That whole “music used to sound better when I was younger” theory

DECEMBER (93-98)

King Champion Sounds – El Problemo Grande

A blast from the past, but existing in the present.

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. I refer to the refusal to succumb to the undeniable fact that cunts are still running the world and will continue to do so long after our children’s children are dead unburied, suffocating in the fierce unavoidable heat. I refer to the throbbing, pulsating beat. I refer to the snatches of rebel music, heard here and there and especially on ‘El Problemo Grande’. I refer to the cleansing power of the music. I refer to the excitement, the thrill of being alive. I refer to all the above and more.

Dot Wiggin Band – End Of The World

This is wonderment, like entering Disneyland as an open-eyed twenty-something in the company of a scuzzy L.A. grunge band for the first time. This is like watching my four-year-old son Daniel work himself into a delirium of excitement and happiness because he’s able to type up to the number 105. (Each single number, it’s an epiphany.) This is like discovering a great lost Daniel Johnston/Kramer Shimmy-Disc session. Only it’s not. It’s Dot and so clearly Dot. It makes me miss dead friends so badly just suddenly, that they could have lived so I could have played them this and see their faces light up.

Britney Spears – Work Bitch

Judging Britney the same way you’d judge Dylan or Elliott Smith is like taking a baseball bat to a cricket game.

The New Sound Of Numbers – Complete

I mean, what the fucking fuck? If you ain’t gonna be convinced by all that and – way more importantly – by the buoyant motorik female groove itself, then there ain’t shit I can do to convince you any way further. You know, in 20 or 10 or 50 years when I’m dead, all you fuckers will be falling over yourselves to proclaim the Gospel of Collapse Board. Like it will matter shit then.

Childbirth – I Only Fucked You As A Joke

Damn, ladies. You know round these parts that counts only next to pity as a way to get laid.

(continues overleaf)

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by Everett True

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.