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Danny Worsnop is a Good Writer

  • Axl Rosenberg

Danny Worsnop is a Good WriterAsking Alexandria vocalist Danny Worsnop is twenty-one years old and has released two albums, so you know what that means: it’s time for him to write his memoirs and impart all of his knowledge and life experience to the world! The autobiography is going to be called Am I Insane?, and Worsnop has now posted the first few pages to his Tumblr, much the same way, many, many years ago, Charles Dickens released A Tale of Two Cities piecemeal via Friendster.

And while all of this news makes perfect, 150% sense, here’s a fact that really doesn’t: although Worsnop is responsible for Asking Alexandria’s brilliant lyrics, his writing actually leaves something to be desired. Maybe he should have written it in rhyme? He really is such a poet, y’know.

ANYWAY, read the excerpt of Am I Insane? below, along with my own running commentary:


Dear whoever the hell stumbled across my innate scribblings;

Do you think he meant “innate” scribblings or “innane” scribblings? I’m seriously asking. I can’t tell if he was trying to be self-deprecating and accidentally came off as an idiot, or if he’s trying to say that his scribblings have existed within him since birth.

My name is Danny Worsnop.

Thanks for clearing that up, Dan. I thought I was reading Golda Meir’s memoirs.

I was born on September 4th, 1990 in Beverly, England. I entered this world kicking and screaming,

That’s not a clichéd phrase!

knowing nothing of how fucking important my being alive was going to be to so many people.

As opposed to all the other knowledge you did have when you were born, or…? Good on you for being so modest, by the way.

I grew up as unimportant and insignificant as most

You just called “most” people “unimportant” and “insignificant.” You are really coming off as a swell guy here, Danny.

in the small village of Gilberdyke (as far north of ‘middle-of- nowhere’ as you can go whilst still being a little south of ‘you’ve- never-heard-of-it’) by my forever supportive parents Philip and Sharon along with my younger sister, Kelly.

Now, at the age of 21,

Little known fact: same age as Maya Angelou when she wrote I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings!

I have toured the world and sang my songs to enough people to populate a small country,

“probably one run by a horrible dictator who makes them listen to awful music”.

I’ve overcome a cocaine addiction that should’ve killed me and alcoholism that almost did. I’ve loved, lost and loved again. In fact, I’ve fallen in love with almost as many women as I’ve fallen into bed with and we will for now, just file that under the category of “HOW MANY?!”

So Danny loves almost every woman he’s ever slept with? That’s… actually admirable. Either that, or he doesn’t have a very good handle on what it means to be in love.

So I guess I’m a rockstar,

No, you’re not. A rockstar is someone who is a household name, period. If I stop a hundred strangers on the streets of Manhattan right now and ask them who Danny Worsnop is, how many do you think will know? You’re very successful and you have the right to be proud of that success — but you’re not a rock star. Sorry, dude.

 “Living the life you can only dream of” as I once so eloquently put it.

Quoting youself is douchie. Quoting yourself when what you said is an incredibly trite cliché is beyond douchie.

Danny Worsnop, the physical embodiment of sex, drugs and… What was that last part again?

Yup, he forgot the music part. Seems about right. 

Rock and roll you say? Well, here’s where things get interesting. You see, I am and always will be, a rock and roller. I am and will from now until my terminal breath,

“Terminal breath” is obviously supposed to be a poetic way of saying “dying breath,” but it’s not — because “terminal” isn’t a synonym for “dying,” it’s a synonym for “fatal.” So he basically just said, “I am and will be from now until my breath is so bad that it kills people.” Just sayin’.

be a rock and roll singer. But my music is not rock and roll, no.

Sooo… you’re not a rock n’ roll singer?

The band I ironically am the front and center, high and mighty, plump up my plumage and parade it around for is in every way, a heavy metal band. I am not talking Iron Maiden, ACDC, Black Sabbath, Ronnie James Dio heavy metal. This is scream till you spit blood, hate everything, fuck the world and burn it’s

he means “its” 

mother heavy metal.

