Anyone who knows me will be shocked that it took me 15 days to get to ELO. I love ELO. It's difficult to quantify my love, but in my dreams my married name is Mark ELO. Take the sweetest chocolate you've ever eaten, multiply it by the best sex you've ever had, and then multiply that figure by three million. That's only half as amazing as ELO. They are all that is good, joyous, righteous, and amazing about the world. Slick, wall of sound, super-produced (if "stripped down" is your thing, y'ain't gonna find it here), brain-numbingly catchy, string-infused ear candy that only an uptight music snob or otherwise miserable bastard could not enjoy.Jeff Lynne (or as a friend of mine calls him, "the fuzzy Wilbury"), a man who has probably forgotten more catchy hooks and riffs than most bands have even recorded, has written so many classic tunes that it's hard to comprehend why he is not the president of the United States. Actually, the fact that he's British may be the answer to that question. Whatever, I digress.
Am I being overly effuse in my love and adoration of this man and his band? Perhaps, but possibly no more than Deadheads, Phish-heads, Dave Matthews Band-heads (not sure if that's an official name), or people who sleep in the cold and rain to be the first in line for an iPad.
Make a playlist of some of ELO's classic hits and not only will you will never be sad again, you may also possibly achieve a spontaneous orgasm*.
You can thank me later.
*May not apply to uptight music snobs or otherwise miserable bastards
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