Confession: I walked into Destroyer thinking, like a fucking dumb goddamn idiot, that the album was about, y’know, destruction, liked end-of-the-world apocalyptic stuff, the seas all cracking open and pouring extinction unto man and what he hath wrought. Biblical level stuff. What a putz I am! It’s about getting your driver’s license.
Good thing I read interviews, otherwise I’d have looked like a real asshole.
I get at this in my review of the album, but the liberating quality of Destroyer couched in receipt of one’s license is surprisingly profound for an event this mundane. Maybe I’m 34 and I take for granted that I can drive and what it means that I can drive. Or maybe Destroyer just rocks very, very hard. You be the judge.
Wait, no. I’m the judge. You can read my full review at Paste Magazine.