Thursday, June 16, 2011


God dammit. I'm turning a distinct/peculiar shade of red with anger over a certain British band with floppy, dark, "mop-like" hair for driving their little clown car up to the music bus and kicking out all the good stuff: Satanic R&B and cheesy, anachronistic instrumental cuts with needly, wet-sounding guitar and sleazy basement musics. It doesn't take a psychologist to come down and break a bottle on the side of a ship to crown this a complete & total bummer.

At the time, it was as if everybody turned into a gaggle of weepy virgins instead of some kinda' creep that hangs out in a bar (re: basement) and says weird, vaguely veiled things to teenage girls. Ehh... maybe that's not such a great vibe. It was as if someone had replaced gin & coffee (together -- it's called a "Ray Charles") with a hot chocolate machine (::frowny face::). What's good about that? I'll tell you what: nothing!

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