Some of us are happiest when we can say who our favorite band is without having to think about it too much. Most of us went through a period when we were but young obsessives during which time we not only knew who our favorite band was, but saw to it that you also knew it before you had even asked us. “Rush, motherfucker!” we might say if we ran into you as we headed toward different classes in the hallways of our junior high school. “The Clash, you assholes, the Clash!” we might scream from the windows of our 1965 Comets while buzzing past the heshers in the parking lot who were listening to Ozzy. It was comforting to always be right all the time.


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