You need to calm down.

I dunno, I think we probably should let some music styles die. First on my list is billionaire EDM.

So messed up that Mike Love gets to tour under that name. He’s the worst.

“Stop whining about your eating disorder because starving people exist” is an extremely lame argument.

Characterizing eating disorders as “not wanting to eat because you have low self esteem” is why you’re the idiot.

anyway I’ve been helping my homeless clients find shelter all morning, what have you been up to on that high horse?

Mike Love is the Brian Wilson of sucking

Loretta Lynn Says Country Music Is Dead And You’re Next

Everyone loses.

While I agree that there’s a distinctly offputting element of the dizzyingly wealthy putting out pieces about how sad they are, sneering at someone for “bitching about their eating disorder” tells me that you aren’t as invested in human wellbeing as you want to appear.

Reasons Mike Love Sucks, part 6724

Lol white women love being self righteous in defense of their completely self-centered views of the world. I’ve been getting immigrants work VISA’s and green cards all day at my job so yeah I feel pretty ok too? Nice try, trying to paint me as a piece of shit! Bringing your dumb career into this isn’t personal, petty white girl shit at all!

Any other imbeciles want to set up a bullshit straw-man argument to tell me why I should care more about Taylor Swift’s eating disorder than starving children?

Nothing more American than being almost obscenely wealthy and bitching about your eating disorder while the majority of Americans are struggling to obtain food and healthcare everyday. Love this country!

fuck off

Yeah it is. Good thing that wasn’t the argument I was making.
Eating disorders are obviously an issue but in the grand scheme of things, this is a gross move for someone of obscene wealth to do. It’s using something she went through as a PR move to gain sympathy because she’s always been a shitty, vain person with nothing else to complain about.

Didn’t think it would be a controversial point to say that there are much bigger problems in the world than certain ones that White America has. But like always…White America is too self-obsessed to agree and asks me to be respectful of their problems.

We get it. You’re a woman so eating disorders affect you and therefore you care more about that.

But yeah you’re right. I’m definitely the idiot here because I think the fact that there are millions of people across the world who CAN’T eat is a bigger problem than wealthy white women who don’t WANT to because they have low-self esteem.

Yeah, I’m definitely the one who has fucked priorities.

I’ve enjoyed this column since I discovered it, and y’all are one of the best comment sections on the internet. In fact, you make me feels somewhat inadequate in that I don’t have a “hook” like BixMeister’s wonderful anecdotes, or vails’ Line of the Day, or Both Grouse’s Essential Moments, or, or…

All I do is pop up with my lack of musical knowledge and comment on whether I like the song under discussion, or why I agree or disagree with Tom’s analysis. I doubt any of you even notice me and my cup of coffee avatar. I’m fine with that but I’m basically incapable of lurking, so I’ll generally comment even when I have nothing to say. Though when we get to virtual 1984, I can start to talk about my earliest memories of growing up in a sleepy Oxfordshire village and the soundtrack to such a childhood.

Anyway enough about me, let’s get to the meat of things, today’s entry. Tom described Wednesday’s Number One as the beginning of the 80s. I respectfully disagree. That honor belongs to this song. It’s not my favorite Blondie song, it’s not even my favorite Blondie number one (though it is top 3).

It’s a gorgeous song, from the opening propulsive stomp of that disco-esque beat (this might by the oft-mentioned “four on the floor,” but since I have no musical background I’m not even sure what that means) that Clem Burke plays over the Roland CR-78 undercurrent gives it a slightly breathless energy, which is matched by Debbie Harry’s vocal that always sound just on the verge of being out of breath itself. This is a muscular sounding song about the fragility of losing love with the titular metaphor perhaps best exemplifying that.

For me it’s one of two 9/10s on Parallel Lines – The other being One Way or Another, which I don’t believe will feature in this column.

And while it was well before I was born, ShallowLimey would be remiss if he didn’t at least mention Debbie Harry in that white dress on the album cover. Wowza.