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Punk Postmortem

RIP: The New York rock scene (2002-2006). Finally.

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The "new" New York rock scene, riddled with talentless art fags like the French Kicks, died on January 3. It was four years old.

The cause was the release of the Strokes' shitty excuse for an album, First Impressions of Earth, along with the depletion of Julian Casablancas' trust fund.

Just four years ago, the Strokes' Is This It? fooled every '80s fashion victim into believing that New York was in its rock-and-roll second coming. But by the band's third album, the world has at last realized that $100 vintage tees and radio-friendly rehashings of Television do not a rock band make.

It's time to wave goodbye to the coke-dusted Jew 'fros of the Rapture. No band should be allowed to write the same song over and over again -- especially when it was actually written by Gang of Four 25 years ago.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O can hang up her vomit-stained Dolce and Gabbana dress and stop dousing herself in Heineken. Such public self-flagellation really doesn't become an unstable Upper West Side debutante. Besides, Berlin-based Peaches does the act much better.

As for Interpol, they should just move to London and tell everyone they're actually Britpop. Hell, the lie worked the first time around.

And finally, the Ex Models can stop riding the coattails of their buddies' bands. Now that it's evident that the scene is in fact dead, second-string N.Y.C. acts like these pompous midgets don't have to break their backs faking it.

Though we may no longer be dancing to your music, we'll enjoy dancing on your graves.

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