The third in the series from my coolest correspondent. (Although I'm pretty chuffed at The Gossip saying they reckon me to be the "most important and interesting critic of all time" - I'd be even more chuffed if I believed they were being remotely serious.)
Incidentally, the criteria she's applying to Vampire Weekend - whose bassist once invited me to perform oral sex upon his penis, following this Village Voice column - I applied to The Vines a few years earlier.
All of the following is taken from responses to a link on Stevie Chick's Facebook page, linking to my previous blog entry on the mighty Pens. (If you're one of the participants and object to your words being appropriated here, please let me know.)
So when does a pallid copy of the past cease to be a pallid copy of the past? It is simply when enough time has gone by, that everyone has forgotten how rush-of-blood energising this music can be?
For a moment, I thought I was having a Coldplay moment, covertly appreciating the bombastic production and lack of lyrical subtlety that characterises Polly Scattergood's debut album.
If you’re a photographer or illustrator (or other) and you see your work up here, unfairly uncredited – please contact me so I can either credit it, or take it down forthwith. I have tried to source public domain images, but it can be quite tricky.