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MurderWeasel
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That boy needs therapy!
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"Sweet," BB said. "That's pretty legit. I've got some stuff you may like. Do you know Scott Walker?"

She was just being nice when complimenting the girl's taste, really, but she smiled like she meant it. Soft rock was about as close as you could get to the bottom of the barrel when it came to music that was even vaguely cool. Pop was vague enough to encompass early Beatles, Michael Jackson, and Skrillex, but it probably meant whatever fad all everyone was riding at the moment. In BB's experience the only people into theatre music were actors and people who listened to no music except theatre music. Opera held potential, though. And, hey, even though Coleen probably had absolutely no clue who Scott Walker was, he just so happened to land at the nexus of pop, soft rock, and theatrical music, with a helping of operatic vocals in his recent stuff. Funny how things worked out.

Of course what BB was really looking forward to was taking Coleen up on her offer to listen to absolutely anything. The rest of the band had learned not to offer that sort of blank check by now.

So far everything seemed to be going pretty well. It was nice that the newcomer was taking everything slow and easing into their group; nothing was more obnoxious than someone inserting themselves into an ongoing project without respect and messing up the delicate creative balance. Peyote Coyote wasn't big enough to have its own Yoko Ono yet.
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Smoke On Her Face · The Neighborhood