WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST READ?

Sometimes, like a retired bricklayer peering through a wire-mesh porthole in the temporary wall around a construction site, I peer back at the world I used to work in, mainstream music journalism, just to see how it's getting along. I nearly always regret that glance but perhaps this piece, more than any other, widened my eyes with the realisation that the people who populate that world now, are not my kind, are not my type, are a different new breed. The sound of an inexhaustible entitlement, a braying, whiney, superficially-lol but utterly humourless in the soul voice, a voice that I hear when I go out, and the major reason beyond sheer poverty that I stay in.

Here, see if you can read the whole thing, a review of Flume's "Skin" from The Independent. Same fucking paper that sacked Pricey.

Read it, hear that voice, it's the modern age, and if you bristle at it thank God that you will be leaving the world sooner than the writer.
This is all we have left.
The 00s will never end.
The steady, total gentrification of pop and its discourse is all we have left.

I'm not saying the writer shouldn't write. Indeed it's rare that copy this stylised makes it through anymore. I can't applaud it of course, cos it's fucking unreadable shite, and though it's like this guy is talking to/at you, you don't actually want this prick anywhere near you . Cherish it though because what it really makes you apprehend is that culture, and its critique, is not about old antiquated feckers like us anymore. It's about kids like this, and kids who can read stuff like this without vomiting their innards out. They're the only ones who can afford to do this anymore. Increasingly they'll be the only ones who can afford to make music at all. They're already the only ones who can afford to call themselves a writer.

It's their world, it's slimline and connected and we dishonour it with our continued shabby existence. Keep hiding.

It's their world now.