Welcome to the rabbit's hole. A blog on pulp.
Usually I don’t do provocative headlines sounding like the snot sniffing reply of a five year old. But it had to be.
I’m not gonna bash Arcade Fire because the music is the most dreadful I have ever heard since Queen. No. But, can anyone, Rene or Nico or Andreas tell my, what in Gods name is so magically in these songs that the only thing you produce is stammering?
My mother listened to Bruce Springsteen, guys. I mean, he is really god. But his songs are glamurous and sweet like my old grandma’s pillbox. Their charisma compares to the aura of a saint and they groove as much as a warm applepie. With cream.
No. Arcade Fire is milk and honey. Warm. And against illness. Rock sounds another way.
For those who still don’t believe it – listen.
Additional Pulp: And song titles like ‘Anicrist Television Blues’ are blatant enough to give me the heebie-jeebies – but they don’t add no fucking zest.