"Punk-ass singer-songwriter-guitarist Dylan Nirvana is the lezbo-nun messiah in the gee-mom-am-I-trying-too-hard, angst-a-thon church of alternative music. His sand-blasted apocalyptic vocals are pith-viper attacked by suicidal guitar in songs that don't suck, have lyrics that are cool, and hook without hate.
Originally playing the ding-repair clinics in surfer Florida's St. Augustine, now his shows in Manhattan, according to one rabid concert-goer, "have always started calm, gotten a little faster, slowed down again, and then really got faster again."
While it is true that Mr. Nirvana's performances are well attended by New York's intellectual elite, they have become overrun by tit-goths, and over-sexed feel-good coffee bar dropouts. "ve vere trying to keep our seats und mind our own businesses, ven all dese misclad teenagers in bondage pants started de pushing und de shoving und de pushing und de shoving," says one Hans van der Griff, professor of neuro-astrophysics at Yale University. "all my colleagues und I drove in de Volvo in de cramped conditions, just to be mistreated by these feral dogs of de underbelly of our culture."
"Oh my Gawd. When me and my girlfriends showed up, like at this stupid little club in the like, East Village, I mean groaty, it was like, called OTTOS SHRUNKED SKULL or some shit, and diiiiiiissssguuuustiiiing. There were all these like, biker FREAKS there and METAL PEOPLE! OMG! You couldn't tell who was HOMELESS and like, who WORKED THERE. I mean, I am never, NEVER going to the Viiiiilllage again.
But whatever, this hot guy right asked me to come see his band, and it was stupid and I just about BARFED. I'm like, these homeless guys in this band don't even know Brittney. They probably don't even care what she's been going through or even if they did, they wouldn't understand it. I got like smashed anyway, and starting yelling at them. JT! Play some JT! OMG they were so loud and stupid, so I like took the lead singer of this other band into the womans bathroom, right, he was HUGE. Then I like left my purse with all my shit in like, some cubicle and the bastards stole it!"
"Born under the influence of Sagittarius on a beach in a recurring dream, the year 1088, the baby Dylan was found floating in a bed of seaweed near Devonshire, and believed to be the sea-child of Neptune & Andy Warhol(?). He was taken to very battlefield of Hastings were he attempted to advise King Hank on how to defeat the French. Dylan tried to say that the French (at that time) were weak in the middle, but since he was but a babbling infant, his words fell on deaf ears.
Later, as the Spanish Royal Navy were to set sail, then Sir Dylan snuck into the grotto and burned their water barrels, to the chant of We Are Evil Ruthless Bastards, forcing them to use green wood instead. The Spanish were already dying of dysentery as their ships were set ablaze in the English Channel in plain sight of Flanders."
ANNE BOLEYN is available IN STORES and on Apple iTunes.
