The End of Comedy drug dealer album download The End of Comedy drug dealer album download. Completing the CAPTCHA proves you are a human and gives you temporary access to the web property. What can I do to prevent this in the future? If you are on a personal connection, like at home, you can run an anti-virus scan on your device to make sure it is not infected with malware. If you are at an office or shared network, you can ask the network administrator to run a scan across the network looking for misconfigured or infected devices. Another way to prevent getting this page in the future is to use Privacy Pass. You may need to download version 2.0 now from the Chrome Web Store. Cloudflare Ray ID: 67ab4b55585e1699 • Your IP : 188.246.226.140 • Performance & security by Cloudflare. The End of Comedy drug dealer album download. Artist: Drugdealer Album: The End Of Comedy Released: 2016 Style: Indie Pop. Format: MP3 320Kbps. Tracklist: 01 – Far Rockaway Theme 02 – The Real World 03 – Suddenly 04 – Easy to Forget 05 – Were You Saying Something 06 – Theme For Alessandro 07 – It’s Only Raining Right Where You’re Standing 08 – The End Of Comedy 09 – Sea of Nothing 10 – My Life 11 – Comedy Outro. DOWNLOAD LINKS: RAPIDGATOR: DOWNLOAD HITFILE: DOWNLOAD. Drugdealer debut album The End of Comedy released September 9th. The End of Comedy is the debut album by Drugdealer , a new project conceived and conducted by Los Angeles artist Michael Collins (formerly of Run DMT, Salvia Plath) who guides a group of Angelenos including Ariel Pink and Natalie Mering (Weyes Blood) through a whimsical world informed by Jean Baudrillard, social media perception, Sergio Leone’s spaghetti western vistas and Collins’s endless travels. The first track to be shared from the album is ‘Suddenly’ featuring Weyes Blood – watch the video below and stream the track here. The End of Comedy - to be released through Weird World on September 9th - is a collection of vignettes - lucid, lysergic and organic - featuring homespun explorations of Carole King​-esque piano ballads, Bacharach-ian orchestration, the psych-​folk of Ultimate Spinach and Hendrickson Road House and even New York City subway jazz, all pulled together by Collins’s deft AOR auteurship and keen sense of humour. Throughout the record, Collins eschews the spotlight, in favour letting the ensemble shine. There are guest vocals from Ariel Pink (‘Easy to Forget’), Danny James (‘My Life’) and Natalie Mering (Weyes Blood), who brings Laurel Canyon balladry to the table on the album’s titular track. Not to mention a bona fide who's who of Collins’s mates, including members of Regal Degal, Holy Shit!, Mild High Club, Mr. Twin Sister and pals from Mac DeMarco’s band. All of these collaborators contribute essential bits and pieces that create the foundations of a beautiful, absurdist collection of songs that plays like a short film in which Collins journeys far and wide, popping in to various abodes, embracing friends old and new and casting a spell on them and us in turn. The End of Comedy will be available on CD (WEIRD49CD), LP (WEIRD49LP) and digitally (WEIRD49D) as of Friday 9th September. All pre-orders come with instant grat of ‘Suddenly’. Drugdealer: The End of Comedy. The End of Comedy is the debut album from Drugdealer, a new group crafted by Los Angeles musician Michael Collins and his musical friends, all of whom work together exceptionally to grant listeners a plethora of past and present musical views. (In other words, it’s as if they are reflecting the music on which they were raised.) This vibe is showcased on both the album cover and the pleasing contents within; in fact, the record made me smile from beginning to end. The LP’s first actual song, “The Real World (feat. Sheer Agony)”, combines bending guitar riffs and breezy strumming to easily resemble much of George Harrison’s solo work. Luckily, this trend is present throughout the album (particularly when Collins performs a solo). Along the same lines, the lyrics reflect their shared histories of hallucinogenic drug habits before leading to post-comedown spirituality and an appreciation of the living natural world. Take the following line, for example: “But please don’t ever turn your face from the real world / It’s such a psychedelic place / The real world.” The aural Beatles references also pour out on “It’s Only Raining Right Where You’re Standing”, although this song ends up being the weakest on the album because it does the least to add to this homage. “Sea of Nothing” doesn’t sound as inspired, even if the name fits right in with those from the Yellow Submarine soundtrack. Despite its see-sawing Western electronic sound teetering well (which is reminiscent of some Gorillaz and Beck material), the one-segment track really doesn’t have to be around two minutes longer than the album’s other songs (especially since they’re multi-sectioned). To be fair, this is really the only qualm I have with The End of Comedy , as the same overly lengthy and repetitious issue also occurs on “Easy to Forget (feat. Ariel Pink)”. That track has an incredibly charming beginning, but then it jumps into a singular type of chorus for the rest of its duration. That being said, the repetition here is interesting enough because its melody is gripping (in a way, it’s like picking up a guitar while inebriated and playing a choice lick over and over again). With a beginning section this good, it’s a wonder why Drugdealer doesn’t choose to employ the same trick (moving back and forth between two contrasting, cool sections) on other tracks. The two songs featuring Weyes Blood — “Suddenly” and “The End of Comedy” — employ this tactic, and are