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AC/DC (1978)


Mark Kozelek (2001)

“Don’t ever apologize!” my old man used to say, if my father was a bleary eyed, sweaty, unshaven macho stereotype drawn from the pages of Hemingway, Bukowski and a Sam Peckinpah script. That statement in the opening section of this posts tortured paragraph is a blatant lie. I am a liar, yes and a craven apologist. Yet, I am reluctant to apologize for the lightness of verbiage contained within my blog over the past week. So I won’t.

With that idiocy out of the way…..Wait, hang on a moment. Oh shit, I’ve…yes, I’ve made some kind of link here…Macho signifiers mentioned in first paragraph. AC/DC; ultimate symbols of male cock rock attitude, unyielding, ridiculous and proud. Ok, I have it now. Give me a moment while I work out my train of though here. What’s that? You’re off to make a cup of tea, read another blog, cut your toenails? Fair enough but you are missing out on my profound observations on male gender sterotypes here but…..that isn’t the central thesis here ya muppet! Who said that? Who dares to….Oh, it was me. Sorry. Look, I’ve inadvertently apologized now. Bugger!

New paragraph, fresh start. Alright, on the left we have Aussie hard rock Gods; swaggering male-ness, good time tight boogie riffage, womanizing, drinking and good times. On the right, sensitive, eternally sad sounding indie folk legend, tender, heartbreaking ephinanies, haunted memories and finger picked minor chords.

The winner dear readers? The listener.

N.B., Quite a smug conclusion to that post. I won’t argue with that. But then I am like that sometimes so….