(Originally posted 16 Jan 05; mp3 link added 30 Jan.)
I've been listening to Webb Pierce all afternoon. Holy fucking God, what a voice... The sound of an ion engine cruising through the most breathlessly fervid of Tav Falco's hairdresser wet dreams, the weeping of atoms crushed under a trillion trillion cubic metres of (rye-infused) harmony... "Noise," in comparison, remains an ever-feeble compromise, an obsessive washing, re-washing, re-washing, of hands. An unfair allusion? Absolutely. Then again, there's nothing more extreme than unambiguity. Old heartbreakers like Pierce slice through all material states, destroy artifice, nay, the very edifice of simulation, and render screeching sawtooth waves inert. I shan't labor the obvious pun, but yes, he did as his surname suggests. He possessed a monstrous gift.
Listen to "There Stands the Glass," really give it its due. You'll come around...
Go here to have yr mind blown by a different sort of shrapnel.