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Freewave Lucifer f<ck f​^​ck f>ck

by of Montreal

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Vemrill
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Vemrill rigid stressful and elegant. so compact & unlike anything i can recall Favorite track: Après Thee Dèclassè.
lastofarcadia
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lastofarcadia This is a great album. Kevin is a genius at synthesizing so many different genres and elucidating very complex existential and metaphysical topics and emotions. This,” album is rich and beautiful! Great stuff!
Raine
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Raine album made me see visions of the angels. very good psychedelic experience Favorite track: Après Thee Dèclassè.
rocketredfern
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rocketredfern holy shit of Montreal has channelled Bowie in a capitalist realist meat grinder Favorite track: Blab Sabbath Lathe of Maiden.
Einin Ku
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Einin Ku this is one of their weaker albums but still fun to listen to
danzzta
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danzzta it's actually perfect Favorite track: Ofrenda-Flanger-Ego-à Gogo.
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1.
in the sensory overload chamber massage the android until it turns on die once every three minutes, something to look forward to throughout your day when people ask me my gender I just tell them brunette oh their brains are on peroxide, phony pride speaks only when it should’ve cried naifs in decay return into TV, depression stunned celebs who are suborning people who need people to get in your face catalog a new low and England is rife with lurchers a jasmine chorus of mountain cur, she loves her Bowie-eyed bat faced girl the shadow’s attempt on my life, autumn breaks it’s back for new hauntings we saw the White Witch of Glenwood then got high and watched ourselves as re-runs in lemon-tinted glass fans curb auto-cleft musicians to play together pages of sound arc Andalusian raga the bloated influencer in repose in the part of the brain that karma allows anyone perfect to be chic maybe we should fight it always seems to make everything better forget your mind it’s not going anywhere, or it’s going everywhere, which amounts to the same thing graveyard pinhead straddled ghouled tears of worm for somber tuft slitherer of eternal bate, withholding naked calf brunette drowning partner, itself’s forehead blood hiding the left hand to hovering mischief’s single dimension mis-cast imitator dance, tell a joke, worsen the mood listen to me the ultimate purpose of white magic is to make my face gleam with seven rays of ice cape heaps birds of no paradise in Ganzfeld experiments feeding hours fulminate evil serotonin uptake inhibitors it’s a good night to cry, I don’t have any tears left, it’s a good night to cry, I don’t have any tears left, it’s a fine night to cry depression eels committing thought crimes, how does it feel to be a bust?
2.
Moderation cannibal Edward Hopper sighing on canvas, I need every reference Ofrenda in flames, too many dead flowers for the survived Far too too far gone weeping sorority that spectate anything but themselves Phoebe fakes orgasms has a career, Phoebe fakes orgasms nobody hears My lover’s prayer is dripping in psychosis humming “If I Only Had A Brain” humming “If I Only Had A Brain” humming Unsuspected thank you for noticing unattractive people have instant pathos Apotheosis of apotropaic Neuromancers naturally animals shit the room where we’re doing confrontational yoga Ex’s are cacti all A.I. has gone dry, Ex’s are cacti all A.I. has gone dry
3.
Lovers like us lovers like us don’t cast coal into our bedroom eyes tragic dancer Lovers like us lovers like us desire ends fear by causing it’s voyeurless glamour Fear energy extractor on high watching liquids drip from her son My treat limited coherency anticipate a posi result I’m a mutt I drink human blood my mistake did I mention I’m a stud? I saw you on the airplane even though I wasn’t there either to say It’s okay no you don’t have to dream if you don’t want to chop off a finger every time that you make a mistake You as the man in me is the woman staging in trouble Lovers like us lovers like us don’t cast coal into our bedroom eyes tragic dancer Lovers like us lovers like us desire ends fear by causing it’s voyeurless glamour Don’t worry nothing can hurt you unless you really don’t want it to Opt into the game solipsist so hard to long con to nowhere I’m just like Molly I cannot cry, only spit when my heart is breaking I have reams of wild country messa black and cacti spike we sang It’s okay no you don’t have to dream if you don’t want to chop off a finger every time that you make a mistake You as the man in me is the woman staging in trouble I was creaming when I wrote this so forgive me if it makes you wet If there’s any position you can’t cum in I haven’t found it yet We played “chase the fox” and other sorted roles Dreaming is the place where we can all finally lose control You spark my joy you ought to know I was creaming when I wrote this so forgive me if I make a mess All I want to do is watch you getting off on your success All of our secret anxieties have washed up on the shore you spark my joy for ever more Deride a ride-swan gang a bong lovers like us opt into the game or remain hostile evidence that overly psychic songs are easy Drown the eyes of that which pissed our ocean’s entire hexagram clarity leopard-sense kinked for antherozoidic balletic rude boys’ insemination
4.
