But as my wretched brethren are busy deifying Beck as a kindred nerd-savant, it's galling to see the relatively little attention that's paid to Prince Paul, an artist who beats Mr. Hanson and his acolytes at their own game. The yoke here is, amid pompously goofy interludes about bum-rushing the aristocracy by grooming oneself well, that Paul has turned loose a motley posse whose only commonality is they've never given a fig about fitting in.
Few things are more susceptible to the vagaries of one's taste than humorous social critique.
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