A track, a couple paragraphs, a professorial listen, a glance at the haberdashery, and you’re sampling the next one until the box of chocolates is gone.
It ain’t nothin’ but pre-teen toilet-training fake rebellion, something best practiced by cretins who don’t know any better who, in turn, get aped by assorted Europeans and pariah Asians who learned American culture from sitcom re-runs.