I was a pussy in case he’s a cunt mood is a frown and I hope that it brings you down I hope it brings you down I was offensive or he was a twat a face in the ground and I hope that it brings you down I hope it brings you down Nobody asked you pretend like you care there’s a splinter in your gown and I hope that it brings you down I hope it brings you down I’m glad that’s gruesome bloody remnants of Alice Ann Bailey unsweetened for your displeasure wheezing competitors I have a hunch that Knowledge is arrived at through abstraction music languishes in restive air Earth Angel abuse my substance Sex gelatine miasma Blavatskian Millenarian movement of theosophist scorned through mediumistic contact every tree dreams of blotting out the sky She’s in his thorn of crowns and I hope that it brings you down Is it important to say black chrome rodents? I really hope it brings you down Even love has cold hands when logic is the enemy Incentives to return into the sea-caves, joro spiders menacing the eves, foreign voices beading on my hands and I am the demiurge of dead books One more story of Lovers Rock what’s your worst trance I score to hold you in perfect hexagram I am a de-activist like birds of paradise lost I can’t wait until you love my rose Hahahahahahahahaha Every priest a gossip girl every journalist a narc, fill your head with things you loath lonely boy shit posting on a bench in McCarren Park Hahahahahahahahahaha Photographer of Coprophagic turrets insects strike a chord the chemical castration of Turing black chrome rodents of fallow seasons and I hope it brings you down And I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down He said getting hit doesn’t hurt if you daydream decalcomania experimental prisoner crossed eyes sighs “liberation is too creepy” and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down don’t look for yourself in trauma tears of worm worsen the nude mood follicles maternal erection S&M addendum
5.
Humans are flammable at misery Monday as accent lick the fondant bell my teenage heart stomps out for geek static you don’t say what you do not sing with your eyes which is fine by me Laced laid heckler to black cell ballast my fuck castle un-submarined that wanted both her realms to be daft you do not say that which you do not sing with your eyes which is fine by me My mind like a puck on the ice, when I am being withholding that’s me trying to be nice Falling in love with you all over again inveterate troublemaker falling in love with you all over again (Beheading games beheading games beheading games) I don’t need God, if I have you, what would I do with it? Falling in love with you all over again in the depths of your ignorance As wolf-wife you do suffer hormone catheters stain your crown Black Sabbath that’s an easy upper ego in flames beheading games Arctic brats breaking their glass hymens hear them shattering I was looking in the dirty mirror trying to be anyone less ugly when nobody’s around He asked me if my experience with suicide has always been sex positive As the bartender kicked away the stool for reaching top shelf mescal he told me that the head he gives is queer but he is straight It’s impossible to make it to the end without feeling cold though I’m just waiting on a friend I’m just waiting
6.
Burn out ideas repetition is key to madness abduction four puffs makes me a cartoon an expressionlessistic surveilled artist okay There’s no human pain in my voice it’s something else’s What if she’s just a conversation I am having with myself? Put me on a pedestal I’m wasted you can be so creative with refuse Only fame can make someone a has-been, she sleeps with her fans ‘cause they are faceless Knowing someone’s name makes it feel sleazy, being seen is actual self-mutilation Son of cemetery shopping wives only titter at rare mouth cuisine of single fake eye The triplets of migraines bath in menstruation pools, towels stay white wow it’s magic Sword play gives girls periods, I’m joking, the anti-form pervert bites his pillow His stomach orgasms in black plasma cause the stalker knows no nuance Put me on a pedestal I’m wasted we can be so creative with refuse Only fame can make someone a failure, she sleeps with her fans ‘cause they are echoes Refractions of raw sketches of pleasure, being seen is actual self-mutilation Now he bites his weapon to do self-care publicly it’s suction time being the fuck of the funeral Compete for my love, be so dumb be so sweet, she’s my only exalted one Christina
7.
Hmmm 05:14
Grief is an anvil to the skull, grief has an echo that lives in silences, inside of silences Grief is the black ink that rushes to fill in the void she left When nothing is okay, you knowing that you’re not alone only makes it feel sadder Loss is an evil light that takes root behind your eyes illuminating what you’re not ready to see and won’t let you turn away and won’t let you un-hear the venom that it has to say When everything is fucked, you knowing that you’re not alone only makes it even sadder Slumping in alleys swallowing voices cruise shaped war windows no one’s happy here we think too much of ourselves yet it’s still not enough You’re having a plot twist, I send an asylum of good luck Ergo we’re equals is easily a mess to unwound a changing line positing a question hex to impress some Rude Boy Thomas once famously said “the novel of bullshit is dead” though all the people can’t be all dog all the time, he wants you to know he’s joking even when he isn’t The cat-o-nine detects avant-garde, properly possess the shape, the hokey psychos in cardigans, I’ll only get to heaven if I’m written in (that’s your line) No musicians to play/pay, guitars refuse the work, the flanger is in flames, the best shit is apropos of nothing so Ergo we’re equals is easily a mess to unwound a changing line positing a question hex to impress some Rude Boy Thomas once famously said “the novel of bullshit is dead” though all the people can’t be all dog all the time, he wants you to know he’s joking even when he isn’t

