29
Oct 14

BAZ LUHRMANN – “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)”

Popular97 comments • 7,101 views

#826, 12th June 1999

sunscreen “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” is an artefact from the Pre-Cambrian of social media, a fossil ancestor of today’s viral hits. You could go further: by making the jump into offline culture, it’s a kind of missing link to them. Natively, though, it belongs to the long, grey, clickless epoch of text-only circulation: paragraphs indented by lines of arrows, replicating in the unseen spaces of email accounts, far from the light of analytics.

This murky ecosystem was home to a variety of inhabitants. One – the dominant species, perhaps – was glurge: ultra-sentimental stories of cancer patients, puppies and soldiers, the plaintext descendants of death ballads or “No Charge”. Another was inspirational quotes and advice. Nowadays single aphorisms roam free and agile across the social media plains, shedding and acquiring new images, gifsets and inspired carriers as they do. In the late 90s, the climate for uplifting messages was somewhat harsher – the dynamics of email meant that people would not pepper their friends with individual quotes or snippets of wisdom. Instead the inspiring quotes bunched together to increase their survival and circulation chances. They formed colonies tens strong, collections of “wit and wisdom” or “20 facts about…” that offered better value to the habitual emailer than a lone insight could.

“Sunscreen” is in format one of these, two dozen or so pieces of advice strung together. But it has a single author – Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich, and she isn’t especially famous or inspirational. That was the point – “Sunscreen” was Schmich’s fantasy of what she would say, were she ever offered a commencement speech, but written in the awareness of how unlikely this was. The column reflects this, constantly equivocal about the value of giving advice in the first place. It’s a forty-year-old’s fantasy of being wise and old enough to offer advice to kids, laced with a forty-year-old’s awareness of how much they still don’t know.

This origin was, it turned out, sub-optimal for viral circulation. As soon as it began taking off, “Sunscreen” was re-authored, credited now not to some barely-known woman but to famous (and male) author Kurt Vonnegut. Vonnegut, recently retired, stated – rather generously – how flattered he was. The text was shared, credited mostly to Vonnegut, several million times. And in this form it found its way to Baz Luhrmann.

Luhrmann enlisted voice actor Lee Perry to do the song. Perry had a background in animation, but also in advertising voiceovers, and it’s that side of his talents he brings to bear on his bumptious, insincere “Sunscreen” recital. The fifth most annoying thing about this record is that Perry has lousy timing and at times sounds close to disgusted by what he’s being told to say. I can’t exactly blame him, but the audible sneer on “maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken”, for instance, rather undercuts the message of welcoming life’s many possibilities.

Perry is also a guy, reading words written by a woman, which accounts for the fourth most annoying thing: lines that might come over wry or light on paper sound very much like finger-wagging when Perry booms them out. “Do NOT read BEAUTY magazines, they will ONLY make you FEEL UGLY” he bellows. Well, OK, but if Glamour sounded as condescending as he does, nobody would buy it. A few lines later he’s giving out advice about hair treatments.

Not all “Sunscreen”’s instructions are bad or patronising – I quite liked the lines about your body being an instrument, for instance. In fact, it’s hard to single out any as being particularly egregious – it’s more the slow drip of homily, the pile-up of disconnected, bland instruction that repulses. And, to be honest, the bad luck of us encountering it at all. The third most annoying thing about this record is that it exists. It fell into the gap between the Internet being established enough for woeful things to rapidly spread, and the Internet being a fast and cheap mass medium which meant people could simply see and hear them at a click. “Sunscreen” is a novelty hit, the latest in a line of same. But it’s also a viral video in waiting, a YouTube proof of concept – though without such easy means of circulation existing channels had to be used, which means someone had to go and make the thing. Thanks, Baz.

Luhrmann’s specific contribution to “Sunscreen” is in the music – an instrumental reinvention of Rozalla’s “Everybody’s Free” as an ambient cloud of mellow vibes, midway between elevator and beach hut. At first this gaseous burble gets out of the way of the speech, but gradually it asserts itself. Every so often Schmich drops in a one-word admonition – “Floss”, “Stretch”, “Dance” – to break the flow. And it’s on “Dance” we hear the second most annoying thing about this record – a rusted old trip-hop beat lurching back into service, bringing home how musically exhausted “Sunscreen” sounds, a fag-end of once interesting styles. The enveloping fug of trip-hop was surprisingly flexible: it could be paranoid or nurturing, aggressive or enigmatic or torchy. “Sunscreen” is none of those things. Its drum loops sound lumbering and obvious, shown up by the sickly brightness of the rest of the arrangement.

