Don’t do this.
I WILL FIGHT YOU, JARNOW. I WILL FIGHT YOU AND YOUR BEARD.
Please. I’m almost certain he was being nice.
PEOPLE FROM BROOKLYN AREN’T NICE.
You’re screaming–for no reason at all, it should be noted–about the great Jesse Jarnow’s review of that catholic tribute to the Dead that a bunch of people no one’s heard of made?
I’m going to ask you why, and if you say “Everybody keeps stealing my choogle,” then I am going kick you in the neck.
Okee dokee. So maybe stop yelling at people. Especially people who send you two copies of their book–the critically acclaimed Heads: A Biography of Psychedelic America— that you haven’t reviewed yet because you’re jealous of people who have written books.
Please stop telling the truth like that.
If you want to write a book, write a book.
But: it’s hard.
I’d just like to move on.
Are you going to offer any thoughts on the album?
Here are my thoughts: if someone pays me to listen to it, I will.
Three-and-a-half hours? Kiss my cock and buy a red pen, you self-indulgent dribblers. Do it as a series and release a bunch at a time, or maybe just cut one of the eleven versions of Dark Star; I don’t care, but don’t dump 59 songs on me and say, “Here.”
This album is so long you have to go to Bayreuth to hear it.
This album is so long that by the time you’re done listening, it’s time for the next generation’s Dead tribute album.
Probably should’ve stood pat. Listen: J.J. does a good job and makes fun of the backing band; he’s the man to listen to about this. If someone wants to give me a short list of the standout tracks, I’ll listen to them, but I’m not wading through this whole thing.
Sure. You should–
—ask people…oh, God, what.
You’re yelling again.
Right. But I just came up with another reason to be mad at Jarnow: he made me go to Pitchfork.
I’ll allow it.