Tfw this cunt will finally die this year

>tfw this cunt will finally die this year
Dubs confirm it

cry more metalfag

christgau will be blowing you the fuck out for at least another decade

You mean these dubs? Yeah, he ain't goin' anywhere.

disappointing
check these instead

digits and he's done for

>Boy do the haters get busy on this 16-year-old. But scrutinize the "superman" matter (look it up) and you'll see that even if he thought he was sneaking something outlandishly filthy onto a pop record, his fans thought he was inventing a dance that involved flying, thus furthering the presumption of innocence so crucial to his cute. Unlike his crunk forebears, he's not into pimping or dealing or even strip clubs--"Booty Meat" is as explicit as his carnality gets, and not only is he looking not touching, he's hoping an amateur will "turn around just like a pro." He's still boy enough to worry about those F's, and the most winning of his many winning songs was written to, and on, his Sidekick 3. There are enough sonic strokes here to keep the wrong bizzer in ringtone rappers for a year. But Soulja Boy's spiritual secret is that with less subcultural support than, say, Be Your Own Pet, he's reached the top of his world on a few tips from ex-partner Young Kwon and the loyalty of human sidekick Arab. You can hear how tickled he is about it. A-

Dubs and he'll be fine

The review that exposed him as a fraud was his Yeezus review.

Then again, maybe because he's aged quite rapidly as of late. There's only four years separating the OP pic from this one.

faggots

If dubs you MUST reply to this post or else your mother will die in her sleep tonight.

if dubs prog and metal are undeniably shit

...

You Light Up My Life [Warner Bros., 1977]

Who cares if the single sold seven million? Trendsetters don't buy singles. Smart people like you and me don't buy singles, y'know what I mean? But now I hear the _album_ has gone platinum? D-

fuck you dude prog is great

christgau wins again

dubs and he dies tonight!

tito show those fags how to do it

jesus take the wheel

Foreigner [Atlantic, 1977]

You've heard of Beatlemania? I propose xenophobia. C

Double Vision [Atlantic, 1978]

I love rock and roll so much that I find myself getting off on "Hot Blooded", a typical piece of nookie-hating cockrock based around a riff-verse-chord change that's (gah) second-generation Bad Company. Other than that, there's nothing here to threaten their status as the world's dullest band. Inspirational verse--"She backhanded me 'cross my face". C+

Head Games [Atlantic, 1979]

Not as sodden as you'd expect--these guys are pros and they adapt to the times by speeding up the tempos. I actually enjoy a few of these songs until I come into contact with the dumb woman-haters doing the singing. I mean, these guys think punks are cynical and anti-life as they complain how the world is all madness and lies and then proceed to rhyme "science" with "appliance" and don't intend a joke. C

Everything Rocks and Nothing Ever Dies [1990s]

Funkadelic [Westbound, 1970]

(side one, cut one) Q: Mommy what's a Funkadelic? A: Someone from Carolina who discovered eternity on acid and vowed to contain it in a groove. (side two, cut four) Q: Mommy, what is soul? A: The ham hock floating in your corn flakes. You get high marks for your questions, guys. C+

Grand Funk [Capitol, 1969]

This group is getting attention apparently because they play faster than Iron Butterfly. Which is a start in the right direction, I suppose. Me, I saw them in Detroit before I knew any of this. I found myself enjoying them for 10 minutes, tolerating them for 15, and hating them for 45. This LP, their second, isn't as good as that performance. C-

Survival [Capitol, 1971]

For about a year I've been saying that people aren't stupid, that there has to be something new about this music, and of course there is--it Americanizes Led Zeppelin with a fervent ingenuousness that does justice to the broad gestures of mass art. But now I read where various men of taste, having reached similar conclusions, claim in addition actually to like the stuff. That's going too far. C

E Pluribus Funk [Capitol, 1971]

The usual competent loud rock with the usual paucity of drive and detail. I admit, I find myself genuinely touched by "People, Let's Stop The War". But it doesn't tell me anything I don't already know. C+

Live Album [Capitol, 1972]

They have a great, even a grand audience. But a great audience and a great live album aren't the same thing, no, not at all. C-

X [Parlophone, 2007]

a special happy birthday to our favorite Aussie ingenue, who is turning 40 and can somehow still sing ("2 Hearts", "Speakerphone") *

Meltdown [1980s]

You can stop now

American Dream [Atlantic, 1988]

Take this album for what it pretends to be, and to an extent is--four diehard hippies expressing themselves. Poor old guys can't leave politics alone--there's more ecology and militarism on here than back when they were princes of pop rebellion. Not that that's a reason to pay Graham Nash's ditties any mind or that Stephen Stills' steady-state ego isn't reinforced by stray references to judges. But David Crosby's cocaine confessional makes "Almost Cut My Hair" seem self-abnegating, and Neil Young adds musical muscle and gains commercial muscle back. So not as bad as you'd expect, nor worth giving a second look. C+

Looking Forward [Reprise, 1999]

