Such a buff boy. Such a tanned boy. Surfer boy. Basketball boy. But... trip-hop boy? Here's a boy that's been stroking his misery muscle for far too long, and I'm starting to get concerned. In fact, I feel that an intervention may be in order.

Scott, I think it's time you stopped with the trip-hop. It's not raining and you have a great girlfriend and a new car. Your business is taking hold and I've even gotten into the habit of lifting the seat. Why, oh, why must you grey your existence with the honeyed croons and phat beats of the trip-hop genre? Isn't there more appropriate music for you? Can't you let go of Hooverphonic, Portishead and Morcheeba for a moment, look into the sun, and just smile?

I knew you'd say that. Trip-hop is never a problem. Sure, your life seems fine to you, but we've been watching you spiral deeper and deeper into that womb, my man, and we just can't watch it any more. You've begun buying the comps and we all know what comes next-- posters, armpatches, and heroin. Oh, sure, Songs of the Siren 2 may sound smooth as butter and greasy as the gel in the crack of my ass, but it's eating you alive, man! I can hear the rain in your soul, dude! I see you, moping about on beautiful days, your lazy eye looking to a horizon clouded with uncertainty and despair. We can't let it happen... not as your friends.

Friend, you needn't get the comp. It won't prove anything to us. Yes, I knew you were going to mention Nonex's version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and Swandive's "Losing My Religion." They're tasty-- I'll give you that-- but they miss the musical mark and feed your infection of the soul! That they were written by Nirvana and R.E.M. is no excuse. I've heard the truth, and its beats are heavy... so heavy.

I regret ever introducing you to this stuff. It seemed harmless enough-- Portishead's Dummy lent to a friend short on funds but tall on interest. But you haven't exercised moderation. You've had Songs of the Siren II on for days now, and it's gotta stop. Don't you realize how far it's gone? The distortion is so muddy, the beats some genetic mutation between drum-n-bass and dub, the lyrics lost somewhere in the fog. Don't you remember your roots? I don't expect you would. Think! Remember all those Iron Maiden albums? Helloween? Dream Theatre? Remember the joy of testosterone?

Alright, I'll admit that the Creatures track, "Say," has something-- the Siouxsie Sioux's warbly vocals makes me all crudjly. And yeah, Nano-Hed's contribution, "Mother Yourself," ain't bad, but that's not the issue here! The issue is your problem. I mean, can't you see that this is weak? Has your musical taste been blinded by overindulgence? Oh, and of course, Anthea, Queen of the Compilation Disc is going to surface here. Next thing you know, you're gonna run out and buy her album, Words and Beats, not even hearing the thudding, clumsy beats framing a miserably mediocre track! Yes! I said mediocre!

Okay, that's it! If you can't hear the inferiority, I'll have to take it away from you. Give it! Give it! I'm gonna tell your momma if you don't give it! Give it now! Everyone! Surround him! Take him down! No Mercy! It's for his own good!

-James P. Wisdom