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Ja, vermutlich :krank:
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WerbungBullittJa, vermutlich :krank:
hast du mal auf die texte geachtet? lohnt sich. :sonne:
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)firecrackerhast du mal auf die texte geachtet? lohnt sich. :sonne:
Um ehrlich zu sein noch nicht. Habe sie auch erst zwei mal gehört. Finde sie auch nicht wirklich schlecht aber aus der Flut der englischen Indiealben herausragen tut sie auch nicht. Mal sehen, wie sie sich so entwickelt.
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Playlouder schreibt:
Take that precocious kid at school; you know, the one who was always bragging of puking on 20:20, picking girl’s cherries and giving lip to shopkeepers. Give him a clutch of Libertines guitar tab and a Myspace account, Photoshop out (some of) the acne and douse thoroughly in Lynx and voila, you’ve got the Arctic Monkeys. For they ooze with teenage cockiness, their music is stout, brassic and pugnacious, their lyrics are full of „lads squaring up proper shouting“ and talk of birds and booze and run-ins with the law. The trouble is, the much-lauded braggadocio of ‚Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not‘ is hollow.
The Arctic Monkeys have been whirled around in a no-hype-hype doublespeak that’s clearly been exploited to the very hilt in order to get most of the music press and beyond all chattering to the same tune. On the back of this, you’d want (and be right in expecting) ‚Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not‘ to pull no punches from the very first chord.
So the opening ‚A View From The Afternoon‘ is pounding drums and a thuggish guitar roar that sounds like Art Brut’s ‚Formed A Band‘ covered by a rugby team. Its first line – „anticipation has a habit to set you up for disappointment“ – feels prescient, though I doubt that was the intended affect. This is followed by the swift deployment of ‚I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor‘ and ‚Fake Tales Of San Francisco‘. Like the clumsy pawings of the adolescent male it’s too enthusiastic, too soon – and suggests that hitting the listener with those songs so early on was a deliberate attempt to sedate the critical faculties with the warmth of familiarity.
But playing for safety isn’t what this band are supposed to be about and, in any case, familiarity breeds contempt. For ‚Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not‘ goes swiftly downhill, and it’s largely down to this ham-fisted lack of imagination. Example: Does the song that rips off a punk funk beat really need to be called ‚Dancing Shoes‘? Not to mention that it essentially repeats the lyrical theme of ‚I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor‘.
And that’s not all. From the Kaiser Chiefs to Hard-Fi to this lot, small-town drinking and japery is a huge inspiration to the nu-Britpop clan. All very well, but lyrically, this is feeble. The dire ‚Riot Van‘ with its „we got a chase last night from men with truncheons dressed in hats“ is laughable compared with ‚Town Called Malice‘ or most of the output of Jarvis Cocker. There’s simply none of the wit that fellow Sheffield residents Pulp dripped with – the hormonal ‚Still Take You Home‘ and its „I fancy you, you’re a Top Shop princess a rock star too“ is just one example of the lyrical paucity on show – but received wisdom is to praise Alex Turner for his angry young man poetics.
Thirdly, there’s his voice. Sardonic and sneery yes, but lacking the belligerent menace and determined hunger Liam Gallagher gave to ‚Definitely Maybe‘, the album to which this effort will no doubt be favourably compared. It’s not long before his constant lyrical rehashes, delivered by George Formby at the moment his balls dropped, really begin to grate.
There’s a lot less room between, say, Arctic Monkeys, Kaiser Chiefs and Maximo Park than ever there was between Suede, Pulp and Oasis back in the mid-nineties, leading to the inevitable conclusion that fans of Anglocentric guitar music are faced with ever-diminishing returns. And as it was with those boasting boys with the cut-off ties at school, so it is with ‚Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not‘ and The Arctic Monkeys – no-one really wants to run counter to the prevailing orthodoxy and tell the truth that this is merely a half-decent indie pub rock album riding on a whopping cloud of hot air.
und gibt 2/5.
und diese wertung kann ich voll unterstützen. schon die demos überzeugten mich nicht. und zusammen mit dieser radiorock-produktion ist die cd zurecht album des monats bei gmx. für mich klingen die wie eine schülerband, die versucht ihre helden zu kopieren. hier mal ein schönes riff, da mal ne nette idee, aber kaum überzuegende songs. die englischen tokio hotel ist vielleicht etwas zu tiefgegriffen – aber es geht in die richtung. absolut bescheuertes booklet auch.
