Articles tagged with: fans
If you're a fan of Phish and you're reading this through reddened eyes, you probably went to their recent reunion concert. And if you went to the reunion concert, at some point you more than likely woke up in the trunk of a car next to a spare tire and several bloodied police batons. Had you your senses about you, you'd have noticed there were 193 other unconscious people crammed in there with you - all of them wearing rainbowy shirts. That's because local police really cracked down at the show - enough so to confiscate over $1,000,000 in illegal drugs, among other things.
One thing that can be counted on is that whenever we rag on Kenny Chesney, his fans always loudly defend him. So, you know, it's just a shame that Kenny Chesney more or less thinks that all his fans are dicks. That's what he's implied, anyway - yesterday Kenny Chesney won the ACM Entertainer Of The Year award for the fourth straight year running but, because the winner was chosen by fans rather than a faceless group of industry insiders, he's got all stroppy for it and claimed that it doesn't count as much any more. Oh Kenny, when will you learn that it's never smart to criticise your fans, especially when they all own shotguns and are the biological result of institutionalised pan-generational incest.
That’s it! Forget it. Hard-Fi have had it with all of you. All of you miserable, misguided bastards out there who are under the impression that Hard-Fi are rubbish. Does that sound like you?
Do you think that Hard-Fi are a truly fucking awful band? Do you? Do you consider Hard-Fi’s raison d'être to be as annoyingly pitiful as the wasps? Are you fed up of Hard-Fi trying to drink your can of Fanta in the middle of the summer after you’ve already batted them away fifteen times? Well, if so, then who do you think you are? Who? Don’t just continue reading this if you haven’t stopped to think who you really are; stop and think about it.
If you care deeply about the fate of houses that skinny dead women used to live in, then this is the story for you.
The family home of The Carpenters is going to be demolished because the current owner is sick of weird Carpenters fans hanging around all the time, and the fight is on to save the important memorial that one quite dull band used to live in for a while until one of them died.
Will the campaign to save The Carpenters house from demolition be successful? More importantly, can you really bring yourself to be even slightly bothered about whether a sodding house gets knocked down or not?
Now, chances are you've just read the words 'Cliff Richard: Literally The New Radiohead' and assumed that Sir Cliff Richard has recorded a depressing wonky-eyed album full of experimentally introspective songs called things like Kafka SMTP.
However, the truth is a little more boring. Instead of, say, soundtracking an avant-garde movie about radio static with a series of dissonant chords played on the back of a kettle, Cliff Richard has instead decided to let his fans choose how much they want to pay for his new album entitled Love... The Album. But it's pretty much entirely irrelevant what hare-brained scheme Cliff Richard has dreamed up to sell his new record, because it rests on the hinges of Cliff Richard fans using the internet to preorder the album, and in our experience most Cliff Richard fans are so technologically backwards that they've only just learnt that DVDs aren't for spreading jam on and trying to eat like shiny Ryvita.
