Valerie's Plastic Scrotum

This is one of those bands with about six dozen members. Think Arcade Fire, Los Campesinos. We have xylophones, banjos (electric and acoustic), farfisas, trumpets, organs, sitars, and just about everything else you can think of. Everyone plays at least three instruments, and there's always a big switch in between songs. You know, the guitarist moves to tamborine, keytar player goes to timpani. The vocals are shouted by everyone, like a kindergarten class just figuring out that they can count to a hundred. Songs are composed almost entirely of sorta-catchy choruses. Guitars play only one or two chords, and batter them to death. There are glockenspiel solos. A disco bassline occasionally surfaces, and nobody in the audience has any idea what to do with it, because they are head-bobbers, not dancers. There is awkward jiggling. Members dress in bright, paint spattered clothes. There are guys with disgustingly ironic facial hair, and one girl who could have climbed from the pages of NYLON. About a hundred scrawny fifteen-year-old boys who spend too much time pirating music want to marry her.