Memphis Swamp Jam

If you're anything like me, you're already bored of knuckleheaded debate about the state of heavy metal in the year of 2010, you're out of patience with hipsters flinging the h-word at other hipsters, you're alienated by narcissism, petty irrelevant snark, humorless niggling about sound quality, and sub-relevant sub-genre Asperger's syndrome. Here's my advice: who cares?

What you're lacking is perspective: all of those records are shit, and they'll probably play one you hate at your funeral. You've spent your whole life working towards this scholarly multi-syllabic mode of criticism, and yet every goddamn day you've gotta get up and shrug your tension-knotted shoulders and declare your correctness to the world, like you're not gonna be embarrassed by it next year.

It's not like I have answers to all your shitty little life problems, but it might behoove you to just sit down for a minute and not make everything into a list or an argument or a pretend offense. Listen to Booker White, Furry Lewis, Fred McDowell. Listen to songs of death, booze, trains, prison, love, and dancing. Just please, stop your fucking complaining.
Keep your jank trimmed and burning.