Three films of 2023

I feel like I do not have it in me to write an obituary. I will only say that we will now be living in a world where a new David Lynch film is an impossibility. And that is a sad and pathetic world. Grey and increasingly more hopeless, and made even worse by two psychopathic clowns, Trump and Musk, who are about to compound the overwhelming misery. Oh how appropriate that scream at the end of the third season of Twin Peaks really is.

As for this piece, it is to do with three 2023 films that were released in the cinemas in 2024. When I do my annual write-up on cinema, in about a month or so, I will only focus on last year. In which case these three will be missed, and they deserve so much better. 

The Beast (2023) dir. by Bertrand Bonello / France

There are bits and pieces of Henry James's great little novella The Beast In The Jungle behind this - but this is still very much its own thing. The Beast is a beautiful mindfuck of a film, with a plot that moves from distant to recent past to frankly rather disturbing future in a grotesque and at first somewhat confusing manner. After some time, though, it all falls into place, and when you understand what is going on here, the whole thing becomes very tight and impressive. 

In the future, everything is controlled by AI and people's emotions are excess to requirements. However, humans can undergo a certain 'cleansing' procedure to rid themselves of real feelings. Which is exactly what the character of Léa Seydoux is trying to do. The setting moves from early 20th century France to 2014 Los Angeles to 2044 Paris, and we go through some vaguely familiar scenes - the very last one being absolutely devastating, and quite Lynchean in its own surreal way. 

La Chimera (2023) dir. by Alice Rohrwacher / Italy

Like The Beast, this felt to me like a total left-field masterpiece. Only this film has none of the slickness of the The Beast. It is set in Italy in the 1980s and tells of a group of looters who dig out Etruscan treasures and sell them to collectors. The main part is played by Josh O'Connor (who was great in both Challengers and Lee), and he is absolutely phenomenal here - but I was also really impressed by the Brazilian actress Carol Duarte who gives one of the most charming and natural performances I've ever seen.

It is a very arthouse sort of film, but La Chimera gives that word a good name. Because for all its playful eccentricities (the scenes where Josh O'Connor's character finds the treasures are truly bizarre), the film has real emotional depth. The last scenes in particular are some of the most powerful cinema in recent memory.

Perfect Days (2023) dir. by Wim Wenders / Japan

Back in the old days, one of my pet peeves was people telling me that Wings Of Desire was the greatest film of all time. I used to fight each one of those people. Much has changed since then and I have softened to it a little (that said, I still find it vastly overrated) - but it is only now, with Perfect Days, that I can safely state this: Wim Wenders has finally made his masterpiece. 

Not Wings Of Desire, not Paris, Texas - but this, a medidative, almost wordless film about a Japanese toilet cleaner in Tokyo whose daily life we witness over the course of several days. It is a mesmerising film, and it felt so great, and so calming, to be part of the experience of watching it after a long working day in a half-empty Polish cinema. Wenders forged something timeless out of routine (Kōji Yakusho is transfixing in his role, and especially in that memorable close-up at the very end), to such an extent that Lou Reed's song is just an afterthought.

Book review: STREET-LEVEL SUPERSTAR by Will Hodgkinson

Lawrence is the sort of man who believes The Mother And The Whore is the greatest film ever made. Now you may have heard of people who express that opinion, you may even come across a few of them in real life, but deep down you will always question their honesty. As this brilliant book by Will Hodgkinson demonstrates, Lawrence is an authentic character. His oddness is genuine, and so are his opinions. Lawrence truly loves The Mother And The Whore like no other film. He also believes Vic Godard is the greatest living songwriter. Oh and liquorice candy is the best food in the world.

One of the undeniable achievements of this biography is that you do not even have to be a Lawrence fan to be completely engrossed by the narrative. That I personally happen to love the man's music (Felt's Forever Breathes The Lonely Word, Denim's two studio albums and Go-Kart Mozart's On The Hot Dog Streets are all classics in my eyes) is a nice bonus, but really - you can't help but be fascinated by this strange, enigmatic artist who never washes his jeans, carries a WH Smith bag with him wherever he goes, drinks milky tea and dreams of writing the greatest pop song of all time. Bizarrely, we can all relate. No, seriously, we can. 

