The press was calling him “the new Lennon” and all that. I told him, “You got it all wrong, Kurty-boy, someone has to shoot YOU.” We had a giggle over that one.
Solid, melodic hardcore, like a sped up Marginal Man. They gain points by flogging a seemingly dead horse until it hobbles onto all fours and starts galloping.
Monk ran home with his new punk rock CD. He ripped the cellophane off with his teeth. He threw it in and immediately began jumping around the room like a fool.
Making comparisons between Fu Manchu and ’70s acid-rock kings is slippery business, because, while the influence is undeniable, there’s no nostalgic vibe.