So, some of you may be familiar with our Haiku Reviews, which are meant simply to help us catch up on the back log of records we’re supposed to review. Well, this is a group of records I also wanted to get covered, but I had a bit more to say about them. Now, with a variety of beers, Iron Chef on mute and some drunk texting, I present: The Racket Teenage Poetry Review Corner.
City And Colour
He is sad.
I am sad.
He makes me sad.
I am happy that he makes me sad.
Our sadness is beautiful.
Our sadness is glorious.
Our sadness is…well produced with rock solid instrumental arrangements.
Our sadness is totally gonna get me laid when I put this on during makeout.
Our sadness is boioioioioioing.
England Keep My Bones
I speak English, but I am not English.
I grew up on a continent, not an island.
I know not of what he expresses in song.
But, it is expressed.
History, expressed; a capella, even.
Kicking ass, expressed.
It is expressed in songs of godlessness.
It is expressed in songs of oldies.
It is expressed in songs of…wanting to be inside me?
Is that what I am hearing?
It is expressed in “Hi, my name is Chris Hanson, why don’t you have a seat?”
It is expressed in sweet tea.
This is not science, it’s Weerd art
Weerd art about, you know, drugs and stuff
The Weerd art about being a fuck up
A scumbag, a loser, a dipshit
The art of mixing anxiety
And fat beats, the fattest, or is it phattest?
My art of empathy is lost to the jealousy
Fuck I wish I could drum like that
Fuck I wish I could rap like that
Fuck I wish I was that lyrically clever
Fuck I am glad I’m not that neurotic
Art’s a bitch.
the latin passion+
the horns *
matching. )(tassled. skin-tight;
i eat chips and salsa; a celebration
i dance,, a celebration
es mas bueno;.
ee cummings) was a twat
these guys kick ass
There once was a band from Gainesville
Whose ska was anything but plainsville
Catchy hooks in your brain
Their trombone has slain
You dance til your ankles are sprainsville
We don’t understand each other
What are you trying to say
Dark and complex
Harshness surrounds you
We beat to different drummers
The difference between you and my mother
Is better guitar riffs
But your country album rules
Fuck yea for flannel
The mildly racist.
The guy who called White Snake “The Gods of Metal.”
The guy who would fucking love this record.
The colors of the rainbow shine bright through the darkness
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple
Fuck poetry, someone buy me this fucking set, the CD’s a total cocktease.
-Jonathan “The Emperor” Yost