I light a candle and set it at the base of the shrine. I take care that its flames are not too near the pictures and clippings I have of Natasha from the local Vancouver press. They mostly concern her band, the Dirtmitts. I've collected everything I can find about her. I even have those horrible comic book-style drawings of the band from the back of their CD, even though they bear no likeness to the members themselves. Especially not to my darling Natasha. I've done many drawings of Natasha that are far superior. Of course, she must never know of this shrine.

The CD is playing now, as it is always playing, my salvation and my hell. Salvation, as it's the only way I can legally hear my sweet Natasha since she took out that restraining order; hell because, even as biased and in love as I am, even I can tell this stuff is pretty feeble.

I've always been suspicious of girl bands, because they get so much support. Their girlfriends tend to emphasize and agree, and boys will say anything to get their filthy hands on lead singers as precious as my Natasha. How many times have I, with truer, more loving intentions, said, "Hey, Natasha, what a great set! You guys just keep getting better and better!" Bands need to be tested by disappointment and obscurity so they can struggle past their limitations. They don't need roomfuls of sycophants (and true lovers, like me, the One True Love) telling them their hookless pop is going to be the next big thing.

Don't get me wrong, there are wonderful girl-fronted bands doing splendid things with music (Le Tigre, Björk, and until recently, PJ Harvey), but there are also a lot of girl-fronted bands clubbing around out there on the strength of lipstick instead of chops. It's my fault more than anyone's. Before I was legally barred from them, I went to all the Dirtmitts shows. I even dipped my hands in glue and filth, hoping to start a trend, with no success.

"But I'm not some vacuous beauty," my wall-size collage of Natashas seems to protest. "I'm just a perky girl-next-door type who likes to write perky girl-next-door songs." Oh, sweet, naïve child, so innocent to the ways of the world. So naïve she thinks these songs have edge. Even now, some hipster is telling her how this record sounds like Lush, knowing full well that that band's sound ran together like a liquid tapestry, while this is just a poorly mixed buzzing. Now this vanilla fizz is being mass marketed, and my poor Natasha will be exposed in ways I don't want to see. I can't bear to think of her being hurt.

Listen to the first track, the single, "In the Meantime." They break it down after the chorus so she can sing, "By myself/ By myself," and "Through your eyes/ Through your eyes." It's as if the lines just ran too long for the verse. The almost arbitrary breakdown suggests someone new to writing songs, or someone who will never be good at it. It pains me to think this. I take solace in the lyrics, which are never an outright embarrassment; they're just fairly vague images. There's one song that might be about a date that leads to murder, with the poignant message, "After all, you've got to take it slow/ Getting steadier." What's getting steadier? These words are seem like declarations from Natasha's dating manifesto. Is she talking about me?

Is it the tortured repetition of unrequited love or do all these songs sound the same? Just typical jangly alternative guitar-pop focusing on too-cute vocals? It's all breathy singing and hissy high end. By-the-numbers alternative rock, no bite, traveling the usual chord progressions, backing a couple of chirping birds. I guess "Diskotek" has some interplay between bass and guitar, but while Jen Dean (who doesn't interest me at all, but with whom I flirted occasionally to get closer to Natasha) lays down a simple Kim Deal bassline, Dallas Kruszelnicki's guitar is far too tepid and tentative. He's unskilled in an unpunk way. He plays like the wimpy, bespectacled dweeb he is instead of the raging geek he could be. Also, I hate him, because he punched me and broke my nose and told me Natasha wants nothing to do with me, which is a lie!

Of course I love this music. Hidden somewhere behind all the pedestrian guitar/bass/drum arrangements, in those mocking "nya nya nya" harmonies, are the utterances of an angel. I just can't wait for the day when Natasha gives up this sugar-pop business and realizes her destiny to be my wife and mother to my children.

Until then, I light my candles, and listen to music even I can't stand.

-Dan Kilian