I don’t know any musicians that ever want to listen to their own music. It’s like flipping through an album of photos of yourself getting kicked in the crotch by a donkey over and over and over and over again. You obsess over every little detail that you wish you could have changed, or how track 7 makes you look fat, or how the lyrics in track 2 should have been changed to reflect your feelings about that Benji guy on “So You Think You Can Dance?” who thinks he can sweat the gay right out of himself if he builds enough churches in Mexico.
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