Swing and a Miss
Sometimes, it's one bad party after another
It comes down to this: If you want to play up your psych image live and be all weird onstage, by all means—you're goddamn performers and it's your right. But not if you can't pull it off. Lose the pitchy back-up singers, who are darling but totally fuck with your sound. Spread out—you're too close together, and it's mangling those pretty guitar swells. And I know it isn't fair, but your frontman is way too attractive to be that affected. Only sexy-uglies can get away with crouching at the mic while shaking a maraca, swatting the air to an invisible beat, and grinning maniacally in general. That's just how it goes. Unless he wants to turn back into a frog, he's gotta knock that shit off.
So, for this week at least, they're out—I'm officially over band boys.
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