She uses vaseline. Continue reading
Portugal. The Man
A saucy French election is upon us, and I have no idea what’s going on.
So, pretty much all psychedelic rock fits into one of two categories (give or take a thousand). There’s scary Pink Floyd-esque stuff that forces you to gaze into the yawning chasm of mortality and the stygian depths of existential terror before you make a munchies-run to the convenience store for some Fritos. Continue reading