A verbose, prosaic review which mentions whistling winds and the timeless feeling of jade doesn't mean anything to me; I don't need a novella telling me about how an album is like a fine meal.
I've never written jokes. I mean, I'll write things on a piece of paper and riff on them onstage.
I don't mean this to sound hyperbolic but there are increasingly, albeit really minor, similarities between now and how Germany was lulled into what happened pre-WW2.
There is also a kind of mean-spiritedness with LA comics.