But in the end, a better voice or better music could hardly save this song. The most annoying thing about it is inescapable without a complete rewrite: it’s so bloody noncommittal. Every piece of advice comes with a caveat, an opposite to nudge you back onto safer ground. Leave New York before it makes you hard. Leave California before it makes you soft. Don’t worry, or worry. Read the instructions, even if you don’t follow them. Don’t congratulate yourself, don’t berate yourself. Don’t trust me. Buy my record anyway.

There’s a name for this endless, whimsical self-undermining. Not an accurate name, but that didn’t matter, it stuck to the 1990s anyway, poisoning its reputation: irony. Commit to nothing, always leave yourself an exit route, wear sunscreen. It’s not that this record has no beliefs: sometimes gaps appear in its skin of chuckling self-regard and you hear the terror of mortality poke through – failing bodies, departing friends. But it hides that, turning away into offhanded wryness. “Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth: oh, nevermind.” Oh well, whatever, nevermind – a disgusted, spasmic shrug at the start of the decade, reflected here as a smug chortle. Nerveless trip-hop and reflexive irony: we are still 18 songs off the end of the 1990s, but here they are, ready for their grave.

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Comments

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  1. 31
    Rory on 30 Oct 2014 #

    But what am I thinking – what you all want to know is, did this song chart in its home country of Australia, where we had been told to wear sunscreen for twenty years (per “Slip, Slop, Slap”, above)?

    Nope. The 1998 parent album, Something for Everybody, peaked at number 14, but the 1999 single didn’t chart. That may be because John Safran’s parody had preemptively peaked at #20, thanks to incessant airplay on JJJ in 1998. By the time the song became a minor hit in America and a number one here, we were over it. I suspect that, like me, more young Aussies heard Safran’s parody than the original.

    Luhrmann’s version was produced by Nellee Hooper, by the way.

  2. 32
    mapman132 on 30 Oct 2014 #

    #31 Ha! Living in the DC area as I did and still do, I remember that Washington Post article – I think it was what alerted me to the existence of this record. I had forgotten though that it got play on the supposedly alternative rock WHFS – perhaps another sign that the once-legendary station was on its last legs by 1999.

  3. 33
    Matt on 30 Oct 2014 #

    @31 For what it’s worth, Baz did chart in Aus, just below the main chart at a lowly #65. What’s interesting with that is that Safran actually charted first, and Baz didn’t chart until months later, even having already placed very highly in JJJ’s poll for the year prior (which Not The Sunscreen Song never got into). One thing I remember Safran saying somewhat recently is that apparently, a lot of the people buying NTSS did so thinking that it was well, the sunscreen song, but that just wasn’t available, so perhaps they eventually did get it a release to capitalise (just slightly late).

    First time commenter also after silently reading for I think over 4 years now, glad to know I’m not alone as one who really can’t stomach this track.

  4. 34
    Rory on 30 Oct 2014 #

    @33 – Aah, I was tricked by the just-below-ness. My usual source is australian-charts.com, but if there’s a better one I’d be glad to hear of it.

    And welcome, Matt – good to have another Aussie commenting here. (That makes at least four…)

  5. 35
    Billy Hicks on 30 Oct 2014 #

    I am astonished.

    It somehow bypassed me completely in 1999 as we were probably all still singing Sweet Like Chocolate, so, again for me, it’s that weekend in early January 2004 on VH1 when they played all the #1s of the last 20 years in a row when I first remember hearing this. My initial reaction? Eh, weird.

    By the time of its addition of my iTunes four years later, I was captivated by this. The deadpan vocals, the building of the backing track from a simple drumbeat into the increasing additional layers, the brief break between “Sometimes you’re behind” and “The race is long”, and the moment shunned in Tom’s post but to me is the best bit, “Dance!”and that breakbeat coming in, leading to the “Do not read beauty magazines” break and then the only proper instrumental hook of the song.

    After that it slightly runs out of its best ideas but it’s still one I absolutely adore, and it’s something I feel somehow idiotic for as it flies in the face of every single comment here. I’m not one for dumb, saccarine novelty tracks but I think this one’s more than that.

