lying cheating vile dogs
i’ll see you in the dirt before i see you at all
im the oldest man alive
Minneapolis might call him synth pop, but Lindy‘s new single, The Oldest Man Alive, from Songs Vol. 2 with Thr33bola, doesn’t sit politely on any shelf. Lindy comes at you like someone who’s been up three nights straight staring at the ceiling fan, counting every tick of existence. Side A of the album features Lindy’s peculiar incantations; Side B is Thr33bola’s parallel universe. Together, they feel like two strange radio stations bleeding into one receiver at three in the morning.
Cocteau Twins, R. Stevie Moore, John Cale, and The Psychedelic Furs are somewhere in Songs Vol. 2’s alchemical pot, but Lindy throws them in like loose pages torn from half-burned books. He admits it plainly: “Most of my music is a therapeutic tool,” and with this track, therapy looks a lot like an exorcism taped on a four-track that’s been dropped down a flight of stairs.
The lyrics chew through their own spine. They speak from a body carrying too many years, even if most of those years were spent collapsing and resurrecting in the same cramped room. You hear someone staggering forward anyway, muttering about betrayal and sickness and the small cruelties people toss around like coins. He insists he’s the “oldest man alive,” and for a few minutes you believe him. The lines sketch a figure who fight-walks through the world, grabbing snakes “by the throat,” spitting at the “lying cheating vile dogs,” and brushing dust off wounds he won’t show again. The sense of age isn’t physical…it’s spiritual corrosion, the kind that settles in when every gesture feels like a dare from the universe.
The production feeds that sentiment. Distorted vocals wobble through the mix like broken machinery humming under a streetlamp. There’s something mysterious, something eerie, but not in the haunted-house sense; more like a pawn shop keyboard channeling They Might Be Giants on a paranormal day, or Bruce Haack’s ghost fiddling with Gary War’s delay pedals. It’s jagged, a little warm, and absolutely personal.
The video, filmed by Keaton Miller, leans into the strangeness with quiet conviction. A figure in a balaclava drifts through a nighttime park, seen under a full moon that feels too bright for comfort. Every movement is slowed to a trance-walk. He prays, he pauses, he looks like he’s waiting for a sign taped to the bottom of the sky. Miller splices in stock footage and bits of historical art, as if memory itself keeps interrupting the present. The mixture unsettles, charms, and ultimately deepens the portrait: a man carrying centuries in his bones while wandering past playground equipment at midnight.
The Oldest Man Alive gives us Lindy as a cracked prophet of his own psyche: bleary, bold, and standing dead center in his peculiar mission of survival.
Watch below:
Listen to The Oldest Man Alive below and order Songs Vol. 2 here.
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