mien_mo_man

Grunge was not a musical style. Post-grunge, however, was. It was a derivative genre created by those who copied the standards of the hit tracks recorded by Seattle bands and their counterparts. For example: did you make a song similar to Pearl Jam to make money? Then you were post-grunge. But can you find any musical connection between Pearl Jam and Nirvana, between Smashing Pumpkins and Mudhoney, between Screaming Trees and Soundgarden, just to name a few of the most famous bands? And if you consider that the sound of Pearl Jam was completely different from that of their embryonic band, Mother Love Bone, or that the last street-hard rock bands were also punk (the G’n’R of Use Your Illusion), then you can clearly see the inconsistency of that "movement." The Melvins, if anything, are proto-grunge, just like many, many other bands, including Mark Arm's Green River. But grunge as a musical style never actually existed. Literally speaking, looking at and knowing Mudhoney is exactly like looking at what is defined as "grunge" in America. From a visual standpoint, they were grunge. From a success standpoint, they were among the most grunge of the purest grunge. They didn’t achieve the monstrous success of others for various reasons, but I would add, as Billy Corgan also mentioned, a certain fake-unconscious pose that was actually very self-aware, that of the cursed rock star, of human refuse partying in front of us neat freaks. An attitude they haven't lost, considering the ironic and brazen self-definition they provide in the title of this album.

thank you boys. Bartleboom: the review of livin' the blues is coming

The album: welcome to the jungle loses much of its violence in the verses, but there's no denying it. Rocket queen seems to be a tribute to Mercury and Queen, a sort of mix between Great King Rat and Get Down Make Love; "everything goes" and other stuff like "You're Crazy" is pure '80s metal (street Bon Jovi infused with LA punk, and indeed in You're Crazy, it plays like Sambora with that thing in his mouth that mimics the guitar, what the hell is it called?). The final solo of Night train is excellent; during the verses, in almost all the tracks, there’s too much inconsistency between the rhythm guitar parts and Slash's guitar (it may be a GNR trademark BUT I CAN'T STAND IT). Paradise City is a track that doesn't convey the right power in the studio (a different story live: how it sounds live makes you want to skip forward on this CD). I used to do Mr. Brownstone with the band in falsetto (I think it's wonderful). My favorites? Obviously IT's So Easy (smashing hard rock tainted with punk) and the undeniable, funereal, dark, gray leaden My Michelle. Rating 3.5.

The review is written by someone who clearly wants to inform you about everything, where the members are from, what the changes were, the issues with drugs... the world has known everything about the GNR for twenty years, and in my opinion, there was no need for yet another review-starting point.

There was a man who created a drink and called it up. It didn't work. Stubbornly, he tried again and named it 2up, but it didn't go as he hoped. But in life, the important thing is to believe in yourself, so he tried again, calling it 3up. Even this time, no one noticed him. But he wasn't the type to give up easily, so he brought out 4up, and then 5up. "Someone has to realize how good it is," he said with a grin, and made yet another immense financial effort to launch 6up. After the sixth consecutive flop, he gave in. Shortly after, he met a stranger with entrepreneurial dreams, almost ignorant in business. Caught up in his enthusiasm, he decided to let him taste 6up. "But this is amazing," the guy said, "why don't you market it?" "It wouldn't work." "Are you kidding? At least sell me the recipe, I'll give it a go." Smiling at such enthusiasm and naivety, perhaps a little moved, he decided to sell him the recipe for a few dollars. "What will you call it?" he asked almost jokingly. "You called it Six Up, so I will call it Seven Up." Needless to say, that man became extremely wealthy. And it's a true story.

I also quote Wiccan. Although it's worth reminding Kosmograbry that among the all-around authors, there's one who truly deserves to be mentioned, and that's Bob Mould, who writes lyrics for wrestling shows: you know the wrestlers when they challenge each other and throw out grand proclamations, right? Well, Mould writes those lyrics :)

bartleboom, from a top-notch reviewer like you, I didn't expect all this superficial and ruthless crudeness.

No, or to put it better, not just that: she cried because her dad had died and she wanted a father, not a boyfriend. Moreover, she was capricious, a spoiled little girl, living with her gaze fixed on the past, incapable of serious reflection, unable to do anything other than cry or laugh, uselessly anchored to memories of things that could never help her on her journey. And she had a disgusting pacifier attached to her invicta (the thing that drove me the most crazy).

I haven't read all the posts and I don't give a damn about comics. Generally, I say that Downey Jr. is great even in that movie with Nicole Kidman in FUR (the story of photographer Diane Arbus), where he plays a man suffering from hypertrichosis, basically a guy with hair all over like a fur animal. I'm eagerly awaiting the review of the parody package of superhero films.

It was my ex's favorite song when we were 16. I wanted to grow up, and she wanted to stay more and more like a little girl. She would sing this to me and the megagalactic overly sentimental version of Mariah Carey's "Without You." Oh, and "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes, but the remixed version (ugh!).