37. Mumford and Sons

When my years of secret research, development, and construction have paid off and I finally possess a time machine that can allow me to right all of the world’s wrongs, one of the first things on my “To-Do” list will be to zip off to England during the 1990’s and smash Marcus Mumford’s first mandolin right in front of him. Not only will this put a kibosh on Mumford & Sons (and hopefully steer Marcus toward a lucrative career in coal mining), but also their genetic clones The Lumineers and Of Monsters and Men. I still have a theory that they’re all the same band.

It’s not that I think Mumford & Sons make bad music.  The problem lies in the fact that I sincerely believe all of the band to be robots created by the Urban Outfitters Corporation because they needed a soundtrack to go along with their new designer line of overpriced vests and denim shirts. It’s mass-produced, trite arena rock with banjos and beards.  There is not a shred of authenticity in a single Mumford song amidst the spastic strumming of mandolin, banjo picking, and incessant 4/4 beat that categorizes EVERY SINGLE FUCKING SONG THAT THEY HAVE WRITTEN EVER.

Pictured: Every Mumford & Sons Song Forever

If you’re not blinded by the sheer amount of smug conveyed in the picture of the band at the top, you’ll see four men who have achieved the Popular Music American Dream. They have become platinum selling megastars through the cunning use of taking instruments that nobody thought to use in pop music (mandolins and banjos), dressing up like the Amish, and writing massive anthemic overproduced schlock that practically guarantees radio play on both pop and rock stations. On a side note, anyone that categorizes Mumford & Associates as indie or alternative rock needs to be taken behind a barn and beaten with a shovel. Just because it doesn’t sound like Creed or the latest club track from Pitbull and DJ Date Rape does not make it fucking “alternative”.

Since Mumford & Company have stumbled upon such a genius idea, numerous bands have wasted no time in adopting their image and sound in order to cash in on a market that was apparently starving for production heavy “folk rock” sung by bearded men in vests. Personally, I blame Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes (and their song “Home” that was featured on that mixtape you gave your ex-girlfriend/boyfriend four years ago) for opening the floodgates. There are now dozens upon dozens of bands that are cut from the Mumford & Mumford cloth. You can’t throw a rock at an alternative radio station’s playlist nowadays without hitting some sepia-toned-band that looks like they somehow made time to record their album while recovering from the Dust Bowl.

Also, bonus hate points for using an ampersand in your name. I bet you think you’re so cute, don’t ya?


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