You should consider taking up smoking, you neurotic, under qualified, unmotivated lump of misguided intentions.
Upon first listen of David Byrne and St. Vincent's latest album, I have decided that it is a post modern solution to the depraved craving of this generation; folks, within here lies the menthol cigarette version of huey and the news. Press play at Lazarus.
Now, I would like to venture a guess of the exact words running through your jazzercised hopped up cranium as your body morphs into a gaseous matter and is carried away by a lung gratifyingly clean and effervescent beat -"Menthol Huey? That sounds like the most fucking on point, cool, neat, just generally fuckibg best thing EVA." to which, if you had said aloud, I would reply , please do not become overexcited dear reader! "Love This Giant" is only seven degrees above the tropic of mediocre, which is still pretty good, and to be quite frank, to sustain the chain smoking level of listening love I have for cigarettes/ breezy, superflously articulated new age music, it is probably better that I learn to balls out fall in love with "love this giant" through familiarity derived from repeated listening, rather than being wholly/completely instantly gratified on the first listen, leaving my body limp and love soaked on a sheet less mattress in some kits bachelor, listening to the rhythm of the shower water, contemplating leaving, but held in place, naked, by the glittering promise of post fuck croissants.
We all know the croissants were a ruse.