about

When creators f<ck with how we experience time and space, great fictions emerge: Clive Barker's Imajica, Andrei Tarkovsky's sci-fi classic Solaris, and Godard's Alphaville. But what happens to artists when the flow of time gets f^cked up IRL? When an hour stretches into eternity, and the voices in your head begin to echo through empty rooms?

If you’re Kevin Barnes, the creative visionary behind of Montreal, Freewave Lucifer f<ck f^ck f>ck happens.


Isolation and uncertainty loomed throughout the genesis of the band’s latest studio album. “The experience of just trying to keep my head above water and navigate through the last couple years played a huge role in this record,” says Barnes.

These expansive selections contrast markedly with the focused pop of 2020’s UR FUN, which was crafted for visceral thrills and the concert stage. As it was for countless musicians around the world, the inability to tour eliminated one of the linchpins of Barnes’ creative process. “I didn’t know if we’d ever tour again, so I didn’t consider that side of things.” Denied social interaction and diverse experiences, Barnes delved inward.

Barnes contemplated how time functions in music and experimented accordingly. These new songs, dense with ideas but short on repetition, feel epic in scope despite reasonable running times. Like the staircases of M.C. Escher’s Relativity, the discrete sections of “Marijuana’s A Working Woman” and “Blab Sabbath Lathe of Maiden” crisscross and pivot, confounding the senses yet commanding attention.

The imagery and sentiments that bubble forth from Barnes’ lyrical wordplay prove equally disorienting. “Is it important to say black chrome rodents?,” asks Barnes on “Après The Déclassé.” Phrases borne of free association took on new meaning when introduced into a song. “It’s like collaborating with my subconscious in a way. It feels deeply personal, even though I don’t necessarily understand it at that moment.”

“Marijuana’s A Working Woman'' juxtaposes oddball funk a la Zapp or Rick James with nods to Alice Anne Baily’s 19th century spiritualism. “Modern Art Bewilders” zigzags between baroque psychedelic idyll and synthpop tantrum, equal parts Sgt. Pepper’s and Gary Numan. Other influences woven throughout include realist painter Edward Hopper, fantasy author Ursula K. Le Guin, cinéaste Pedro Almodovar, and erotic illustrator Toshio Saeki.

Barnes likens their compositional process to making collages from seemingly unrelated source materials, combining them in provocative ways to reveal new meanings. “I wasn’t working with specific themes that I wanted to try and stretch over a three-minute pop song. It was sewing together a lot of fragmented thoughts,” which ties in nicely to the ‘freewave’ aspect of the album title’s meaning. As Barnes explains, “Freewave is my term for wild and intractable artistic expression. Lucifer is the angel of enlightenment and elucidation. Fuck is something we say when things are going really well, or really badly.”

As for anything else going on behind the scenes during the genesis of Freewave Lucifer f<ck f^ck f>ck, Barnes opts to preserve the mystery. “Sometimes in the past, I felt it was important for people to know certain things, so they could get into a specific headspace.” Not this time. “The last couple of years laid a heavy trip on everybody’s psyche. There are plenty of universal things here to identify with.”

credits

released July 29, 2022

All songs written, performed, produced and mixed by Kevin Barnes at Sunlandic Studios July-December 2021
Mastered by Mike Nolte
Art by David Barnes (The Bee With Wheels)
Design by Christina Schneider

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