“I’m a fleabit peanut monkey | All my friends are junkies | That’s not really true”
I’ve come to the realization that this blog isn’t shaping up the way I had originally planned. At heart, I’m the kind of guy who appreciates quality in music, and not the kind of quality that a website like Pitchfork preaches on a daily basis. Who honestly enjoys electro-folk-psych-glo-fi-Williamsburg-I-eat-organic-pumpkin-chips-and-wear-suspenders music? The world needs a reality check. I needed a reality check. If I post about music made in the year 2009, know that I actually believe it adds to the history of music. It will have to earn a third of this blog’s homepage. Music from past generations has already proven history-worthy… so it’ll be my job to simply preach about how fuckin’ incredible it is and convince to you to listen to it.
On another note, my brother Hunter is going to start blogging on TBTV. His knack for discovering musical excellence is unrivaled. I came home (Toronto) to my brother blasting “Monkey Man” on the stereo last night. Mix yourself a drink and tell me this isn’t the grooviest piece of music the Rolling Stones ever cut into a black vinyl disk. Put me in a jacuzzi and dim the lights. It’s got this attitude that’s darker and more tempting than one of those 90% cacao Lindt chocolate bricks melting in Demi Moore’s lap. Give me more of this music — Keith and Mick, this is genius. For readers who think it would be really really sweet to forget about that Wall Street job and morph magically into a Brooklyn hipster, think again: fuck that unoriginal originality, crawl back into the womb, pop back out in Britain, snort your father’s ashes and write songs about jungle sex. Make sure to email me about it.
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