My review of the review: An insider's rattle about a local band. Could have been reduced to: "Animal Collective, be they like the Residents, but with an animal theme, Bach is dead."
I think I want to light one up and let the Animal Collective sink into my personal Head-space. What be my personal poison on this day, Limewire, Shareaza, or KaZaA Lite, and the hope for high-bit oggs.
Oh man, Ainmal Collie-ective has me so f00kin Ripped man! "It's paw tracks man, queue: 53 of 53, the spooks at riaa must have something to do with this, it could be a long night." The Dog turns with a mellowed swish, the monitor-shine adding blue highlights to her fur like an Aussie Shepherd of good breeding. "As Ed Gruberman, we must learn patience," she barks and walks herself out to kick the dust off some of those tedious and painful reviews of Sinatra and Steely Dan, hoping that time has been a good friend, and they're not too hopelessly mired in their own decades to read. "I should have buried them while I had the chance, but some mix-bred twizted music-writers from Seattle found them like a Coke bottle in the middle of a desert and used them as a temp-plate for their civilization."
Time waiting for loads to down night after night can make a Doggy critically thoughtful, Doggone these dope-addictive servants that stick to your computer like so much heavy smoke. 'At least I get many hits off of them,' she thought.. In a final reverberated but soft bark from down the hall, the Doggie questions, "Wonder if the critters, woof, at the MFM radio station project know about these animals, collectively?"
My review of the review: An insider's rattle about a local band. Could have been reduced to: "Animal Collective, be they like the Residents, but with an animal theme, Bach is dead."
I think I want to light one up and let the Animal Collective sink into my personal Head-space. What be my personal poison on this day, Limewire, Shareaza, or KaZaA Lite, and the hope for high-bit oggs.
Oh man, Ainmal Collie-ective has me so f00kin Ripped man! "It's paw tracks man, queue: 53 of 53, the spooks at riaa must have something to do with this, it could be a long night." The Dog turns with a mellowed swish, the monitor-shine adding blue highlights to her fur like an Aussie Shepherd of good breeding. "As Ed Gruberman, we must learn patience," she barks and walks herself out to kick the dust off some of those tedious and painful reviews of Sinatra and Steely Dan, hoping that time has been a good friend, and they're not too hopelessly mired in their own decades to read. "I should have buried them while I had the chance, but some mix-bred twizted music-writers from Seattle found them like a Coke bottle in the middle of a desert and used them as a temp-plate for their civilization."
Time waiting for loads to down night after night can make a Doggy critically thoughtful, Doggone these dope-addictive servants that stick to your computer like so much heavy smoke. 'At least I get many hits off of them,' she thought.. In a final reverberated but soft bark from down the hall, the Doggie questions, "Wonder if the critters, woof, at the MFM radio station project know about these animals, collectively?"