Right, like you didn't already know. Although I pray Y will render the title tune hopeful instead of smug, I know in the back of my mind that I'll hear N harmonizing insipidly behind him. And when S explains how, when he was young, old people were wrong and now that he's old, young people are wrong and then proceeds to diss overfed talking heads while ignoring overfed exhead C next to him, part of me wishes some computer nerd with more brains than smarts joins the arms race just to get even. C+

Why is it always the user who calls out dubsposters who gets the dubs

The Best Damn Thing [RCA, 2007]

i don't even care if she's actually punk or not (as if), i just wish she'd act like it ("Girlfriend", "When You're Gone") *

Dubs and OP dies

A Fifth of Beethoven [Private Stock, 1977]

What a letdown. Here I was expecting disco versions of "Claire de Lune", "Fur Elise", and six Brandenberg concertii, and what do I get but eight songs by W. Murphy. Beethoven made great schlock, transcendent schlock even, but you, Walter, you just make schlock. D+

Whitesnake [Geffen, 1987]

The attraction of this veteran pop metal act has got to be total predictability--the glistening solos, the surging crescendos, the macho love rhymes--each one new, yet somehow heard before. Who cares if they're an obscure nine year old vehicle for the guy who fronted Deep Purple five years before that? Rock and roll's ninth or tenth "generation" of frightened high school boys can claim them as their own. May they pass from the ether before the current crop of 11 year olds sprouting pubes claim their MTV. D+

Slip of the Tongue [Geffen, 1989]

They've gotten lucky and they don't intend to let go. With fast hand for hire Steve Vai operating all guitars and god knows what other assorted geegaws, they've consolidated the essence of all arena--pomp, flash, male sentimentality. This is now the worst band in the world. So you just move over, Journey. (hey? where is Journey anyway?) D

Duets [Capitol, 1993]

He squeaks, he squawks, he clicks, he creaks. That's not the point. Old guys with worse voices have sung better--Champion Jack Dupree prevailed in his 80s because he didn't stake his manhood on technical perfection. For decades, Sinatra's sound was magnificent, powerful, spellbinding, but although he still outsings the likes of Bono and Carly Simon, Luther Vandross runs rings around him vocally while Liza Minnelli out-acts him. He who lives by the larynx dies by the larynx. C+

Hot [Mammoth, 1996]

These guys don't just love old jazz, they love old jazz records and here they attempt to replicate it in full with tricks such as recording with a single mike. Unfortunately, none of them have the technical proficiency or the history or the chops to pull off anything but an incredibly clunky imitation. And if that throwaway calypso hit was by any chance purloined, the teeth that deserve to be extruded are their own. C-

Christgau is literally Christ

Christgau has never been more correct. Holy shit

Who Are You [MCA, 1978]

Every time I listen closely, I can hear some new detail in Roger's singing or Pete's guitar or John's bass. Not in Keith's drumming though, and I still don't relate to the synthesizer. But I never learn anything new, and this is not my idea of fun rock and roll. It should be one or the other, if not both. B

Face Dances [Warner Bros., 1981]

Keith Moon's death seems to have relieved Pete Townshend of his obsession with mortality and the band he created. His new sex songs are stylish and passionate, the strongest he's written in a decade. Too bad they sound forced coming from the aging pretty boy who mouths them. All of which is a reminder that mortality catches up to pretty boys faster than the rest of us. B

It's Hard [Warner Bros., 1982]

For years, Pete Townshend's operatic pretensions were so transparent that I wagered his musical ideas would never catch up to his lyrical ones. And I was right--both became more prolix at the same rate. This isn't quite as revolting as "All The Blind Chinamen Have Western Eyes", but between the synths, winding song structures, and book club poetry, it's the nearest thing to classic awful English art rock since Genesis discovered funk. Best track--"Eminence Front", in which Pete Townshend discovers funk. Just in time. Bye. C-

Singin' With The Big Bands [Arista, 1994]

Tempting though it might be to poke fun at reformed Halo of Flies fans for going gaga over Tony Bennett, the wily codger certainly knows how to deploy his lovingly preserved pipes. Tom Jones's revival chronicles an artist who's always clocked dollars making fun of himself. But this guy's got a nerve. It's not quite as ghoulish as some computerized nightmare where Manilow replaces Martha Tilton or Tex Beneke on classic swing records, but it's also worse--swing as '50s TV music, astounding chestnuts (Frank Sinatra and the Andrews Sisters--what taste), and reimagined or reconceived arrangements played by the original orchestras (whatever that can mean after 50 years). All of course fronted by Manilow's uncompromisingly inoffensive voice--a voice that never once hints at history or sex or chops. Incomprehensible press quote--"I've found a funkiness and intelligence in this music that will last forever, and I want to remind everyone what a hip era this was." C-

Pieces of You [Atlantic, 1995]

Worth ignoring while she was merely precious, she must command our brief attention now that she's become overvalued as well. With the possible exception of Saint Joanie, who at least has some stature, this is the bad folkie joke to end all bad folkie jokes. Between her breathless baby doll sexuality, abiding love of her own voice, and useless ideas about injustice and prejudice, she may well turn out to be the most insufferable hollow body guitarist yet to crave the world's attention. End of story--I hope. C-

lmao

Wanting Christgau to die, of all the music critics, is like saying Fidel Castro was the worst communist dictator.

