"bunch of crazy white people... "

January 26 - March 29, 2002



Nirvana didn't sell eight million copies because they covered the Vaselines; Kurt Cobain was an angry, girl-obsessed rocker from a small town with a knack for hooks, taking bad-vibes metal to new levels of artistic and commercial stature. Wes Scantlin may never have gotten hung up on a member of Bikini Kill, but he's definitely a grumpy, vulnerable metalhead who writes pop songs about how he's losing his shit. At his best, he's guilty of neither mushmouth poetics nor dreams of cock-rock triumph, leaving us with a very affecting if unflattering portrait of confusion, anger and paranoia. Label prez/video director/renaissance man Fred Durst, genius he is, tempered the clip for this weeping seether (you dumped me but only you could set me free *sob* AIEEE!!) by showing Wes as one heck of a weekend dad.

Everything's so blurry
and everyone's so fake
and everybody's empty
and everything is so messed up
pre-occupied without you
I cannot live at all
My whole world surrounds you
I stumble then I crawl