"It’s raw, mind you. Fucking raw, if you ask me, but it’s different."

 

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

In every picture we’ve seen of these guys they’ve looked great. On the cover of this, their debut album, they just look plain ridiculous. They look like they’re commiserating backstage after placing ninth to thirteenth in America’s Hottest Transsexual Contest. They don’t look chic or edgy or like the look is natural to them, which is how they’ve looked in every shot we’ve ever seen of them before. Here, in black and white, beneath a stupid high-school lipstick graphic, they look like some art department’s idea of what the Dolls should look like. They’ve been around for five minutes and they’ve already caught the down escalator and descended into parody. The singer, who has until now made a living out of looking like Jagger’s mutant kid brother, now looks like Jagger’s elderly auntie from Palm Springs looking down the back of the sofa for a gambling chip. He’s got a perm. A perm, for Christ’s sake. They should have just lined up in an alley in the Bowery, handed a Kodak Instamatic to a wino, and said, “Here’s ten bucks, take some shots, buddy.”