(Dusty Medical) I never understood how when low down bowery punk rockers took copious amounts of heroin they sounded like a fucking mess but when jazz-bos with their cerebral bebop got all fucked up on junk they could play their difficult instruments with bizarre dexterity and seem smarter. This glorious vomit-core album is what Chet Baker and Miles and Bird should have sounded like when they were strung out. That is, ff they were playing rock instruments, toy pianos, budget electronics, and all their monster-sounding songs were about ice, death and pestilence. Not sure my point, I'm kinda nodding off right about n....
Thursday, December 8, 2011
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