did not like this album like i wish i had. given i've grown up in the commonwealth, there's always a dirty joy in hearing british lads just say shit while a digital instrument goes crazy; but i found this ill-focused, unfascinating, and noisy.
alright - it sucks. i can't believe it. Wild Side and Satellite of Love so effortlessly and entirely outpace every other profoundly uninteresting barely written (at ALL) song on this album to a genuinely embarrassing extent. if you allow yourself to be blinded by nostalgia, you will die in the dark
REVIEW: imagine this, girl from 1950/1960. it's prom, he's there, across the gymnasium that is a repurposed church building (this is normal, america) and you can smell the reek of his gasoline-inspired hair gel. he's wearing a jacket and he'll only rarely beat you. you love him. ALBUM FOR THIS FEEL
blissfully 38 minutes long, wonderful to a level alike divinity for possibly half of them - i have generally not been an 'album' person in my life, and i have no regrets about being inspired to finally listen to stareyed british boy's Full Length Superman (2025) Inspiring Album
amazing, amazing, amazing - to look back at what passed for romantic and lovely lyrics in a bygone era. an album, seemingly, dedicated to the worst woman possible. both described as feeding our vocalist dirt and being disliked and distrusted by everybody else in the entire world. love wins somehow
background music ahh. i don't fuckin know, man, i talked about how bad dandandan season 2 was the entire time this was playing - at no point at all did the music leap out & fascinate. i've listened to jimi hendrix - i am not inherently fascinated by random people on guitar...i met the god of guitars
when the album is so shit it makes you bring out the numerical scores that you really quite fiercely forsake. i swear this is the music that plays in hell.
this is, bar none, as bad as i ever expect it to get. this is a misogynistic rapetastic squealing hellfire about being a mudslinging american imbecile and that is the peak of artistry it has to display. pointless and vile work by pointless and vile people. 0/10, mathematically impossible as that is
extremely pleasant shit. saturated in lathersome fullness with the feeling of being made by people that gave a fuck; has a sweet intro & outro surrounding squealing guitars that tell you to skate and live your life to the fullest. includes a song advocating against genocide. winner!
my first 5/5 and an easy one at that. cannot believe the sheer quantity of rancid irony poisoning and earnestness loathing that has driven us to an unreasonably low score here.
i find this album healing, life-loving, culturally integrated and educating - an album with a beating heart asking why the hell we're so mad all the time, why we're so scared of aging, why any goddamn imbecilic self-serious youngster would hate a song about how nice it is to grow fruits and meditate...
i don't know, man - i'm 26, now, and i'm young as hell and i know it but my life has been so full of horrible bullshit and that there is a verdant paradise at the end of my long life of suffering where i can enjoy the Not Beatles singing about not much of anything so melodically and lovingly; this scabs over the wound, this stems the flow, this clinches the tear.
the album made me happy, it made my girlfriend happy, and i liked it very much.
Downright listenable, downright lovely. Hard album to review - Stevie Wonder's an unimpeachable god of music and he deserves to be - but this album didn't inspire some kind of grand exaltation in me, some great epiphany...it just made me feel pretty goddamn good for 2 hours. That, itself, is pretty goddamn good.
I love this fucking album, man. I think it's wicked and wickedly smart and I generally think Eminem the man/the project/the vessel for Feelings and Shit is smart too, plus he loves to grab a boob and his peanus has an attiTUDE; I could talk about that crass nasty motherfucker's lyrics all day
'Slim Shady LP' is extremely famous for pushing it; being so crass and disgusting as to challenge publishing. That tickles me pink. One of the songs here contains Eminem being surprised by sex with a fat woman who herself gets so mad she eats his leg but then he hops up and shoots her with a shotgun. And that's obscene, absurd, and horrible - like it's supposed to be. It's the battlecry of the underappreciated dipshit kid, the ignored and ignoble baby of that millennium turning consumptive paranoia between our avoided techpocalypse and our unavoided 911 and subsequent Dooming of Culture parents...and every time some of this shit about doing huge epic murders and being immortal and stealing your kid away (via murder) agitates some purity bastion into screaming and crying - pointing like the cat meme - actual earnest emotional value is achieved. We break through, rebelliously, despicably...and best yet - incorrectly.
The vulgar paradox of our squealing bastard souls we're born with and the constricting bullshit world we're inheriting, and how the fit is just impossible and we'll always be cursehappy freaks who just can't play the Pretend Nothing Is Wrong game that dull people do...
