liberty punk "the irony of the information age is that it's given new respectability to uninformed opinion."
Monday, April 07, 2003
Today: It's snowing, a lot. It's April God-Damn 7th, and it's snowing like a mad bastard outside. Like a flip dark chill winter bastard, though dry. To everyone who goes around parrotting that global-warming horseshit: I hate you, and you're stupid as hell. Eat me.
On the Weekend: Drive-Thru Records Soundalike Band # 48, also known as Finch, played in my store on Saturday. These young geniuses, gazing down from the stage at the 300 teenaged girls gathered to hear them play their formulaic, watered-down-angsty brand of hardcorey emo, took it upon themselves to share their thoughts on foreign policy and our current administration. "Fuck Bush," read a sticker on the bass player's guitar. Clever, I thought. One of the singers wore a gray t-shirt emblazoned with the ever-present-among-hippies-and-mushbrained-punks silouhetted visage of Che Guevara. Not as clever, I thought. Dumb, I thought. "This song is about the big hole in George Bush's head," exclaimed the vocalist before they launched into another of their painfully predictable paint-by-numbers songs about missing their girlfriends and writing letters to their girlfriends in which they explain how their girlfriends have, once again (they do it all the time, those wacky girlfriends!), broken their hearts.
I think I'll take this time to remind Finch of a few important things. I can talk tough here, without fear of retribution, because this is a website and not real life. Here we go:
1) You are Finch. Not Pearl Jam.
2) You are Finch, and you are on Drive-Thru Records. Having a recording contract with Drive-Thru Records does not grant you the magical powers of having thinking people give one tin shit about the light, airy fluff that twirls around inside your heads. Sing your two-minute songs about how your girlfriend fucked a football player in the janitor's closet while you were taking an algebra test, then go the fuck home and count your money and do it quietly.
3) You are Finch, and nobody cares. Nobody who counts, anyway.
P.S. 4) Just what kind of magnificent idiots are you, wearing Che Guevara t-shirts? You are Finch. Go to the library, they have books there.