Professional face-kicker makes redundancies without HR consultation, then defeats unchecked capitalism.
2/5
Tag Archives: 1989
Society (1989 dir. Brian Yuzna)
15 JulHow a Guardian reporter imagines the inner workings of the Conservative Party.
3/5
Always (1989 dir. Steven Spielberg)
13 DecPilot increases his lady’s fuckability tenfold before being blown to pieces.
2/5
Black Rain (1989 dir. Ridley Scott)
11 SepMulletted constable plays a round of Neil Buchanan’s Finders Keepers in the far east.
3/5
The Abyss (1989 dir. James Cameron)
20 JulFuture slaphead saves money on divorce lawyers thanks to jellyfish.
3/5
Say Anything (1989 dir. Cameron Crowe)
14 JunCEO of carehome reluctantly allows daughter to fuck a man with appalling taste in music.
2/5
Kickboxer (1989 dir. Mark DiSalle & David Worth)
16 FebInspirational 80s music montages equip vengeful Belgian with the skills to defeat girly-haired kickboxing champ in Karate Kid knock-off.
2/5
Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade (1989 dir. Steven Spielberg)
8 DecChrist fanatics travel the globe in search of a glass of water.
3/5
Field of Dreams (1989 dir. Phil Alden Robinson)
25 SepLike a (literally) cornier Sixth Sense, with rounders.
1/5
The Karate Kid, Part III (1989 dir. John G. Avildsen)
21 Aug‘Nam vets wait for highly-regulated, short contest fight to exact brutal revenge on Italian American stereotype.
2/5
See No Evil, Hear No Evil (1989 dir. Arthur Hiller)
14 AugPoking fun at the disabled, Jewfro-topped Willy Wonka, and African American slugger, take part in barely connected comedy skits.
2/5
The Punisher (1989 dir. Mark Goldblatt)
11 AugVigilante/serial killer tackles non-caucasians and dodges thousands of bullets before providing free no-frills bus service to offspring of crime management.
2/5
Sex, Lies And Videotape (1989 dir. Steven Soderbergh)
23 JulSexually inept mullet captures female wank talk with dated technology.
3/5
The Worst Albums Ever Made – ‘Brain Drain’ (1989) by The Ramones
21 JunBy Slick Nick
It was the year 2000, Christmas day. The world would soon be partying. He had more important things on his mind.
The last few months had been a journey, a musical one. The days of only listening to Oasis and Prodigy albums seemed long gone. It was a thirst for loud, fast guitars and catchy melodies that drove him towards the burgeoning CD rack now.
He’d been studying hard as had his college friends – the A Levels would not pass themselves, after all.
Gotta have the A Levels so you can go to University, get a good job, nice home in the suburbs, Ford Mondeo, two kids…
It was a future within arms reach, and he’d be taking punk music along for the ride as well. Bands like Greenday, Offspring, Rancid and most treasured of all, The Ramones. These bands would never make crap music, would they?
He sat in his bedroom, Nesquik in hand, surverying this year’s payload from good ol’ Kris Kringle. Bad Religion’s ‘Suffer’ and ‘Generator’ albums lay at the side of the desk; they could wait. ‘We’re Outta Here’, the final Ramones show, sat close by in compact disc format; he’d bide his time, savour the rest of their discography, before enjoying that one. What he really wanted to do was play ‘Brain Drain’, their 1989 studio album he’d just recieved. The disturbing cover was alluring, and suggested an unforgettable listening experience. He couldn’t wait.
Merry Christmas.
He knew little of the band’s story but took simple pleasure in their early work. These short, catchy punk songs struck a bar chord with him. He’d always have the Ramones on when writing psychology essays.
He removed the seal of ‘Brain Drain’ and placed the CD in the stereo, a cheap device that would surely struggle to cope with the power of what would be unleashed. If the Ramones were close to the bone in the seventies, how extreme would they have become by the late eighties?
He pressed ‘play’.
A strange sensation washed over him, strange because he’d never felt it before whilst playing a Ramones album. It was a feeling he only got whilst listening to extremely shit music.
It’s punk, Jim, but not as we know it.
He laughed out loud at the thought. The eighties drum sound was unavoidable, but the problems ran far deeper into the heart of the album. It was fundamentally bad song-writing.
Opener ‘I Believe In Miracles’ was far too slow to begin a Ramones album, sounding tired and old compared to the likes of ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ years earlier. ‘Don’t Bust My Chops’ suffered from a distinct lack of melody. Years of alcoholism had taken its toll on Joey Ramone’s vocal chords; his singing was barely acceptable on this recording.
He continued to listen, hoping no family members would overhear. If Dad caught him mid way through ‘All Screwed Up’, he’d never live it down, especially after he always gave the old man such a hard time over his ‘shit’ music collection.
Would kill for some Mark Knopfler or Fairport Convention about now though, wouldn’t you?
He hit the ‘stop’ button and snatched the CD out of the stereo, recoiling as the cold, lifeless plastic touched his trembling hand. Yes, this was definitely a Ramones album. There had no been a mistake at the packaging plant. He longed to cast this monstrosity aside and never think about it again, but that was never an option.
‘I must finish what is begun.’
The second half began with ‘Pet Semetary’; disappointing book, terrible film, underwhelming song.
‘Learn To Listen’, despite its crappiness, reminded him of the early Ramones material. At a merciful length of 1.51, it was too little, too late.
He took a sip of Nesquik, wincing at the sweetness. He’d earned it.
‘Comeback Baby, Comeback’ was the album’s absolute low point. He’d only read about songs like these in Stephen King books. He never thought one would cross hs path for real.
Why are they being sexy? They’re not a sexy band, they’re not a…
Silence.
‘Merry Christmas I Don’t Want To Fight Tonight’ had faded out, closing the album, reminding him of Cliff Richard, making him realise what the season was all about. Family. Eastenders. The birth of Christ. It was not about bad music, at least not in unlicensed residential premises.
He returned the CD to its case. He stared one last time at the cover, the cover that promised so much.
He placed it in the CD rack, a giant plastic prison from which it would never escape. Many layers of dust would cover it in the years to come.
Lunch was ready. Time to join the family. They’d ask him what he’d been doing for the last 35.01 minutes. He wouldn’t say. The memories of the morning would only linger in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.
He had hoped the events of that morning, where he sat through one of the worst albums ever made, would never be re-lived. Then a blog was created, one with barely any readers, that had a category covering terrible music. He knew what he had to do.
Merry fucking Christmas.
END
Born On The Fourth Of July (1989 dir. Oliver Stone)
30 AprAngry Vietnam archetypes bond over gambling, wheelchairs and tequila, after lead shouter offends mother with detailed penis monologue.
4/5
Friday The 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan (1989)
2 MarMass murderer wins amateur boxing match without training before enjoying a night out on the tiles.
2/5
When Harry Met Sally (1989)
20 DecTedious couple put viewers out of their misery by enjoying long overdue fuckfest in gag-neglected Woody Allen homage.
2/5
Crimes And Misdemeanours (1989)
16 DecDown-trodden film maker and an eye doctor consult a child and the mob respectively for relationship solutions.
4/5
Ghostbusters II (1989)
13 NovDie Hard goon does a voice exchange with the Exorcist but fails to win over art critics.
3/5
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