-The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are the best group of musicians to come out of this fucking city since Sonic Youth. Their sound, while admittedly trapped some time around 1989, is absolutely refreshing to hear amidst the sea of good and bad bands who are abusing the instant credibility that lo-fi recordings bring these days. Noise and dissonance and art for its own sake is fine (I've been seen listening to this every once in a while.), but I think that the art of writing good pop songs has become undervalued, largely because New York has, since the late 60s, always been a place where pop=bad (Blondie excluded). Keep making great stuff, guys. Here's hoping that the second record won't suck.
-I may have seen the worst movie ever made in the past week or so. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING matches The Spirit for sheer, unadulterated ridiculousness. Boondock Saints had a ludicrous premise and a dangerously unhinged Willem Dafoe? Fine, but nobody, not even Norman Osborn, can ham it up quite like Sammy Jackson. How, exactly, can you respond to this:
No, reader. Do not try to explain it. Do not contemplate how that photo could've been taken out of context. There is no fucking context that could possibly justify the above photograph. It makes no fucking sense.
Makes no sense at all.
-That's all for now. Continue praying to the invisible people who care so little for us all.
1 comments:
I don't know, there's something suspicious about this band. I moderately enjoy their LP, but there's a bit too much of the 'Burg in these ones.
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