self_indulgent raze this must be one of the most moronic criticisms ever leveled at anything. whenever an album or a film or a work of literature grows too eclectic or unpredictable for the reviewer's taste, it's dismissed as being self-indulgent. but almost everything worth loving begins with some peculiar impulse on the part of its maker. some need to express something difficult or deeply personal. or just a desire to have a bit of fucking fun, okay? if no one ever indulged themselves, no meaningful art would exist, and we'd all be living in a paint-by-numbers world. 241215 what's it to you? who go blather from