No one is ever going to stop Rob Pruitt. You can’t evict the returned prodigal son, that would be too.... ironic, like being stuck in an Alanis Morisette song, stuck in the 90’s with a teenage artist that just turned 50, 50, and still kicking holes in the drywall and smoking ciggies in rebellion (to what?) and getting the couch sandy, and we put up with the loud music in hopes he’ll eventually grow wings and grow up and make something of interest. But he’s got the loudest soundsystem on the bloc, screaming, and a lot of cool people like to ride in the irony of his obviousness mistaken for interest. The Pepsi style of corporate “throwbacks” - doodling on notebook cover “paintings” - couldn’t even be called nostalgic it’s such an empty gesture, runaway on the cheap high-school amphetamines of vampiring of his studio assistants, the young people that make these, mining their 90’s childhoods for Pruitt’s empty laugh, and what’s mistaken for dumb is actually sinister, that no matter how old Pruitt or his schtick gets, he’s like “That’s what I love about High-school kids, I get older, they stay the same age.”
