Full of the enthusiasm of youth and the pent-up anger of small-town life, three skinny boys started writing songs that fell between melodic pop and shouty punk, depending on the time of day. They persuaded a drummer to join them, and played their first gig at lunchtime in the school hall. Spending the proceeds in the pub, they decided to take on the world. They didn’t get any further than Brighton, before imploding in the kind of mess it takes most bands three albums to get themselves into.
This American Life 788: Half-Baked Stories About My Dead Mom
you were not supposed to listen to Wagner, who was known as an anti-Semite and who was loved by Nazis, then my mother said […] that’s the music that I like. And I don’t care if Nazis like them. They liked apples, too, and I still eat apples.