plaudits, accolades, bravo, commendation and laudation for such a sagacious Painkiller review. You r a mind of a higher order.

    SK: Incredible blog again and your vocabulary is inimitably resplendent.

    “Cretinous Media”=euphemism for a mentally challenged and morally bankrupt ilk of reprobates.

    Do I pay 90 dollars for a second row dead center seat at the Chicago Theatre to see “YES” sans Jon Anderson and Rick Wakeman. I love Howe and Squire but

    the human race would be on the verge of extinction in five years if all bat and bee species became extinct today.

  6. avatar
    Queen Hatshepsut | 9 October 2008 at 2:10 am #

    Fantastic review Ryan! 🙂

    Steven: Can one review a blog? If so, after I finished reading this one, I longed for a cigarette, then wanted to read it again. Haha.
    Seriously, Jesus..this is fabulous stuff. I felt like you sucked me straight into the darkness of some strange, surreal abyss and I was surrounded by your floating white words and the inane images they evoked. I *do* have chills. (And it’s 92 degrees out!) I don’t show up to fawn much, but here I am in all my sycophantic glory – you are one amazingly talented man. THANK YOU!

  7. avatar
    the dean | 9 October 2008 at 2:13 am #

    apparently jon anderson isn’t too happy about the idea and had hoped to continue the tour next year.
    So BC if I were you I’d save my dough – the word is the church will be in the US next year.

  8. avatar
    CAPTAIN BEYOND | 9 October 2008 at 2:22 am #

    damn Ryan…that was by far the bestest review sk’s probably has ever had considering all the critics he has had over the centuries, seriously my mind is not built for that kind of language, hopefully soon…

  9. avatar
    CSTCoach | 9 October 2008 at 2:52 am #

    “i pronounce you a ROCK WRITER PAR EXCELLENCE!” – aww, you’re just saying that cause i only wrote nice things. Wish I could make a sidejob of it, but the problem is I only know your stuff well enough to write about it LOL

    Seriously SK, your work has inspired me for longer and in more important ways than I could possibly put across. Further, I honestly believe I’ve learned more about writing from studying your lyrics and music than i have from any other source. You’re doing everything right, even if “pop culture” don’t appreciate. Please keep going.

    Aww, Amanda, but you’ve never seen me at my day job. I’m much better at that 😉

    Fipster – of course amigo! done! (btw, if i haven’t said so before, thanks so much for making your excellent site available. you’ve done an incredible job, and i’m sure i’m not the only one who’s greatful for the resource)

    Finally, thanks very much for the kind words, fellow fiendss. It’s been a pleasure sharing this space with you.

    If anyone knows of sites which accept freelance album reviews, we should all start swamping them. This album deserves all the attention it can get.

  10. avatar
    Hellbound Heart | 9 October 2008 at 3:03 am #

    cstcoach…n amazingly astute and perceptive album review…you have a way with words, my friend….
    i’ve listened to painkiller a few times now and i can fully identify with that joyful swelling in the chest/tingling of nerve endings when i listen to it….i know, it’s fucking criminal that such a sublime album shouldn’t get the acclaim and exposure that it so richly deserves…
    today’s blog….escaping life and its shortcomings, who doesn’t dream of flying, i often drift off the sleep imagining i’m a seagull skimming and soaring above a beach at sunset and such a feeling of lightness and freedom….
    god steve you are so good….

  11. avatar
    kat | 9 October 2008 at 3:42 am #

    great review, cst c

    and one of my favorite blogs of yours, sk

    brien, i say yes to yes! this inspires me to crank starship trooper..

    does anyone know that mk has a blog? the link is on the myspace all india radio site, and the blog is very entertaining!


