Tag Archives: Shit Music

CV Tip #39 (Deeply Dippy)

17 Oct

‘The interviews i do for the online music magazine is also a great hobbie and I have chance to interview some great people my favourite interviews so far are Right Said Fred, Adam Ant and BoB’

Fucking brilliant and relevant.

If those were the best then I’d hate to see the worst. Also, how in the name of Christ did you get any journalism work with that level of writing skill?

The Worst Albums Ever Made – The Pop Videos Of David Hasselhoff

29 Aug

By Slick Nick

@Poppeelings

I would love to one day be able to write about a single Hoff album, keeping with the tradition of this blog category. Sadly, at the time of writing, I had blown my free Spotify hours for the month on Craig David, and surprisingly there are barely any seeders at all on Pirateybay.org for the Baywatch legend’s recorded material.

Having said that, after looking at some of David’s pop videos on YouTube, it seems his art is equal part visual spectacle. Seeing David perform these songs, as well as just listening to the music itself, is something I believe all aspiring music critics should put themselves through. It’s pretty hard to imagine how bad music can actually get until you’ve watched even just ten seconds of one of these videos. With that being said, I’m sure the following songs were featured on some of the worst albums ever made.

How could a man like this make bad music?

David has been a surprisingly prolific recording artist, given his TV star background. His first album came out in 1985 and he hasn’t really stopped since, much to the delight of his fanbase which encompasses German-speaking Europeans only. The singles began in 1989 and continued until the mid-nineties, where he had something of a hiatus, coming back with a bang in the mid-noughties.

I cannot imbed videos into my blog at this point in time, and I think to want to do so I would need a more worthy cause than David Hasselhoff’s music. None the less, I am happy to link to them below.

‘Looking For Freedom’ (1989) CLICK HERE TO SEE THE VIDEO

This appears to be the debut single/video in which David yearns for freedom after a very privaleged upbringing. The verses are not the song’s strong points by any means, so it relies heavily on its gospel-tinged power choruses to get by.

The whole thing is very eighties – including smoke machines and clips of Knight Rider, which are intercut or faded over David in quite an obvious and cheap-looking studio set. The set with the white trees and purple background looks like something out of a NEXT catalogue from twenty years ago and is therefore completely appropriate for this video.

Whilst the song is by no means a classic, it does showcase David’s very limited vocal range perfectly, and offers a relatively catchy chorus and dance beat.

You'll be looking for freedom too after enduring this

‘Our First Night Together’ (1989) CLICK HERE TO SEE THE VIDEO

This is more familiar territory – a mindfuckingly awful song, which also happens to be some kind of a duet with a quite unremarkable blonde. Terrible singing, both singularly and in partnership, underpin a tune-free bore. The chord changes in the choruses are far too ambitious for such a lifeless husk of a pop song as well.

David and skirt should have built the song up to end with some harmonies, but they don’t even bother to do that.

The video itself is an oddity; tonally uneven, and making little sense. There appears to be a camera crew in the narrative actually making the video as the viewer watches it. They start off in a car, then it jumps to the two leads in concert together, complete with David rocking hard with an electric guitar (probably not even plugged in). There only appears to be a few dozen revellers at the event though, which is a lot considering how bad the music is. It’s really as crap as an obscure Eurovision entry and not something I’d recommend.

The cover, rather than the single, helped album sales

‘Flying On The Wings Of Tenderness’ (1990) CLICK HERE TO SEE THE VIDEO

David gets serious here, with an ode to his one true love. Though since no other characters are present, I assume he’s really singing this to himself, clumsy metaphors and all.

It’s a very slow, tedious song with appalling lyrics, shameful for a man with such a sturdy liver as the Hoff.

To make matters worse, the video is very low budget and uninspired, with just David on his lonesome singing on the beach. Occasionally a shot of a goose in flight appears faded over David, which I think lessens any minute impact this might have had.

Finally, the title itself is a shocker. The more I read it, the more ludicrous it seems. It just makes no sense on any conceivable level at all, particularly when underpinned by the flying goose clips.

All the single and album front covers used the same photo

‘Crazy For You’ (1990) CLICK HERE TO SEE THE VIDEO

This is a light-hearted song, reminiscent of the Stocks, Waterman & Aitken guff that was around at the time. The chrous is remarkable only for ripping off ‘YMCA’ by the Village People. Out of all the hundreds of millions of recorded songs that had to be in existence in 1990, they could havw chosen a better one to copy than that one.

The song itself is very feminine; it could easily have sat on a Kylie Minogue album. Some of the images in the video are the opposite though, with David being seen riding a gigantic motorcycle. It’s an interesting juxtaposition probably lost on its audience at the time.

