Portland's Sunset Valley.

Fuck me with the cold end of a pogo stick, if they ain't all retarded, fifth generation, hand-me-down Brit wannabes - kinda like their peers Dandy Warhols without the looks or the drug supply. The fact their three guitarists have learnt to play their instruments simultaneously does not mean they should feel the need to inflict their prosaic sound on other ears. Disinterested? If they had any less imagination, they'd be End DJs. Drone is not a musical sound. It is a description of a very boring person indeed, or a jobsworth.

Talk about the law of diminishing returns...

I don't fucking understand America. They have all this space, and all their complacency, corpulence and... therapy. You know the problem with this country is that its people don't have any real problems. All Americans have is their fucking subcultures and mannered handshakes: how can alternative music mean anything when it's been so effectively compartmentalized? Saturday night, I watched a hippy/punk band with no shoes tell an audience in Olympia to think before they bought records they heard on radio. Oh, very revolutionary. That's like telling a music fan Smashing Pumpkins stink-like overdone, broiled broccoli with a puffy-faced slapheaded mainman farting in a saucepan for a starter.

Everything in context.

©Everett True 1998.