4. Muse
Where to start? Interchangeable and indistinguishable rhythm tracks? Boring guitar solos? Pretentious, sixth-form lyrics? A band less sexy than three gerbils shaved by a one-handed and myopic Turkish barber? How about live shows so impossibly inflated with self-importance that any self-deprecating humour is sucked into the massive void between the arches between Wembley Stadium and lost forever? Or the unutterably thick and cloying conspiracy theories tangent? The fact that they will never be as good as they clearly believe themselves to be? Answers on a postcard.
Barry Marshall
Contributor
I am a freelance writer, currently residing in Newcastle Upon Tyne, England. I was raised by wolves in the woodlands of Northumberland, but am still posher than Colin Firth having dinner with The Queen. I write all of my pieces by swallowing a cocktail of scrabble tiles and vodka, then regurgitating them over my jotter. Hope this explains the typos.
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Barry