When David arrives at a fairground, off he gets from the bike and out pops a dog from a satchel, which then ends up pressing the ‘start’ button on the abandoned rollercoaster David has found himself on. I’d love to know what the fuck they were smoking when they imagined that as a concept. Why is the rollercoaster deserted in the first place? That just suggests that David is so unpopular as a recording artist, and he was, that he could clear leisure areas of humanity just by turning up there.

David is crazy for someone who seems to be returning the affection, so there is no conflict or heart in this song. It exists solely as a carbon copy of one of the shittest disco songs ever written.

Such a shame he's not currently making an album

The Worst Albums Ever Made – ‘Brain Drain’ (1989) by The Ramones

21 Jun

By 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

GUEST ARTICLE: Extracts From ‘Sex And Genre Deconstruction In STAIND’

5 Jun

Extracts from the non-award winning essay by Professor Montgommery Sloan Barnicoat-Fucknozzle III Phd. MA. OBE – esteemed fellow of the arts at London South Bank University.

Science: The professor reveals the patended 'Theory of Why Staind Sell Records'.

…interesting piece written by fellow academics at the independent Canadian research institution Blatant Doom Trip entitled ‘Staind’ which offers a thorough introduction into the psyche of frontman Aaron Lewis through both qualitative and quantitative research methodology. A minstrel of sorts, Lewis is the main composer in the group, an intense youngster whose creativity appears to excel when backed by his blues-based ensemble. On a partially-related matter, the aforementioned BDT article forms much of the recommended reading material for the Autumn course I am running on what it means to be male in an American bluegrass combo in 2009. Students wishing to enrol should send a hand-written letter of interest with an enclosed holiday photo to my office in the cleaning cupboard at the…

… Lewis’ burgeoning unsatisfied sexuality being the driving force of early-to-mid career Staind. We are presented with not only the vision but also the inner turmoil of a sensual, all-American adult male unable to relenquish its seed in the traditional act of physical love with a willing suitor. This seemingly unending bout of involuntary celibasy becomes apparent with the song title of hit single ‘It’s Been A While‘ on the profoundly moving breakthrough album ‘Break The Cycle‘ of 2001. Whilst this record is essentially a post-modern grunge metal symphony, this particular song is a stipped-down exercise in lonliness; Lewis, entirely masculine in appearance (light on hair, heavy on bodyfat) cannot find a ‘home’ for the emotional and biological love he has to give. The singer uses a comparably sparse arrangement of ukulele and full backing combo, including percussion, to attempt to challenge the perception of…

Despair: The painted representation of Aaron Lewis' cerebellum

… particularly resonates is the song ‘Pressure‘ which lurches from the psychological to the physical. Quite simply, it is the description of having a fully erect member within the constraints of a particularly unforgiving pair of camo shorts. It calls to Lewis, challenging him to use it for the purpose God created it for in a hostile world. Thus, physical pressure impregnates a psychological pressure. The irony is not lost on…

… disagree entirely as do many learned gentleman in our field; there can only be one interpretation of the metaphor-drenched ‘Safe Place‘. Quite simply, it is an ode to the female reproductive organ, or a worship if one was feeling particularly generous. Lewis exists in a cold, distant world. The vagina can offer a gateway to the emotional warmth, as well as the physical gratification, that the singer so desperately seeks. Readers wishing for further clarity on theories relating to the vagina’s impact on previously Confederate American states should be pointed towards the…

Sensual: Lewis as primal all-American male

… penis. But if we pause to reflect on the surface of Staind’s later work, what presents itself is an attempt to deconstruct the very conventions of music that we are familiar with. Arguably the most significant piece in this later experimental stage is the wildly ambitious 2005 album ‘Chapter V‘. Note the use of the Roman numeral in the title itself; a confident yet subtle indicator that the listener is about to embark on a concept far removed from what is considered acceptable or enjoyable music on a purely superficial level in the present day. Lewis is looking into the past and asking us – what is music? What is a song? What are supposed to feel when…

Experimental: 'Chapter V' was part of the nu new wave of nu new nu metal

… dirty vests. But it does essentially wipe the canvas clean. We are granted the ‘words’ of the language of music, but little else, as Lewis bestows the listener with a constant sense of the absolute. This is a series of compositions that communicates with its audience, reminding them repeatedly that this they are witnessing some form of music being created. We have musical instruments working cohesively to produce roughly the same rhythmic sounds in the same consonant keys and scales. This is underpinned by a percussion that is ordered to retain a 4/4 time signature at any cost. We have some starse vocals making little attempt to be melodic. What we have in essence are the very foundations of music itself. The memorable guitar riffs and accessible hit singles of early Staind are long gone, replaced with an advanced musical theology that sees Lewis apparently starting again, both as a composer and as a sexually potent…

