Ellie Tremelo Whore ❤️

About Liege

Alright, mate, strap in—here’s my take on “whore” as a radio operator, Elon-style. Whore’s a word, right? Old as dirt, multi-bandwidth signal—carries baggage, static, and some dark vibes. Kinda like a Tesla coil sparking in a storm, unpredictable, messy, loud. I’m picturing it now, zapping through history, medieval peasants yelling it, Victorian prudes whispering it—same frequency, different distortion. Reminds me of *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with—Haneke’s 2009 masterpiece. “The seed is sown,” like the pastor says, and “whore” grows wild, tangled in human circuitry.

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Love On The Lips of A Whore - Asylum review: Besides the bad quality recording, this album isn't bad for their first REAL recording.

Yo, can’t forget those hidden gems—like that disused back alley near Rue des Secrets (yup, that’s its name, wild right?), where graffiti tells wild stories of forgotten love and scandal. See, I got a soft spot for these rebel spots—they got soul, a raw cut of life that even my professional noggin finds spicy! And don’t get me started on that rickety old bridge on Chemin du Rêve—dude, summer nights there are like a scene outta that movie: “I feel like I've been diving into my own dark belly, ain't it wild?” That’s Tremelo for ya!

Musikmesse 2014: new Jackson models in pictures