Beating up on Yoko Ono's complete lack of anything approaching talent has been the lowest of low-hanging pop culture fruit for more than four decades now. In some ways, you have to admire her cockroach-like staying power: not only did she somehow manage to survive a hail of gunfire that tragically killed the brilliant John Lennon and tragically missed her entirely, she's gone on to ungratefully spit in the forgiving eye of fate by making "music" that sounds like a cockatiel being put through a wood-chipper well into her twilight years. She calls it art. Almost everyone else calls it aural waterboarding.
And so today we present you with a challenge, because everybody needs a challenge now and then. Here's a three-minute clip of Yoko and the latest iteration in the revolving group of earplug-wearing backup musicians known as the Plastic Ono Band performing at last week's Glastonbury Festival. The song is called -- ah, fuck it, who cares what it's called since it sounds like every other ridiculous thing Yoko shrieks out of the gaping hell-gate at the center of her face and calls music.
Good luck. We're all counting on you.