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Do you believe in Rock n Roll?oh, englisch-unterricht? wo ich schon am übersetzen bin… :
stout – stämmig
brassic – kennt leo nicht, und dict.tu-chemnitz.de auch nicht
pugnacious – kampflustig, kämpferisch
braggadocio (form.) – wichtigtuer, angeber…..So the opening ‚A View From The Afternoon‘ is pounding drums and a thuggish guitar roar that sounds like Art Brut’s ‚Formed A Band‘ covered by a rugby team.
:lach:
die review ist lachhaft.
no-one really wants to run counter to the prevailing orthodoxy and tell the truth that this is merely a half-decent indie pub rock album riding on a whopping cloud of hot air.
nee, richtig. wahrscheinlich bezahlt die bands auch die leute, die auf ihren konzerten euphorisch mitsingen und so….
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)den von dir zitierten satz (oberer) finde ich super.
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Do you believe in Rock n Roll?Pop CD
Arctic Monkeys, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not***** (Domino)
Alexis Petridis
Friday January 13, 2006
The GuardianArctic Monkeys, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not
In a few weeks‘ time, it seems likely that When the Sun Goes Down, the third single by Arctic Monkeys, will follow its predecessor straight to number one. The teenage quartet have become fixed in the national conscience with such speed that it’s hard to react to this prospect with more than a shrug. In the past six months, the media have parroted the tale of their rise to stardom so often that there can be hardly anyone who is unaware of its salient points. The only surprise was that it didn’t turn up in the Queen’s Christmas speech: „At this time of yarh, one’s thoughts turn to the Commonwealth, and also to Arctic Monkeys, who cultivated a fanbase by making MP3s available on the internet, and before they had even released a proper single, managed to sell ite London’s Astoria.“
And yet, ignore the hype and the idea of When the Sun Goes Down topping the charts appears a deeply improbable scenario: the biggest-selling single in Britain might soon be a witty, poignant song about prostitution in the Neepsend district of Sheffield, sung in a broad south Yorkshire accent. You don’t need to be an expert in pop history to realise that this is a remarkable state of affairs.
Their debut album suggests there is plenty more that is remarkable about Arctic Monkeys. In recent years, British rock has sought to be all-inclusive, cravenly appealing to the widest audience possible. Oasis started the trend, hooking mums and dads with familiar-sounding riffs and „classic“ influences, but it has reached its apotheosis with Coldplay, who write lyrics that deal only in the vaguest generalities, as if anything too specific might alienate potential record buyers. Over the course of Whatever People Say …, you can hear the generation gap opening up again: good news if you think rock music should be an iconoclastic, progressive force, rather than a branch of the light entertainment industry.
Alex Turner can write lyrics that induce a universal shudder of recognition: Britain’s male population may grimace as one at the simmering domestic row depicted in Mardy Bum („You’re all argumentative, and you’ve got the face on“). For the most part, however, anyone over 30 who finds themselves reflected in Turner’s stories of alcopop-fuelled punch-ups and drunken romantic lunges in indie clubs should consider turning the album off and having a long, quiet think about where their life is heading.
Meanwhile, Arctic Monkeys‘ sound is based entirely on music from the past five years. The laconic, distorted vocals bear the influence of the Strokes. The choppy punk-funk guitars have been filtered through Franz Ferdinand, the frantic rhythms and dashes of ska come via the Libertines. Turner’s refusal to tone down his dialect probably wouldn’t have happened without the Wearside-accented Futureheads. Thrillingly, their music doesn’t sound apologetic for not knowing the intricacies of rock history, nor does it sound wistful for a rose-tinted past its makers were too young to experience. Instead, Arctic Monkeys bundle their influences together with such compelling urgency and snotty confidence that they sound like a kind of culmination: the band all the aforementioned bands have been leading up to.
