Below are recent examples from some modern lords of those particular dances.
"The members of Mr. Bungle, the creation of former Faith No More vocalist Mike Patton, often turn up in clown masks and always turn out complex and chaotic post-rock."
-- The New Yorker's Aug. 9, 1999 listings section, winging it.
"It is a steamy afternoon in NYC, June 13, and I am looking for Puff Daddy's soul. No. That's not quite right. I am looking at Puff Daddy looking for his soul."
-- Selwyn Seyfu Hinds, spouting nonsense (look for an editor who doesn't let you embarrass yourself), in the Sept. Source.
"When he saw a middle-class kid named James Osterberg [Iggy Pop] standing in front of a trailer park in Yspsilanti, Michigan, he dug down deep, grabbed hold of his balls, made a few funny faces, contorted his torso and his image and turned himself into a Howlin' Wolf for the disaffected white kids, a living, breathing outlet for their nihilistic rage."
-- Dana Shapiro, demonstrating in the Aug. Icon that a run-on sentence just isn't a run-on sentence without a bunch of malarkey.
"She is a good girl, not given to easy talk about her sexual past, and we feel horrible about the discomfort we have caused her. Indeed, what were we after? What is the point? What could we hope to learn that goes beyond titillation? We do not know. All we know is that before watching American Pie, we'd never seen anyone screw an apple pie. Somehow, it seems like an epochal moment in teen movies -- finally honesty!"
-- Erik Hedegaard, disingenuously defending his sexual harassment of actress Mena Suvari, in the Aug. 19 Rolling Stone.
"Nice girls with an edge -- and buddies with the Beastie Boys. Where can we meet women like this?"
-- The entirety of a review of Cibo Matto's Stereotype A, from Issue 3 of imported-lad-culture journal Stuff.
"But to finally see Springsteen live is to become some kind of believer. First, because he's truly unruly and got That Thang, which one might roughly translate as the ability to enchant, delight, and power-fuck a crowd for two and a half hours as he did at the Meadowlands Saturday night. Second, because he's not taking indifference for an answer and you'd have to be dead to not respond to his shock tactics. From his humble and introspective MTV/VH1 sound bites you wouldn't necessarily know Springsteen was such a stage hogg, dogg. A shameless ham with an ego the size of Bill Gates' money tree who lives to leave an already hysterical crowd limp or speaking in tongues."
-- Greg Tate, using ignorance as an excuse, in the Aug. 17 Village Voice.
"I have one recipe that is a proven aphrodisiac: chocolate chip vegan pancakes; there was a period when every time I made them, I ended up having sex with the person I had breakfast with, oftentimes it was my girlfriend at the time. It's this sort of sybaritic breakfast where the chocolate and syrup warms you up and it spreads to your stomach and down to your groin and all of a sudden it's 10 in the morning and you're having sex on the floor of the kitchen."
-- Moby, believing his own balderdash, in the Aug. Urb.
"On 'Shame' a man who long ago would have been called a sugar daddy conducts a hateful dialogue with a female chorus: He wants sex and flattery, he can give the woman a good life in exchange, he's not talking about leaving money on the bed, and the chorus acts as if he wants her to lick the shit off his dick."
-- Greil Marcus, using his imagination, in a piece on Randy Newman in the Aug. Interview.
"Indeed, those who were put off by The Chemicals' simplified approximation of electronic music may reconsider the group after hearing Surrender. Gone is the cutout industrial angst -- the block-rocking beats are now just minor tremors, and the whole package sounds more subtle and sophisticated. It would not be entirely wrong to detect a Kraftwerk influence in tracks like "Orange Wedge" and "The Influence."
-- Aidin Vaziri in the Oct. issue of skater mag Warp. Would it be entirely wrong to detect a whiff of bullshit?
