April 7, 2003
there was this joke band, edna. shittier than the white stripes (and i still don't think they admit that they're a joke) and don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with having joke bands. Fucking idiots need something to do with their time.
So that's all right. But they had the misfortune of performing. And charging money. And I had the misfortune of attending one show. And what they did is a rendition of "Say it Ain't So" a beautifully-crafted, sensitive song with meaning. ...Nope. More like reeling through an ear canal purgatory of inhuman wretchedness. They wailed, they flailed, and they gave new meaning to the term, "god someone kill me". If I could have let myself believe that the no-less-than terrific song you wrote about alcoholism when your band still might-not-have-made-it could be happening, by them, and could be that bad, I would have smashed my head against the wood-paneled wall of that basement show over and over again. Instead I stumbled about in dazed general upset, sneering obsceneties at the screeching giggling caricatures onstage but not quite understanding why. What's funny about that is, that show was at least 10 months ago, if not more. I just thought of it now, listening to your blue cd again. And I wrote all this, just now. Never thought I'd give a second thought to it.
I trust you; I know you wouldn't wish that kind of suffering on anyone. I wholeheartedly believe that if you knew any band could enact a rendition that ghastly, that song would have never left the recording studio.
Asking permission to shoot each of them in the head, sir.
Regretfully,
A friend