The best books start in a way that can be described as inevitable. In Street-Level Superstar: A Year With Lawrence (published in 2024), we meet Lawrence in a Jewish district in London looking for a place to pee and talking about the exquisite, shimmering music from Felt's debut album. What a way to begin. From then on, Hodgkinson creates a fascinating portrait of a flawed, insecure, genuinely odd and talented man who has spent his career striving to break into stardom. As a matter of fact, Lawrence's relationship with fame is the central theme of the book. It is always there, peering from the corner, bubbling underneath every chapter and every sentence. Yes, the "Summer Smash" debacle is definitely mentioned (Lawrence wrote this potential hit single in 1997, it got great notices but was swiftly shelved due to Diana's death - this was the start of Lawrence's darkest years), but the frustration runs a lot deeper and the conclusion that Hodgkinson reaches towards the end is as bittersweet as it is inevitable.

Street-Level Superstar is not even an especially complimentary portrait. If anything, Lawrence is depicted as a difficult, exasperating man. Intriguing, too, but someone you would rather appreciate from a distance (Lawrence's preferred way of dealing with the world). He has a knack for driving other people insane (John Leckie lost it during the recording sessions for Back In Denim) and he seems to have a somewhat unhealthy relationship with money (embittered ex-girlfriend Michaela: "He loved rich people. They didn't even have to do anything for him to love them"). He is erratic and unreliable. "I was under no illusion", writes Hodgkinson in the final chapter of this biography. "His was not a life for any sane person to aspire". Throughout the book, Lawrence is full of painful self-deprecation but also pride in what he has achieved artistically. "When I was young", he says at some point, "I wanted to live in a matchbox". And this from someone who has spent most of his life pursuing the loftiest ambitions. 

Basically, the book gives us one year spent in the company of Lawrence. During this year, we walk with Lawrence through London (and Birmingham, briefly - his hometown), attend his gig at Glastonbury and even the recording session for his latest world smash (titled "Deliveroo Delivery", how else?). And in the background, Will Hodgkinson goes through the man's entire life, from difficult childhood (in an area he hated, with parents he hated) to periods of frenzied creativity to rare friends (Pete Astor, Bobby Gillespie) to estranged girlfriends (both real and imaginary) to years of homelessness and obscurity to the 'grand' unveiling of his giant marble bust in a London gallery. It is quite an incredible story, and Hodgkinson succeeds in bringing the man alive, to the extent that you will be sad to let Lawrence go by the end of it. With his big shopping bag, his famous cap and his diluted tea (two thirds tea, one third milk) bought from Costa Coffee. 

The writing is excellent all the way through, Hodgkinson's style is both humorous and poetic. "It was a glorious day in the city, one of those sunlit afternoons when being alive seems like a great idea. A perfect day, then, to go clothes shopping with Lawrence" (actually, a lot of space in the book is given to Lawrence's dressing style, the kind that puts shop assistants on guard). Or take this paragraph, for instance: "Not only did he never appear to eat anything, he rarely drank water either. The only sustenance appeared to come from the milky tea he liked to buy from Costa Coffee towards the end of our long walks. I, on the other hand, was a mere human, in need of water at the very least". Or when he writes about his personal favourite album On The Hot Dog Streets that opens with "Lawrence Takes Over". Hodgkinson calls the song "poignant because the chances of his taking over were by then as likely as his getting stuck into a cheese fondue". 

Interestingly, towards the end of the book I started to see certain similarities between Lawrence and Mark E. Smith (who initially was quite generous towards Felt). On the face of it, he also tries to be an authoritarian band leader, stingy with money and unwilling to share writing credits. He also writes all the lyrics and does not play any instruments (you could, in fact, paraphrase the famous quote from Smith and say a Lawrence band is Lawrence "and your granny on bongos"). He also gives crazy instructions to his band members. Like he once told the bassist not to play the A-string and the keyboard player to avoid pressing the black keys. But herein lies that crucial difference. The keyboard player never stopped pressing the black keys, and the bassist kept hitting the A-string (he even suggests, half-jokingly, that Lawrence has no idea where the actual A-string is located). 

But despite the failed guidelines, it was all very amiable on the car ride back to London. No bitterness, no threats. He was his usual Lawrence, drinking milky tea, avoiding small talk and writing that elusive hit single in his head. He even approved the draft copy of his biography without any major corrections. As Will Hodgkinson puts it at the very end of the book:

"Lawrence was something else entirely.

