MICAH P HINSON – TAKE OFF THAT DRESS FOR ME (FULL TIME HOBBY)
This is something of an uncomfortable throwback. As I listen to the seven inch with the sun gloriously shining through my open window I find myself very tempted to close said window for fear of my neighbours witnessing me listening to such a song.
This is not healthy music. The singer songwriter genre is a true minefield, an area where the good is hard to distinguish from the bad because on the whole most of it sounds bad.
Micah P. Hinson is an artist I am supposed to like. In a way he is half David Berman and half Johnny Cash but beyond that there is very little to grasp onto (and nothing has got me so far).
Check out the sentiments: “take off that dress for me.” This guy is begging for sex, he is debasing himself, acting like a pussy in search of satisfying his needs. And the sad truth is that presented with this song the fevered ego from the apple of his eye will probably comply as she finds his advances charming and wayward compared to the usual alpha male route of being rutted that she is akin to. Am I wrong about this?
By now I am so fucking bored of the singer songwriter format, of the way it exposes my generation of being both po-faced and selfish, of egocentric and generally hinting of being chock full of control freaks. This is a marketplace that is drowning, filled to the brim of so many variations of the same thing with only subtle differences and certainly not enough in itself to truly stand out from the flock. Do you remember that scene in Animal House where John Belushi grabs the guitar of the prick crooning on the stairs and smashes the instrument to pieces? That should be performed on so much music right now.
I might be wrong.
Thesaurus moment: sly.
Micah P Hinson
This is something of an uncomfortable throwback. As I listen to the seven inch with the sun gloriously shining through my open window I find myself very tempted to close said window for fear of my neighbours witnessing me listening to such a song.
This is not healthy music. The singer songwriter genre is a true minefield, an area where the good is hard to distinguish from the bad because on the whole most of it sounds bad.
Micah P. Hinson is an artist I am supposed to like. In a way he is half David Berman and half Johnny Cash but beyond that there is very little to grasp onto (and nothing has got me so far).
Check out the sentiments: “take off that dress for me.” This guy is begging for sex, he is debasing himself, acting like a pussy in search of satisfying his needs. And the sad truth is that presented with this song the fevered ego from the apple of his eye will probably comply as she finds his advances charming and wayward compared to the usual alpha male route of being rutted that she is akin to. Am I wrong about this?
By now I am so fucking bored of the singer songwriter format, of the way it exposes my generation of being both po-faced and selfish, of egocentric and generally hinting of being chock full of control freaks. This is a marketplace that is drowning, filled to the brim of so many variations of the same thing with only subtle differences and certainly not enough in itself to truly stand out from the flock. Do you remember that scene in Animal House where John Belushi grabs the guitar of the prick crooning on the stairs and smashes the instrument to pieces? That should be performed on so much music right now.
I might be wrong.
Thesaurus moment: sly.
Micah P Hinson
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