Pitchfork

"Tuff Ghost" is an uncomfortable handshake that looks a hell of a lot like a lo-fi orgy in a men's room stall. It's a marching band desending out of Thom Yorke's vagina, doused in amniotic fluid and vodka, traveling to Ian Curtis' funeral. The drumkit is run by a hobo with a cymbal standing on his head at Studio 54. The vocalist doesn't care if you can hear him because the back of his head is missing. The chorus, if there was one, is a 60s folk group who forgot that they don't know how to play their instruments, but remembered they don't know what rhythm is. It's all vaguely reminiscent of Ryan bitching at me to find a song to write about for We Are The World. "