Lawrence was a street-level superstar".

2024: Top Ten

For what it's worth, there is no Charli XCX on this list. Read on. 

10. Mick Harvey - Five Ways To Say Goodbye

While nothing can be underrated in the age of Internet, what other word could you use to describe Mick Harvey's solo career? Five Ways To Say Goodbye is Harvey's interpretations of songs by the likes of Ed Kuepper and Dave McComb as well as a few excellent originals. However, you will not be able to tell which is which. He totally reimagines the songs (the word 'cover' is not even applicable here) and makes them his own. One of the most beautiful albums of 2024, a year that was very kind to Nick Cave's associates, both current and former.  

Best song: "Demolition"

9. The Messthetics & James Brandon Lewis - s/t

Whether it is food or music, I find the word 'fusion' absolutely repulsive. And I shudder at the very idea of jazz rock. However, this self-titled album by The Messthetics & James Brandon Lewis is a pure undiluted thrill ride. Adventurous avant-garde jazz plus the rhythm section of Fugazi - what's not to like? Music of incredible intensity and intelligence. Plus, the ferocious jazz punk of "Emergence" is one of the best things ever.

Best song: "Emergence"

8. Beth Gibbons - Lives Outgrown 

While Portishead is a band I admire rather than love, Beth Gibbons's Out Of Season is one of the most cherished vinyl records in my collection. Autumnal, soulful music that becomes essential listening in the month of October. Lives Outgrown is her first album in 22 years, and you can sense how much thought went into creating it. These shapeless folk songs are not particularly immediate but further listens are rewarding. It is all very subtle, but also quite powerful. 

Best song: "Floating On A Moment"

7. The Libertines - All Quiet On The Eastern Esplanade

Oh I know what you are thinking. Who the hell even cares for The Libertines in 2024? Well, oddly, I do. I still believe that Pete Doherty is a great songwriter, and what's more, Carl Barât has written some good songs for a change. Just forget about the contexts and the background bullshit, and you will get a collection of eleven tight, engaging, tastefully ragged songs. They wrap it up beautifully, too, with a wistful tune and a few giggles ("Songs They Never Play On The Radio").

Best song: "I Have A Friend"

6. Max Décharné - Night Darkens The Streets

The Fall. The Go-Betweens. Kate Bush. These are just some of the bands / artists I have called the best ever at various points of my life. There was a time, too, when I said The Flaming Stars were the greatest. It was a sad day when they disbanded, and it was something of a pleasant shock when I found out (by chance - how else?) that Max Décharné has a new album out. Sadly, this is very obscure, but if you do find it (it is not even on Spotify), you will hear stylish, literate music that ranges from stripped down late-night balladry (the vibraphone-based "Doctor Caligari Will See You Now") to toe-tapping rockabilly boogie ("Last Diner On the Last Highway"). Record Collector called it the coolest album of 2024.

Best song: "Doctor Caligari Will See You Now"

5. The Cure - Songs Of A Lost World

So finally it happened. After years of teasing, after long months of false hopes and fake announcements, Robert Smith has finally done it. He has released the new album, and it is The Cure's best in a very long time. Songs Of A Lost World sounds like a warmer, deeper Disintegration, and that is all I ever wanted from them at this point. They won't give me another Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, but this is a near-masterpiece. Classic build-ups, beautiful tunes, and that boyish, unfading voice that will make you believe in witchcraft.

Best song: "And Nothing is Forever"

4. Blixa Bargeld & Teho Teardo - Christian & Mauro

Blixa Bargeld will never release another album with Nick Cave, and maybe that's a good thing. The last Einstürzende Neubauten album was excellent, and this ongoing collaboration with the Italian composer Teho Teardo is pure bizarre magic. The German restraint and Italian expressionism come together beautifully. Chamber pop has rarely been this eerie, and this strange. The lyrics of "Dear Carlo" have to be heard to be believed.

Best song: "Dear Carlo"

3. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Wild God

After hearing this album live, and after listening to it for a few months now, I do not think I can improve on what I wrote back in August: Wild God is not exactly straightforward but it does not hide under any pretence. It is filled with joyous, expressive sound that swallows everything around. Grand orchestration, powerful piano chords, expansive backing vocals... So much so that there is a sense that the album is simply too big to clock in under 45 minutes. It almost feels like it should have been a double or even a triple album. Instead, Wild God is a concerted, life-affirming explosion of pure joy. 

