Shawn Colvin

Live ’88 (Plump)
by Karl Geising

During a particularly unpleasant portion of my life, I used to occasionally go to pretentious coffeehouses, clapping politely to the latest egotistical Dylan wanna-be singing “sensitive” songs about the innate beauty of life. If you are one of the people who actually thinks that this genre has any validity, please do the rest of us a favor and kill yourself immediately. But shoot her first. [Excerpted from the manifesto “Shawn Colvin Must Die!”]