You could argue that, musically, there’s nothing genuinely new here. But you’d be hard-pushed to convince anyone that Whatever People Say … is not possessed of a unique character, thanks to Turner, who comes equipped with a brave, unflinching eye for detail (in Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured, a taxi queue erupts into violence amid anti-Catholic invective), a spring-loaded wit (Fake Tales of San Francisco advises hipsters to „gerroff the bandwagon, put down the ‚andbook“) and a panoply of verbal tics that are, as he would put it, proper Yorkshire: the words „reet“, „summat“ and „‚owt“ have never appeared in such profusion outside of the Woolpack.
He’s also capable of more than one-liners. A Certain Romance is an insightful, oddly moving dissection of the chav phenomenon. It keeps spitting bile at a culture where „there’s only music so there’s new ringtones“, then retracting it a few lines later – „of course, it’s all OK to carry on that way“ – as if the narrator is torn between contempt and class solidarity. Eventually, the latter wins out: „Over there, there’s friends of mine, what can I say, I’ve known them for a long time,“ he sings. „You just cannot get angry in the same way.“ It certainly beats guffawing at chavscum.com.
At moments like that, Whatever People Say … defies you not to join in the general excitement, but it’s worth sounding a note of caution. We have been here before, a decade ago: critics and public united behind some cocky, working-class northern lads who seemed to tower effortlessly over their competition. The spectre of Oasis lurks around Arctic Monkeys, proof that even the most promising beginnings can turn into a dreary, reactionary bore. For now, however, they look and sound unstoppable.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/reviews/story/0,11712,1684753,00.html#article_continue
falls jemand an der übersetzung von „chav“ interessiert ist:
hat kein direktes deutsches equivalent. das sind hauptsaechlich junge abeiterklasse typen, die einem bestimmten (sportswearfetisierendem) kleidungsstil
froehnen, gerne alles moeglich konsumieren, und von bildungsnaehreren schichten als den untergang des abendlandes gesehen werden. heterosexuell aber homosexuelle objekte der begierde.in berlin, die art jugendlicher, die SIDO hoeren.
http://dict.leo.org/cgi-bin/dict/urlexp/20040915231552
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)captain kiddden von dir zitierten satz (oberer) finde ich super.
ich auch. auf diesen vergleich wäre ich niemals gekommen.
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)Von Intro.de
Klar, die Geschichte ist zuletzt immer die gleiche gewesen: Junge Newcomer sorgen in England für viel Wirbel und sind schon bei uns für Titelgeschichten gebucht, bevor man überhaupt die erste Single richtig gehört hat. „Na und?“ frage ich. Hatten wir denn nicht alle unseren Spaß mit Bloc Party, Maximo Park, Franz Ferdinand und all den anderen? Eben. Und wer die Single „I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor“ von den Arctic Monkeys jemals gehört hat, der wird mir nicht widersprechen, wenn ich sage: jetzt und hier ganz groß diese Band. Natürlich weiß man nicht, ob sie Potenzial für mehr als dieses mitreißende Debütalbum hat, das voll von großartigen Melodien und einprägsamen Songs ist, das von einem Verständnis für die Off-Beat-Experimente des Northern Soul weiß, das überhaupt das Schöne gerne mal leicht dreckig macht, da das oft im Leben der beste Schachzug ist – aber wo ist denn das Problem, verdammt noch mal? Muss denn jeder gleich gekommen sein, um zu bleiben? Pop bedeutet auch, den Moment genießen zu können und eben nicht das Bild einer düsteren Zukunft heraufzubeschwören. Genau das steckt doch bereits im Titel der ersten Single. Natürlich fällt es einem Endzwanziger wie mir schwer, sich freizumachen von einem Lächeln angesichts der Bubihaftigkeit der Band, aber ich muss sie ja nicht ansehen oder daten (obwohl, mit dem süßen Sänger würde ich schon gerne mal ausgehen), sondern ich soll und will ihnen zuhören, denn hier spricht (zumindest für mich Detroit-Techno-Sozialisierten) die britische Jugend aus jenen Straßen, die nicht so verdammt viel Perspektive von den Alten angelegt bekommen hat. Analog zu Detroit ist die Zukunftsperspektive der Jugendlichen in vielen englischen Städten sehr mies – und was liegt da näher als der Pub als Lösung? Nicht umsonst droppen sie auf der Platte, dass bei ihnen Working Class People auf den Konzerten abgehen