Emmure we were just kids lyrics1/14/2024 I saw a guy selling crack in the street earlier. Where we’re at, there’s a homeless centre, so there’s 200, 300 bums walking around. Salt Lake City has a reputation for being a snooze fest. Considering it’s Mormontown, USA, it can’t be that bad. Jesse chills in his a tour bus down in a divey part of Salt Lake City, UT. Humanising Emmure’s an unenviable task, up there with cleaning insides of rancid septic tanks using only a toothbrush and actual toothpaste. Websites, magazines, forums, and good parts of social media perceive Emmure as slack-jawed, talent-barren dudebros. He’s aware of the vein-throbbing hatred of Emmure, stirred by thousands upon thousands of opinion jockeys (read: metal fans). He doesn’t throw around weight he doesn’t have. Here, Jesse carries himself articulately. Guitarist Jesse Ketive is the drag-racing, kick-pumping kinda brother to Emmure’s id-driven frontman, Frankie Palmieri. The question is, are they merely misunderstanding? Further still, are they simply misunderstood? Mercy. Fuck.įor all the shit they talk, even about their own kind, a six-feet-under Sam Kinison reminds us of an inalienable point: This five pack of Queeny wise-guys are bestowed a God given right to misunderstand everything that’s going on around them, now and forever. Each “EMMURE SUXXX” scrawled on electronic walls carries their smoke signals further. True, Emmure’s sails are given wind by red-faced mothers and the raised hackles of internet whiners. In Emmure’s twisted mythology, it makes perfect sense. The most vigorous defence of palm-mute-reliant, shat-out-for-breakfast metalcorists Emmure comes from a long-dead trench-coat wearing fat guy.
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