    It’s my second ten of ’99. I’m so sorry.

  6. 36
    Matt on 30 Oct 2014 #

    @34 ha, I actually moderate on that site. Unfortunately the info isn’t widespread or properly available in any online source I know of (there are some assorted threads around the site that cover bits and pieces, like all the 1960s to 1980s, but I think we’d get in trouble if we posted the whole lot).

  7. 37
    Tom on 30 Oct 2014 #

    Please don’t feel idiotic! Everything that gets to #1 is a 10 to someone, and in an ideal world all those someones would get their moment in the Popular comments box. Thanks for pushing back on my disdain – even though I don’t agree.

  8. 38
    Another Pete on 30 Oct 2014 #

    There must of been some planned timing in regards to its June release date, as It ties in perfectly to when the class of ’99 were about to finish their exams. There’s your answer as to who was buying it. The audio equivalent of a leaver’s sweatshirt.

  9. 39
    Izzy on 30 Oct 2014 #

    I like the observation about the midwestiness of this. For me it connects to a certain idea I have of an American decency you don’t see maybe so much nowadays, for better or worse – concern for others, equivocation, homespun wisdom, a slight inferiority complex, the assurance to have its say, the confidence that you’re entitled to do your own thing anyway and we’ll all be alright in the end. And other things too. You are not alone.

    I daren’t listen again now after all these negative comments, but count me in as a higher mark in principle. I always liked Desiderata too.

  10. 40
    alexcornetto on 30 Oct 2014 #

    I really loved this at the time, and made a point of buying the single. I distinctly remember our new deputy head teacher at school playing this all during one of his first assemblies in an attempt to be cool, forgetting that no one there was older than 12 and, consequently, didn’t really give too much of a fuck. I’m curious to know whether the vocals were recorded before the music, or whether Lee ‘Scratchcard’ Perry had to fit the pauses and beats of his narration around a backing that already existed. Either way, the basic rhythm of the “Maybe you’ll marry” section is too immediately pleasing to get churlish about, and the “Dance”/”Stretch” commands work perfectly by having the space to sink in.

    It’s not something that really ever gets played anywhere anymore, maybe because the spokenwordness doesn’t lend itself to casual background music – since it’s an ersatz speech, it sounds like it needs to be properly listened to, which people don’t tend to like being forced to do.

    When I think about the song now, though, there’s something uncannily creepy about the whole thing. The instructions, some vague some specific, seem to come from some sort of weird ether, in an almost Lynchian way. As such I get inexplicable shivers as I would watching Mulholland Drive, rather than at the profundity (pseudo- or otherwise) of the whole thing.

    9 for the memories, 7 for the present experience.

    Also, I’ve not rewatched the video, but I distinctly remember it being a glorified Powerpoint presentation, which seems oddly fitting.

  11. 41
    Patrick Mexico on 31 Oct 2014 #

    @21: Well said. We got the wrong Everybody’s Free at #1. The Rozalla hit might comprise unpromising ingredients – Hallmark Mothers Day card lyrics, a token Italo-house piano solo, and like ..Sunscreen, a sheer desperation to unite its audience whether they like it or not. Perhaps the Manics’ “Everybody’s taking drugs because it makes governing easier” from the New Art Riot EP was an answer lyric to such shamelessly commercial, four-to-the-floor rave anthems.

    Yet it just about holds everything together and WORKS, and by the end you feel glad it came – it gives you that sense of accomplishment in the everyday, whether it’s a refreshing cold shower, a freshly cooked Sunday roast with all the trimmings, or as I was doing in 1991, successfully riding a bike without stabilisers.

    Fast forward eight years and just as I start at a school I shouldn’t have gone to and make foes for life there wasn’t any need to, some Australian director of a film of a Shakespeare play back then I thought was for girls and sissies, who sounds both in name and voice just like his popular Danish butter brand namesake, deliciously slathered across freshly baked crumpets, cutting across the airwaves with this soothing, very middle-American spoken word. A Werther’s Original advert amidst the greasy double-bacon Whopper Offsprings and Sugar Rays of the time. On first listen I actually thought the singer was at least 90 and his name was George Burns or Bob Hope, and he was warming up to do the Funky Chicken at his own wedding anniversary.

