Err, barang, slamp.

"If you're dumb enough to be able to sit through those shows without the front of your head filling with tumours, you get to vote for the performer who is retarded enough to be a comfort to you."

So then, well now. Perhaps my head has filled with tumors that I don't know about; that's probably the case, as anyone as dumb as me, who's dumb enough to have sat through those shows, is too dumb to recognize the formation of brain tumours.

I don't like writing like this. I'm not arguing with his point, which is that there's a lot of crap on the radio, but I'm certainly arguing with his specifics, which don't make any sense to me. There's that thing that Zappa guy said, or so I'm told, that "writing about music is like dancing about architecture," and that's the problem with a lot of music writers. But couple that with someone who not only writes about music but (at least seems to) take his own opinion as fact and I just get a big spikey red pain through my forehead.

Here's what he says is bad: "Formless, sensitive strumming, riff-free and invisible to memory, and a belief that their vaunted "songwriting" requires nought but muttering lots and lots of words without actually saying anything at all."

Then here's what he says is "the verse of the year":
"Hey! Beat Takeshi
I'm sitting in an English garden
The flowers are black
And the sun has been attacked
And that baby's never gonna sing..."

I sure as hell am not going to argue against the merits of that latter thing, but is it saying anything?

Baerumpo. Bing bing. Slink.

One of these days I'll get myself back to actually writing, too. Too. Too.