While it's true that I hold damning grudges against some musicians for no other reason than misdirected machismo (guilty feelings? mere jealousy?), I would never pan the actual music if it fairly displayed some amount of talented songwriting and quality. Of course, the only reason I mention this is to caution the patient reader against lambasting my opinion of Welcome To The Monkey House based solely upon the above numerical rating and any personal adherence one may have to Dandy-ism. Petty as it may be, I fully admit that I am not above disliking a band based solely on the fact that they cater to my fears of inadequacy as a male and mate. Add to this sentimental nostalgia my recent concert attendance, and my initially lukewarm feelings of distaste mutate into venomous and irascible abhorrence. True, I met my significant other and eternal concert partner while absentmindedly reviewing Thirteen Tales of Urban Bohemia for my college radio station- her noticing the empty jewel-case beside my bag and inquisitively approaching me as I listened- but those tunes have waned appreciably over the years, turning balanced neutrality into mild disparity at the mere mention of Courtney Taylor's troupe. Its not as if The Dandy Warhols and I have any bad blood between us, but my previous exposures to the band have been sordid to say the very least.
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