1001 Albums Summary

I went and listened to two more of their albums after this one. A very refreshing change of pace for having just finished the list. Thanks!

*politely turns down volume* no thank you

The most cutting criticism I have ever received was on my inclusion of Old Time Rock & Roll in a playlist that was otherwise nothing but contemporary alt-rock.

They say "write what you know", so here's an entire album that's just about rock and roll.

Out of all the music in the world you possibly could have picked, you're subjecting me to a -fifth- Talking Heads album, this time containing worse versions of a bunch of songs I already didn't like? Yeah, thanks a lot, pal.

"The incessant screaming makes the music deep and visceral." Sure, take your two stars and keep telling yourself that.

I thought for sure this album would have been on the original list.

Ghost Love Score is the only 10-minute song I like that isn't just half of a jazz record.

Yep, sure seems like a great performance. Sounds like a heck of a lot of fun. Wish I could have seen it. Definitely not sitting here feeling salty that some clown had the audacity to shove the audio on a disc and sell me half an experience. Nope. Not bitter at all. You give me half the show, I give you half the rating. Fair's fair.

Nothing evokes the serenity of basking in the warmth of our sun quite like being screamed at for an entire hour.

My god, this is SO FUNNY. You're telling me they formed a supergroup from some of the biggest names in the genre, and they put out an album, and EVERY PART of the album—from the cringy band name to the corny cover to the overly edgy lyrics—just screams "parody". The very people who defined this type of metal released a piece of work that is indistinguishable from what satire would look like, with the only difference being that they are playing it completely straight. The best of the best making this genre look like a joke. Absolutely incredible. Sadly, they were being serious.

The best thing to come out of the 80s (other than me).

I will give them that they at least used screaming in interesting ways. I still don't like it though.

Being kind is not making somebody listen to this album for two hours.

This entire album sounded like the villain song in a sitcom's special musical episode.

I have never heard a louder, more enthusiastic squeal of delight over a song being played at a wedding reception than the one elicited by two retirement-age men when the opening bars of Time Warp came on.

"White man takes credit for efforts of black artists." Maybe I'm being cynical, but you *did* make your face way bigger than anybody else on the album cover. 5-star music, 2-star execution.

The first five minutes of this album is like a slice of moist, fudgy, decadent chocolate cake. How could something so delicious even exist in the world, and how are you so fortunate as to be the one who gets to eat it? The only way this could get any better is if *all* your meals were that slice of chocolate cake, and you could experience this luxurious bliss forever. Your wish comes true. The next day arrives; that cake tastes just as good as it did the first time. It tastes great the day after that, too. Heck, maybe the novelty of the cake doesn't wear off for an entire week. But eventually, you start to think, boy. I'd kind of like something other than cake today. Except there is nothing else. You can imagine other foods, certainly. You probably start craving a bite of pizza, a bowl of nachos, or maybe a steak and mashed potatoes. But for you, these meals that you once took for granted are now delicacies that will never grace your lips again. For there is only the cake. The fudginess starts to piss you off. Can't they change the recipe? Just a bit? A little less chocolate, or some rainbow sprinkles on top? Maybe make the cake a bit more airy so that, if nothing else, it's easier to chew? You grow desperate. You scrape the frosting off the cake. You dissect the cake, consuming it in manageable crumbs. You nuke the cake in the microwave for so long, so far beyond anything that could be recognizable as "cake", that the neighbors call the fire department. The firefighters return to the station, back to the big pot of chili that's been simmering all afternoon. You don't know this, of course; but god, what you wouldn't give for even a spoonful of that warm, beefy, spicy chili. Probably better that you don't think about it. Because you won't get that chili. Or that pizza, or those nachos, or the steak and potatoes. You won't even get a slice of bread or a bowl of rice. There is only that goddamn chocolate cake. It is exactly as moist, fudgy, and decadent as it was from the very first moment you tried it. ...And yet, somewhere along the way, those became all the things you can't stand about it.

I'm impressed that this group of young artists managed to perfectly encapsulate all the signs of a mid-life crisis.

Every kid goes through a phase where, upon being given a cup and directed toward the soda fountain, they celebrate their newfound freedom by creating a cocktail of every available flavor. Cola, lemon-lime, root beer, cherry cola, orange; hell, maybe even a bit of the diet stuff, because why not? But you stop doing that as an adult, because eventually you realize that the end result isn't actually very good.

I'm operating under the assumption that the only kind of person who likes this is every completely forgettable suburban guy who low-key believes he's more interesting than everybody around him.

If I had to grow up in Iowa I'd probably make music like this too

The band's promo image made me think "wow, these people seem absolutely insufferable". Unfortunately, I was correct.

Her: "Oh, you're in a band? You know... maybe you should show me around backstage sometime. So what's your band's name...?" Him: "Gorky's Zygotic Mynci." Her: "...Actually, I just remembered I have an appointment, I need to go."

Look, I got through two tracks, which at 10 minutes a pop counts as an honest effort. But I really wish you heavy metal weirdos would understand that you are occupying your own little niche that the rest of us do not care about and stop suggesting this shit as stuff we should try listening to. It didn't work the first time and it sure as hell isn't working the 47th.

So I guess we're not resisting, then?

There is more music out there than a single person can experience in their entire life, so I gotta be honest: shutting this one off early so I could listen to three other albums I enjoyed way better was definitely the right call.

Initial page load: Oh come on, ANOTHER Talking Heads album??? Who is doing this?! A moment later: Er, wait. Whew! Just a clever fake-out. That's pretty funny. A few more moments later: Oh COME. ON. That's it. I'm done. I'm dropping out, pulling my Patreon pledge. I'm sick of Talking Heads. I'm sick of metal. I'm sick of Ween and King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard and all those shitty bands that appeal to men who think they're not basic but actually are. You turned a delightful part of my day into a chore. Thanks. Bye.