und eben nicht gelangweilte Kunststudenten rumstehen. Im Fall der Arctic Monkeys sind es die Straßen von Sheffield, einer Stadt, die schon viel Musikgeschichte geprägt hat. Auf der elektronischen Seite schlägt natürlich Warp Records zu Buche, aber auch Throbbing Gristle, an Bands muss man neben Human League zwingend Pulp nennen. Letzteren würde sicherlich auch der Albumtitel „Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not“ gefallen, drückt er doch eine unendlich große Skepsis gegenüber der Wahrnehmung von außen aus. Wo Pulp allerdings mit Inszenierungen spielten und so die Beobachtenden ganz bewusst auf falsche Fährten schickten, ist die Anlage der Monkeys gar nicht so tricky, als dass wirklich Fehlurteile rauskommen könnten. In ihrem Fall ist es eher ein Oasis-geprägtes kindliches Opponieren gegen jegliche Zuschreibung von außen. Passend dazu die gut zum Mitsingen (oder, da ja britisch und biergetränkt, Mitgrölen) geeigneten Texte. Also macht bitte genau das. Über die Zweifel reden wir dann beim zweiten Album.
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ARCTIC MONKEYS
Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not
(Domino)
Rating: 8by Stefan Braidwood
And over there: they’ve broken bones
There’s only music so that there’s new ringtones
It doesn’t take no Sherlock Holmes
To see it’s a little different, around here…
Don’t get me wrong, well there’s boys in bands
And kids who like to scrap with pool cues in their hands
And just cos ‚e’s ‚ad a couple of cans, he thinks
It’s alright to act like a dickhead…
— „A Certain Romance“There ain’t no love though,
Montagues or Capulets
Just bangin‘ tunes in DJ sets
And dirty dancefloors,
And dreams of naughtiness
— „I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor“Here’s a list of what Arctic Monkeys are not:
# Punk like The Sex Pistols. They’re pop like The Clash.
# Morrissey. Despite the penetrating archness of Alex Turner’s lyrics and the generally wry, self-knowing cut of his jib, the latter’s songs aim their scorn at blemishes in a Nothern cultural landscape that he adores and knowingly embodies, rather than cruelly mutilating a world alienating in its mundanity for inevitably failing to placate the former’s need for hyperbolic ego fellation. Or to put it another way, Morrissey forgives Jesus for being so small-minded and Turner thanks Sheffield for letting him be part of its greatness.
# The Streets. Turner’s musical persona has more in common with Roots Manuva and Braintax, both of whom he acknowledge as influences. Another MC they’re fans of is Pharaoh Monche, whose music also wants you to get the f*ck up and dance…
# The Libertines. Yes, this is music that will be forever England, where bangers are big brown sausages and buying wife beater nets you some cheap cider rather than cheap apparel. Yes, they are proud of this fact, and yes, Turner is inarguably the heart of the group, as he writes all the riffs and taps out all the tunes as well as lacing the lyrics and applying verve to the vocals. On the other hand, no they do not do drugs or date supermodels (they’re 19 on average, and bright), no, they are not Southern nancyboys, and no their songs are not ramshackle fantasies of Albion barely held together by hype and bohemian charm.
# The Strokes. Even though Turner has admitted that they were originally not much more than a Strokes covers band — like the Libertines before them — and much time was spent rewriting attempts at early songs due to their being blatant rip offs.
# The result of major label hype, even if they are now signed to the home of Franz Ferdinand. The momentum which resulted in second general release single „When The Sun Goes Down“ beating the Sugababes and Pharrell Williams to No. 1 in the British charts was built up solely by word of mouth from those at shows and the exchange of demos between fans on the Internet, largely in the form of the completely unofficial, and indeed illegal, Beneath the Boardwalk mp3 collection, named after a frequently played local venue. This is a genuine case of people claiming a band as their own and putting their money where their hearts are. Scoff if you want, but remember that Domino Records only have about 15 employees at present, and contrast if you will with Bloc Party on Wichita, whose Silent Alarm was hyped to death and beyond despite mediocre sales and singles that swanned around the bottom of the top 20. ‚Monkeys buzz has been going strong for over a year and the debut album isn’t even out yet.
