Weasel Walter has made himself somewhat industrious, why ought I be impressed? So he’s releasing a bevy of albums of late, and I shan’t cachinnate nor chortle at this dispatch. So he and his westerly gamins and chippies have hatched the consequent presently: an XBXRX album afresh, a Lake of Dracula précis, scads of untrammeled jazz smashing and braying, a peregrination concomitantly with Lair of the Minotaur, a tardy (if I do say so) Flying Luttenbachers DVD, and doubtless legion other schemes. To wit, whilst haunting my local, well, haunt, the congregation was abuzz apropos his artistic foundation. I shall pluck up and estimate this is out of turn. For, cast thine eyes upon my very own conquests. I have heretofore consummated my own euphonical wanderings of the gelid septentrional and unfettered Horoscopo, a To Live and Shave in LA conspectus, and forthwith you can forestall your habitus for Noon and Eternity, Les Tricoteuses, Piper's Son, a Xiu Xiu reallineation, my dalliance with Black Meat, and surely more. Who is the better man? That is indubitably incognizable. My best admonition would be to perlustrate both of our corpora and adjudge for yourself. -Ommyth