Glenn Garbo enjoys the simple things in life:
Vanity, dining at the Ritz, and — above all — vapidity.
Shaped by the immaculate storytelling of immortal songwriting teams like Lennon/McCartney and Taupin/John, as well as Tom Odell’s universality, Grigory Sokolov’s rigor, Brad Mehldau’s instinct, Dostoevsky’s unparalleled depth, and countless other compass-aligning forces, the hodgepodge-philosophy-driven Swiss-Austrian singer-songwriter stumbles into the world with his eclectic debut EP, “Resilience Avenue.”
Garbo’s ever-growing œuvre could perhaps be best described in the words of a generous critic, who once so tastefully praised it as:
“A real height of bad taste. Desperate and self-sufficient affirmation poetry. Confused and deranged wannabe vaudeville, with a faint yet gamy whiff of all that’s wrong with modern society, aiding actively (and thus despicably) (only just) its moral decline, and ultimately its inevitable demise.”
