Busta Rhymes: Back on My B.S.
Busta Rhymes manages to surpass Walter Murphy’s “A 5th of Beethoven” as the most terrible use of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in recorded history with “Wheel of Fortune,” the lead-off song on Back on My B.S. Unfortunately, this is the cultural high-water mark; from there things devolve. The patently tasteless becomes xenophobic and insulting by the seventh track, “Arab Money.” The album on a whole contains predictable, profanity-laced, auto-tuned rap. At a certain point the list of guest stars itself is distracting, and none of the big names on the roster seem all that intent on making the record any good.
Rating: *
Les Claypool: Of Fungi and Foe
Les Claypool doesn’t seem to realize how difficult his singing is to listen to. His creativity usually triumphs, though. Not this time. Of Fungi and Foe is the sound of a fly-by-night carnival coming to town, bustling with bearded ladies and cigar-smoking chimps. The rides look dangerous and are manned by shifty carnies with unibrows and meth-mouth. The weird and wild take center stage, and squishy fart-like noises are at a premium. For all the oddballs, only a few of the songs are strange enough to be cool. I appreciate Mr. Claypool’s intentions, but I can’t listen to this again.
Rating: *
Brooke Hogan: The Redemption
“Hey, I think that robot is made of leather!” That is most people’s initial reaction to Brooke Hogan’s The Redemption. However, it turns out she’s just a really tan human who relies heavily on auto-tuning. But she is out for redemption. What better way to start the journey than with a song about “getting freaky” called “Strip.” It continues with a breathy series of juvenile songs about friends, tricky relationships, falling in love with kind-yet-worldly beaus, and, well, getting freaky. The content is what might be expected from, say, a second-tier faux celebrity who is famous primarily for being famous.
Rating: *
98 Degrees: 98 Degrees and Rising
1998 was a banner year for boy bands. By virtue of its name, 98 Degrees was destined to conquer the world in ‘98, much as the Monkees should have done in the Year of the Monkey. But boy band competition was too tight, and Lacheys, et al., rose no higher than #14 on the Billboard 200. This occurred despite the popularity of crooning white-boy R&B—its harmonies and vocal frills and the prefabricated high school prom background music. I thought “I Do” was a lovely way to end the album. Then it hit me: I was only four songs in.
Rating: *
Major Lazer: Guns Don’t Kill People…Lazers Do
This is some sort of collaborative effort of Jamaican rap based on the theme of a zombie-fighting superhero. So in essence, it is 13 songs of electronically enhanced gibberish. The mélange of artists guarantees wild swings in the quality of the output. And so it is that the pendulum swings from mundane reggae to migraine-inducing novelty song. At its best Major Lazer apes Snow and his fast-talking “Informer” circa 1993. This brings up a good rule of thumb for musicians: if your stuff makes listeners pine for Snow, you’re doing something wrong. Perhaps things would have improved if the songs focused more on zombies and less on dancing.
Rating: *
Taylor Hicks: The Distance
Why, why, why did I listen to this? Mr. Hicks’ pop-blues muddling stages a veritable Awful Lyrics Olympiad, each song vying for gold. “Wedding Day Blues” sees the protagonist stealing another man’s fiancé during the marriage ceremony. Disturbingly, he refers to the girl as “my old lady.” In “Nineteen” the “captain of the football team” joins the army, a most noble pursuit. I will not spoil the endings of these or any other Taylor Hicks vignettes. You’ll have to listen for yourself. The most stomach-turning content relates to Mr. Hicks’ romantic pursuits, a specter as grotesque as it is unimaginable.
Rating: *
Eminem: Relapse
Relapse is an appropriate title for this album. Eminem’s rap has become a problem. He’s binged and we’re left with his most awful recording yet. Mr. Mathers is expectedly lewd and unabashedly, proudly filthy; however, he has so little substance this time around that the 20 tracks are shoddy garbage. He whines about drugs and abuse and violence. His serious stuff is melodramatic and his sense of humor is gone. Like Marilyn Manson before him, Eminem’s schtick has worn thin. He’s become a caricature of himself. With any luck, he’ll go back into retirement and won’t relapse into rap again.
Rating: *
Chris Cornell: Scream
Maybe Scream contains an interesting moment or two, but giving it anything better than the worst possible rating seems an insult to all those artists who at least tried before failing monumentally. The lyrics were unintentionally silly, the dance tunes undanceable, and the rock songs dull and repetitive. Audioslave and Soundgarden make a good case for Mr. Cornell *not* going solo. But here he is. Maybe I should just admire that he took a chance by straying from his usual genres. If only he wasn’t impinging on the New Kids’ territory with “tough guy” pop rock and a dance beat.
Rating: *
J-Kwon: Hood Hop 2.5
J-Kwon shows himself to be the materialistic, cred-obsessed St. Louis crack dealer that every mother hopes her daughter brings home. “I’m from St. Louis, the real St. Louis,” he tells us. Apparently the real St. Louis is not a thriving metropolis with a rich culture and history, the Gateway to the West. Rather, it is crimeville, rife with gun-toting, drug-dealing hoods. So the misogyny, vulgarity, and violence on the album are right at home. J-Kwon doesn’t take any time to reflect on this. Instead Hood Hop 2.5 glorifies street life (but not actual homelessness), jewel-encrusted dental enhancements, and poor grammar.
Rating: *
Cyndi Lauper: Bring Ya to the Brink
Lauper, the 80s new wave icon, has come raging onto the techno scene as a dance rave super freak. The result? As much as it pains me to say this… about Cyndi Lauper of all people… this “so unusual” lady who showed us her true colors… shared with the world her lactose intolerance… and entertained us with her foray into professional wrestling… this album is the most awful thing ever inflicted on humanity. I would rather come down with a horrible case of shingles than listen to it again. Bring Ya to the Brink sets the gold standard for dreadful.
Rating: *
