And Then The World Turned Black and White

Smoov grooves I have here.

BOHREN AND DER CLUB OF GORE is: the provocateur slinking out of my speakers; the slithering agent twisting its enchanting "horror jazz" elocution around every bone; sinking it into every orifice.


It's heavy, but smooth.

It is the pathos emitting from the darkness drilling itself into sunset's lapse; a lover and fighters spiral and collapse.

It's smokey basement bars...scotch and cigars...smeared lipstick and desk tops...blood-red wine provoking haunting whispers of "be mines" and "don't stops".

It's slow and repetitive,
with each press it clings.
The introduction is a piano dirge for hearts breaking with time.It covers you and glistens the same silvery glisten of a city's midnight rime.

This music begs to play to long strolls knee-deep in contemplation; while smoking cigarettes under fedora shadows and humming street lamp halations.

It's winter heights...delicate delights...memories cascading over minutes, ticking in gray, black and white.
It is all spy novels and romance; lecherous encounters left to chance.

Every note is a rapturous, enigmatic collision. The soft, yet stimulating effects of tinctures of strychnine.
A hint of an affair in a city alleyway--of a mess of trench coats with pin stripes, high heels and garters strategically tucked away.

It is the vamp and the vamped.
The lady and the tramp.

This is pure seduction. The tempturous wind of cool and soft percussion.
Love that is new....and the delicate breath of life deductions... long overdue.

You get it now, don't ya...

It is film noir's final hour.

The song is prowler.