Now, usually I neither care for nor completely acknowledge the existence of your ignorant and- frequently- bigoted opinion, but for the purposes of rhetoric, I’m taking rare counsel with you decrepit losers: which decade was or is the best for music?
Take your time, I’ll give you a while to think:
Firstly, there’s an elephant in the room here: what the heavens to murgatroyd is Sun Kil Moon’s name supposed to be? Is it a pun?? A pun on Ban Ki Moon?? Because that’s just… just… awful. And probably a bit racist
Oooooooooh, I’ve just Googled it: there was actually a Korean boxer called Moon Song-Kil/Song-Kil Moon. OK, I’ll allow that
I almost absolutely love Chairlift, and I’m almost devastated they recently split up…
+1
Their command of pop music- unarguably the greatest artform human life has thus far managed to conceive- is exquisite, and ‘Moth’ (like it +1) has ten superlative examples of their craft
OK, let’s first address the elephant in the room: I read a remarkable think piece in The Economist recently that broached the conspiracy theory that Ms Spektor’s name doesn’t actually rhyme with ‘vagina’. This is obviously #FakeNews and should not under any circumstances be tolerated
I mean, maybe once in bloody Moscow Ms Spektor might have refrained from that pronunciation, as in the bloody Commie Ruskie language it wouldn’t have had the same impact, but I think we can safely assume that she is well aware of its power now. I mean, why wouldn’t you encourage that? I would kill to have my name potentially rhyme with a woman’s genitals. But no, I’m just plain old Alexander Sveti-Hollogs
God damn– I say God damn!- I used to adore Ms Vagina, she released two albums of absolutely masterful indie pop that managed to expertly combine flashes of arch Soviet weirdness with an unquenchable pop spark, without ever amounting to anything less than utter beauty
Jeez, I was just 20 minutes ago on the bus from visiting a ‘friend’ in Hyde, and when we arrived at the final destination of the bright lights, big city of Ashton-under-Lyne
The cracks first started to appear in the marriage to my fourth wife, Fedlimid-Harper, rather early on. On the honeymoon, in fact. I was kind enough to pay for two whole nights in the Scarborough Ainsley Court guest house, allowing her use of the bathroom between the hours of three and four in the morning and stating that- although I couldn’t allow her free use of the WiFi for fear of her getting radicalised and/or aroused- she would be allowed to ask me seven questions over the course of the trip which I would happily Google for her
Since you wondered, the questions she asked were:
I don’t think there was an album released in 2016 that I more desperately wanted to love than Hinds’ debut. Apart from Damien Lazarus’s. And The Joy Formiddable’s. And M83’s (which I felt so apathetic towards it didn’t even make the list). And Nick Cave
Wait…
So there’s the Olsen Twins, yeah? And there’s that one in the ‘Avengers’ film with the magic ability to do absolute anything that the plot requires at that moment, and now there’s Angel Olsen, so how many of them are there in total? Is it four different Olsen’s? Or is there actually just one Olsen, and our belief that there are more is a shadowy conspiracy by the Illuminati/Jews to hide Barack Hussein Obama’s real birthplace in order to pretend that Tupac is dead?
Jesus, this incredible album is only 94th?? Another reason why
Necessary Evil 