Like a night on the tinnies, we know how this one ends, but the joy is in the living.
At this point, the harshest of critics may deduce that we could probably - if we really had to - create perfect FIDLAR bangers using some kind of not-even-that-clever algorithm. Lyrics about some sort of addictive, intoxicating substance - probably consumed in excess - matched to scrappy, infectious punk rock, it’s safe to say they’ve got a template.
But then, no mathematical formula could replicate the infectious, slacker perfection of FIDLAR’s delivery. Perfect copies would lack the imperfections that make the band so great. Like a night on the tinnies, we know how this one ends, but the joy is in the living. Never change.