22-year old Ray couldn't have gotten enough of NYC's Vivian Girls; he'd have been smitten panting dumb by the groundhog tunnel-level production non-values, the smash/bash/dash song lengths, the hit-and-run songwriting, the love-sick twee vibe, the players' gleefully fake nicknames (cf. "Kickball Katty"). But 31-year old Ray - who's less wowed by an aesthetic that's been overdone, and would maintain that said nicknames should imply a greater sense of threat, i.e., like a Red Aunts degree of torrential malice - would just as soon send his Vivian Girls promo to 22-year old Ray via space-time continuum FedEx overnite than play the thing again anytime soon. He'll admit a soft spot for "No," because it's just 83 wild-out seconds of the Girls going "No no no, no no no!" No!
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