It was just a tad overlong, and the climate has worsened in those couple of short years since. Not that The Lonesome Crowded West wasn't amazing. But it wasn't until Building Nothing Out of Something slipped into my possession that I became convinced that Modest Mouse, strangely, might be saviors. I've witnessed Isaac Brock scream into his guitar pickups inside a packed bar in Atlanta while my then-girlfriend got sick and fainted. I read Pitchfork's official "weirdest interview ever" with Modest Mouse before I was even on the staff. I've listened to Modest Mouse grow progressively better and more profound since their 1996 debut, This is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About. One of which, of course, is Modest Mouse. And what sort of angel-driven crane has pulled me up from the quagmires, you ask? A handful of bands. This is why I eat hotdogs and oatmeal and type until 4:00am instead of cutting up cadavers at Emory. Chalk those layers up to loitering in the grime of mid-20's doldrums. But lately, I've experienced a little metanoia the thin jaded layers that built up in 1999 have flaked away.
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