The Beatles – Revolver

Once again I have been sadly underwhelmed by the ridiculous, indeed intrinsically ridiculous, lyrcal content, or lack there of. They gently propagand swanseaic nothings to burlesque children of sacramental-savoyard fools. Which means nothing, not in the slightest. But you understand me. Yes you do.

The guitar chords speak of nothing, or rather suggest knowingly, whining ’a’ bitching nonsensical misery and essaying anally on the graphic / imperialist nature of a youngadult cross-gender relationship (this could even be extended to the whole same-gender fiscal-style relationships, or friendships, as they might whisper).
Again, this doesn’t mean much either.

But more importantly, for me, the thus of this review, this album is nothing other than a repeat of a horribly staccato stencil, a spray painted graffiti of titans little valued landscapes.

Indeed this album has little of value, as an EP it is really a E-Peasant. I hope you enjoy it, because at least then it will have repaid some of the aural blood money it owes me.

That said I enjoyed their gig at Crawdaddy last month immensely.

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