Thomm Quackenbush, author

Julie Doiron

Far from the depths of obscure coffee shop solo artist, comes the mellow musical styling of Julie Doiron. Normally, I'd have some witty comment about how her voice has the same effect as sleeping pills, or that she strums the same freaking note through her songs. That's cheap, though, and far from this columnist to take cheap shots at people covered in this column. "In America" is all about respecting the talent that just oozes out of our collective pores. Unfortunately, there's not much talent in writing the same song over again and pretending that your solemn voice means anything other then a problem enunciating properly.

Who is this mystery of an artist wrapped inside of an enigma thrown at retarded school children as they wait for their school bus, or "Bravery Wagon", to repair its left front tire blown by their moaning inability to sit up straight? That's the question and, unfortunately, there's no answer that comes immediately to mind. You see the Internet, while an excellent tool, sometimes forgets to include people of note in its various search engines. This only leads to the conclusion that Julie Doiron, while apt at performing in various coffee bars to caffeine-induced seizure patients, doesn't actually have any fans out there. Nowhere on the Internet are professions of love or the occasional threatening gesture of an obsessed fan willing to do anything to be with his favorite artist. In fact, I'm not even sure she's American -- granted, she's crappy - so, alas, she makes the list.

If you like your songs about a minute and a half long with the random pounding of unplugged instruments then -- boy oh boy -- do I have a present for you! Reach into my pocket. Seriously, just reach in and fish for a second. No, I didn't think you'd fall for that. Now the people who actually purchased a CD of Julie Doiron's sad excuse for existing will be shocked to discover that their investment is bad poetry placed to the beat of a beginner's guitar class. No, it's not a deep refection on how it feels to be a woman, or the emotional distress of having a relationship end before its time, it's just a sad statement of how little musical talent it takes to make music in America. See I'll show you.

I love him, she said.
And he just walked away.
No one understands I'm a flower.
And he's what seeds me.
I need sun to breathe.
And he's the sun I need.
Cloudy day... cloudy day... shoot me in the face

See, I wrote that previous abomination in little more then three seconds. Feel my Emo pain. I said feel it. Seriously, it's in my pocket.

Great Words From Great Americans
Please don't leave me here. Try to understand. You will leave me here and I won't understand.

Stevehen J. Warren was born in America. He knows people. American people. You should contact him if you are an American. Or if you aren't an America, but have ever met one.
He writes just to spite you.

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Works by Thomm Quackenbush


Find What You Love and Let It Kill You by Thomm Quackenbush
Pagan Standard Times: Essays on the Craft by Thomm Quackenbush
A Creature Was Stirring: A Twisted Christmas Anthology by Thomm Quackenbush
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