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Back around the end of the dotcom bubble, I found myself working with
the classic Ugly European. Not that I mean he was literally ugly; he
was, don't get me wrong, not that I've been turning down modeling
contracts myself. No, I mean ugly in the sense of The Ugly American:
deriding anything that wasn't the way he had it at home. Which was
England, although Ugly Brit doesn't trip off the tongue nearly so
well.
Anyway, one of his many examples of American inferiority, which
included our unwillingness to buy new cell phones every six months,
the rarity of multiformat VCRs and our lack of understanding of Brown
Sauce, was the fact that The Corrs hadn't caught on here. Which
comment didn't exactly impress me. I mean, I like The Corrs. Heck,
what's not to like? Three incredible looking women, and their brother
(if you care about that sort of thing) sing easily accessible original
and cover songs with sweet voices, nice harmonies and an Irish
influence that goes from subtle to in your face from one track to
another. It's hardly a sign of sophistication to enjoy The Corrs'
performances. And the fact they hadn't taken America by storm (yet,
anyway) didn't say anything at all about music buyers on this side of
the Atlantic.
Well, maybe it did. But with this clown, I wasn't about to give him
the slightest credit, know what I mean? It would only encourage him.
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