“My friends and I have a long-running bet about where Pitchfork gets its writers from. St. Maria's School for the Grumpy Deaf? A work-release program for recovering gasoline-huffing addicts? The annual meeting of the Bitter, Failed Musicians Organization? But not until Rob Mitchum's horrid review of the Desaparecidos' *Read Music - Speak Spanish* have I felt compelled to write. Never I have a read”
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