Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Coconut Records is the musical equivalent of spray-on tanning
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!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Blonde on Blonde – Bob Dylan
Such a title should have been preserved for a middle-of-the-road, penis-free porno, not another convoluted Bob Dylan offering.
Perhaps you should double entendre us to death while appealing to all of your obtuse hippy fans that will chant any lyric that has to do with getting baked ("Rainy Day Woman #12 & 35"). Some writhe in sycophantic celebration about the supposed cleverness of this play on words but I'm willing to call it what it really is, pure sloth for fans ready to consume anything offered as gospel, provided the gospel was grown in your friend's neighbors' backyard. Some refer to him as a great storyteller. Really? If you call disjointed, whiskey tango adventures great stories, then he is your guy! The sad truth is that if Bob Dylan did a cover of the schoolyard anthem "Diarrhea", people would dissect it and arrive on the idea that it's about drugs or the war or the war on drugs. You are suckers for periphrasis people, wake up, he's no genius, just another boring coffeehouse toadie that got lucky. I think his interview answers were convoluted because he was just as surprised by his success as I am.
Take the people that are so quick to call him genius. Ask them what albums they own. Ask them what their favorite Dylan songs are. Ask them to recite some lyrics. Ask them their PIN number because they will probably be shit stupid enough to give it to you. Exactly. With the exception of a few super fans, they won't have jack shit and won't be anywhere near being able to justify the genius label. And even if they can recite the popular standards, ask them what the fuck they mean. It is all "poetic" nonsense and Bob has laughed all the way to the bank for years . . . too bad he hasn't laughed all the way to a barber. Just because critics are ready to suckle his teet at any offering, doesn't make his music good, relevant or even interesting. All of his best works had to be reinterpreted by someone else. "All Along the watchtower" was only made great because Hendrix salvaged it and "It's All Over Now" received a real chance once Van Morrison performed it.
The fact of the matter is, people have some sort of fear of announcing that they don't like or get Bob Dylan. They tow the party line and continue with the phony reverence. What is there that is redeeming about Bob Dylan's work? At least he has the smarts to avoid the press these days and doing anything that make him tabloid fodder, but who has given him the idea that it's a good idea to continue to produce albums? The legions of aformentioned adoring fans and critics? Fuck that noise. (Literally)
From Obviously Five Believers:
I got my black dog barkin'
Black dog barkin'
Yes, it is now
Yes, it is now
Outside my yard
Yes, I could tell you what he means
If I just didn't have to try so hard.
Ok, if I sent this to you without any context, you would say, aww, that's sweet that your six year old is writing but would secretly think, that kid needs therapy.
How about this from "Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine"
The judge, he holds a grudge
He's gonna call on you
But he's badly built
And he walks on stilts
Watch out he don't fall on you.
Ok, anyone else thinking this cou
ld be ripped from the pages of Dr. Seuss?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Jack Johnson's Shit Goes Platinum All the Time Thanks to You Fucking Morons
I think this review from Amazon says it all:
"it it was possible, i would have given this cd 6 stars... it's been on constant repeat in the background ever since i got this cd the day it came out (i pre-ordered it as soon as i heard word of a new jack johnson cd...gasp!) i have liked jack for several years, ever since his debut album 'brushfire fairytales.' since then, he's also come out with 'on and on,' (making this his 3rd) and i honestly would never be able to choose my favorite. he's got a soothing, raspy voice and perfectly harmonizing guitar, and he has such a way with words: he doesn't just write about love (although his love songs will make your heart flutter!) but he also writes about worldly issues that get you thinking."
Clearly, only morons like Jack Johnson. Yeah, this album really gets you thinking about how maybe you have some jello in the fridge or POSSIBLY about how you might want to learn how to play the guitar and/or surf. Or play the guitar while surfing.
Your dumbass friends are sure to play this during parties cos they think it's the PERFECT "chill" party music or sweet "beach" music, because we're always having beach parties and I'm ALWAYS wondering what the ONE PERFECT ALBUM for those parties would be. If there were some bizarre stipulation in which I could only ever go to the beach if I were also listening to Jack Johnson, I would forego the beach forever. And I like the beach. The fact that every album he has ever made has gone platinum makes me want to go on a killing rampage, but while drinking wine, petting my cat, and surfing. Congratulations, though, to this dude on guaranteeing himself an endless supply of totally chill, definitely a little fat, retarded, salty pussy.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Thriller - The album your Mom played at your Halloween Party, 10 years ago.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Grithly Bear Girlfrenn!
Yours Truly, the Straightedge Loser
“I may be limping, but I’m coming home,” Jason Lytle says in the opening track of the most boring album I’ve illegally downloaded this year, and it’s like he’s admitting “I know this is lame cos I stopped doing drugs and binge drinking, but hey, at least it’s something, you hipster shit for brains.” Grandaddy was so boss, but Jason Lytle just can’t pull it off alone. Also, no one knows him by his real name, so a better marketing strategy would have been to call himself Grandmammy, Baby Grandaddy, or even Grandaddy the Second.
There’s a video on Amazon wherein he describes his recent move to Montana and how I guess that was a big fucking deal and I’ve realized that if I were listening to Yours Truly, The Commuter while driving my car into a buffalo, running away from bears, or (what else do they do in Montana besides those two things and making boring music?) it would be a little more exciting. But that’s the only way to do it. He even entitles a song “This Song is the Mute Button” and he tricks you because you will keep clicking on it, hoping it’s the mute button, but you just end up having to listen to it again. I'm left wondering, as I often do, why isn't this as boss as the Born Ruffians (they are boss).
So Jason cleaned up his act and has produced elevator music not even fit for the dressing rooms at Urban Outfitters. So, my solution, naturally, as a big Grandaddy fan, is to petition that Jason resume doing drugs and drinking. I mean, he had to be pretty fucked up to write all that AMAZING shit about Jed the Humanoid on Sophtware Slump, and really, as someone who doesn’t know him personally, his health is not that important to me. So he’s going to live in Montana and be healthy and live a long time and give us more boring music? No thanks! Burn fast and burn bright!