Best song: "Conversion"

2. Bill Ryder-Jones - Iechyd Da

God it is hard to do this list as any of these top five albums could be my number one this year. For instance, there is no doubt in my mind that with Iechyd Da (Welsh for 'good day'), Bill Ryder-Jones created his masterpiece. These are his most realised melodies, his most accomplished lyrics, his most elaborate arrangements. Iechyd Da is a well-honed, intimate work that moves me to absolute tears. If you have a vinyl record player, buy it on vinyl. If you have a tape recorder, buy it on tape. But get it somehow, it is a special album that an artist only makes once in their lifetime.

Best song: "This Can't Go On"

1. Peter Perrett - The Cleansing 

This, too, is a once in a lifetime masterpiece, and I happen to know that Peter Perrett feels the same way. The Cleansing is a work of great confidence and experience. There is a lot of darkness on the album (the haunting, piano-based "All That Time") but also a lot of light ("Fountain Of You" is one of those love anthems he could always do so effortlessly) and even playfulness ("Secret Taliban Wife" is a perfect pop song with a dark lyrical twist). And it is all infused with Perrett's melodic wit that has never really left him. Twenty songs, each one is amazing. I can't wait to see him in Madrid in a couple of months, obviously.

Best song: "Mixed-Up Confucius"

***

Song of the Year.

There was quite a lot of musical catharsis in 2024 (the ending of "Bleed" by The Necks, the strings break in the chorus of "Dear Carlo", the intensity of The Messthetics' "Emergence"), but I'm going to pick "How It Feels" by Cold Specks. She has gone through quite a lot lately, and this soulful, gospel-tinged comeback single brings me all the way back to that club in Munich where I was high on absinthe and she was doing the masterful Neuroplasticity in its entirety. So great to have her back.

"December Will Be Magic Again"

Incredibly, Kate Bush recorded this Christmas single in 1980. It was bookended by the anti-war "Army Dreamers" and the existential "Sat In Your Lap", and yet here it is, a true wonder of a song that has all that dream-like romanticism, that childish yearning which defines December. Five minutes of pure magic, and the "like the snow" line never fails to sweep me right out of the window and into the Christmas lights. Like... the SNOW. Merry Christmas, Wesołych Świąt, etc.!

Conclave

You know that feeling when someone's hand is rummaging inside your backpack? It does not even matter whether you know whose hand that is. Your enemy's or your best friend's. What matters is this great sense of discomfort that ties a painful knot inside your stomach. You feel powerless, cheated, compromised. 

Which is exactly the sense I got when I watched films like Breaking The Waves or Dogville all those years ago. One way of looking at it would be to say Lars von Trier is a masterful director who can really get into you. I would argue, however, that the sour taste goes way beyond that. Because I do not actually mind the sense of discomfort when it comes to art (after all, there is nothing especially comforting about the image of Leopold Bloom ogling girls on the beach), it is manipulation that I find so jarring.  

Von Trier is not even the worst culprit. The Danish director is hardly idealogical (as he himself would be the first to admit), he is only there to manipulate your senses. Which, let's admit, is hardly a criminal act. To some extent, most art does that in order to exert impact on its readers and viewers. It is just that von Trier mutilates a duck for you to get there. Whether he does that figuratively or physically is an entirely different matter; the problem is that it all results in a certain lack of sincerity that has little to do with great art. Still, it is somehow much, much worse when art goes after your politics. Like Conclave, for example.  

And God do I hate to say that. Because I was really enjoying the meticulously constructed tension right until that unpredictable final act. An act so unpredictable as to be completely and utterly predictable.

The film is based on Robert Harris's 2017 eponymous novel about the death of a Pope and a rather lengthy election of a new one. This could sound impossibly dull, except that the devil is, of course, in the details. Actors like Ralph Fiennes and Stanley Tucci really stick their teeth into the material, and right away you are caught in the little games that everyone seems to be playing here. The sheer amount of plotting and scheming is quite impressive, and it is intriguing to get behind the scenes of a world so famously cloaked from the rest of us. Especially when you add to it the lush cinematography (the scene with umbrellas is immediately iconic), the unsettling music and the silent and mysterious figure of Isabella Rossellini. 

