Though I've been ever so worthy of a gold star and a cookie for managing to ~shock and awe~ actually type stuff lately, I'm still having fun with piracy too. Usually I dig out whatever catches my ear among the thousands of CDs that spill out of my closets and the digital excess that fills my overburdened hard drive/inbox, as I collect music with the same fervor that crazy old ladies acquire kittens from the local ASPCA. This week, it's a selection of the weird, wrong and just plain uncomfortable that I've encountered in my travels, submitted for your downloading pleasure (read: bemused mockery).
Same old legal shit in a new hat: This blog does not store any files on its server. Links expire in a short period of time. The postings are for promotional and preview purposes only and all the albums/songs downloaded from here should be deleted within 24 hours. If you like the albums you downloaded here please support the artist by buying the original cd. Failure to do as you're told will result in everyone finding out about your secret stash of atrocious and excessively guilty pleasures involving dwarf porn, Crisco and Yanni.
What Manner Of Fuckery Is This?
"Fuck It (I Don't Want You Back)" Eamon- Some Staten Island simp gets burned by a boardwalk betty, releases whiny ass record that sounds like it was written by a pissy high school freshman excited his English teacher lets him use expletives in his free verse. In some rip in the space time continuum that makes things like the success of Color Me Badd seem logical, it charts top 10 in several countries and inspires an answer record by an unknown named Frankee, entitled "Fuck You Right Back". In a further display of sheer madness, her version accomplishes the impressive task of sounding even suckier and junior high school burn book-esque than the original, and still manages to crack the top 100 in the US and elsewhere, riding on no more than its trainwreck value and the obvious publicity stunt of claiming to be the ex girlfriend that got Eamon all leaky in the first place. Skanky one hit wonder sissy slap fight over, both faded into welcome silence, and were last seen working the drive through at a suburban Taco Bell.
"This Is The Way" Rivers Cuomo- I've always been inclined to ride for Rivers (the geek genius behind Weezer), having experienced the whole post "Buddy Holly"/"The Sweater Song" mania first hand, and rushing to the record shop to buy Pinkerton (released on my birthday, 1996). Though I loved those first two records, and found songs like "Hash Pipe" or "Islands In The Sun" tolerable if nothing special, all I could do was manage to not wince by the time they got to the pompous bombast of "Beverly Hills" and wonder what the hell had turned my nerdy friends into a 3rd rate arena band, or if perhaps Mr. Cuomo had finally buried his head deeply enough into his navel that it couldn't ever be retrieved. The fact that he saw fit to allow this lame bit of pop fluff (that would make a 4th rate boy band like O Town cringe) to see the light of day, indicates that the long M.I.A. spark of wit he had is definitely to be presumed dead. Seriously, even the horrible harbingers of hipster "irony" didn't cosign this shit..... (considering some of the utterly inane things they willingly support), and that pretty much tells you how dire it is.
"Wrestlers" Hot Chip- Speaking of things only a certain sort of music blogger could love, I present to you a wobbly mish mash of bad R+B beats (think pre programmed Casio) and sex as professional wrestling metaphors. Note to the world at large: R. Kelly style ridiculousness is only funny because it is flamingly obvious he really doesn't get the joke most of the time. In fact, Trapped In The Closet became fatally boring once he took time out of his busy watersports schedule to realize we were laughing at (not with) him, and began purposely pandering to the expectations of absurdity we now held him to.
In fact, if this bullshit song becomes a big of a sensation as Closet, inspiring a legion of John Cena/ Vince Macmahon slash fiction and an IFC special edition of Monday Night Raw, I will personally begin cutting a swoopy bang destroying swath through all known bastions of dumbass hipsterism, introducing foot to ass with a wink and a nudge.
"Pop The Glock" Uffie- Boasts of guns,cash, beatdowns and other imagined badassery from rappers who've thus far shipped double cardboard is nothing new, and even my cranky ass can't really be bothered to snark at it, as it's basically Hiroshima bombing the proverbial fish in a barrel. However, when said bullshit comes from an Anglo trust fund baby who only has a deal because she's dating a DJ? In an affected accent? Claiming "rhymes like Twista, fast as hell" (in a cadence somewhere between a rehabilitating stroke victim and a Speak And Spell)? See TAFKA get insta stabby, just add stupid! DJ Feadz is at least getting some ass out of the deal (and it better be made of sunshine and rainbows to justify embarrassing himself this hard), but the herd of myspacers that allowed this most unpleasant strain of white rapper virus to spread don't have the slightest bit of excuse. They did it for the auditorily punishing lulz,probably (and to fatally disprove the idea behind the wisdom of crowds).
"Sexual Eruption" Snoop Dogg- Just when we finally got rid of all the fuckers in the shiny suits, version 2.0 saw the Invasion of the Half Assed Crooners,rappers like Ja Rule and 50 Cent warbling their way through their own hooks and making the likes of Akon and T Pain seem almost dulcet in comparison. Could gangster rappers pretty please go back to scaring the shit out of Middle America and leave the goofy retro vocorder/ blaxploitation caricature kitsch to the likes of Nate Dogg? He's got hospital bills to pay, have a heart and spare our eardrums.
"Cause The Beat's Hot" Board Bangers- In a post apocalyptic world where every vintage soul sample, incongruous rock record, pop footnote, and Broadway children's choir has been sampled ad nauseum, a former producer (who now is a freedom fighter in the epic battle against Cher and her vast army of cockroaches), makes one last aural battle cry in the form of a drum machine and a vintage Meow Mix commercial. His plan backfires when every remaining bio human kills themselves rather than hear this record ever again.
"In The Closet" Michael Jackson- In which the world's most asexual pop icon attempts to trade in his signature non threatening sweetness for a half assed attempt at New Jack Swing style sexual swagger. Between the utterly chemistry less chasing of Naomi Campbell through the music video (he was too busy vamping in doorways to pay her much attention),the weirdly violent metaphors("you can not cleave it...or put it in a furnace") that odd Princess Stephanie spoken word, and the excessively unfortunate title...this was the song that turned the whole world off(and launched 1,000 bad jokes on late night TV).
"Say Yeah" Wiz Khalifa- "Better Off Alone" by Alice Deejay barely even managed to crack the shitty pop stations' piss poor attempts at imitating after hours clubs, what executive jackass thought it was an excellent choice for an introductory rap single? Where's the target audience for this? The ever important Z100 Jingle Ball attendee/small time hustler subset? Angry post club kids who've turned to lives of (invented) thuggery? Perhaps we aren't too far from the extinction level scenario I was jesting about above, as this sample is scraping the bottom of the bucket so hard, it is about to fall out.
"Fancy Footwork" Chromeo- The internets are going nuts for these guys, but if this is the future of dance music, than that future is the creepy Hall and Oates fixated uncle at the family reunion giving out inappropriate dating advice (and hugs that last a few seconds too long for comfort) before getting extremely drunk and trying to show the young folks how the old dances go.
"Smart Girls" Brian Wilson- Rappers shouldn't sing, and surf rock legends shouldn't rap...though that didn't stop this Beach Boys member (and his psychologist Eugene Landy, who was obviously liberal with the good drugs, and who co- produced this dogpile) from attempting. The end result has Wilson sounding like a drugged out cartoon dog in a mid 80's PSA, while random bits of his previous hits blare in and out of the mix like foghorns. Though the single thankfully never made it past the stage of radio promo, the album this mess was attached to was ever so aptly named Sweet Insanity. (You know, that thing a proper shrink should've attempted to stop Brian from so publically and embarrassingly doing)
