Dear Mr. Raymer,
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For those of us firmly entrenched in Camp Friction, the news is this: the Fictions are growing some balls. Though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the fruity Nordic sweater Ammerman allowed himself to be photographed in for your publication, the Fictions are now so far past this “twee” thing it’s a joke.
The change I’ve noticed, by attending a series of shows over the past few months, is a heartfelt thrust in the direction of wanton self-confidence and dorkdom. It means that Ammerman is chastising crowds with even less provocation than before, making greater use of his terrible falsetto, and dishing out the bad guitar solos.
If the Fakes apply these strange, bold production techniques to their new, bolder songs there is no telling where it might all end. Probably someplace wonderful. Obviously, this is a subject too close to heart for me to approach in a logical way, and it might appear I’m raving. I hope I have not already alienated you, sitting there reading this in your Reader cubicle, and I fear I’ve downplayed Sarah Johnson’s role in the exciting burst of ability and confidence I feel at recent Fake Fictions shows. I only thought it important to append a bit of news and critical boosterism to your otherwise excellent feature on the Fake Fictions.