That there is so much dirt and backstabbing in the world of organised religion is hardly surprising. That there are different factions within the Catholic church is equally credible. That the whole thing is teeming with scandal is common knowledge. The film deals with these matters very skilfully (the more I think about that script, the more Machiavellian it gets), and I actually enjoyed those brief yet insistent moments of the outside world encroaching upon the intimate proceedings. However, when the final act finally started, I actually began to whisper to myself, prayer-fashion, begging for them not to go there. But they did, full-on. 

It is not even about my politics, really. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Being an immigrant, I hated the image of that girl on the balcony at the end of Knives Out. And being an atheist, I equally hated the cheap resolution that Conclave finally settles into. Still, I am not going to spoil it for anyone. Because I believe the film is worthy of being seen (worthy of an Oscar for Ralph Fiennes, too) - if only to witness how badly it all falls apart at the end. With what manipulative twist. With what religious abandon. 

Album of the Month: THE CLEANSING by Peter Perrett

Short review: this album features 20 songs and each one is amazing. 

Long review: see below.

Peter Perrett is one of my biggest musical heroes. I remember how I first listened to "The Whole Of The Law" and thought I would never hear a voice as soulful and beautiful as that again. I remember how I spent several years of my life convinced that "Falling" is the greatest song ever written (is it not, though?). I remember how once in Madrid, around ten years ago, I had a bet with myself: by the end of the night, before I get back to my hotel, I'm going to come up with ten short stories all bearing titles of The Only Ones's 1978 debut. And, for the record, I did. (Imagine crowbarring plots into titles like "No Peace For The Wicked" and "Another Girl, Another Planet". To this day, I dread to reread the finished stories.)

Which is all to say: I have this odd personal connection with Peter Perrett, and it certainly helps that he is a fantastic songwriter who at the age of 72 and after years of heroin addiction, can release a double album as good as this. 

Quite frankly, I loved the album so much on my first listen that for a while I was afraid to listen to it again. What if it doesn't hold up? What if this vulnerable power-pop fails on closer inspection? But no. The more I listened to the album, the more impressed I was. True, Peter Perrett has been having something of a resurgence lately (this is his third album in seven years), and the man has always been about quality rather than quantity (The Cleansing is only his eighth studio album as a frontman or a solo artist). But still I was not prepared for this. 'The album is in need of some judicial pruning', a Guardian critic wrote in his otherwise glowing review. Bullshit. There is not a second wasted on the whole thing.

The Cleansing is a work of great confidence and experience. There is a lot of darkness on the album (the haunting, piano-based "All That Time") but also a lot of light ("Fountain Of You" is one of those love anthems he could always do so effortlessly) and even playfulness ("Secret Taliban Wife" is a perfect pop song with a dark lyrical twist). And it is all infused with Perrett's melodic wit that has never really left him. Songs like "Do Not Resuscitate" or "Back In The Hole" will make you wonder if there are too many living artists who are able to wring freshness and charm out of the simplest guitar progressions. Andrew Marr and Bobby Gillespie are famous guests here, but I am especially impressed by the contributions from Fontaines DC's Carlo O'Connell who cowrote three songs and added this beautiful sinister edge to "Kill A Franco Spy" and the aforementioned "All That Time".

But I guess there is no reason to namecheck every song (see the short version of this review). The point is, Peter Perrett has released his quintessential album after 50 years of recording music. Consistent, tuneful, beautifully arranged. And, sadly, it might be his last (as the man himself has hinted on a few occasions). Lyrics of songs like "I Wanna Go With Dignity" certainly point in that direction. 

Next year, he will be doing his brief tour in Europe, and the very last concert will be played at the start of March in Madrid. Sometimes the sheer symbolism of life becomes overwhelming, and I do not think it took me longer than a few seconds to realise that I simply have to be there. Some things just come full circle. The best things in life, perhaps. 'I'll go anywhere if it gets me home', indeed.

November Round-Up

Just how many babies has Robert Smith killed in his life to still have a voice like that?! 

Back in 2008, I was a university student and did not even care for The Cure. 4:13 Dream came and went without leaving much of an impression. Sixteen years have passed, though, and boy do I care now. Ever since I heard the gorgeous, monumental "And Nothing Is Forever" at a concert in 2022, I have been waiting for the announcement that kept being pushed back in that inimitable Robert Smith fashion. So what do we have here?.. Songs Of A Lost World sounds like a warmer, deeper Disintegration, and that is all I ever wanted from The Cure at this point. They won't give me another Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (live, Smith sleepwalks through his pop songs anyway), but this is a near-masterpiece. Classic build-ups, beautiful tunes, and that fucking voice. Wow. 

