Road Star Doolittle
How shall I put this?
I guess I’m not as sensitive as I once was. Christ, I can’t even listen to Morrissey anymore without cracking a smile. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m now married and no longer have to assume the pretext of pensive vulnerability. After all, that whole sensitive geek thing was merely a charade to get girls (and most of the time it worked, but that’s besides the point). This is not to imply that I am now a misanthropic bastard — maybe I am • but I digress.
Anyway, this is all meant to contextualize my disdain for William Hut. His is sappy electric folk, with a watered down Bright Eyes feel, that wallows in melancholia and self-pity. Are we really supposed to take seriously lines like, “Let me go, but hold your arms / Hold your arms around me / I’m safe when I’m sleeping•”? Road Star Doolittle is reminiscent of all that’s bad about Matthew Sweet’s brooding tendency (e.g. “Evergreen”) — Hut even sounds a bit like him. Basically, it’s nothing more than thirty-four minutes of maudlin drivel.
Again, it may be because my being is almost totally bereft of sensitivity. Or perhaps it’s because William Hut seems so fuckin’ insincere. Either way, Road Star Doolittle just doesn’t speak to me.
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