Arts Desk

Where Is This U.S. Royalty Motorcycle Going?

It's late afternoon, maybe early evening. Who knows. Who cares. She stomped on your heart, man—again. You've been down this road before, and it just hit a dead end.

You've got a motorcycle and a shattered heart. No, wait—a motorcycle and a tattered dream.

You've gotta go somewhere. Anywhere. Take Rock Creek. There are trees in Rock Creek Park. And lens flare.

You don't know what direction to take. You're not sure you ever will, you know? You're disoriented—walking in blue sunshine or something like that. (You should write that down—that's good shit.) You're done thinking. You just throw on your vest—no, not that vest, or these ones, or that one, or that one, but this one!—and go. Damn. You're wild and fearless, and you look really fucking good in that vest, bro. Er, man.

If you're a member of D.C.'s least dangerous band, U.S. Royalty, just ridin' to kill the pain in your new music video, where do you go?

Straight to Jay Carney's crib for canapés?

The pool party in this scene from Almost Famous?

The dry cleaner—to pick up your enormous American flag?

A big empty street for a prime photo op during sunset?

No. No—forget all of that. You've got it. Head east toward Mt. Pleasant. You're hitting up the poncho sale at El West.

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  • miacane86

    Wtf...

  • Jackson

    What is this post, exactly? A review? Or a bitter, antagonistic diatribe with no apparent point of view? From someone who apparently worked at WaPo (and therefore should have an idea of how good journalism works), this reads more like a hate letter from someone who spends too much time Googling images and practicing her snark than a critical review. You might as well call yourself the fashion police, because music critic sure doesn't apply.

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