Punk in Drublic
Piecing together a long night of drinking the old fashioned way: horribly
Toward midnight, as Veronica Lipgloss was going on, my girlfriend and I were shoving grilled chicken burritos with extra sour cream down our pie holes. The last thing I remember about the night was sitting six inches away from the television watching The Charlie Rose Show. Wynton Marsalis was the guest. With my nose so close to the screen, like that girl in the Poltergeist movies, I fawned over Marsalis' sincere appraisal of jazz music, promising myself that I'd buy all his albums as soon as possible. Wynton Marsalis.
Such was the sequence of events I was able to string together that following morning. Later in the day, viciously hungover and unable to perform the most rudimentary of tasks, I resorted to putting on that new Modest Mouse record one more time. And you know something? I kind of like it. Sure, Brock's as whiny as ever and those same high-hat-driven beats are in nearly every song, but I'll be damned if another band can pull off backwoods indie slop like these guys. Makes me wonder what that MM show would have been like after all.
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