shining examples of how the album art shows off the ‘dimensions’ of its music. These two tracks are most clearly inspired by Carole King’s piano-rockers. If the earlier track, “Suddenly”, stems from “It’s Too Late”, then “The End of Comedy” is rooted in “I Feel the Earth Move”. Shades of the Bee Gees and a more relaxed Tame Impala also ring through the groovy chorus of the former, and Todd Rundgren’s admittedly King-inspired “I Saw the Light” shines through on the latter. Parts of the vocal melody and piano pairing in both songs also evoke the Beach Boys’ “Disney Girls”. Elsewhere, the same separation of airy passages and fun ones is instead reminiscent of the Moody Blues’ “My Life”. The album’s “Theme” pieces touch on the sadness of real life, with the intro track telling us that a very bluesy place is over yonder, in “Far Rockaway”, as if our lives are the movies that get soundtracked by the tunes we choose to hear (as cheesy as it sounds, we’re the stars in our life stories, after all). The middle one, “Theme for Alessandro”, truly recalls the instrumentation on The Beach Boys’ revered Pet Sounds , albeit in a much calmer way. As for the finale, “Comedy Outro”, it summarizes the album’s nostalgic vibes with a beautiful instrumental cushion on which to land. At first, I was disappointed by this brevity, but then I realized that the thirty-one minute run time is perfect for conveying its effects. Also, the best of the Collins-only tracks is “Were You Saying Something?”, a hypnotizing living-through-chemistry anthem highlighted by a simple trifecta of Collins’ voice, a spaciously jangly guitar, and *spoiler alert!* a MAGical woodwind accompaniment. This demonstrates that while he can certainly make some incredible music all on his own, the fact that he brings in a group of friends to share in the creation and spotlight is respectable and selfless. “With a little help from [his] friends”, he made an album so short and sweet that it’s likely all you’ll want to listen to for a long time. Why not dig into it and smile with me? The End of Comedy. For his latest psychedelic pop record, Michael Collins enlisted Ariel Pink, Weyes Blood, and members of the Mac DeMarco band, among others. It’s Collins’ most focused effort yet. Featured Tracks: The band names that Michael Collins chooses for his dazed pop projects function as tests of faith. He’s operated under the monikers Run DMT and Salvia Plath, made surreal soul and funk as half of Silk Rhodes, and his latest record comes as Drugdealer. Each choice has been a little goofy and somewhat dumb. But these words are also imbued with the pupil-dilated honesty that comes when you dabble with the sort of mind-expanding substances he’s nodding to. There’s always been more to it than just grinning jokes: the names are bellwethers that let you know if you’ll relate to Collins’ perspective, not indicators of the quality or content of the songs themselves. If people detest the names, Collins said in a 2013 interview, “they probably won’t really like the songs, and that’s just a-ok with me.” Despite the name, Collins is framing this Drugdealer effort as a new beginning. The title— The End of Comedy —can be read as a way of buttoning up the past, moving onward to sweetness and sincerity. But that is, in a sense, what he’s been doing all along. Hidden underneath titles like Bong Voyage , One Hitter Wonders , and Get Ripped or Die Trying is a serious songwriter who’s more in touch with the world around him than his jokes suggest. Now that Collins has a few extra sets of hands around, that’s highlighted even further. Ariel Pink, Weyes Blood’s Natalie Mering, members of Mac DeMarco’s live band, and the Montreal freaks in Sheer Agony all turn up over the course of The End of Comedy ’s 11 tracks. They smooth out some of Collins’ stranger—and occasionally, more grating—tendencies. There’s no rambly spoken word pieces about DMT trips or distended drone works. Instead, there’s things like “Suddenly,” a slowly unravelling pop song about joy, newness, and unexpected realizations. The lyrics— sung by Mering—are loose and abstract, but after meandering in the dark a bit, she sees the rise of the morning sun, and with it comes a wave of comfort: “Now I feel like I’m home again.” Even its lyrics are delirious and psychedelic. It’s the sort of song Collins has been writing, or trying to write, over his whole career, but delivered in a much more clear-headed way. That lucidity becomes the defining characteristic of The End of Comedy . There’s a newfound focus that was missing even on Salvia Plath’s The Bardo Story and Silk Rhodes’ self-titled—two relatively hi-fi works by Collins’ standards. Previously, Collins has fogged his more produced recordings with dizzy arrangements, but now he’s able to turn even the lazily strummed acoustics and heavy-lidded slide work of “Easy to Forget” into something purposeful. Ariel Pink, also operating in his surprisingly sincere mode, pens an ode to confusion and amnesia, but Collins breathes life into it, stopping and starting the instrumental in ways that propel what should be a stoned, slippery song. Comedy, in fact, is not necessarily gone. Collins still takes time to use a convoluted metaphor about rolling spliffs during the heatwave plod of “Sea of Nothing.” But what surrounds the peculiar humor is carefully considered in a way that few of his recordings have been. Collins’ work has always had this potential—the untamed electric energy of synapses pushed past their usual operating capacity. Now, with a little help from his friends, he’s finally able to shape and direct it. He’s taken a step back, and instead of aiming for a laugh, a smile will do.