At this point you may at this point be


wondering what the hell I am doing here. Am I lost? Did I take a wrong turn? Surely I must be in the wrong place… Well, you are as wrong as wrong could be and then some. I knew what I was getting myself into and still, with a tip of my hat and a tap of my cowboy booted heels, cannonballed right into the deep end of the volatile, unstable ocean of insanity known as Asking Alexandria…

I don’t even know where to begin to make fun of this paragraph. It’s like Bret Michaels hired a retard to ghost write his book or something. It’s just all so hackneyed and silly and it doesn’t even really mean anything, y’know? I’m not talking in a deeper sense, either — I mean it is borderline incoherent.

My uncontrollable passion for music began at a very young age. I remember all too clearly on countless occasions singing and dancing around to Michael Jackson’s “Bad” on this enormous stage to a sea of screaming fans, which, in reality, was a diarrhea greenish brown sofa that my father thought to be a fantastic addition to our living room, and a selection of stuffed animal toys strewn across the floor.

This actually isn’t funny and is almost relatable. I’m shocked.

I remember plugging a cheap karaoke microphone I got from Argos into the headphone socket of my stereo blasting out old INXS, Brian Adams and Bon Jovi albums out of it so as to provide what in my mind, was a far more believable lip-sync rendition of their hits. Pretty sure once or twice I fooled my sister into thinking I was actually singing them, not that she’d ever allow herself to admit it. In truth, I was consistently an offensively bad singer until puberty

Oh, awesome! So when are you going through puberty, dude? I’m looking forward to hearing how you sound as a good singer.

finally released me from it’s squeaky voiced, fluffy faced grasp. That never stopped my music though, I found solace in every and any instrument I could get my eager hands on. Age 7; Recorder, on which I distinctly remember being a genius.

Given how modest you’ve been thus far, I am not surprised. 

Age 8; Guitar, which lasted about as long as it takes to badly learn a G chord in my kitchen. Age 9; Violin, my first real venture into music, I even played in an orchestra a couple times! It lasted about a year, then it was to the big league. Age 11; Trumpet, at this point people were starting to not only acknowledge my natural ability with music, but also to encourage it.

So from ages seven to ten, your family was like, “Shut the fuck up?” What a bunch of pricks! And if only you had listened to them! 

Age 12; My first guitar, a Squire Stratocaster starter set, complete with amplifier.

Good thing it had an amplifier.

Holy hell was that guitar punished! First thing I did on Christmas Day when I tore off that paper was plug it in, crank it up, turn on Kerrang! TV. I was instantaneously convinced that I could already play along to Nirvana, Marilyn Manson, Limp Bizkit


and whatever else happened to play. I was a natural. The reality for my family in the other room unfortunately, (along with the rest of the village) was that my relentless strumming away on an out of tune guitar that I had no idea how to even BEGIN playing was in fact nothing short of painful, it also hasn’t ever stopped!

Uh, did he just admit he still has no idea how to even begin to play music?

These days, I reside happily in my Brobdingnagian world of beautiful music, beautiful women and a beautiful bank account, but it wasn’t always so… My family was a completely ordinary one.

I thought they were “unimportant” and “insignificant”?

Average money, average house, average cars, average grades, average life… Average…

Isn’t this redundant? Wasn’t this basically covered in the second paragraph?

If there’s one thing I’ve grown to detest more than anything else on this celestial orb we call home, it’s ‘average.’ Don’t get me wrong, I wish not for a past riddled with poverty,

So what are you bitching about?

but there is nothing more dull and uninspiring than ‘average’

Which explains your music

and anyone who has experienced it in large doses will verify that in a heartbeat.

So how, out of such ordinariness, did I become something so spectacularly not average and ordinary? 

He means “not average and not ordinary,” I assume. I mean, I’ll give him the benefit of the the doubt that he knows the phrases “not average” and “ordinary” are antonyms.

What the hell happens in brain, in my DNA, in my very soul, that separated me from everything I was expected to be?

Wait, did everyone expect you to continue to be average? You didn’t mention that. Unless we were supposed to deduce it based on the fact that your family didn’t want you participating in the arts until after age ten.

Can it be that all that drink and all those drugs are to either blame and/or thank? 

I dunno, your music sounds like shit to me whether I’m sober or fucked-up.

Truth is, I have no goddamn idea. 

Well, this should be an interesting read, then!

This book is the collective insights of myself and those closest to me regarding my self proclaimed condition of ‘non compos mentis’ – adj. Not of sound mind… Often referred to as “FUCKING MENTAL!”

Wow. I cannot wait to read the rest. Why isn’t he taking pre-orders yet???

[via The PRP]

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