Be honest with me.
I'm a huge fucking poof for liking this band, aren't I? But let me set the stage:
My brother Mike and I took a sortie down to "Old Town" Fort Collins, and in the process thereof, a song came on the radio that I was sort of digging.
"Who's this?" I asked him. (He knows these things.)
"Sum 41," he said (what did I tell you?). "You've asked me this about this band like three times already."
"Hmm!" I said.
I then proceded to download everything by them off the internet that I could find. They sort of sound like a cross between Piebald and the Beastie Boys.
But let me know what I am in for if, as it turns out, I become a "fan" of theirs. After what I went through with New Found Glory and Saves the Day, I want some warning or a heads-up beforehand.
Sum 41
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Sum 41
the dark and gritty...Ice Cream Jonsey!
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That is one of the things I am not proud about. All the bands I like have band members who are far younger than I am.
Course, when I was in college, the guy who played Yehoweh Porn's girlfriend told me, "all the bands you like are dead," which was an accurate shot due to all the Queen and various other classic rock CDs I had at the time. (Most of the music I really like now didn't exist in 1992.)
What I'd really like to do is go get a stupid-fast car engine, like one from a Testarossa or a Viper or something, stick it (badly, natch) in my Neon and beat people off the line while blaring the angsty pop-rawk that I play all the time. Not only would my victims have to deal with the fact that they got wasted by a Neon, but they got beat by someone who blasted "Jukebox Breakdown" at them.
Instead, having the meagre 150 horsies under the hood that I currently have and unable to beat anyone in a car better than a Jetta off the line, I keep my radio turned firmly down.
...
... Eh, maybe that's for the best, then.
Course, when I was in college, the guy who played Yehoweh Porn's girlfriend told me, "all the bands you like are dead," which was an accurate shot due to all the Queen and various other classic rock CDs I had at the time. (Most of the music I really like now didn't exist in 1992.)
What I'd really like to do is go get a stupid-fast car engine, like one from a Testarossa or a Viper or something, stick it (badly, natch) in my Neon and beat people off the line while blaring the angsty pop-rawk that I play all the time. Not only would my victims have to deal with the fact that they got wasted by a Neon, but they got beat by someone who blasted "Jukebox Breakdown" at them.
Instead, having the meagre 150 horsies under the hood that I currently have and unable to beat anyone in a car better than a Jetta off the line, I keep my radio turned firmly down.
...
... Eh, maybe that's for the best, then.
the dark and gritty...Ice Cream Jonsey!