Devon Welsh - Come With Me If You Want To Live (Black Vinyl)

We were screaming down the freeway. Fifty miles above the speed limit. God, if you’re out there, now’s a good time. Devon Welsh—bulging delts, throbbing forearm veins, sweat dripping from his forehead—had just offered me a chance to change my life. Now, as the rearview mirror’s orange glow showed a city smoldering, a world turning to ash, I knew I, a humble music journalist, had no choice but to accept. Explosions and sirens boomed and whined in the distance. We were listening to a copy of Welsh's new album, Come With Me If You Want To Live, as part of a feature I was writing on the record. Welsh's work had always foregrounded melodic accessibility and lyrics with an earned directness. As his artistic path diverged from the status quo, he grew more and more comfortable with iconoclasm and more comfortable inhabiting the spotlight. Against all odds, his career had gradually given him pop stardom—the kind that would have once accommodated perfume brands in your name, or let your hologram play festivals after you died. Welsh had become one of the most recognizable faces in America 2, with one of the most recognizable physiques: Rambo meets Arnold, with a dash of Houdini. But as his star rose, so did his infamy. Various freedoms had become privileges reserved for the elite. Welsh had a penchant for dissent, and now he had top billing on the country’s most-wanted list.