WHITE LUNG
Sorry

Deranged, 2012

• Favorites:

  The Poppiest, Saddest Song On The Record, “Bag”

• Flavors:

  Animal Fat, Spoiled Milk, Sour Candy, Fireball

RATING:

TRACK LIST:

1. Take The Mirror
2. St. Dad
3. Thick Lip
4. Bag
5. Bunny
6. I Rot
7. Glue
8. Those Girls
9. Bad Way
10. Deadbeat

I’ve never had a bad record review. I’ve had bad show reviews, but, to my knowledge, never a bad record review. (Just recently, one reviewer pointed out that I was drunk onstage and “slurring” my words. Did she not see that I was eating strawberries and had my hair done up like a Shih Tzu? Obviously I was drunk.) I don’t want a bad record review, which is why I’m not going to do what I’m supposed to be doing in this piece, which is review my band’s sophomore record, Sorry.

First of all, it’s just not done for a few reasons. For me, if I did it, I’d either have to completely slam myself and my band or completely praise myself and my band. Both would be extremely tacky. If I talk about all the things that could have been better, I’m over-exposing. I’m like that insecure high school girl who constantly asks her friends if she looks fat just to hear them reassure her that she is not fat, even though she knows she is not in fact “fat,” but feels a little unsure and doesn’t have the confidence to brush the thought away. I think they call this “fishing for compliments.” It’s a sign of weakness. I’m not into weakness. I’m into vulnerable, but weakness is a very different thing.

On the other hand, if I praised my own record and compared it to all the great bands I respected and admired, I would seem like a narcissistic pig. I’m confident when I need to be, but I’m not a narcissist and I don’t plan on ever being one. Again, only a few people can really pull narcissism off, and even then, it gets tacky. (In case you haven’t noticed, I’m very afraid of becoming my own definition of tacky.)

listen to it