You see, some of us still remember the secret history of the 1980s. Not me. Most of it is blinding white light followed by blinding white light followed explosions of noise followed by the sound of puke splattering onto the pavement from the side of a taxi followed by useless imagination followed by a stage […]
I use the word blast. I refer to the bursts of clarion-call brass that punctuate this uplifting, insurgent noise. I refer to the chiding, aware vocals.
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I know who this sounds like. You think that bothers me? You crazy, girl. Why would that bother me?
God Equals Genocide sing plaintively in Spanish language over rolling anarcho rhythms
John Peel dying was a big deal for many of us, especially as it was so unexpected.