THIS IS POP? SPLIT ENZ' AB-ORIGINAL ARTIFACTS
Amazing, the stuff rock critics get in the mail—items fiendishly clever in design, calculated to adorn the wearer or the home, planned with a prime directive to serve as a nagging reminder that Group XYZ is the best money can buy, so write about ’em, you dolt! One such objet d’art that comes to mind is an earthenware planter sent complete with easy-grow seed packet.
THIS IS POP? SPLIT ENZ' AB-ORIGINAL ARTIFACTS
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Toby Goldstein
Amazing, the stuff rock critics get in the mail—items fiendishly clever in design, calculated to adorn the wearer or the home, planned with a prime directive to serve as a nagging reminder that Group XYZ is the best money can buy, so write about ’em, you dolt! One such objet d’art that comes to mind is an earthenware planter sent complete with easy-grow seed packet. The receptacle looked like some unfortunate soul whose head was cloven in a deep V—kinda like a lobotomized clown. And according to its record company, this creature of invention actually resembled a member of an Australian band called Split Enz. More like a buncha freaks, thought I, although the mood of the album being hyped, a debut called Mental Notes, occupied some indeterminate space between smooth and strange.