no, ace. just you.

bomb is it to be believed that professor henry higgins has somehow transformed eliza blink-182 into a respectable musician? hardly…so who spiked delonge’s snapple? hasn’t anybody fessed up yet and let him know, “dude, it’s not you, it’s the drugs?” what else can account for the following grandiosity regarding his angels and airwaves:

“[i’m] preparing the greatest rock and roll revolution for this generation”

“this is the best music made in decades”

“i’m going to usher in this entire new culture of the youth, obsessed with the future”

on the accompanying movie: “the cgi sequences are epic, and like the music, when it’s action and violence, it’ll be violent, and when there’s love and romance it will give you chills”

thankfully when it’s violence, it’ll be violent while it should be expected the love and romance will give you the shits. an inflated californian self-promoting hyperbole really comes as no surprise, but forcing the issue that art is being created ostentisibly oversteps the bounds of good taste. lo, was it possible for all to work in such an environment:

“we would literally shut the blinds, dim all the lights, put stanley kubricks’s 2001 on the flat-screen tv and take these stephen ambrose world war II books, with these two page spreads of cities burning and people dying, and we’d paste them all over the wall. so on one end of the room, you’d have the endless hope of space, and on the other end you’d have the worst of humanity, and then in the middle, we’d write a love song.”

unfortunately it seems as though dork and along for the ride didn’t stay on the side with the photos, but it is quite evident that the hype machine is methodically marketing the latest insipid project to a space sick generation: want to find out what happened to blink-182? buy the album! want to bear witness to creativity with gas masks and the sun in your eyes? watch the ‘short film’ and then buy the album! want to continue to hear a tonal quality somewhere below al jourgensen’s warbling on ‘everyday is halloween’? keep tom delonge on the gravy train and buy the album!

as periodic as the menstrual cycle, some wayward artist’s narcissism erupts in a multimedia extravaganza for all to witness the shallows of their conceit and to world’s dismay, another chris gaines is born.

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