Coconut Records is the musical equivalent of spray-on tanning

In case you got here by accident, Coconut Records is actually not a record company or a produce inventory. It's the latest incarnation of "indie darling" Jason Schwartzman. You may remember him as Ringo Starr in "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story" or from this morning when that guy was asking for change at the gas station.

Jason's musical story starts out several years ago when he was in a band called "Phantom Planet" (hereafter referred to as PeePee) that had some minor success. He played drums for PeePee on their only song, "California", which was picked up as a pilot for an entire show about California.

Shortly after their success, Schwartzman was no longer part of the lineup as they had decided there were enough songs about California. He did what anyone who claimed they left a band to pursue acting full-time would do: make his own band.

And so we have Coconut Records. As the saying goes, "You can't spell 'coconut' without 'c-u-n-t'," and this is a good way to lead in to the rest of the slander in this article.

Coconut Records's's songs are as lyrically clever as pissing on a doorknob. You give it a try, realize what's on the handle, and then futz around in some kind of piss-rage trying to decide how to open the bathroom door because some idiot wrote an album about the dumbest shit ever.

It's an album so filled with cliche that you'd think you were watching Stella on a broken TV. Not to mention, the songs are so schizophrenic that you can't be sure if the torrent you downloaded it from was labeled properly. Between disco and drunk lovesick singalongs, Coconut Records' catalog waivers back and forth between upbeat and boring.

There are points in the album where there are backup vocals or group singing - obviously all performed by Schwartzman himself - all performed with emotion that Stephen Hawking could eclipse while asking his attendant to press fast-forward on a porno.

It seems awkward that someone who has bullied his way into the entertainment industry would have such a difficult time finding suckers to sing on his shitty album, but I guess that defeats the purpose of having a solo album. In that case. I've decided to include a re-worked album cover for this journey into the center of bullshit:



In his defense, actresses Zooey Deschanel and Kirsten Dunst appear on his records - which is like inviting whoever you fuck to write and record a song with you. And I'll bet that whale from last night does a mean Stevie Nicks!