Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Fuck James Blunt!

How in the hell did a scrawny, scruffy, creepy-looking Englishman end up singing every real man's secret song of heartbreak? And so fucking brilliantly too. Every soulful, measured piano chord, every nuance of piano or forte, every beautiful, brutally honest word translated into song - all projected by that uncannily melancholy voice - tears apart the long-healed scars left behind on your heart by great loves past and allows the blood of emotion to flow freely once more, at least for as long as the song is played.

It's sacrilegous how James narrates how every boy and man feels after every breakup. Doesn't the idiot realise that in the midst of the heart-rending sobs, swollen eyes, and pitiful wailing from your girl, only your stoicism and cold-hearted poker-face gives you a semblance of respect and dignity? No matter what, the girls must never ever know that you hurt so badly that it aches physically, that you feel like vomiting, that the frustration and sadness welling up inside is close to drowning you, that you eventually break down sobbing like a little girl anyway, only in private, alone, deep in the night when everyone else is asleep, and you feel more alone than the last man on earth. Only the knowledge that she believes you're a cold-hearted bastard could keep the shards of your broken soul together.

But now this idiot has gone and ripped the anguish that every man that has loved and lost harbours - every fiercely-hidden drop of sorrow and anger and frustration - and laid it bare for every girl in the world to see. It's so honest he even goes "goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend......" The love of your life will no doubt have been your best friend, something even more significant than just being your lover. He knows. Oh he knows alright.

What a bastard. What a brilliantly talented, immensely soulful bastard...

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