Jesus Mary Christ. This band would actually be great if the singer wasn’t such a useless wuss.

“I’m so afffffeccttted. I wanna be the dude frooooooom Girrrrrlsssss. But, you know baby, I just ainnnnnnn’t gottttt it.”

Put away your fucking thesaurus and your Morrissey records (no slight to you, Moz) and get a job. It’s possible that actually being forced to do something like going to work everyday will cure this ridiculous idea you have that you’re a singer. Honestly, it’s a drag because your band sounds like a scabby Echo and the Bunnymen mixed with Iggy’s band circa The Idiot and that’s a good, good thing.   It’s as if I can almost see your face while you caterwaul this bullshit and the only thing missing is my fist.

This shit is going to be playing at EVERY American Apparel for the next six months so if you don’t feel like buying it, you can always just go sit in there and watch waifs try on tie-dyed catsuits and talk about how much they want to watch silent movies and drink elaborate cocktails with this muncher while he teases his hair.

Crocodiles, if you can hear me…

Boot this dolt and get someone with enough charisma or power to keep up. [Frenchkiss]

-Alan Price


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