By UNCUNT staff
On the song 'Little Lion Man', Marcus Mumford says the word "fuck" twice. He's trying to be hard. But he comes across as a cock-less piece of shit.
When Johnny Rotten sang "fuck" on record it sent a shiver down your spine, but in this case it's so affected, crass and pointless it just makes you want to call Ofcom or file a written complaint with the Broadcasting Standards Commission*.
Music industry imbeciles have sung the praises of Mumford & Sons. These soppy cunts have carved out a niche for themselves as 'the tepid indie-folk spunk rags it's ok to like'. Apparently they produce "heart-wrenching songcraft" and "achingly beautiful" music. They don't. In fact, the only thing aching after listening to their music was my balls.
Cockney wank-piece Dave Berry (whose 'five o'clock shadow' look has surely been taken to and beyond the limits of human decency) made their puerile single his 'Xfm record of the week'. Later he interviewed the band, telling them it was actually his favourite track of the year. Put your cock away Dave, you've already ejaculated. Stop wiping it on their faces.
Cockney wank-piece Dave Berry (whose 'five o'clock shadow' look has surely been taken to and beyond the limits of human decency) made their puerile single his 'Xfm record of the week'. Later he interviewed the band, telling them it was actually his favourite track of the year. Put your cock away Dave, you've already ejaculated. Stop wiping it on their faces.
Berry is the kind of man who rates the Nokia ring tone or the McDonald's 'I'm loving it' jingle as records of the year. But he's certainly not a judge of good music. Maybe his relationship with the scouse one out of Sugababes has coated his inner ear with lipstick and faeces. Or maybe he's just a cunt. Either way, the very fact that he likes Mumford & Sons makes them cunts. It's a simple equation 'Dave Berry' + 'likes band' = band are cunts.
The next media toss piece to cream over Mumfords is the man officially voted New Zealand's biggest cunt: Zane Lowe. Barely suppressing his two inch boner, Lowe pronounced this scratchy acoustic mess "the hottest single in the world". The world Zane? The world?? Fuck you Zane. Go fuck yourself in your hairy arsehole.
The next media toss piece to cream over Mumfords is the man officially voted New Zealand's biggest cunt: Zane Lowe. Barely suppressing his two inch boner, Lowe pronounced this scratchy acoustic mess "the hottest single in the world". The world Zane? The world?? Fuck you Zane. Go fuck yourself in your hairy arsehole.
Maybe if the population of the entire world gleaned all of it's literary musical information from Q magazine , listened exclusively to bands from 'T4 on The Beach', and took musical advice from Jo Whiley then maybe, just maybe, this statement would be accurate but they don't Zane. You do. You silly fucking cunt.
What really gets us about Mumford & Sons, here at UNCUNT, is that many people we know. People we respect. People with decent taste in music, actually declare a fondness for this shower of twats. It's baffling. And rather than softening us to them it ratchets up their 'cunt levels' a notch or two.
For those fortunate enough not to have heard their music it's a bit like what the Pogues would sound like following a bout of clinical depression and a drying out session at the Priory. They're so middle of the road they may as well be a yellow fucking stripe. The vocals sound like a hybrid of Damien Rice and a Cornish farmer straining for a shit. Exactly the kind of polite, crashingly dull folk you would expect four bland, uncharismatic middle class young men with embarrassing bum fluff beards to make.Mumford and Sons are often referred to by the British music press as Fleet Foxes' UK equivalent. Fuck off British music press. Seriously, we'd love to get behind British bands and all that but Fleet Foxes are several leagues above this collection of flaccid penises.
You can't switch on the radio without hearing these twats right now. And their videos are on rotate on MTV. Every four minute torment is like an ad for Magners Pear Cider. No wait, Caffrey's Irish Ale. Pitch forks and straw in their hair. This truly is cuntishness not seen since Travis circa 1999, the singer's accent shifts and changes until he starts to sound like a fucking Wurzel.
You can't switch on the radio without hearing these twats right now. And their videos are on rotate on MTV. Every four minute torment is like an ad for Magners Pear Cider. No wait, Caffrey's Irish Ale. Pitch forks and straw in their hair. This truly is cuntishness not seen since Travis circa 1999, the singer's accent shifts and changes until he starts to sound like a fucking Wurzel.
Finally, and don't think it's escaped our notice, the singer has named the band after himself and called the rest of the band his sons. They're not your sons mate. Unless you've fucked each and every one of their mums. Which you probably have. You granny-fucking, incestuous cunt.
*If you hear this song on the radio unedited please ring Ofcom or write to the Broadcasting Standards Commission. Their record label could receive a hefty fine, which might in turn be passed on to the band. Who knows they might even get dropped.
