Chelonis R. Jones
is an artist by nature. In the mid 90’s he left New York for Germany and soon belonged to the artist roster of Berlin house label Get Physical Records. Next to his singing and songwriting he spends time as a painter and poet. In autumn 2005 he released his debut album «Dislocated Genius».
The epitome of that black era. Apart from Michael Jackson's stuff.
Anything from 1970 til 1978. The natural melodic coke.
The hum and buzz inside my head after a show.
Poetic, soothing, disturbing. Something underneath the bubbles would most likely snatch me from underneath.
That entire vibe feels like traveling alone through vast spaces to me.
I don’t go to clubs other than my own shows.
Anything from the period 1969 - 1973. You’ll end up with the most psychedelic dishes.
It would make me laugh, trip over and get caught. I would then bribe the cop with a free vinyl of The Smiths’ «Hatful Of Hallow», and then go home to a cold bed.
Brilliant! Forget the date! Just play this on repeat!
These records were and will remain the soundtrack to my life.
I can’t drive, but with a driver and this soundtrack; I could see all the bridges I must desperately cross.
Check the lyrics.
Voilà!
Sexy, sexy, sexy!
It sounds like running to me.
Soothing voice, vibe, messages.
Nobody loves me at the moment. And I shan’t confess to a masturbation track!
It’s that plane theme again.
I have no family anymore. But if I still did: The Morning After.
I just love her. My concentration could be rescued.
That’s how I got the inspiration.
I can’t say why.
Fitting enough?!
Lubricates the braincells.
Another brilliant showcase for haunting emptiness.
Thom Yorke composes traffic in my opinion.
It is the most haunting song I’ve ever heard. What a way to get those batteries re-charged for the banal chores of an all-too-human day.
My hair looks better afterwards.
I love the vibe.
Gardens scare me!
Hot On The core. Nothing nowadays can touch this kind of grooveblackness. I can’t even explain it without turning into Spike Lee! Must check my blood pressure!
A blast even without the booze. The production! The voice!
Oozing in memories, sights, scents and imaginary kisses.
I was purely in love with rejection in my teens.
I love them/him (Mark E. Smith).
Nothing on earth is more anthem-NYC than this! Entirely genius!
I don’t remeber it at the moment. At this moment I’m still checking my blood pressure.
Only Roots Reggae, circa 1970-1980.
