Movement is an auditory feast. It’s no Bob Dylan but then John Lennon was no Kraftwerk, you know what I mean?
I drew the line at coprophilia.
Nice drumming. Nice backing vox.
The fantasy world that David Thomas inhabits reeks of privilege and conceit. Perhaps I expected a bit more intelligence, a bit more individuality, a bit more adventurousness to his thinking. Then again, he is a white middle-class American male. We can’t expect too much.
There’s a righteousness at the heart of these songs, a riveting freedom that makes Contemporary Indie — cute, smug, obvious, self-obsessed, eager to please — seem hilariously and stupidly irrelevant.
Robert Pollard’s language is a universe that is both abstract and familiar, a poetry informed by gray skies and basements, used cars and starch.
Pop outflanked all of its critics by making them extreme traditionalists or anti-populist cranks.
The Smile Sessions is a candle made out of wax collected from the melted wings of Icarus
I guess Bob Dylan broke one of your rules.
Men demand that women be natural and unaffected, and nowhere more so than in the world of music.