And feel the feedback in the pit of your stomach..
Feedback being the frayed edge of humanity,
That forgotten perfection of emo, of hardcore
The thing that separates you and me from today
And the radio.
At some point Guy Picciato’s mother
Worried about her son in the basement and the whole
Rites of Spring. I wish I could’ve been there to tell her
It’s okay, ma’am. Your son is making the best music
He can make, the best music in the world,
He will cause inspiration in most of us.
Eventually he will control the world around him
Because of his music.
There is the third track that I can’t remember
On that album where the guitar whistles after
Every time his voice breaks. Everything falls apart
And that is where this music becomes perfect.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment