How NOT to write about music – 83. Psychedelic Porn Crumpets

In places it sounds almost exactly like, precisely, you know, similar to although not  plagiarising, I mean you can’t plagiarise a piece of music can you?, reminiscent of, paying tribute to, borrowing heavily from, sampling, lifting, interpreting, moving on from, bouncing merrily upwards, sort of, kinda, a bit like, that song you all liked from several years ago, a while back, yesterday, some distant future, the past, helpless, though not totally, not in a bad way, all art builds on what went before unless it’s Oasis, no, you know, similar to, in essence the same, probably the same city, the same suburb, the same recording studio, the same street, the same musicians, brothers, the same chord structure, rhythms, but NO!, has its own identity, ways of seeing, ways of hearing, ways of balancing, that tune, you know, the one even people who didn’t like this music had to admit they liked, unless they didn’t, and even the people who did like this music had to admit was not bad whatsoever, unless they didn’t, grudgingly, pityingly, knowingly, willingly, I worked out minutes ago which one it is, I wonder if you have yet?, warped, warped-out, delicious, deliciously fuzzy, hazy stoner, hazy stoner grooves, not mind expanding, but why would you want your mind expanded, ain’t it big enough as it is?

Crap name, though.