You don’t have to work for them. You don’t have to write for them.
Ball Park Music’s debut album is – and this is as much a compliment as an insult – musical premature ejaculation.
Amanda Fucking Palmer. This isn’t a gig, it’s a communion.
I love it when Radiohead write proper, hummable pop songs.
Who started the fire? Arcade Fire did.
This is music. It’s personal. It’s pheromones, not Trivial Pursuit.
Pop music that shits all over the tired, tepid male rock posturing of the other nine videos from a wonderfully giddy height.
The songwriting is outstanding: it’s like The Human League’s greatest hits in one song.
I will now re-review some of my favourite recordings through the medium of cats.
“DO YOU REMEMBER THAT BAND THAT MADE YOU DREAM ALL SUMMER LONG, THE BAND WHOSE SONGS YOU KNOW BY HEART ALL THE LYRICS? WELL, IT’S CRAP! AND SO ARE YOU!”