francis

Ah, what do I think of pedophiles? I'm really curious to hear this.

Charlie, I gave you the two euros for the croissant, so stop bothering me, I don't have any cigarettes.

But who the hell are you trying to shame, who the hell are you after? You've written 40 comments on this review with total indifference, you pathetic nerd. You can't write, you have no class, style, or intelligence, you have nothing. It's already a lot that I'm responding to you; remember these few sentences I direct at you during your moments of solitude that you try to fill with the nonsense you write about vrensis, your mom, your sister, Crouch... you're a poor idiot, but where do you want to go?

You write to be at the center of MY attention, your only vital function is this: for the rest, you count like a piece of shit (mal) trampled on, you don't write reviews, you don't write intelligent comments, you don't contribute to any kind of discussion, you only know how to say that you're screwing my mother and other nonsense from the 12-year-old pimple-faced prick that you are. The only thing that prevents me from unleashing my wrath on your miserable self is the deep pity I feel for you, I can't bring myself to hate someone so disturbed, it's like taking it out on a sick person.

CHARLIE, for fuck’s sake, you’ve been writing crap for an hour and no one cares, haven’t you realized yet? It’s one thing to be a messed-up weirdo who gets off reading my fantastic reviews, but don’t be a pain in the ass—nobody is interested in your mental issues, just accept it. And be grateful I’m even giving you an audience, you idiot.

It’s clear that I didn’t talk about the album; if you want comments on this record, read the 5000 reviews available online. That certainly wasn’t my interest, I am no mediocre. The meaning of this review needs to be read between the lines; it’s neither a provocation nor an adolescent outburst as some unfortunate soul has written... I believe I have sufficiently explained the reasons that led me to write it. And it has nothing to do with Oliver Stone; by the way, I haven’t even seen his film.

Geenoo, first of all, thank you for the compliments: I can understand that the last lines might have seemed ambiguous, but I simply took precautions against those who would predictably insult me... instead of telling each one to fuck off in the back-and-forth, I wrote it directly in the review, and thanks to that choice, a discussion that could be interesting is actually developing.

Poor thing, here take two euros and go buy yourself a croissant.

Charlie, when you die it will be because I asked God for it, so it's not wise to play with fire.

Another thing, since there’s some idiot who, referring to the first lines of my review, called me a "fucking bourgeois," a "rich kid," etc... everyone is free to dress as they please, did you not know that Cobain went to CK fashion shows? And anyway, it was a general "I," I wasn't mainly referring to myself; it was a way to say how the "nose-in-the-air" attitude and the "hipster attitude" have different latitudes and are exactly the same in different contexts, and those who are smart will understand that. Similarly, Morrison's poses were certainly no less hipster than those of any boy band star, a Robbie Williams, or a Mick Jagger. I just wanted to shake that kind of barrier that surrounds so many bands, caught in a dome of invulnerability just because they are tied to years when practically no artist was criticized, they were all messiahs, all geniuses. If Debaser had existed in 1967, I don't think there would have been a great uproar over reviews like this... the truth is that the latest generations received this message of deification of past rock bands that admits no rebuttal, no critical considerations, and I thought it was right to start seeing things from another perspective.