Mas Musica Por Favor
I figure, now that March is nearing its end, I should probably post here. Besides, I want to get a jump on PDawg, who will be breaking for Spring soon, and will undoubtedly begin a flurry of posting, mostly about how I never post anything. And, since my last post was about Snow Patrol, I will continue the music talk:
I like music. Love it, actually, and am always on the lookout for new bands. My brother, he’s a movie slut. He digs through the DVD bargain bin at Wal-Mart like a rat in a dumpster after a crust of bread. But, not me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love movies too, but I fancy myself more a music whore.
As I sit here, the sounds of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists pulse through my earbuds and rattle through my head (I said "rattle," not "echo," smartass). It’s an unobjectionable pop-rocky concoction that my boss dropped on my desk this morning. It’s not bad, really, just not anything that strikes me as really different or exceptionally catchy. I seem to have developed a very low tolerance for pop music over the last several years. Some of these songs are on the cusp of the trash-pop barrel. A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but I don’t think I will be acquiring a copy of this album...legally or otherwise.
Besides, I can’t seem to stop listening to the same four CDs lately: The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Muse, and Snow Patrol.
"Michael, You're the boy with all the leather hips...Sticky hair, sticky hips...Stubble on my sticky lips..."
That is the coolest song about two dudes making out, ever (‘cause I’ve heard enough songs about two dudes making out to be an authority on the subject...).
I like music. Love it, actually, and am always on the lookout for new bands. My brother, he’s a movie slut. He digs through the DVD bargain bin at Wal-Mart like a rat in a dumpster after a crust of bread. But, not me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love movies too, but I fancy myself more a music whore.
As I sit here, the sounds of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists pulse through my earbuds and rattle through my head (I said "rattle," not "echo," smartass). It’s an unobjectionable pop-rocky concoction that my boss dropped on my desk this morning. It’s not bad, really, just not anything that strikes me as really different or exceptionally catchy. I seem to have developed a very low tolerance for pop music over the last several years. Some of these songs are on the cusp of the trash-pop barrel. A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but I don’t think I will be acquiring a copy of this album...legally or otherwise.
Besides, I can’t seem to stop listening to the same four CDs lately: The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Muse, and Snow Patrol.
"Michael, You're the boy with all the leather hips...Sticky hair, sticky hips...Stubble on my sticky lips..."
That is the coolest song about two dudes making out, ever (‘cause I’ve heard enough songs about two dudes making out to be an authority on the subject...).
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