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George Glass is a flailing Charlie Brown foot aimed deadeye at Lucy's football, which isn't a football at all, look closer, it is flatter and it's grayer, and it's squat and it is gritty and it's a rectangle, hard as tooth, a cinderblock that on contact makes toes crumble into plum flesh.
George Glass is another collapsible night spent sleeping crooked on the floor of the storage closet, or the practice space, or a bored ex-lover's kitchen linoleum, a linen sack of unread headlines and bylines and buried ledes your only timid cushion.
George Glass is the impacted wail of a baby spending thirty years slithering slow out of its mother, its creeping voice echoed off the walls of her thighs.
George Glass is the split-second afterimage lingering on a boxy woodframed television screen in 1986, when all that remains of the saucy charm and the hardpack body and the teased hair of craven ecstasy is a wisp of light that may exist only in your eye.
George Glass is the point at which one more band bio on one more one-sheet could do nothing but break the sturdy spine of the world.
George Glass is a band from Los Angeles.