#Re-recording
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sonicandvisualsurprises · 2 months ago
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2003
Triple Trouble!
The snarling re-recording, the sultry original, and a twisted take by The Fall.
I was so thrilled to stumble across this incredible version of "Funnel of Love" where Wanda Jackson teams up with The Cramps for a mind-blowing revival.
Their chemistry brings her rockabilly roots together with a sinister, swampy groove, making this rendition truly unforgettable.
The original came out in
1961
As suggested by @spilladabalia here’s The Fall’s take—a jagged, off-kilter spin that only they could pull off.
Released in
2010
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michelristenpattsworld · 5 months ago
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The Signature Song- I re-recorded this in 2017 and it’s very actual again now.
It’s actually an updated version of a recording from 1991.
So I added the movie and some sound-dubs in 2017, after Trump won the elections for the first time.
Back then (1991) I used the Roland Juno 106 as the lead guitar, with overdrive(RAT) and wah wah in a fixed position.
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nileyxlove · 8 months ago
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Happy 1 Year Of '1989 Taylor's Version' 💙💙💙💙💙
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enchantedevermore · 2 years ago
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the fact that, as far as i have seen, nobody has considered the denim dress to be debut coded is a crime!!! like rep then debut!
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outofthesewoodsyet · 2 years ago
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Salt air, seagulls, and waves 🌊💙
I can’t wait for 1989 Taylor’s Version, 1989 has so much meaning to me.
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imacrispian · 28 days ago
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FUCK THAT MOTH TO THE FLAME
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doktoraudio · 5 months ago
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a year ago we mixed the film Between Us God by Rebecca Hirneise - blood, sweet, shedding, but when i hear it back it was worth it. in competition at rotterdam, now in austrian and german theatres. sound design by my man Cristi Iorga
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nelson-riddle-me-this · 9 months ago
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evermoredeluxe · 28 days ago
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Taylor congratulating Anita Baker on owning her work -> Anita Baker congratulating Taylor on owning her work ❤️
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kingofmyborrowedheart · 3 months ago
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How it feels being a longtime Taylor fan that remembers when there used to be two years between new music releases.
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bearforcecaptions · 1 month ago
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Dylan Harper had never been a man of presence.
He was the kind of guy people’s eyes skimmed over in a crowd — slight frame, short haircut, the kind of posture that folded in on itself like a question mark. He spent most of his days behind a desk in a mid-tier consulting firm, organizing data, avoiding conversations, eating his turkey sandwich in the break room while pretending to read.
But today… something was wrong.
He was in the back of a rideshare, heading home just like any other evening, when it began. At first, it was subtle: a tingling in his arms, like his skin had been lightly sunburned. He rolled up the sleeves of his cardigan and frowned. The hairs on his forearms were standing on end — but there were more of them than usual. Thicker. Darker. Spreading.
"What the hell...?" he muttered, rubbing his arm.
Then came the heat.
It surged through his chest and neck like a fever, swelling his muscles, tightening his skin. He gasped and unbuttoned his shirt collar, only to find a growing patch of coarse, black hair erupting over his pecs. His narrow chest — once soft and unimposing — was pushing outward, thickening with firm muscle, draped in a forest of fur.
His hands were trembling.
Dylan pulled out his phone, panic bubbling in his throat. He hit the front camera. What he saw didn’t match who he was. His jaw was squarer. His cheekbones more pronounced. His eyebrows looked thicker, more defined. Worst of all — or maybe best, depending on your perspective — a thick beard was creeping over his cheeks like ivy in fast-forward.
“No, no, no, no…”
He hit Record. His voice shook.
“Okay—uh—my name is Dylan Harper,” he said, almost pleading. “I work in accounting. I don’t know what’s happening right now. I was just riding home from work and—something’s happening to me. My body’s—it’s changing. I feel like I’m burning up, and I’ve got hair growing all over my chest and face, and my voice is—”
He coughed, and it came out as a growl.
“Jesus—my voice is changing too. Please—someone has to help. This isn’t right. This isn’t me.”
He moved the phone to show his chest. His once-flat torso had swelled into something broad, masculine, dusted with an ever-thickening pelt. His collarbone was hidden beneath it. His nipples were larger, darker, firm with muscle behind them. He gasped as a burst of heat filled his arms — his biceps were swelling, tearing the sleeves of his cardigan.
Dylan looked horrified.
His fingers shook as he tried to upload the video.
Upload failed.
His phone buzzed. The Photos app opened.
“Wh—what the hell? No, no—”
The screen lit up, and the video started to play. But it wasn’t the one he recorded.
On-screen was the same face… but not the same man. He was shirtless now, glistening slightly with sweat, beard thick and perfectly shaped. The chest hair that once terrified Dylan now framed him like a badge of pride. He leaned into the camera with a cocky smirk and a slow rumble in his voice.
“Hey there, stud,” he said, fingers brushing through his beard. “Name’s Dirk McLean. Big, bad, bearded, and damn proud of it.”
Dylan froze.
On the video, Dirk rolled his shoulders, his pecs flexing visibly beneath a mat of dark fur. His eyes burned with confidence, voice honeyed with flirtation.
“Just got back from the gym, thought I’d show you boys what a real man looks like. You like chest hair? I got a damn forest. Wanna touch? Bet you do. I know you’re watchin’ this with one hand already.”
“No! That’s not me! That’s not—I didn’t say any of that!” Dylan shouted at the phone, his hands trembling.
But something in him… shifted.
A numbness rolled over his thoughts like fog. The fear drained away. His mouth parted. His eyes lost focus. And then…
He found himself holding the phone again, like before. But this time, he wasn’t watching the video. He was recording it.
And he was saying it all—word for word.
“Hey there, stud,” he purred into the lens. “Name’s Dirk McLean. Big, bad, bearded, and damn proud of it.”
He grinned wide, deep voice laced with flirtation as he rubbed his fingers through his dense beard, slowly sliding down to rake across his hairy chest. He let out a satisfied growl.
“Just got back from the gym, thought I’d show you boys what a real man looks like. You like chest hair? I got a damn forest. Wanna touch? Bet you do. I know you’re watchin’ this with one hand already.”
He winked.
Dirk stopped the recording, smiling lazily. His thumb hovered over the send button — not to family, not to coworkers. Not even to anyone he’d known before.
He opened Grindr.
There was a guy nearby, profile name “MuscleChaser69.” Dirk didn’t hesitate.
Sent.
As he leaned back into the leather seat, stretching his now-massive arms behind his head, he felt no trace of Dylan Harper in his mind. The meek office drone, the nervous wreck in a cardigan — gone. His memories were foggy, faded like a bad dream. All he knew now was Dirk McLean: bold, flirty, hairy, hot as hell.
He scratched his beard, admiring himself in the reflection of the window. That smirk never left his face.
And when his phone buzzed with a “🔥” and a message saying “Damn, stud. U free tonight?” he just chuckled.
“Damn right I am.” he sent.
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obibail · 6 months ago
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"Still not helpful."
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hinamie · 1 year ago
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theyre soft your honour
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seoksoonwoo · 5 days ago
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🤍🤍🤍
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imacrispian · 28 days ago
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FUCK THAT MOTH TO THE FLAME
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doktoraudio · 6 months ago
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