Hankshaw’s crisp, lemonade-sounding emo songs are so sensually invigorating, so painfully enjoyable to listen to, I wish the CD didn’t end after 10 minutes.
It’s the mark of a truly seminal artist that, even thirty years after his death, you discover something new with every new vault-scraping from the archives.
A fly white girl from NYC via Pennsylvania throws down an Estro-Beastie-Indie concept album (almost). CEO takes a spin on the typical “I gots money, bee-yatch.”
I read a review where the writer complained how he was “tired of the same old punk rock shit” like Ultra Bidé. I dunno what record that guy was listenin’ to.