There’s something about CHRONICLES OF MARNIA, the new record from Marnie Stern that just makes me smile.
I love noise pop. LOVE it! I love guitars. Big guitars, loud guitars, out of tune guitars. Guitars with broken strings. Guitars with fret buzz. Every guitar is beautiful. Every guitar has a soul (If I hear a synthesizer starting up a song, I take it off.) I LOVE balls to the wall rock in the spirit of The Replacements or the Archers of Loaf. I find beauty in the choas, peace in the noise. I love bad singers, people who screech and wail, and tear their hearts out through their sleeves, and always manage a few off-pitch notes during every song. There’s no passion in perfection. There’s nothing more boring than perfection. People who can play and sing every note perfectly, repeating such perfection perfectly each time, are robots. Soulless. Gutless. Artless. It’s powered milk for the masses. Pure shit for hip people. (Guitars can’t hurt people, only people can hurt guitars.)
I love artists who aren’t afraid to take a chance and try something new.
Artists who turn genres on their ear.
Artists who realize failure is the only road to success.
I love Marnie Stern.
And I love this record.
Guy With Typewriter 