How NOT to write about music – 117. Remember Sports

The temptation is never to give in to temptation. Some music you should not try to resist, however strong the temptation. Some music it just ain’t worth the fuck to resist. I spend half my time when I hear great shit like this trying to remember the other great shit it reminds me of but what the fuck is the point of that? This makes me want to trace elephants, tumble down the aisle with a ring of commuters holding my hands, cartwheel across infinity and scream into the silence. This music makes me miss whole forbidden areas of Australia. This makes me to dance the street, chant the underground, race the fading taillights. This makes me want to thrash the way you’ve never seen thrash. This music is my new God. This music rails and shouts and grates and guts, but I ain’t concerned about that. Serious upfront pay attention to what I’m sayin’ here. I ain’t shit concerned about that. What I’m concerned with is…

Horrible Everett True music (© Nicky Wire 1996).

Shit, I’ve just figured it out, but man I’m just like that crazy snail inches before he meets certain crushing death on the soles of your dispassionate boots, I just love to leave trails however fucking futile. God, you bastards. LEAVE THOSE SNAILS ALONE!

To wit:

THIS IS MY MUSIC! Grunge when it was so fucken great. It makes me feel all warm and furry inside. There’s ample use of dynamics, oh yes. And humour. Some great good-humoured music and tambourines tied to ankles and kazoos and – damn it all, why did I never form a band like this? Folk would’ve welcomed me to their towns, instead of peeping furtively out from behind half-closed blinds. Folk would’ve rolled with me down hills in Louisville (oh wait, they did). Folk would’ve dragged me foaming and drunk on to stages to belt out classics from South Pacific that no one could remember. Oh wait. They did. Anyway, this is shit hot marvelous music – stripped down to where it clangs and resonates and burrs and builds heady clouds of steam and really … I want my entire hard drive filled with this noise, so I don’t ever have to hear your voice again, you doubting bastard. It’s music that makes me wish I was still back among the people of America.
Song of the day – 411: Shellshag

Yeah, fuck you as well, snail-crushing monster.