I wanna be a third world country

Conviction sometimes takes a minute to kick in, and it’s not that the conviction was never there until that 1 minute passed, it’s more that your stupid audience are stupid and slow.

I was stupid and slow

And then I wasn’t

I was in.

In somewhere, this website, a track submitted a close year ago, this track wasn’t that track 1 year ago, this is the track I’m listening to right now, the one I’m post-one minute into.

Conviction can sometimes take a year to kick in.

And now I’m addicted to this track Avarice and that’s not because I’ve an addictive alien-foetus doing addictions through my sponge of a brain with a needle, but more because when things are good, really good all of a sudden, when things fit, engage it, fill your, occupy your emptiness, you do them again and you do it again, again, again, each a gain, and again once more until something shifts, changes completely, turns hair side up, and you get contented knowing it’s there for the any kinda future moment (Buy Now – name your price). And regrettably you give your head a go at trying to explain why the song’s good because otherwise what’s the point, ok,  this one feels oddly worth it.

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The song switches from the styled lyrical pseudo-intellectual mastery of a middle aged man’s hand hovering behind you covered in blue hair gel, without an institution to make a stand in, to hold forth and tell you about it – that fucking opening lyric cuts fairly deep in the minds of a man whose feverishly taught himself not to say “third world”, not to mention the gaze-averting 2007ary of my former idols, my former self-conscious, alien-foetus world, that little quiff that popped up and fed off every emphasised pronunciation of the letter “t” –  and be accepted, and then BAM, BAMBAMBAM, you were so fucking wrong and it was all bullshit thoughts and you don’t know -conviction- when you hear it, or at least it takes you a minute or something, and that hairdresser is not even a hairdresser and you weren’t getting your hair gelled, and you both run into that wild winding outside where things were and are still, all those popping up gaze-aversions were actually passions in disguise, movingreal, kind of, still, still baaaaam: that independent -punk- idea survives somewhere, this kind of song and the kind of songs it somehow magically makes a connection with, within the sponge, they make me feel, make me rock too, forth, holding forth and feeling organic and thoughtless in a world and time where feeling thoughtless and organic feels impossible.

That silly idea of punk survives in my sponge brain and it’s the reason the last paragraph made sense if you didn’t know. It’s the reason this song is great though. Wait, no, it’s the reason this is intellectually great though. But even then, the post-moment-post ain’t getting any closer to the moment of madness that is the fact I’m listening now and trying to write at the same time. I’m gonna resort to what the band seemingly resorted to in the sidebar of the bandcamp experience in question:

“We’re a two piece comprised of two brothers. However neither of these points should be considered noteworthy.”

I’ll insert that picture of them again too where one’s saying “don’t be stupid”, the other’s saying “don’t be slow”:

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But seriously though, don’t. This song is loud and fast and hard and good in all the good places; it’s never felt quite so necessary to disclaim that at the end. I guess I feel it’s important to know the band’s name, Cassels, music, and tell others to do the same –

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