… gender issues in NASCAR racing. Though some would argue ‘Chapter V’ exists as pure dichotomy. My own theory as discussed is that Lewis had reached a point where simply making music in the traditional sense could no longer satisfy his cerebral or artistic urges. He hoped to bring in a new wave of American rock and roll whereby the components of music language were present only. Some learned gentlemen, however, have attempted to advance an alternative theory, hypothesising that Lewis had simply reached a point of irreversible psychological trauma brought about by countless years of being ineffective as a sexually capable adult male. Did this turmoil manifest itself in the sadistic aim to simply torture listeners, to encourage them to experience the frustration and despair that had rooted themselves deep within Lewis’ psyche for endless years? For further listening, readers are advised to…

Phallic: Lewis demonstrates both wealth and sexual goals

… archetypal of the ‘hoe down‘. But looking to the future, it is difficult for academics to not approach future Staind releases with unbridled anticipation. The work Lewis has been threatening for years will surely usher in an even newer new wave, likely to feature the composer sitting in the corner of a recording studio, improvising on a single-stringed banjo whilst intermittently sobbing into a brand new Stetson.

The professor can next be seen live in August at the Colchester branch of Costa Coffee, lecturing on the mythical depiction of South London present in the early work of So Solid Crew.

The Worst Albums Ever Made – ‘Come Clean’ (2001) by Puddle Of Mudd

2 Apr

By Slick Nick

If there’s one thing this bandd will go ddown in history for, it’s teaching the masses (or maybe just their impressive 9815 Twitter followers) that ddoubling the letter D in things ddoesn’t make them any better, for example Puddle Of Mudd’s name and song-writing ability.

These chaps were part of the ‘nu grunge’ phenomenon that polluted rock charts during the late 90s and noughties – a genre that when dissected really means ‘to want to be like Nirvana whilst actually presenting music that is a million times shitter.’ Thus, Puddle Of Mudd brought these 13 or so crap songs to the table in 2001 and in doing so, effortlessly crafted one of the worst albums ever made.

Merely six seconds into opening single ‘Control’ and one thing becomes tragically clear; listening to this album will be as interesting as watching paint dry at a bus stop. Anyone that has been listening to rock for even a couple of years will likely have heard all these riffs in far better songs by other bands.

‘She Hates Me’ is another mindfuckingly awful single, sounding like a rejected song from Grease and quite unwelcome in an album that is fundamentally slow, grungy butt rock. Given how  different and obviously commercial it sounds compared to the other songs on the record, it just screams of gimick-single-to-get-band-on-the-radio, so much so that it makes Offspring’s noughties work look like fucking Despised Icon by comparison. Appalling.

Perhaps, given the overall listening experience, the most accurately-titled song on here is ‘Bring Me Down’. Its only point of note is the attempt at a tempo change that underpins a middle eight, but executed by musicians as talentless as Puddle Of Mudd, the piece is just clumsy and awkward, like admitting you watch Loose Women without irony to a small group of friends.

The final single ‘Blurry’ is passable I’ll admit, with some enjoyable moments. Apparently about the end of frontman Wes Scantlin’s marriage and not getting to see his kid, it’s the heartfelt tale of a woman not wanting her only child to be associated with a sub-par Kurt Cobain wannabe, and no one would blame her. Poor lyrics do undermine this tolerable pop song though.

Scantlin: 'I've written this many crap songs today.'

Considering how shit this music is, and how underwhelming the lead singles are, I did start to wonder what on earth any respective A&R professional would deem worthy enough in this band to invest valuable time and money in getting them on the music channels and into the music collections of people that like extremely crap songs. Delving into the Mudd biography it all became crystal clear – this lot were signed to Fred Durst‘s label for their big break. No further explanation is necessary after uncovering that nugget of music trivia, considering Durst is a man seemingly hellbent on bestowing the world with as much bad rock music as humanly possible.

Puddle Of Mudd have managed to sell a mind-boggling number of records, stretching into the millions. I’d love to meet a genuine fan of the group to ascertain what made this music good enough to purchase. Is it the boring guitarring? The excitement of the slow, ploddy music relentlessly executed in that barely explored 4/4 time signature?  The memorable lack of melody? The mediocrity of Scantlin’s entirely derivative vocal delivery? Perhaps I will never know. But one thing I do know for certain is that if an individual even has a single Nirvana MP3 in their music collection, it pretty much makes this group’s complete discography entirely fucking pointless.

‘She [metaphorically representing people that enjoy good music] fuckin’ hates me.’

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