  12. avatar
    MEM | 9 October 2008 at 4:24 am #

    FLY ME

  13. avatar
    lily was here | 9 October 2008 at 9:05 am #

    How does one follow up such inspiring reviews by Ryan, Stef, Brian & co? But wow baby, you really did create a wonderful album sk. Wolfe knocked my little socks right off, love the theatric opening. Wolfe generates a feeling of euphoria in the same way that Easy did. Im tossing up whether I'd nominate this or Celestial (one of the most beautiful songs you've ever sung SK) for a single. For surely you must release a song out there for the poor beggars who are starving for music crumbs. The lead-into to Not What You Say is divine… just have a listen to it! Yes headphones are required for the full experience! I agree, this is about your best work to date. Painkiller is exhilirating energy. Painkillers can be numbing agents to block the suffering, but in this case its more a stimulating intoxicant that distracts you from what ails and gives you a high. Outbound kicks it off and yes, like everyone says, you're left languishing at the end of the high with the soothing lull of a gilt trippy Not What You Say. I cant wait to hear all this in the flesh.

    "At night i use flying ointment and leave my tree" — this line alone evoked my imagination like nothing on earth. And to think this morning i requested a mere magic carpet ride


  14. avatar
    iseult | 9 October 2008 at 10:43 am #

    oh kids you aint heard nothing yet

    painkiller is even better live

    so you’ll have to tour it with the church as a double act

  15. avatar
    Jen Jewel Brown | 9 October 2008 at 1:38 pm #

    you do good blog boy

  16. avatar
    persephone2u | 9 October 2008 at 6:29 pm #

    It’s official. Painkiller is the best record put out this year in my humble (and correct, ha!) opinion. This is going to be perfect music for my 14 hour flight next week and easily replaces my usual listening choice of Brian Eno and Harold Budd’s Plateaux of Mirror.

    The whole record is just perfect but my two favorites are Oenone, which could easily have been sung by Marc Bolan and his feather boa, and Not What You Say, which has the most sumptuous strings and arrangements on it. The melody just sticks in your head and won’t go away and it’s completely trance inducing.

  17. avatar
    NickH | 9 October 2008 at 7:36 pm #

    Hi Steve

    Inspired by recent posts, I have written a review of Painkiller, which I received in the mail just last night. I hope the post is not too long. It was written during a continuous five-hour listening session. I hope you like it as much as I love your music. Nick

    Painkiller: Patient’s notes. Dosage: seven consecutive listens over five hours. As prescribed by S.Kilbey, of Bondi, to Nick H, of Darlinghurst.

    Outbound. The first clicks of the hi-hat and I’m sinking, feet-first, into a watery dissolution. Dissolved by the voice of SK as it leads me down, down, in echo echo. I envisage electrical charges from nerve endings and synapses in the brain sparking, and I’m away on a kind of… trip. Outbound, as it were, looking across a sonic ocean, heading towards chemical oblivion. Vital signs are stable, and the electronic blips on the track are giddy with anticipation of something more…

    The hypnotic bass assures me I’m on course. But to where? SK’s voice sounds authoritative and insistent, at times almost hoarse with an urgent message, as if he’s trying to tell me something from behind the glass which I can’t hear in the silence of space. Sit up, wake up, be alert, but at the same time, kick back for the ride. In sonic space, you can do both. Reality is not as it seems…

    Strings with gravitas enter mid-song and sound as if warning that the journey will be challenging, but so, so worth it… the diamante electronics scattered across the track remind me I am indeed in space.

    With the tweaking of electronics at the end of the track, it’s like our guides on the space rock trip are repositioning the sonic craft for the next destination point on our celestial map…

    Wolfe. Introduced by a cameo of beautiful strings via mellotron, I remember overhearing the sonic space rock crew talking for a second, as they gear the machine to take me further into the outer reaches… Enter the keys and chiming guitars and I’m suddenly in a bejewelled, elegant place… something like love revolves around the centre of this song, like a somewhat perplexed but adoring guardian watching over his child on a merry-go-round. The swirl of luminescent colour makes me giddy and almost seasick, like I’ve eaten too much sugar or opium, but it’s a wonderful ache.

