'Twas the Post Before Christmas

'Twas the post before Christmas, and in some Hoosier house,
Some blogger was versing (that would be Mouse)
The weak drinks were poured at The Echo with care,
In hopes that the next Brooklyn band would be there;
But hipsters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Silversun Pickups rocked in their heads;
(Except for Jeff Weiss, with smoke in his head,
who lit a menorah, like a good Jew instead.)
When out on the blogs there arose such a clatter,
They all rushed to the twitters to tweet twit the twatter;
And through the tabbed browsers, they found what they lacked,
They opened iTunes, downloaded the track:
Glo-fi on the ears of the crest-fallen blogs!
It gave white-foaming mouths to the internet dogs,
(That poor Travis Woods became oh-so-perturbed,
He swiftly converted twelve nouns into verbs.)
But the old Buzz Bands blogger, wit lively and surly...
Bronson, he'd heard that track some twenty years early.
More rapid than eagles his gin-tonics came,
And he hollered, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Fielder! now, Zach That and Hank Altogether!
On, Justin! on Jody! Dave! Rock Insider!
Surfing on Steam! You Set the Scene!
(Of course LA-Underground was attending unseen)
Seraphina from BeatCrave expressed what she liked,
As Bronson's calls were retweeted by @Kill the Mic;
All over the internets LA bloggers wrote,
'bout how that "glo-fi" sounded like scrote;
And then, in a twinkling, they heard in a haze
The fuzzing and buzzing of 90's shoegaze;
As they drew in their heads, and gazed at the ground,
The bloggers heard Bronson moping around;
He was dressed in Cards gear, from his head to his toe,
And his feet were near-floating in an almost-pogo;
A bundle of promos he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;
His beard -- how he shaved it! So slick and so sharp!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a carp;
His fingers were clenching a fresh cup of joe,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a cig he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a small face and a frame of all-bones,
That rattled, when he laughed like a sackful of stones;
He was gangly and gaunt, a right scrappy old elf,
And they cheered when they saw him, in spite of themselves;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave bloggers notice they had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but displayed his word gift,
By writing a treatise, economic and swift;
And flicking a finger upside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up out Spaceland he poggoed;
He threw down his drink, to his team gave a shout,
And they reposted his post, having no shred of doubt;
And they heard him exclaim, ere he bounced out of sight,
"Glo-fi is old news, since nineteen eight-five!"