Be my own pet.

Dear Pitchfork.com,

Already four year, and what I thought would only be a fling has turned in a uninterrupted romance.

Dude, I love you. When I met you, I was a mess: ten years of industrial R'n'B, one of french death metal and two of whatever-Ibiza-like-electronic-crap had made my musical taste both twisted and creepy. Then an obscure friend told me to check a review on your website and I've started to read. And I've perused and scrutinized and devoured. And I, like, totally didn't get most of what I was reading, but I persisted, because I was sure we would come to an understanding you and I. 

I've always pictured you as a tall beardy thirty-something wearing a lumberjack shirt, with vintage ray-ban on. In my wildest dreams, you ring my door, hand me an organic coffee in one of this completely antinomic disposable-but-recyclable papercup and we head to your loft and we have awkward sex (= I realise that under your slouchy wool cap you're bald and 40, and I kinda feel like I'm having intercourse with Louis C.K.) while listening to weird bands. Then we discuss Frantzen's books and whether to go to Sundance this year - is it getting too mainstream?

Well, anyway, after years of trying hard and complusing my Oxford Thesaurus, I can proudly say I'm au fait  with most bands you're talking about. To be honnest, I still don't get everything you say. But it's beautiful. And when the sun set in the wild and tentacular city I'm currently inhabiting, only your warm and sibylline words can apease my soul.

"I can't help but think of each song here as having some sort of vehicular spirit animal, so to speak."
"After a front-loaded opening and sprawling, bewitching midsection, Kill for Love resurfaces with two tracks that encapsulate what Chromatics do, in an uncompromising way that's sure to confound as many people as it awes."
"The result is something that sounds strangely alive and heavily dynamic, where patterns shift and forms morph so subtly and patiently that it's hard to tell exactly what's going on at any moment, like a fractal that actually changes shape as you go further down to its core."


WOW.


Well, sometimes we do disagree. Like what you said about this Mark Lanegan's new album: what's with that? Are you jealous 'cause he's got nicer flannelshirts than you? A resentful frog newspaper called you once "beardy-chicago-based-maffia", but they're just bitter 'cause they're stuck with their soles stupid batracian bands to review.


You shouldn't worry, for you're still my favourite hipster.


Yours, always.


El Chicón.