# The Liars. That elongated title is in fact an Albert Finney quote from an old English TV series. It’s probably not a dig at Eminem, but you can be bet they’ll have grinned about that anyway. And their only video is an Old Grey Whistle Test homage (ask your… er, actually, ask any surviving British relatives) on zero budget.
# The reinvention (or saviours of) music. There are four of them: you’ve got two guitarists, one of whom’s the singer, you’ve got a bass player, you’ve got a drummer. This has been done before, it will be done again, and by people with more innate instrumental talent. No arguments there. On the other hand, if you consider that almost everyone from The Verve to Radiohead have had huge hits with the same chord sequences arranged slightly differently, that any and all music can basically be broken down into either „catchy“ or „boring“, and that innovation in Western music these days is based either on doing what Asian music did naturally a thousand of years ago, or arranging the same notes for slightly different durations (shout out to Paul Beatty for The White Boy Shuffle, although I love Tuff more)… Well if you throw all those ideas away, lack of imagination is still a much more pointed criticism than lack of originality, a point proven by Shakespeare and roundly ignored by lazy hacks such as myself when we’re trying to say „it’s boring“ in a swish way. The Arctic Monkeys may not be mature virtuosos, but they’re not boring or inept, and their songs are neither flabby nor unimaginative.
# Wankers.
Here, quickly, are some things I personally like about The Arctic Monkeys:
Their unfeigned enjoyment in what they’re doing, which bestows their live shows with a coolness and an energy that’s as welcoming as it is effective. The fact that Jon Abyss, producer for the likes of DJ Shadow and UNKLE, helped with the album sessions, even though I prefer the looser feel of most of the demos. Chris Martin being such a fan that one of the current Coldplay tour passwords has been changed to „Arctic“; back in Sheffield, ‚Monkeys fans relate to a band with lyrics that aren’t about „birds flying underground at the speed of sound, or some rubbish“, and rejoice.
Mothers being caught dancing round the kitchen to „Bigger Boys With Stolen Sweethearts“; alternately, the way the imitiation brass bassline of Specials-meet-Razorlight personal fav „Waving ‚Bye to the Train or the Bus“ makes me do the ska shimmy in full winter gear as Alex breaks my heart in friendly, hopeful tones (neither track made it onto the album). Being shown that no matter how much I detest nationalist feeling, there is a certain point at which the difference between who you are and what you love simply ceases.
The tribal drumming on the intro to the demo of „I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor“ (all music is African music, listen to Tinariwen), the joyous aside „…you sexy little swiiiii-iiiiine“ on „Dancing Shoes“, the way Turner flips „You’re not from New York city, you’re from Rotheram/so put down the handbook/and get off the bandwagon“ off the back of a verse and onto the surging upswing of an anthemic chant/riff as „Fake Tales of San Francisco“ goes into overdrive, and the fact that the two „ballads“ on the album are called „Riot Van“ and „Mardy Bum“, both regretful rather than romantic. Turner’s accent and ability to perfectly nail the frolics and mishaps of a night out in England, pausing to rhyme „scary’un“ with „totalitarian“ as another tyrannical bouncer pours cold water on proceedings. The feeling of liking a band simply because they make me happy and make me want to dance, despite the fact that I usually only do so „like a robot from 1984“, the year most of ‚em were born, bless.
The fact that some people are still determined enough to take a band name they chose at 15 and stick with it to the end, bold as brass in the Northern cold (do Americans even have the expression „cold as brass monkeys“?). Barring fatal accidents, I reckon that end is a long way off indeed, and this is a humble band eager to learn and change. Yes, theirs is a sound similar to a lot of the names jaded hipsters and criterati will spew on auto-fire disdain, but no-one else really sounds like them, and very few people indeed are writing taut rockin‘ pop songs under three minutes long that are simultaneously as smart and as unpretentious as those proffered here.