    Celestial. Ah, an eerie foreboding takes over, as I once again face the breadths and depths of the soundscape. This IS a trip, remember. Languid, distant guitar lines forge on ahead like flares or traces in the night, trailing a melancholic comet tail. This feels like that time when the setting sun, right on twilight, seems to take forever to disappear, leaving a very soft, almost mournful light – but then leaving a beautiful night sky, pinned with stars.

    Crystalline rush. Slowly floating now in the Valium Constellation (10˚E, 70˚NW), in amongst a jumble of diamond debris. A voice in dub sails by and bounces around like an atom the size of a basketball, setting up a trance-like effect. Where am I, exactly? I can’t tell but it feels good, like I’m drifting through a quasar of blinding light. In the middle of the song, a heavy vibration kicks in, as if I’m in the presence of a ball of pure infinite energy, which then moves on again past me and away. Drum-rolls then steady the course, before the track slows into a brief, wobbling mass of jelly electronica…

    Song for the Masking. Stout tribal drum beginnings. I try to sit up but it’s no use, I’m a lead weight. Something important and heavy this way comes. Enter our weary singer, the trail of years long and chequered behind him like the rattle of cans. He’s carrying with him a bed of acoustic guitar, which is a kind of sonic packhorse to rest on at intervals as he recounts his tales. We move forward with this visitor for a while. It’s a long journey we’re on together but that means there’s time to think about grand things…

    Radiotronics and blips return, re-positioning the course, searching for direction in the depths of space, voices in rewind, scanning for missed directions among the messages from earth which have been beamed out into deep space since the 1950s from a trillion American TVs tuned to shows like My Favourite Martian.

    File under travel. Molten lava flow, heat, and the rumbling morass of a distant storm. Hot, steamy and simultaneously cold. I hear a man running. Alien voices. “Have we crash landed?” I wonder. The pulse on my neck makes me think I should try running, trouble is afoot! A haze of hyperventilation threatens to take over. Heart rate’s high. Maybe we took our eyes off things during the last track?! Too much stoned reflection had us asleep at the wheel. Hey, I thought YOU were in control. No time for blame now -– you gotta run.

    Some of this unharnessed energy which is floating around like formless debris could be useful but how to harness it? The quickening, insistent beat is a reminder to move, move on, move forward. Mmm, some of this chaos and fear is quite exciting but don’t be deceived. Discordant piano chord signals danger. Drift too close to the Source and you could be turned into particle dust in an instant.

    And down there, down there are depths of god knows how deep… pure eternal black hole in which you’ll fall forever like the Greek god you once heard about back home. Discordant piano chord. Signals danger. Waves of towering distortion, thousands of feet high on either side. Fuck it’s cold here. Hairs on the my neck turn to ice.

    …and then slowly the rain comes down, dissolving the fear. The piano in the distance has righted itself, and beckons peace, some kind of order in the mess I’m in. A slow, exhausted dance with descending bass. Remember the interdependence of all things. Drenched by rain, I stagger through a drum-less haven, my blood thickens in the ambience … and we’re moving on again…

    Look homeward angel. Radiotronics indicate we’re on course with a moderate speed. SK’s voice is honeyed and warm, and I can relax a little. Background vocals on this track appear like a friendly spirit, a ghostly reassurance of something watching over me/us. A joyful, happy-go-lucky absent-minded la-la-la sweetens the atmosphere, before we corkscrew higher up into the beyond via a 1969-era phasing effect at song’s end.

