Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Pitchfork, No Torches

Thank God, Enthusiasts. You thank Him right the fuck now: get on your knees, or wash your feet, or wrap your forearms in fetish gear; whatever your religion–which is the correct one–tells you to do in order to interface the Most High. Write a card, a tasteful appreciation, to the Lord; use your best pen; not on a legal pad, you classless butt. Thank whichever God does it for you, for I have at last found something to bitch about in this review of Bobby’s new album of cowboy tunes Blue Mountain by the great Jesse Jarnow.

It was tough, I’ll give you that: the review is well-written, and Jobble Jibble–

Stop that.

–knows what he’s talking about, and draws special attention to Bobby’s singing; plus, it’s a glowing, if measured, review for a solo album by a Grateful Dead in Pitchfork. That’s downright subversive. (Don’t worry: The National gets mentioned, because if you write about the Dead in Pitchfork without referencing The National, then someone comes to your house and takes away your new Bon Iver vinyl.)

But I found it.

screen-shot-2016-10-01-at-7-16-58-pm

Maybe you can’t see it. Look closer.

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EXPLAIN PLEASE.

3 Comments

  1. Mean, Green, Devil Eating Machine

    October 2, 2016 at 2:40 pm

    He nicely skates around the excessively reverberated so-u-nd – und und nd.

  2. I for one welcome our new hipster overlords.

  3. Folk alley, the NPR radio show was all about the americana music awards, they played Bob’s Ghost Town.

    I liked the way it was introduced, She said “from his so called cowboy album”

    She knows Cowboy, and you Mr Weir are no Cowboy, but we like the song, and will play it.

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