This is whiny indie bollocks but it's top drawer, gold-plated, massively endowed whiny indie bollocks. Do we sniff real talent, here?
Ooh, there’s some clever stuff going on here in the guitar-dropout department. This is whiny indie bollocks but it’s top drawer, gold-plated, massively endowed whiny indie bollocks. Do we sniff real talent, here? Yes, if [a]Spearmint[/a] tried to be just a little bit more like The Beautiful South and a hell of a lot less like the billions of utterly shit, weak and ineffectual limp-wristed indie-twat scum bands out there, then they could be HUGE! They could sell records to girls and working-class smellos and other people who aren’t students. And then we could hate them! The path forks before ye, oh [a]Spearmint[/a], and it forks three ways. One way leads to the punky theme park known as Prolapseland. The next to the Land Of The Faeries ruled by the Poodle Kings Belle & Sebastian. But the third way leads to SUCCESS! GLAMOUR! FREE SEX! AND DRUGS! AND TONS OF MONEY! WAH-HEY!
Hmmm. A difficult choice, to