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From Spin:
“Bob Dylan” is not his real name. The “Ramones” were not related. “Sun Ra” was from Alabama, not Saturn. The Strokes’ dads are not plumbers. “Rick Ross”… look, we don’t have time for this. Yes, Internet, and God bless you for devoting most of the past half-year exclusively to pointing this out, Lana Del Rey is a pose, a persona, a version 2.0, at least, the contrivance of a messy, wayward, unformed, aspiring pop star rummaging through closets and clutching at borrowed pearls. Desperate to be what she thinks you want her to be. Calculated, malleable, untrustworthy, fumbling indelicately for “her” voice or a voice that’s “real.”
Eat it, Lizzy Grant. We got you. We cracked the code. Consider youself chastised. Feel free now, Internet, to go back to what you were doing before, i.e. subjecting to withering skepticism and operatic disdain the alleged authenticity of every scrap of music ever created by every human being seeking a modicum of public approval, ever, with the possible exception of Fugazi.
Calm down.
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Vinyl sales. Fuck yeah.
Remember, this is new vinyl sales. Most of my vinyl is bought used, as is everyone else’s. So the graph should even higher, way, way, higher.
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