I recently stumbled upon a stupid survey I filled out on Facebook, eleven years ago, called “The Music Taste Meme.” Not so much a genuine gauge of one’s tastes as just a series of either/or questions, I filled it out with suitably vitriolic aplomb (i.e. in response to the question Christina Aguilera or Britney Spears?, I saw fit to write “They're both vile, objectionable shite. I'd rather saw off my own ears and feed them to famished hyenas then subject myself to the repugnant oeuvres of either loathsome harpy.”) Given my big opinions on the subject of music and even bigger mouth, sounding off on such things frequently comes all too easily for me.
Here in 2020, however, I'm working for a performing rights organization, and have been doing so for the past four years. Said organization represents several very prominent affiliates across multiple genres. As such, I am disinclined to so casually vent my spleen all over social media about certain artists whose music I might otherwise feel unfit for human consumption. You can imagine my quandary when the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame announces its annual list of inductees. I really should hold my tongue – but sometimes forget to. Actually, you don’t have to imagine it, as you can read it right here, but sometimes it’s best to simply recuse myself from the conversation, lest I inadvertently besmirch someone best unbesmirched.
In any case, every now and again, I discover a new artist who is affiliated with my organization that I do quite like. I don’t know that much about them, but the band showcased below – Los Angeles-based Liily – are “one of ours,” so to speak, and I genuinely think they’re pretty damn entertaining. Their tonsorial and sartorial choices may be questionable, but they get quite into it.
Watch for the cowbell/woodblock bit.
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