Dave Matthews Band — Crash

Just because his collection is filled with funkless, nonthreatening, tepid AAA alternative rock like this doesn't mean there isn't an Ike Turner lurking beneath his Jimmy Stewart–like exterior. If he hasn't taken a swing at you by now, don't worry — he will. The fact that he snapped at you at dinner for salting your food before tasting it is just a tiny foreshadowing of the many violent, unprovoked outbursts to come. With so much music like this in his collection, it's clear that he's been suppressing his bitterness and rage ever since the death of his drunken, belt-wielding father.

All this pent-up hostility is bound to explode at irrational and unpredictable times, so the next time you forget that 8 o'clock means 8 o'clock and not 8:02, don't be surprised if he's shirtless and handcuffed and you're bandaged and swollen by 8:15. Of course, his battering-ram-style loving might temporarily distract you from all the restraining orders, bail bonds, and Cops cameos, but you might want to hold out for a man who will take you to paradise instead of sending you to the moon. In fact, you'd better put this disc in its proper place (between Live and Edwin McCain) before he comes back in the room, because if he catches you getting fingerprints on his precious CDs, he's likely to pull a Mike Tyson on you.



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