(imaginary) Halle Berry review of The Long Afternoon's Regression

As the long afternoon shares the regression album, the organization will publish reviews that could appear in Pitchfork, Tiny Mix Tapes, and other sites and publications under conditions that may be possible in some distant, alternative plane of existence. Content both favorable and unfavorable will be procured where possible.

No confusion should exist between any real reviews published elsewhere by prominent individuals and these fanciful, imaginary scribblings, which are shared primarily to amuse the organization's stakeholders and constituents. Today we feature alt-universe celebrity reviewer Halle Berry.

The cover art from Regression, the fourth album by The Long Afternoon.

The cover art from Regression, the fourth album by The Long Afternoon.

Aptly Named Regression Sucks, or Blows, or Whatever

197px-Halle_Berry_by_Gage_Skidmore[1]by Halle Berry

The problem with so-called indie rock is not that so much of it is shit (as Regression, sadly and predictably, is), but that it is irrelevant. Who the fuck cares?

“Indie rock,” sadly and predictably, has become a catch-all moniker for boring noise laboriously churned out by an endless horde of middle-aged white men with minimal talent, pricey technology, time on their hands, hackneyed views on everything from love to politics, and soft erections. Who the fuck cares?

Listening to Regression is like looking at faded family Polaroids taken by your second cousin discovered while cleaning out your grandmother’s attic. Who are these people? What are they doing?

Who the fuck cares?

The ten songs on Regression constitute a litany of cliché and failed attempts at profundity. Does being purposefully abstruse make you cool? OK then, you’re cool. Who the fuck cares?

The album opens with “Autoresponder,” a tune that begins in 6/4 time. It’s as if the band has never listened to Daya or Kelsea Ballerini or DNCE or X Ambassadors or Hailee Steinfeld or Cole Swindell or PARTYNEXTDOOR or Rob $tone or Chance the Rapper or Major Lazer or twenty one pilots or even Sia or Drake or Calvin Harris or even, frankly, fucking anyone.


The sole track worthy of note is a bizarrely anemic rendition of “The Year of the Cat” by Al Stewart, the epitome of flaccid and over-produced '70s easy-listening crap. What distinguishes this version is that while it eschews the original’s interminable instrumental sections it miraculously manages to be more tedious than the original even without the fucking cello, violin, piano, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, synthesizer and fucking saxophone.

Indie rock?! Bullshit. The Long Afternoon is a fucking polka band on diazepam.

 

In this universe, Halle Berry is an Oscar-award-winning actress who has never written anything about the long afternoon or their mission. The photograph of Halle Berry at the 2013 Comic Con International in San Diego was captured by Gage Skidmore and appears under creative commons 2.0.

the long afternoon's regression album is available from the usual places one procures such things, including iTunes, eMusic, Amazon.com, Google Play, and probably even more nefarious outlets. wherever you do, we hope you procure and enjoy it.

 

 

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