Mr. Wyman,
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I wish you would enlighten us, your readers, with more information on the Harsh, Contrary, and Macho Chicago Underground Music Scene that you always talk about in your column. Who are these bands? They sound neato, except for their naughty propensity for always bitching about those artists more talented and popular than they are! I hear that the Harsh, Contrary, and Macho Chicago Underground Music Scene has weekly meetings where they burn copies of Spin magazine, prank call their enemies’ record labels, and wring their hands while attempting to create new gossip about that cute little Liz girl. Oh well. I mean, fuck, you pay all that money to go to all the Hip Clubs every night and don’t even tell us about these bands–just the ones like Veruca Salt who are so obviously steeped in the Chemicals of Mainstream Success. My poor pal Cho Yun was mortally deafened by the sounds of ringing cash registers after listening to 30 seconds of the henna-ed combo’s Underground Demonstration Cassette.
Weasel Walter
