Why Does Mike Skinner Of The Streets Hate Us?
Because he sounds like a Cockney head trauma victim haltingly reading the lyrics off a teleprompter as he struggles to force his tissue-thin vocal range through a tuneless, pitch-fucked, dare-you-to-get-through-it version of Elton John’s “Your Song” that’s streaming on his MySpace page and was recorded for that BBC Radio 1 anniversary covers comp I was bitching about a few months ago. Pitchfork calls it “tender,” by which I think my colleague Mark Richardson means “like the painfully tender yellow bruise that forms the day after being kicked repeatedly in the stomach by a steel-toed boot.” This may, in fact, be the worst song I’ve heard in 2007, making me feel like I should apologize to any of my friends who bought his Skinner’s albums at my recommendation in the first half of the decade.
