We are Sex Bob-omb.
We are Sex Bob-omb.
Don’t talk to me about being alone.
When nothing’s right just close your eyes, close your eyes and you’re gone.
I’ve thought about it for a while, and I’ve thought about the many miles. But I think it’s time that I’ve gone away.
You love me, you love me and now you wanna kill me.
Ooh, just two irresistible forces the tension is mounting. Ooh, I’m Deanna from human resources, and I’m Iain from accounting.
I’m in the house.
In my brain I rearrange the letters on the page to spell your name.
Dive into this trench run of electro house bliss.
All right make it quick, good songs make you rich.
PRhyme, PRhyme, I’m in my permanent prime, I ain’t never falling off.
We’re going nowhere, but nowhere, nowhere’s on our way.
I want leverage, ice cold beverage, money I can’t count, I blacked out standing on Mount Everest.
I’m shrewd about decimals and my man’ll speak patois, and I can speak rap star.
But it all just came and went faster than I could, have the time to separate the bad from good.
Safe in the heat of the moment, a stillness that comes to me when I’m close to you.
Selfish as you are cannot be undone – you wouldn’t let me let myself become a person.
I like it when you take control, even if you know that you don’t own me, I’ll play the role.
In the hood, it’s against all odds, you spit 16 bars.
I’m hungry and the hunger will linger, I eat sixteen saltine crackers then I lick my fingers.
Take a second, open your mind, take a step back, and stop this madness.
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks: you better run, better run, outrun my gun.
Nothing to stop this being the best day ever, nothing to keep us from where we should be. I wanted the world but you knew better, and that all we have is immortality.
We are the vultures, the dirtiest kind. We’ll cut you once in your heart and your mind.
I woke up at the moment when the miracle occurred, heard a song that made some sense out of the world.
The most duplicated, anticipated, validated urban legends in the books with the ones who made it.
Yeah, I been struggling my whole life, yeah. I pour it up and get my soul right, yeah.
Shut up, kiss me, hold me tight.
I’m a lexicon devil with a battered brain, and I’m lookin’ for a future, the world’s my aim.
I hear a voice calling, calling out for me. These shackles I’ve made in an attempt to be free.
Come on and get the minimum, before you open up your eyes.
I hate catchy choruses and I’m a hypocrite.
Coffee breaks and lamb’s tail shakes aren’t arbitrary marks.
One part evil, three-fifths blind.
The Jack White Experience produces another successful experiment.
To be the best we got to pass the test we gotta make it all the way to the top of the mountain.
Easily one of my favorite “new” finds of this decade.
The most incredible ‘80s album… of 2010.
The humans of Parquet Courts have banged out yet another remarkably consistent performance.
Still making some noise, still hilarious, still the Beastie Boys.
Garage rock with the perfect concoction of indie, moody pop, and psychedelic influences.
Intelligently hook-driven, guitar rock. But, you know, also fun.
This one trucks (vans?), hammers, and stomps.
What eludes easy definition becomes a core strength.
Here’s how I’ll describe it: it’s just flipping gorgeous.
Hits that perfect sweet spot between alt rock and garage rock.
Wildly and gloriously weird punk-y art-meets-garage rock. Just dig it.
It’s fun and rock and pop and a little quirky and very British Invasion.
I’ll call it up when I’m… in any number of states.
What’s difficult to define and describe becomes essential to why I’m drawn to it.