Estas lista
Me llega un mail de un amigo que vive en Bélgica con la siguiente lista, disfruten esta demencia o mejor dicho este modo de ver las cosas, así comienza:
"Hace poco estuve mirando listas en revistas (uncut,nme, etc) y encontre una divertida, los artistas mas sobre-evaluados o algo asi; te la envio abajo:
Barrett, Syd:
Opel. Need we say anymore? No wonder you don’t even go out for post.
Beach Boys:
They started out doing bland, half-arsed Chuck Berry ripoffs. And ended up as one man’s mad, overblown gothic folly.
Bowie, David:
That people still lap it up makes one despair at the herdlike stupidity of the human race…
Brown, James:
His entire career is based on a need to celebrate the sound of a man passing a particularly painful stool over the same, off-kilter riff. Repeated for 30 years.
Byrds:
Pioneers of country rock? Some people say that like it’s a good thing.
Captain Beefheart:
Aside from a couple of vaguely tuneful efforts, it sounds like the inmates have taken over the music room and gone to make plink-plonk while snuffing the contents of the ether cupboard. Unmitigated, discordant toss.
Clash:
Big Audio Dynamite were more consistent, fact.
Doors:
Today, any pub band in the country will offer up the same kind of dull, plodding rock that the Doors are reputed to have excelled at. Ian Astbury does it better.
Dylan, Bob:
Grisly folky nonsense from a man who wrote a clutch of great songs in the 60s and then spent four decades murdering them…
Fall:
There’s a fine line between being controversial and simply turgid, and Mark E. Smith stepped over it a long time ago.
Iggy Pop:
Why people endlessly reference Iggy as a punk instigator is beyond us – garage rock was useless then and it is now. His only value lies in his looks.
Lennon, John:
Say what you like about Macca, at least he had toons.
Morrison, Van:
Yes, he’s a jazz man now but that doesn’t earn respect. Retirement might, though. And don’t book him to play your pub.
Prince:
… became a caricature of his sex-obsessed self and, by the late 90s, he couldn’t get arrested. Perhaps he’ll imitate Puff Daddy next.
Public Enemy:
Recent live excursions into the dreaded jazz-funk field are best left well alone, as are any of their records – once you’ve heard one, that’s more than enough.
Sex Pistols:
Bollocks. Even if, by some stretch of the imagination, the Pistols had made anything other than sub-standard run-through rock. And the recent tours are worse than pantomime.
Smiths:
Stick the flowers where they won’t grow and cheer up, you miserable bastards.
White Stripes:
You’re nothing but flavour of the month, kids - let’s see how popular you are in 2010, shall we.
Young, Neil:
One good album per decade. I mean Landing On Water. Why?
Zappa, Frank:
… the vast majority of mad Frank’s artsy meanderings are interminable tedium bested only by some of his live shows – a sonic Belsen, with xylophones delivering the sonic blow."
"Hace poco estuve mirando listas en revistas (uncut,nme, etc) y encontre una divertida, los artistas mas sobre-evaluados o algo asi; te la envio abajo:
Barrett, Syd:
Opel. Need we say anymore? No wonder you don’t even go out for post.
Beach Boys:
They started out doing bland, half-arsed Chuck Berry ripoffs. And ended up as one man’s mad, overblown gothic folly.
Bowie, David:
That people still lap it up makes one despair at the herdlike stupidity of the human race…
Brown, James:
His entire career is based on a need to celebrate the sound of a man passing a particularly painful stool over the same, off-kilter riff. Repeated for 30 years.
Byrds:
Pioneers of country rock? Some people say that like it’s a good thing.
Captain Beefheart:
Aside from a couple of vaguely tuneful efforts, it sounds like the inmates have taken over the music room and gone to make plink-plonk while snuffing the contents of the ether cupboard. Unmitigated, discordant toss.
Clash:
Big Audio Dynamite were more consistent, fact.
Doors:
Today, any pub band in the country will offer up the same kind of dull, plodding rock that the Doors are reputed to have excelled at. Ian Astbury does it better.
Dylan, Bob:
Grisly folky nonsense from a man who wrote a clutch of great songs in the 60s and then spent four decades murdering them…
Fall:
There’s a fine line between being controversial and simply turgid, and Mark E. Smith stepped over it a long time ago.
Iggy Pop:
Why people endlessly reference Iggy as a punk instigator is beyond us – garage rock was useless then and it is now. His only value lies in his looks.
Lennon, John:
Say what you like about Macca, at least he had toons.
Morrison, Van:
Yes, he’s a jazz man now but that doesn’t earn respect. Retirement might, though. And don’t book him to play your pub.
Prince:
… became a caricature of his sex-obsessed self and, by the late 90s, he couldn’t get arrested. Perhaps he’ll imitate Puff Daddy next.
Public Enemy:
Recent live excursions into the dreaded jazz-funk field are best left well alone, as are any of their records – once you’ve heard one, that’s more than enough.
Sex Pistols:
Bollocks. Even if, by some stretch of the imagination, the Pistols had made anything other than sub-standard run-through rock. And the recent tours are worse than pantomime.
Smiths:
Stick the flowers where they won’t grow and cheer up, you miserable bastards.
White Stripes:
You’re nothing but flavour of the month, kids - let’s see how popular you are in 2010, shall we.
Young, Neil:
One good album per decade. I mean Landing On Water. Why?
Zappa, Frank:
… the vast majority of mad Frank’s artsy meanderings are interminable tedium bested only by some of his live shows – a sonic Belsen, with xylophones delivering the sonic blow."
posted by Candida at 11:39
77 comments
