Kevin Blechdom
Eat My Heart Out

THE REVIEW

Subtitle (which isn't there, but I'll add it myself and in Italian): don't open that cardboard shell.
This record cost me thirty-five euros, which is about twice the official price. Deluxe edition? Nou. Limited edition? Niet. Twenty-minute massage from a physiotherapist for shoulder subluxation? Iesss

It was a beautiful sunny day, I was tired but happy to have in hand the new CD from Kevin Blechdom, her second. The first was really really nice, with a lot of lovely colorful drawings all with porno-animal-sarcastic themes; four drawings, four ducklings, four big birds, four four four... biiiip...
Unaware, I slip off the cardboard CD cover and... my shoulder inevitably ends up against the wall behind me. I let out a scream, people look at me badly. If only it were the first time...
Photo: Kevin, a piece of raw meat in hand and her breast. Oh dear, breast... It looks like the Mibtel index of the Bangladesh Stock Exchange...
I lose my appetite, but with sheer willpower, I shove the CD into the player.

Nice, nice record, varied, in her style but not repetitive, electronics in the right doses, maybe one day she'll learn to sing, but for now it’s fine like this.

Recommended: to those who say their girlfriend is ugly and don't know there's always something worse
Not recommended: to those who don't buy a female artist's CD unless the protagonist has a breast as firm as a buttock and a buttock as firm as a breast