Fuck damnit, I’m slow. Like, folk been talkin’ ’bout the Fatties for decades now. Same way folk been sayin’ that Taylor Swift album is really somethin’. Well, not the exact same way but similar, ya dig? With the newfound enthusiasm of the born-again pop/indie fan (delete as applicable). Like, somehow it’s being darin’ or risky […]
Spelling is not at a premium. Bowels will be tickled.
I am often asking a boyfriend to consider rocking the moustache – if only for a week.
Vice has them as, “The Black Lips with boobs”. Man, and they say the art of music criticism is dead.
Heroin chic. Swirling My Bloody Valentine guitars. Attitude fuelled by drugs. It’s been a while since I fell for that.
Maybe you too aren’t lucky enough to exist within the reach of the post-No Age kids, and aren’t a Vice editor. Don’t be worried. Come enjoy this. Music to make you swoon.
Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely stupid.