
From the album Solved by MC Frontalot. frontalot.com ... Directed by John C. Bradbury. 512-media.com ... Lyric Got to sometimes feel like, oh my god, life's so good. I'm on the cover of a lot — a lot! — of magazines. Note I don't say all. But I've been practicing my big TV grin and charming banter. Interviewers, always follow-upping on the answers. Prancers such as I lift heels up. Get your people here, we'll set some deals up. But don't fuss my pretty little with the chores. I'm critically acclaimed and I'm never ignored. Now, notice that none of that's true. Frontalot got inauthentic at you? What else is new? What else to do but keep on seeming like a celebration lyric could be anything redeeming? I write the songs you can't get out of your head and my artistic accomplishments are often said to soften dread in the hearts of the reviewers: "another tour de force from the performer who inures all listeners to the ravages of cynicism with the pure and simple freshness of his syllogism." Listen, isn't this the case: critical darlings always are unbeloved of the masses; in the parlance of the populace, they suck. And since I'm awful, just an air gust that holds aloft the copter of the ROFL, it's obvious why I'm such a critic's to-do. But when Frontalot discusses it, is anything true? And I quote, "His interrogation of failing to keep it real disassembles the meaning inherent and then reveals artifice itself to be integral to veracity." ...part of a 5-star notice posted about <b>...</b>
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