Never A Professional Music Reviewer


You know,  I just had a revelation as I wandered around my hotel room packing up to leave tomorrow and listening to the iPod: I can never be a professional music reviewer.  Never.  Because success in that business seems to be judged by just how harsh you can whack a song/artist/album/whatever, and I just don’t have the extra seconds in my life to waste  on that business.  I just packed my extra socks to Hey Ocean!’s “Warning” which falls into the category of “Why the h*ll doesn’t everyone know this tune and play it to death on the radio?” with it’s wicked tempo changes (hell, tempo?, it goes from Canadian alterna-rock to Carribean funk in one bar) and then dropped the underwear in the outside pouch of the old-fasioned garment bag to  Kathleen Edwards “Cheapest Key” which contains, alphabetically, the best lines in rock (“B is for Bullsh*t and you fed me some” or “F is my favorite letter as you know”, ’nuff said).  D*mn, I love music.


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