“These seances are intercut with concert footage, during which the band typically sings the lyrics through once and then gets mired in endless loops of instrumental repetition that seem positioned somewhere between mantras and autism. The music is shapeless, graceless and built from rhythm, not melody…”—Obviously not a Neil fan.
“You shit on my art, we can have a intellectual discussion over dinner. But you shit on my mom, well I’m not going to invite you to my party. That’s not censorship, that’s common sense.”—A succinct defense of the Armond cockblock by “nickjohnson,” from the comments section of this fucking thicket.