The Punch Brothers-So Much to Hate

I happened to glance at Letterman tonight as I occasionally do, and I saw that his “musical” guest was a proverbial rogue’s gallery of several individuals who were probably bullied in high school.  I’m not sure who is in charge of Letterman’s booking anymore, but, from the vanilla-extract sized drop of knowledge that I have about how a late night talk show works, I’m guessing that Letterman’s booker has some sort of half-cocked emotional attachment to one of the members of the group and that is why they polluted my airwaves.  The Punch Brothers’ presence in my home (albeit through a satellite signal) was less welcome than a lice-ridden meth addict with a penchant for yodeling.

The Punch Brothers are sort of a melange of asinine garbage.  Is the sum of their parts more than their whole?  Well, I saw three distinct elements:

1) poorly executed bluegrass

2) poorly executed beards

3) the distinct undertone that at least one member of the group could be on a Meagan’s Law website in one of the 50 states.  (Not saying they are, but they did have those same creepy vibes which the individuals on the aforementioned website have, in my opinion.)

So given the three elements I’ve mentioned, is the sum of the parts more than the whole?  Well, 3 x 0=0.  Sorry. They would need at least 4 x 0 to be considered crap.  The Punch Brothers, as presently constituted, are about as entertaining and enjoyable as opening a pizza box hoping for a delicious pizza only to find a maggot-riddled pile of lukewarm garbage.

Then again, The Punch Brothers just played Letterman; I’m sitting here in a dark apartment typing in my underwear.

However, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Jim Morrison, Whitney Houston, and Michael Jackson are all dead.  The Punch Brothers, while very much alive, do not deserve any attention, are a poor substitute for the chasm left by the late musicians mentioned previously and should not be listened to by anyone, in my opinion.

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One response to “The Punch Brothers-So Much to Hate

  • Hope

    I may not have the greatest taste in music; however, I was unaware that just screeching on an instrument for an elongated time qualified as anything above torture.

    Real-life email to a co-worker: “Will you please come over and stab me in the ear with the sharpest instrument you can find?”

    So much to hate.

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