It is now personal, Enthusiasts. For the past day, I’ve been reading and re-reading Pitchfork’s lie of a joke of a farce of a scam of a clickbait of a list; something tickled at the butthole of my mind. I was missing something that they had missed. Which overlooked category had I overlooked?
It wasn’t Prog Rock: there is almost none, which is odd. Prog Rock has made a small resurgence among Pitchforkers and the Urban Bearded lately, although Prog is always making a small resurgence Prog Rock’s popularity is like the advent of flying cars: perpetually on the horizon. There’s no early Genesis or any of the 70’s-era King Crimson lineups or even Gentle Giant, so there’s no hope for Gong or Magma. Plus, there’s no Yes, so Vincent Gallo is so mad at Pitchfork right now. You wouldn’t like Vincent Gallo when he’s angry, or when he’s happy, or ever.
There is little-to-no choogle. The Dead gets a token reference, and though some have argued that Friend of the Devil was not the correct pick, I have a differing opinion. I think FOTD might still be sung around fires fifty years from now, and to fussing babies a century in the future. It’s a songy song that’s good to sing, and should be sung. So, I’m okay with Friend of the Devil, but there is no Creedence; I recommend criminal charges be filed against all of Pitchfork’s employees for this transgression.
As I mentioned, there is very little in the way of Butt Rock. Butt Rock gets no love in Brooklyn because the wrong people enjoyed it, and also because a great deal of it is dumb as shit. Regardless: if you sold out arenas and opened for KISS in the 70’s, you were not allowed to be on Pitchfork’s list. Obviously, you were also not on the list if you were KISS. (Even though Detroit Rock City and Hard Luck Woman are provable masterpieces of Butt Rock song craftsmanship.)
At this point, I need to ask Pitchfork to pull up a chair, and I’m going to sit opposite Pitchfork, but with my chair turned around and my arms draped casually across the back.
“Pitchfork? Hey, buddy. How are ya? How’s school? That’s great.
“Y’know, champ: it was a great effort you made with the country songs you chose. No Crystal Gayle or Kenny Rogers, but that’s okay. That’s okay.
“But you left off Willie, buddy. Willie Nelson. The Red-Headed Stranger?
“So, yeah: I have to punish you for this. Run outside and fetch the chainsaw.”
Many locales and scenes are drastically underserved in favor of what some* are calling “obscure foreign bullshit.” New Orleans is barely heard from, and Los Angeles is treated like a pilled-up stripper working the afternoon shift at Jumbo’s Clown Room, and Canada may as well not exist, and one other place.
You motherfuckers forgot AC/DC.
More like Bitchfork.
You showed them.
You see how I saved up my big insult for the end?
Proud of you, slugger. You told the list what’s what.
Pitchfork is racist against Australians.
Australian is not a race.
It is racist to point out that things are not races.