come on, guys, who still blogs nowadays? the sycophants and god impersonators are on facebook assailing your wall with pictures of cats and cute babies. your friends are posting youtube vids of music you wished you discovered first, so you withhold clicking the like button. kids are tweeting selfies and mom's old-fashioned apple pie ends up on instagram. where is our promised Mars colony? where is our industrial post-apocalyptic social meltdown?
i want geekhood to be unfashionable again, so that the rage and dissent and isolationism of entire generations could breathe back down on us and tell us that being a know-it-all and writing poetry in your secret LJ account is a serious affliction.
some people just want to be left alone. most of them listen to goth. this claustrophobic piece of paranoia from the soft moon is one of those rare moments in the annals of music history that should define a generation. if only the internet weren't born. if only people weren't so post everything. brooding is an understatement. vampires would cringe at this shit. the other tracks from their self-titled LP aren't as forgiving to the senses, and even harder to listen to than tales of suicide. but it's a glorious foray into the depths of confusion. if it were a physical thing, this music would smell like burning leather. kill your family. then a pack of teenagers. then make a movie out of it. brandish your monstrosities on the dance floor, motherfuckers. all hail depression.
