If Obama's a socialist, why are we broke?
Part I: In Which I Finally Review an Album that I Promised To Review A Month Ago
We Are Hex, Gloom Bloom (Hex Haus)
In the bio on their website, We Are Hex describe their sound as an amalgam of noise, dance, doom, psychedelia, 50s and 60s pop and punk.† And for once, a bandís grandiose claims of musical diversity arenít utter bullshit.† They combine all of those genres into a dreamy, dark and somewhat disturbing sonic stew.†
The bio goes on to compare the band to The Cure, Gang of Four, P.J. Harvey and The Jesus and Mary Chain, but I feel like comparing these guys (and girl) to anyone else sells them short.† To these ears, We Are Hex sounds like We Are Hex and nobody else.
This album is way too good to be the self-recorded debut of a band that just started two years ago.† If they can keep up this level of quality, theyíll be legends in no time.† Mark my words.
Actually, you know what?† Fuck my words.† Theyíre woefully inadequate.† The whole album is available as an audio stream on wearehex.com. I highly recommend that you check it out if youíre at all interested in good music.† I mean, itís free!† Youíve got nothing to lose!
Part II: In Which I Flake Out, Turn Tail and Quit
That ugly alphanumeric clusterfuck is the result of me literally banging my head against the keyboard of my laptop in an effort to dislodge some hidden nugget of genius that might inspire me to write something less crappy than what Iím about to spew forth to fill my page quota for this month.
Yeah, yeah.† I know itís hacky as hell to write about how hard it is to write, but thatís really all I have to go with right now.† Because after nine months of raging against the tyranny of bad music, I am burnt the fuck out.
This gig started out as a fun diversion from the depressing drudgery that is the life of a college graduate with a journalism degree who has no desire to pursue journalism because he figures that schlepping around in the infotainment industry would be even more soul-crushing than his current gig selling fish and pizza to needy jerks who seriously need to be backhanded across their fat faces and told to fuck off for once in their overly privileged, leechy little lives, but itís since become yet another obligation, like paying off my student loans or restraining myself from bleeding, gutting, and filleting inattentive parents who let their children drag their greasy hands across the windows of the display case that you just watched me clean, you oblivious prick.
So hereís a short list of reasons why this crybaby bitch is taking his ball and running home to mommy:
There you have it.† Me and this column are officially divorced.† But stay strong, my tens of fans.† Put down the razors and untie the nooses.† Youíll hear from me again soon enough.†
Assail Ericís taste at lingepx76 [at] gmail.com
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