The 9 Biggest Wusses in Rock Today


Voxtrot is from Austin, Texas. How the fuck did these guys make it out of there alive? Texas is a state that eats lesser wusses alive (see Pauley Shore) so how did these five mega-pussies survive unscathed to adulthood? It would have been tough for this many skinny indie dweebs to survive high school in suburban Connecticut. Just looking at them, it’s hard not to get a pang of maternal concern for their fragility. They seem so innocent, so small. You can picture them shivering in the cold rain, smoking a clove outside a venue before one of their shows, tiny sweaters getting all wet. Then an elderly man walks by and drops his cane and accidentally crushes the entire band.

Bright Eyes’
Conor Oberst

This dude really wants to be Bob Dylan, but not only would Dylan destroy him in a battle of music, he’d also kick ass physically. And we don’t mean when Dylan was young, even the aging gross mustache-having Bob of today could take Oberst on right now. But Oberst doesn’t claim to be a fighter, just a little dude who sounds like Daniel Johnston and looks like K.d. Lang (except with less muscles). 

Sufjan Stevens

This man played a show wearing butterfly wings. Butterfly wings? Sure, being sensitive can get you chicks but this is taking it too far. What’s next? Going on stage with lanyards and making key chains for grandma? Half-hour nappy time breaks midway through sets? If anyone needs to go for a ride with Denzel Washington in Training Day mode, it’s Sufjan.

The Killers’

You can grow a mustache and try to be Bruce Springsteen all you want, Brandon but we still know you like prancing around in eyeliner and singing break-up songs to 14-year-old girls. And picking a fight with The Bravery doesn’t help either. That’s like getting a wedgie from the school bully and beating up your little brother to feel better about it. Oh, and your last name is Flowers. You are the perfect example of why performers should take stage names.

Panic! at the Disco

Shame on you America for not only tolerating such wussiness but for allowing it to find success. Imagine seeing yourself in the mirror dressed like that, with that ridiculous hair, and saying “Hey, I look great, just gotta straighten my miniature tie and I’ll be good to go!” Just looking at their serious smug faces makes you want to shove them inside a locker. Who do these little punks think they are, writing songs with titles like, “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage”? Even Morrisey would smack these guys around if he had the chance.

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