Marsupialized wrote:Now tell me seriously, purely as a song on it's own, you think it's shit?
I think you will not.
This has a charming vocal, and I could imagine it being sung earnestly, in its way.
Unfortunately, everything else about it is horrible. The Beck part, the Enya part, the Ringtone part, the stream-of-Cheryl Crow-conciousness everyday subject matter, the low-fi toy music affectation, the digital drama of the ooo-waa backing vocal... I'd rather not go on, but I could.
That you have not recognized and been repulsed by these transparent cliches indicates that you have led a life sheltered from self-absorbed dilettantes, and for that you ought to be grateful. You remind me of a bushman awestruck by the magic and mystery of a Coca Cola bottle. It is easy to imagine that such a bushman can appreciate things I cannot, and to almost envy him.
But then I remember that bushmen have to eat grubs, wipe their asses with leaves and contract malaria.
Soup you are an iron-clad enigma. Knock yourself out.

