What happens when you don’t pay your writers?

Either I’m an old man yelling at clouds, and this is a “Kids get off my lawn” moment, or The Independent’s review of Flume’s ‘Skin’ is deep in Poe’s Law land

Let’s first talk about what kind of music this is. If you don’t like electronic beats and you’re coming into this with a closed mind, leave now, take your fake Fender clutching-ass back to the campfire so you can sing Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews to your beloved. Now let’s get into this review.

It goes on like that, at great, great length.

Twitter seems divided over this review is actually for real, or it’s a very clever parody of a certain immature and narcissistic style of music writing many of us both recognise and loathe. If it’s a troll, are the Independent trolling their readership, or is the writer trolling whatever passes for a music editor at the site?

One or two Guardian critics I won’t name have suggested this sort of thing is what happens when you don’t pay your writers.

Now, Flume’s Skin might be a great record, even if it’s not quite as good as Panic Room’s album of the same name. But it’s almost impossible to tell from that review.