She’s like Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse rolled into one, not quite so threatening (Davy Jones to Amy’s Brian Jones), kind of kooky with an East Village vibe, likes to rollerblade, hardly a trace of vocoder, whistles, has crap taste in music (Coldplay covers), shows her legs, is perky and soulful and bluesy at once, has a crap name, reminds me of this some.
You think I’m not going to fall for that? You are crazy, girl. She makes me want to act like a fag hag all over again.
My name is Everett True. I am a music critic. This is what I do. I criticise music.
The clue is in my job description – music critic. I do not consider myself a journalist, as I do not research or report hard news. I do not consider myself a commentator as I believe that everyone should be a participant. I criticise people and in return I am not surprised if other people criticise me. It is part of the whole deal of being in the public arena.
I am Everett True. Believe in me and I have power like a God. Quit believing in me and I no longer exist.