Notes of a Defeatist

Forget the Grammys.

Forget St. Bono and all of U2, their five phonograph shaped statues, rewarded for their most mediocre and undeserving album of their iconic career.

Forget Gwen Stefani, nothing but eye candy without her bandmates, even if someone told her she could be a “solo artist”.

Forget Kelly Clarkson and her mass produced pile of shit that beat out an album Fiona Apple put more time into crafting each individual song than all of Clarkson’s entire album combinded.

That’s the Grammys for you and that’s why nobody much remembers who wins anyways.

The best album I bought last year finally managed to get released to more than the handfulls of people who obsess over the dying art of the delta blues.

Deadboy and the Elephantman get tossed into the same camp as the White Stripes. Garage Rock-meets-Delta Blues by way of boy-girl duo who rock. That was the gist Rolling Stone’s Four Star review of their debut album We Are Night Sky.

Their album had been all over the Fat Possum site, and the good folk there haven’t steered me wrong yet with their artists. I bought the album and enjoyed it. Seeing them play at Club Tavern in Madison, with the Heartless Bastards really put me over the top.