Matchbox 20, Blink 182, Good Charlotte, Disturbed, Staind, Linkin Park etc. If any of these bands have merchandise that has somehow found its way into your possession or onto your property then you need to immediately put this next paragraph into the nearest orifice that leads deep into your eardrums and brain.
The Melvins, Turbo Negro, The White Stripes, The Mars Volta, Nebula and the almighty Nashville Pussy. This prescription of rock will surely prevent any overdose of suck that may occur while listening to those other manufactured, gutless schlock artists whose music is more of a commodity for commercial whoring than anything resembling a creative endeavour.
I’ve always thought rock music is supposed to be rough hewn, passionate, energetic and original, with enough sexual voltage and beautiful belligerence to blow your neighbors back to the stoned century of Iron Butterfly.
Don’t get me started on how the fall of civilization just began when some jerkhole in a wifebeater, fur coat and fedora barfed saccharin all over Lynyrd Skynyrd. No-talent rubes are ruining the music of yesteryore. (They also said the same about rap but we’ve come a long way, baby.)
Next issue: Death Cab For Cutie Rules (So Does Fall Out Boy)