Porridge Radio
Every Bad

THE REVIEW

I know it, I fall into it sometimes too. It's not easy to maintain that unwavering and irreducible spirit that always allows one to discern topics worthy of attention from those deserving, at most, a spot on Radio McDonald's. I don't know if English McDonald's serve porridge, anyway, but in the end, it doesn't really matter. We are here, and I know that often in these parts, you've found yourself reading about club dogo sphere blablabla the blowjobs etc. But, I repeat, sometimes I fall into it too. I make mistakes.

I start reviews talking about the band's history, as if I didn't know that in the adjacent window you've already opened Wikipedia to study four loser facts like "the four met back in college" and act like nerds with girls who aren't interested in you. It happens that I use horrifying terms in reviews like "synth-pop," a term that today is used only by repressed pedophiles. I happen to call my texts "reviews," making the mistake of lowering myself to the level of those who write that Kendrick Lamar is the greatest living rapper or those who believe shoegaze was born with Jesus & Mary Chain. I even use the term "shoegaze" (strike me instantly) and even mention Jesus & Mary Chain. I say: THE JESUS & MARY CHAIN. How the hell are we doing?

The rock scene is a farce, it always has been, and those who don't understand that, unfortunately, reveal a lot about themselves. Maybe it's also the fault of Porridge Radio, consisting of three chicks - one of whom sings - and a guy who functions as a human eggplant. They make videos in which she sings while everything around her moves jerkily and spiritedly, and I think wow, really original. The songs are there to listen to and oh well.