Unlike most writers who, either secretly or not, aspire to be musicians, Darren Robbins is a musician who aspires to live the glamorous life of a writer. Raised on a steady diet of Creem, Musician, and Trouser Press magazines as a kid, Robbins has an encyclopedic memory for album credits but can’t for the life of him remember his grandmother’s birthday or his cell phone number. Or what the original question was.
Unlike most writers who lack a “why” chromosome, Darren refuses to mindlessly jump on the Arcade Fire bandwagon. I mean, they’re okay, but fuck.
What was the question again?