[READER ADVISORY WARNING: The following review does not reach a clear conclusion about the album in question and might disturb some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.] Why aren’t I crying? I ought to be. The writing’s on the wall. No, not because of this LP. Not at all. Tiny Ruins is so grey in its […]
What could be more exciting than ascribing numerical value to music? I mean, really?
This appears to be the opposite of crazy. It’s mundane. Why would somebody describe their encounters with normal everyday situations and then call themselves crazy? Why indeed. They’d have to be delusional.
You gotta respect any artist who so clearly doesn’t give a fuck.
I want moons and stars and girls on bicycles checking themselves out in shop windows as they cycle through New York.
I don’t think anyone needs to worry about musicians losing their voices any time soon.
Men demand that women be natural and unaffected, and nowhere more so than in the world of music.