Math Rock Doesn't Die; It Simplifies To me, some bands can be compared to olives, in that it took me quite a few attempts before I could eat an olive without making a sour face. It may have something to do with the fact that my first olive was a giant, Spanish black olive (avec pip) that had been soaking in brine for, oh, probably five years. I ate it sitting on an airplane next to a girl, MB, who I'd had a crush on for about the same amount of time as the olive had been marinating. It was during a school-organized trip to Europe, and I was 18 (yes, I was 18 before I had an olive. You might think this odd until you remember that I grew up in Kansas). We had just been served our in-flight meals, and MB opened her sealed-in-plastic salad. She turned to me slowly, holding the salad out in offering, and asked, "Do you want my olive?" For a split second I hoped it was some odd metaphor for jumping her bones in the airplane toilet, but I quickly realised that, indeed, she d...
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