This letter is to remind Mr. J. (Quiche-Eater) Kordosh that the current year is NINETEEN EIGHTY-TWO and to suggest that his impressions of the Fear band (July '82) belong to the middle class, washed-out, over-the-hill Woodstock gang of writers who might find more enjoyable employment writing cute remarks about potato chips and imported beer for Oui magazine.
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HOLD THE PICKLE!
This letter is to remind Mr. J. (Quiche-Eater) Kordosh that the current year is NINETEEN EIGHTY-TWO and to suggest that his impressions of the Fear band (July '82) belong to the middle class, washed-out, over-the-hill Woodstock gang of writers who might find more enjoyable employment writing cute remarks about potato chips and imported beer for Oui magazine.
The Cutes (a cancerous disease born of too little imagination and too little control) can strike at any time. But it usually strikes the writer who is intimidated by the new/—and used to cover up an uneasiness with the material being written about. It can happen to anyone, and we sympathize.
We suggest that Mr. Kordosh re-acquaint himself with the street, which perhaps he never was acquainted with anyway. He seems to be suffering from a severe ass/elbow differentiation confusion.
There is a certain amount of power that goes with being a Mr. Firstnighter rock 'n' roll critic and a certain amount of vigilance by the readers of that critic's publication is necessary for this
reason.