    But at a time when my nerves were frayed, I had the self-confidence of a gnat, and school “friends” were whispering at me in a bakery on the school French trip “Don’t act like a spastic” or bursting into my bedroom tearing down my Anna Kournikova* poster from Official Playstation Magazine, turning it round to the reverse which was Gabe Logan from Syphon Filter and saying “You should have that instead, you’re gay”, it was a dose of welcome, incongruous light humour, like meeting up with an old, wisecracking long-lost relative. I understand how the conservatism and determinism in the lyrics can hit people right in the irritation zone, but I’m pretty sure it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek from someone who’d been around the block in showbusiness rather than some embarrassing vicar trying to be “down with the kids.” I can stretch to a 6.

    One thing’s for sure, though – it’s no Thou Shalt Always Kill.

    * Before I realised that from a distance she looked like Matt Lucas.

  12. 42
    Patrick Mexico on 31 Oct 2014 #

    P.S. Only Luhrmann film I’ve seen is Moulin Rouge! – I could appreciate the lavish production and turn-of-the-century Paris setting – but every five seconds someone would cut across the dialogue with yet another jaunty musical number, and I thought “This is the work of a six-year-old child raised entirely on Sunny Delight sprinkled with ground-up Love Hearts. Please, PLEASE, make it stop.”

  13. 43
    mapman132 on 31 Oct 2014 #

    #35, 37: Even though my assessment of this is much closer to Tom’s, I can actually imagine this as somebody’s 10, and kudos to Billy for not only going against the grain but articulating why. The one thing I’ll say about the consensus hated tracks on here, most but not all of which I also dislike, is that they’re usually at least interesting or unique in some way. Because of this I can actually imagine someone giving “Grandma” or “Itsy Bitsy..” or Jive Bunny a 10. Heck, if I squint hard enough I might even imagine someone giving Robson & Jerome a 10. It’s the relatively boring middle-of-the-road tracks that are rarely actively hated that are harder to imagine as someone’s 10’s. I’d love to hear, just to pick at random, why Peter Andre’s “I Feel You” or 911’s “A Little Bit More” deserve a 10.

  14. 44
    mapman132 on 31 Oct 2014 #

    Apologies for the triple post. Please feel free to delete #44, 45, and this one if you can.

  15. 45
    Tom on 31 Oct 2014 #

    From my memory of my sole disgusted listen to it, Thou Shalt Always Kill is a straight zero, which leads me to suspect the whole genre is one I’m just completely allergic to.

  16. 46
    Cumbrian on 31 Oct 2014 #

    Thou Shalt… isn’t something I personally think brilliant (especially having just refreshed my memory on it) but the lines starting with the bit about not going into the woods with your boyfriend’s mate to take drugs and cheat on him through to the bit about not revisiting the same nightclub week on week in the hopes of running into the same woman all make me warm to the rapper more than the delivery of Sunscreen makes me warm to the voice there. Sunscreen feels like more of a lecture by the fireplace before you go out to your school leaving party (have never had a “graduation” speech delivered to me, apart from the one at uni – I imagine this fireside lecture is what commencement speeches are as a result). At least inasmuch as it sounds like all of those things have happened to him and his watching of Hollyoaks has warped his expectations from human contact, I have a degree of sympathy for whichever of the two of them is rapping, even if some of the rest of what he’s banging on about I don’t agree with. Raises it above zero (or even 1, 2 or 3) for me.

  17. 47
    Tommy Mack on 31 Oct 2014 #

    #43: Jive Bunny would have been at least a 9 for me at the time (aged 8-9) when I was unfamiliar with the records ‘sampled’ and unaware and unconcerned by the shoddiness of the mixing: it was just a load of great hooks and a fun cartoon character thrown in and as a bonus, grown-ups seemed to hate it.

    June 1999, I am, in the eyes of the law anyway, a man. I must have been nearing the end of my A-Levels when this came out. I’ve a sinking feeling I was naive enough to be impressed by the patter on this. Not enough to enjoy it as a record, like I did Jive Bunny but definitely ‘oh yeah, that’s deep’ in a teenage sort of way. I too heard the Vonnegut rumour and was disappointed it wasn’t true (though not in retrospect). A real Kurt Vonnegut #1 (with Fatboy Slim or Mr Oizo maybe?) would have been a wonderful thing.