Sadly, for every great album this month (and there have been a few), we got something of the 'good but who cares' variety. Kim Deal, for instance, has released her first ever solo album. Nobody Loves You More is full of snappy, neat little songs (the whole thing is over in 35 minutes) but other than the closing, soaring "A Good Time Pushed", the album has diversity but lacks truly signature tunes. Beats Frank Black's latest quite handily, anyway.

Du Blonde's new album is this incessant, slightly obnoxious glam pop of absolutely killer quality. I do miss the underproduced, understated charms of Homecoming, her previous album, but Sniff More Gritty is pretty much impeccable. Clearly songs do not get any catchier than "TV Star" and "Next Big Thing", but her softer side is rather heard-hitting, too (the sweeping ballad "Out of a Million" is almost as good as "After the Show" from 2015). Elsewhere, the pop punk verses of "Solitary Individual" are a little too Green Day for my tastes, but "ICU" is like this great understated hook-line that lasts for almost three minutes and never lets go. Aesthetically I may have questions, and the lyrics do not always work, but God what a great songwriter she is.

Not something I could say about the Mount Eerie guy. He may be a big hit with music critics and RYM fanatics, but his new album that everyone is going crazy about is just this endless lo-fi mess. The man can't hold a tune to save his life and this idea that he should release whatever noise loop or a snippet of a drone or a figment of a primitive folk melody that come into his head is just plain wrong. A Crow Looked at Me was massively overrated, and so is Night Palace. I'm this close to calling him a charlatan and this whole thing a pathetic hoax. Rarely have I seen such egregious disproportion between talent and acclaim. 

Slightly better is the situation with Joshua Tillman (better known as Father John Misty - oh God how I hate that name) who has just released his sixth solo album. Mahashmashana starts off beautifully with a lengthy, sweeping title song that is like a cross between George Harrison and Elton John. The rest of the album is a somewhat frustrating listen, veering from overlong and dull ("Mental Health") to overlong and playfully entertaining ("I Guess Time Just Makes Fools Of Us All"). I find him pretentious but not unbearably so.

I would have totally missed the new Wussy album had it not been for a timely reminder from Spotify. The only problem (or perhaps its biggest asset?) with Cincinnati Ohio is that it is pretty much exactly what you would expect: confident indie Americana drowned in tasteful raggedness and undeniable melodic wit. Little here approaches the highs of Funeral Dress (their best album, still), but rocking songs like "Inhaler" and especially the opening "The Great Divide" are instant classics. I'm a little cooler on the slow-burning ballads, but Wussy's music always gets better with further listens.

Another good, worthy album that I won't be returning to any time soon is Michael Kiwanuka's Small Changes. Smooth, well-produced LP that is all spirituality and soulful vibes. I guess if you liked Michael's past work (I mostly know him through his 2019 breakthrough), you will probably find a lot to relate to here. Sadly, Small Changes feels to me like spirituality without catharsis... Or else a good album that never threatens to be great. 

Finally, it was a sad day back in 2019 when I found out that The Flaming Stars (who on certain days I consider to be the best band in the world) were no more, and I was moved to write this piece. November saw the release of the first Flaming Stars-related album of original material since then. Max Décharné's Night Darkens The Streets LP. Kris Needs of Record Collector has called it the coolest album of 2024, and that's what it is. Literate, stylish, nocturnal music that goes from impossibly beautiful late-night balladry (the vibraphone-based "Doctor Caligari Will See You Now") to toe-tapping rockabilly boogie ("Last Diner On the Last Highway"). Played in its entirety by Max Décharné himself, this is all very much reminiscent of The Flaming Stars at their most vulnerable and stripped down. One of my personal albums of the year, easily.   

Songs of the Month:

"Those Places" - Max Décharné

"And Nothing Is Forever" - The Cure

"Kill A Franco Spy" - Peter Perrett

"ICU" - Du Blonde

"The Great Divide" - Wussy

"A Good Time Pushed" - Kim Deal

"Mahashmashana" - Father John Misty