Well, therein lays the comedic audacity of the album and the technically masterfull fuckflow of some of these lyrics. Song per song, a story and a joke, a mockery and a conceit that maybe the world the album exists in is the real mockery....and after all that, this shit sounds good as fuck
crazy, crazy short - listenable, energizing, fun. brings back fond memories of GTA Vice City (or GTA 3, who can even remember) so like...whatever. easy 3, i like women as metaphors for success or adventure because it's not misogynistic garbage like kings of leon
this album, to me, is nothing. this album isn't the wind whistling through the leaves, tides turning and roaring miles away carried by the earth's screaming hurtle through space; this album is backblast from like, a dishwasher. nothing
it's fucking unbelievable, man. this is the third time i've listened to this album this year, in a desperate bid to recall a single trait of it or to admire any inch of it - it's just nothing. it's water off the duck's back. it traverses through my ears, leaves my empty skull - already gone
Has a truly tremendously good album cover. The man looks mournfully down on his delicate doll mask, clown-faced and meaningless; it'll hide the sadness, so he just has to put on the brawling boxing gloves behind him and put on his pretty face. It matches the surprisingly (enjoyably, half the time) bleak tone of these tunes - their plays into tragedy, their anticlimaxes and sadnesses matched to a silky smooth Billy Joel tone....
And fucking none of it is interesting. Each of these songs has 25% of the sauce. I've never seen a man give up in every single fucking song and repeat his 'killer line' in lieu of making a chorus, or finishing the song, or driving the story home (only Scenes From An Italian Restaurant defeats this defeatism, i.e surrendering writing the lyrics contained within defeatist music) and it just such an agonizing technical exhaustion atop exhausting content and I didn't find a lot of joy in this one.
To make sure I'm not in danger of making a decent and level-headed review, here's some aggravations; DIRTY JOE and his SAD BOY MUSIC SLOP FAIL to ENERGIZE and FASCINATE
Really good album cover though.
'3' is an interesting kind of a rating to give. It almost feels like the absence of a rating to me; it shouldn't, because this would be an easy 7 - if I was sort of defiling my personal beliefs regarding art for number-crafting, which I do concede is fun but do find delegitimizing - but I found this album good, honestly, and maybe it's a three because it's hard to say much more.
'All I Need' is a standout track that marries the sort of dominating desperation of exiting poverty and hardness with the vast romantic Need of another person (features a great planetary comparison mid-length) and that charmed this album to a solid recommendation...
Of course it would always be a recommendation though because it's hip-hop and hip-hop is freakin' badass
simply maddening shit. every song is two minutes too long - an entire album of fine premises played out until they're sandpaper on my fucking brain. exceptionally same-stitch backing tracks, dull advancements, asinine and boring lyrics - complete flop.
stellar exercise in nominative determinism. usain bolt goes fast as fuck, stevie wonder makes music that gives me a sense of wonder. end of review wax sealed send skeet
this is Bar Music. not a terrible bar, it's not side glances and brawling and big bald boys showing off their pick-tat suspicious skull inks - but it's Bar Music for sports people; not my people. has an ENORMOUSLY good sample usage on J Dilla's 'Donuts'
my full review for Sheet Music via 10cc: you guys gotta listen to Donuts from J Dilla, that is a fucking amazing album. i hope to god that album shows up later in the 1001 albums list, it has such an eclectic and delightful strangeness; just inventive, creative, strange and lovely. Sheet Music = ok
Beautiful, wonderful, enriching and warming; basically, those are the words I'd use if we were about to experience an orbital bombardment and your last question to me was what I thought of 'We Are Family by Sister Sledge'.
Anyway - everything about this album is good. It's the only thing I'd ever call 'bombastic' and not feel like a little bit of a prick (besides like, Metal Gear Rising). I've loved 'We Are Family' since I was a baby who had a dipshit no-good family who I'm glad are dead; that's how fucking good the header song is. It doesn't even matter to me that it's gotta be top 5 contenders for a children's film ending insert where they all dance after saving the day and the villain discontentedly taps his (or perhaps her) foot in a jail cell miles away.
even outside of being made by an unmedicated racist dweebazoid, this fucking blows. autotuned and uninteresting and way too long and whiny. dork shit by a dork, who'da thunk'd it
