Wednesday 27, 2018 by Darren Clarke
For a brief, fleeting, moment, I was on top of the world. In the wake of a disappointing finish in my 5K race last night I decided to treat myself to two of the finest achievements of mankind- A large bag Cheetos and a few cans of Guinness.
Immersed in this epic pairing last night ebbed and flowed in a decadent feast of dark beer on my lips and orange Cheeto covered fingers. But even the finest designs of man must at some point wake to the sobering light of a morning bereft of cool glasses filled with stout and bowls teeming with cheese flavoured snacks.
The day after greatness is always rough.
But that’s when I stumbled into the world of post-punk and remembered the joyful release of rainy mornings and urgent calamity, the gorgeous sound things make while they are falling apart, the perfection of imperfection served in 4/4 time, bass lines too fat for a slim pair of pants and words that weigh five pounds each being chucked at brick walls. This, this is rock’n roll the way it should be- often too loud, often too fast, often incomprehensible but always riveting.
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