As readers of this blog will know, Lord Bassington-Bassington’s musical tastes tend towards dark, quiet music. But as many pups of his generation, he was raised on the sounds of hard rock and heavy metal.
As his years have advanced and his ears drooped ever lower, he has lost his taste for such sounds. Not just because bands like this tend to make a terrible racket, but also because hard rock musicians tend to be among the most terribly dressed people on the planet.
However, occasionally His Lordship gets pangs of nostalgia and pines for some real rock’n’roll. But where can one get such music without having to suffer some multimillionaire trying to convince us that he’s coming straight from his job as a mechanic?
Enter brilliant Bostonians The Upper Crust, who are able to rock – or rather, roque – out without ever lowering their sartorial standards (or the volume on their Maréchal amps).
Some people, obviously in an attempt to explain away the insights of The Upper Crust’s incisive lyrics, have tried to interpret the band as some sort of ironic social commentary.
Surely the joke’s on them.
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