  18. 48
    Tommy Mack on 31 Oct 2014 #

    #47: come on, Thou Shalt is a much funner record than this: there’s a modicum of self-awareness to it and ‘Thou shalt not follow Lostprophets or worship Pop Idols’ was a great line even before the whole horrifying truth emerged about Ian Watkins.

    The ‘The Beatles were just a band, Led Zeppelin were just a band…’ section always makes me think ‘Oh yeah, I haven’t listened to (e.g.) The Cure for ages…’ which I suspect wasn’t Scroobius Pip’s intention.

  19. 49
    Mark M on 31 Oct 2014 #

    I’ve always kind of assumed that Baz would have had a memory of this.

    I haven’t seen it for a while, but I liked Romeo + Juliet a lot at the time. Moulin Rouge I found entirely indigestible, but then it ticks all the wrong boxes for me (McGregor! Kidman! The songs!)… but people I respect love it.

  20. 50
    swanstep on 31 Oct 2014 #

    @Mark M., 51, “Kissing with Confidence” is new to me….and, wow, what a charmer. It in turn reminded me a little of Nada Surf’s late-90s semi-hit, Popular.

  21. 51
    Steve Mannion on 31 Oct 2014 #

    #49 There was a Fatboy b-side called ‘Neal Cassady Starts Here’ in which he sampled an NC narration over his first LP cut ‘The Weekend Starts Here’ which almost fits.

    Got me thinking about how many 90s dance tunes sample a powerful American narrator to great effect…to go with the Nirvana comparison from Tom you could draw a harsh line through the decade from Jesse Jackson on ‘Come Together’ to this schmaltzy pap :/

  22. 52
    James BC on 31 Oct 2014 #

    I’d forgotten about Thou Shalt Always Kill but I like it a lot more than I like EFTWSS. It deploys actual irony instead of 90s irony, since some commandments are meant to be followed and some not, with no difference in delivery. It’s not perfect, but it has impact and certainly sticks in the mind. Imagine if it had been number 1 – I feel it could have been if the stars had aligned for it, but you can say that about a lot of minor novelty hits.

  23. 53
    StringBeanJohn82 on 31 Oct 2014 #

    Hello, everyone, long time lurker, first time poster, please be kind! This is my favourite website on the entire internet, God bless you all for it.

    Of all the songs that ever got to number one to prompt me to register, I’m surprised it is this one! OK, so I was perhaps the target demographic for the song – I had just finished my GCSEs and the tyranny of school uniform, calling teachers Sir/Miss, having to study Maths was now in the past – but I loved it then and I love it now and I was convinced this would warrant a 9 or a 10.

    This era threw up very little that was sincere, never mind didactic. I cannot agree with Tom’s view that this was a product of 90s irony or shoulder shrugging indifference. To my ears, it sounded as if someone was speaking to me from a better world to my crappy town in south Wales, someone wiser who had seen a bit of the world and was passing on the advice to kids like me to get out, get out, get out, physically and metaphorically. It was all far removed from the shopping mall romances of your Britneys, the provincial nightclub fingerings of your R&B pop, and the increasingly opaque output of the post britpop bands.

    It is clear now as it was then that this is a novelty song. I accepted it as such. Quite clearly, I felt at the time, this was not as IMPORTANT as the latest Manics, Mansun, Radiohead stuff I was buying. And yet. With 15 years hindsight, it is this piece (as someone said, can’t really call it a song) that hits me in the face with an entire 20s-worth of regret and pride when I hear it rather than ‘The Everlasting’, ‘Legacy’ or ‘Paranoid Android’.

    It can’t help, I suppose, but be a song personal to the listener, and that is why we are seeing the divergent views on it. In its liberal bourgeois values, I saw freedom. In its authoritative tone, I saw the homespun advice I’d get from those around me at the time. It was alien yet totally familiar.

    As for the advice, well I’m 32 now and yeah it all seems so obvious. But that’s the result of 16 years of life. College, University, Jobs, travel, romance, heartbreak, success, failure, rejection and all that 20s stuff you have to put up with. But pop music should speak to teenagers. Most of the number ones of the late 90s, my peak pop years, were to borrow the obvious phrase, saying nothing to me about my life. To be honest most pop says nothing to most kids about their lives, instead it speaks to their aspirations. Whether it be having a floppy haired Irishmen telling you they will love you forever, getting hot on the dancefloor, getting to ‘lick you up and down’, or simply being a cool guy about town, it’s stuff for young adulthood. This is no different. But to a slightly nerdy, slightly sporty, half handsome, half intellectual provincial town dweller it was my version of what could happen when I was finally allowed to grow up after those endless years of gauche teenage tedium.