    Oenone. Down to business again with a driving snare, rough riffing, something now solid to hold onto after all that drifting in space. Near-whispered vocals in my ear, by a devilish tempter. “Go further out…” Broad brushstroke chorus, something potent has been dropped into the mix – feel that jolt? Drunk on volume, we stagger forward, grinning like Timothy Leary escaping house arrest…

    Spirit in flame. Slow distorted drum… what’s happening in the engine room, man? I hear the space rocker engineers again, who ask, “Does it work?” in a dub echo voice stretching my mindscape out, like I’m made of rubber. “Does it work?” over the intercom. Yeah, I’d say it does work… my mind’s now miles wide. Acrid ragga smoke permeates the air and contorts skywards in the lumbering, slow morass of sound, a reggae time capsule floating past Orion…

    Forever lasts for nothing. Steel string rocking-chair backing guitar, like I’m on a porch out the back in 1975. I’m transfixed by the beautiful melody interlaced throughout this song. Brings to mind a broad expanse of caramel-coloured hills and grey trees in the Australian countryside. Short and sweet.

    Not what you say. The soothing voice of my guide appears, like he’s talking me down, now… Backwards tracking, gently tugging me back down to earth. Crystalline guitar notes and stately, elegant keys, life’s coming back into blurring focus, as I begin to awaken. This track chimes like a clock, as life’s colours begin to re-appear, and the post-dream sense of reality which is reassuring but also a little maudlin. I don’t want to come back. The relaxation is still heavy in my limbs, gold leaf in my veins. The gentle tug of reality reminds me I’m alive, at least on the physical plane.

    Drums return, and “I have potential baby…” I listen as if overhearing a conversation in the next room. What’s been going on while I’ve been under? A man – the administering doctor of Painkiller? – labouring under those ancient, eternal, mortal questions which are, by way of relief, sweetened with love and companionship…

    Then, ow! A pinch of distortion kicks in, like salt on the tongue, to jolt me back (reluctantly) into an awakened state. Radiotronics gurgle, my vital signs are good. “We have restored him.”

    Postscript notes: Patient says Painkiller is therapeutic and “enriches the senses”. Has volunteered for further experiments.

  18. avatar
    steve kilbey | 9 October 2008 at 7:53 pm #

    sue c and nick h and persephone
    thank you for these wunderbar reviews
    oh i’m so glad you sweet cats are digging the medicine
    im well pleased…i can tell ya!

  19. avatar
    matt davison | 9 October 2008 at 8:24 pm #

    Matt ds “Unmixed painkiller review”
    one song at a time…

    track 1.

    -build– jump! whack/ into ya…pound pound…ding ding, ahhh, ahhhh doo dooo doo.wHIRL))))))soft soft /whack……
    iAM i AM I AM….pound, pound, pound, pound, pound, pound….

  20. avatar
    davem | 9 October 2008 at 9:01 pm #

    Your attention to detail is scary. Hull? Is that what was on the tin? amazing.
    Great reviews of PK from those far more gifted than me. It’s a stunning album. Easily your solo best, full of highlights and growing with every listen. I love it sober or stoned, except Celestial where the bass part confuses me if I’ve not imbibed. Did you have any discussions about the bass on Celestial, SK?

  21. avatar
    eek | 9 October 2008 at 9:49 pm #

    What a gorgeous blog today, Steve. Thank you for the continuous stream of intelligent, beautiful work. Brilliant.

    What a fantastic bunch of comments today! Kind of improves ones opinion of humanity, doesn’t it? I love reading everyone’s experiences with Painkiller. It’s such a great album. File Under Travel is going to get me in trouble though — when I listen to it while driving I speed like a madwoman! I’ve read reviews by several people who feel this is your best album. I generally don’t like to make such pronouncements when an album is this new, but you know, I really do think they may be right. I just wish I could see and hear it performed live.
    Steve — you are very, very welcome. You are very worth it.

  22. avatar
    matt davison | 10 October 2008 at 12:23 am #

    review #2


    i THOUGHT IT WOULD BE…DO DO DO DO..SWERL}]}]]] When I was falling!!! Doom da doom… liquid!! ~~~~~~~~~I can’t find my way…doom da doom boom boom, jingle swerl..I thought!!ding ding swerrrrrl.Nice backing..fade…….

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