The band’s motto has become Don’t Believe The Hype, and I’m not too sure how well their loves, laughs and lives will translate to non-British audiences — but at home they’re already heroes, and they’re starting with an eager smile on their faces.
— 13 January 2006
http://www.popmatters.com/music/reviews/a/arcticmonkeys-whatever.shtml
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)leute, ihr habt doch selbt schon gesagt, dass es bisher nur positive reviews gab. müsst ihr jetzt nicht auch noch alle reinposten. ich wollte doch nur EINE gegenstimme hier mal zitieren.
toll auch die leute, die sagen, dass die monkeys das lebensgefühl der britischen jugend repräsentieren würden. woher kennen die das lebensgefühl? ach, hatte mal einer geschrieben und jetzt schreiben es alle ab? na ja, journylismus halt.
und die sex pistols waren ja nun mal das gegenteil von punk. vielmehr eine der ersten casting-Bands in der popgeschichte.
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Do you believe in Rock n Roll?brauchst dich ja nicht damit zu befassen. :P ich würd ja viel lieber zur abwechslung auch noch mal was negatives lesen.
das hier ist auch schön :
(…)
Was die Arctic Monkeys von all den anderen Retrobands aus England trennt, ob es nun Hard-Fi sind oder die Kaiser Chiefs, ist ihre Aggressivität. Die Musik ist schnell. Die Gitarren sind laut. Die Arctic Monkeys legen es nicht darauf an, nur Kunsthochschülerinnen zum Tanzen zu bringen wie Franz Ferdinand. „I bet you look good on the dancefloor”, hieß zwar auch die sehr gute erste Single der Band, doch „you know nothing – but I’ll still take you home”, so geht es ein paar Lieder später auf dem Album weiter. „Wir klingen so aggressiv”, sagt Jamie Cook, der Gitarre spielt, „weil wir noch keine allzu guten Musiker sind. Man kommt aber mit allem durch, wenn man die Instrumente verzerrt.” Und wenn sie langsamer spielen, fallen sie dann um? „Wenn wir das machen”, erklärt Alex Turner, der Sänger, „hört man noch die Fehler heraus. Die ruhigeren Lieder von der Platte haben wir bis jetzt nur im Studio gespielt, aber nicht vor Publikum.” Vor Publikum, erzählt Jamie, spielen sie ihre Lieder manchmal noch schneller, weil sie die Euphorie davonträgt.
(…)
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)mehr bla bla geht wohl nicht. meine fresse. wer hat diesen text verbrochen. allein dafür, mit den beiden schlechtesten bands dieser retro-welle anzufangen null punkte.
schrei, bis du du selbst bist.
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Do you believe in Rock n Roll?oh, sorry, ist nicht der anfang des artikels. ist nur n auszug, da du ja nicht die kompletten artikel lesen wolltest………. finde die antwort des gitarristen halt ganz niedlich.
sehr sympathische review auch auf www.plattentests.de … obwohl drei der monkeys „schon“ 19 sind, und der vierte sogar 20.
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)
AnonymInaktivRegistriert seit: 01.01.1970
Beiträge: 0
firecrackeroh, sorry, ist nicht der anfang des artikels. ist nur n auszug, da du ja nicht die kompletten artikel lesen wolltest………. finde die antwort des gitarristen halt ganz niedlich.
sehr sympathische review auch auf www.plattentests.de
Deine Euphorie wundert mich schon ein bißchen. Ich würde die Platte auch nicht in den Boden stampfen, sie ist aber eben auch nicht so gut, wie sie teilweise geschrieben wird. Und wage es ja nicht, diese Scheibe mit dem Debut von Oasis auf eine Stufe zu stellen. Da liegen Welten dazwischen. Über die Rezension im ME von Albert Koch habe ich mich aber tatsächlich geärgert. Der Typ schreibt seit einem Jahr ein und denselben Text, ersetzt aber einmal Bloc Party durch Maximo Park, jetzt eben durch die Arctic Monkeys.
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Schlagwörter: Alex Turner, Arctic Monkeys
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