    Similarly, I can see now that I’ve always been a sucker for sentimentality and the sweeping statement, and this song as surely as any other is the definition of that. You could well imagine the Daily Mail printing this off as a manifesto, in it’s own way. But that’s the benefit of hindsight. It’s a [10] from me.

  24. 54
    Rory on 31 Oct 2014 #

    Swanstep @50, I loved that song, and it holds up well… and I’m amazed to see, given its title, that it’s never been mentioned here before. But it only reached no. 123 in the UK, which must be why. A Triple J staple in Oz, which was how I heard it. I bought the album but didn’t care for the rest of it, and haven’t followed Nada Surf since, but “Popular” is a

    Wikipedia says “the whole song, except for the chorus, are parts made up from the 1964 teen advice book Penny’s Guide to Teen-Age Charm and Popularity, written by television actress Gloria Winters”. One of my favourite “found lyrics” songs (if not quite up to “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!”). The video is a perfect slice of Americana, too.

    Welcome, StringBeanJohn82! Great to have your teenager-at-the-time perspective.

  25. 55
    StringBeanJohn82 on 31 Oct 2014 #

    Thanks, Rory. Popular by Nada Surf was a bit of an anthem for me and my mates at the time as well. We loved the sneering and the sarcasm and the obvious identification of the singer as outside of the mainstream, which of course we felt too.

    Most of said mates hated ‘…Sunscreen’ as well, probably because of the establishment bourgeois values I touched on earlier which are a world away from the usual posturing of your alt-rock stars we were all into . I don’t think ‘…Sunscreen’ was universally popular by any means and I was always out on a limb with my love of this one.

    Indeed the most universally popular no. 1 of ’99 so far was probably ‘Flat Beat’.

  26. 56
    Izzy on 31 Oct 2014 #

    most pop says nothing to most kids about their lives, instead it speaks to their aspirations … to a slightly nerdy, slightly sporty, half handsome, half intellectual provincial town dweller it was my version of what could happen when I was finally allowed to grow up

    53: that is – I think – a terrific observation. I was going to suggest that ordinary hopes and dreams get rather swept aside in pop’s tendency to the extreme (which to be fair is a more reliable way of harvesting attention).

    But I’m not sure that holds up. It would be interesting to know what proportion of Popular ‘narrative’ lyrics, however broadly defined, try to make the ordinary extraordinary, rather than aiming for the extraordinary to start with.

  27. 57
    Tom on 31 Oct 2014 #

    “Straight zero” is me being hyperbolic, BTW. Nothing gets a zero. And after all, I only heard it once. But praise for Thou Shalt was one of those useful markers at the time, a good way of invisibly sorting out the people whose views on music I might listen politely to but never really trust. It’s very easy – too easy, I think – to take the crap lines in it and say “ah those are the ironic bits”, they didn’t seem to be received ironically when quoted, let’s say.

  28. 58
    Tom on 31 Oct 2014 #

    And yes, welcome Stringbeanjohn82, what a great maiden comment.

    I wonder how much age affects the reception of this record. The people I know who hate it as much as I do are often around my age. Commencement Speeches are given at graduation, so either at 18 (for high school) or 21 (for University) – so yes, this is pitched at teens, and at the time it came out I was 26, five years into the, ahem, “real world”. Which is probably the exact worst time to hear something like this – enough time to have jettisoned some youthful naivety, not enough time to have replaced it with much other than reflexive suspicion. That said I’m over 40 now and I still think it’s pretty feeble. But my perception is surely coloured by who I was at the time it came out.

  29. 59
    Tom on 31 Oct 2014 #

    (I wonder if this is going to take “Vincent”‘s spot as the highest-rated 1 out of 10)

  30. 60
    thefatgit on 31 Oct 2014 #

    On the subject of Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip, I know “Thou Shalt…” is positively irksome (“*insert band*… just a band” least favourite list song ever), although I’ll listen to “The Beat That My Heart Skipped” quite happily. Not sure if “Letter From God To Man” is the worst thing or greatest thing ever to emerge from between a Millwall supporter’s lips.

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