Y’know, that character I conjured for the Viet Cong review wasn’t a total fiction. That pathetic, miserly anti-ego still rips holes in my skin, still tells me I can’t write whenever I sit down to the keyboard, still gets off on corpse-resting-on-marble-tomb stuff like Clan of Xymox. I know it’s that side of me that falls for Static Daydream. Go on, you can have your whole pint of ice cream to sulk with; I prefer being slashed by guitars and numbed by cold pulsing drum machines. Mind, these guys come on like ordinary JAMC-worshipping pop-happy shoegazers (re: Victoria Falls) at first, with the deceptively star-bound “More Than Today”:
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