Yeah, Christgau says lots of shitty things, but he's way better than Scruffy or Cal

Little Earthquakes [Atlantic, 1992]

She's been raped and she's written a great song about it, the quietly terrifying acapella "Me and a Gun". That means she's not Kate Bush. But Kate Bush's market share I'm sure she'd happily settle for. C+

Under the Pink [Atlantic, 1993] *bomb*

Boys for Pele [Atlantic, 1996] *bomb*

Strange Little Girls [Atlantic, 2001]

"'97 Bonnie and Clyde" *choice cuts*

jesus christ

Christgau > Scaruffi

Damn, and just earlier in that page he nailed it with Sell Out.

Boys Don't Cry [Fiction, 1980]

The sound is dry post-punk, with spare wit and arty flourishes abounding. Everything is treated with a proper pnemonic overlay as well--listen enough times and you'll be able to recall a phrase or two from almost all of these 13 songs. Intelligence phrases they are too. But what are we to make of a band whose best song is based on Camus's "The Stranger", a book that was holy writ for collegiate existentialists since before Robert Smith was born? I mean, do we really need collegiate existentialism nostalgia? B+

TWSO is one of his favorite albums and he thinks The Who lost it in the 70s when they turned into bloated arena rock.

Also Roger Daltrey said himself that It's Hard was just a wrapper for a hit single and the rest of the album was garbage.

Yeah, I agree that everything post-Moon is just a husk. But, to be honest, it's really not the Who without Moon, and it's especially not the Who without Moon and Entwistle.
But, come on, Quadrophenia being bloated arena rock?

Faboo! Collection [Rhino, 1995]

At the far end of a trajectory determined by Noel Coward and Shel Silverstein, we come upon Steven Spielberg's answer to Aladdin and the Archies, where three actors I never heard of--Jess Hornell as acutely all-American Wakko, Rob Paulsen as thickly Liverpudlian Yakko, and Tress MacNeille as precocious little Dot--warble a significant body of new nonsense songs. The music is "Turkey in the Straw," Gilbert & Sullivan, Offenbach, and lesser cliches, all rendered in loungecore-ready registers. But three writers with suspiciously similar surnames (Rogel, Rugg, Ruegger) furnish lyrics that are suitable for children (which makes the mildly risque moments more fun), occasionally educational ("Yakko's World" lists U.N. members, "The Presidents" mentions Nixon's ignoble end and says Jefferson wrote the Constitution), and always clever fun, especially on the reissued debut that fills out this two-CD, one-hour box. Maybe you can live without the cannily self-referential "I Am the Very Model of a Cartoon Individual." But don't you have something to learn from "All the Words in the English Language"? A-

Korn [Epic, 1995]

The cover art depicts a little girl on a swingset cowering as the menacing shadow of a hook-handed rapist draws near. The band loves this image and flaunts it in their trade ads as Sony flogs their death-industrial into its second year. They also sing about child abuse--guess what? They're aggin it. But if their name isn't short for kiddie porn, then the band should insist on a music video where they all get eaten by giant chickens. C+

Life is Peachy [Epic, 1996] *bomb*

Follow the Leader [Epic, 1998]

Korn deny they're metal--that's Judas Priest, all four-four pomp and solos. But they nonetheless demonstrate that the essence of metal--an expressive mode it seems will be with us for as long as ordinary whiteboys hate themselves, fear girls, and are permitted to rage against a world they'll never beat--is self-obliterating volume and self-aggrandizing display. Calling up death metal's signature groan to prove he's authentic, poor not actually abused Jonathan Davis squeaks, squawks, clicks, and groans his way through strange licks, eerie bridges, and a hyperactive rhythm section. How much his fans identify with verses such as "You trick-ass slut" and "I'll kiss your lifeless skin" is unclear. But I'm parent enough to hope they find a more fully formed designate than someone whose idea of social commentary is netcasting softcorn S&M to any teenager with a logon. C+

Issues [Epic, 1999] *bomb*

Soul-Crusher [Caroline, 1987]

The lyric sheet that spruces up this consumer-object-in-spite-of-itself makes a promise: "Out of the chaos comes a reason." But not out of the consumer object, an inedible noise-rock omelet distinguished from the competition by drawling voice-and-guitars. People consent to fascism because they think fascism will be more fun than this. They could be right. D+

Astro-Creep: 2000 [Geffen, 1995] *bomb*

The Backdoor Wolf [Chess, 1973]

There's more talent in this 63 year old's large intestine than passes through Sunset Recorders in an entire month. You think Steve Stills could come up with something as clever as "Coon in the Moon" and turn it into an ironic call of pride? The Wolf hasn't been in this fine a form in years. Suggestion--get rid of the electric piano. A-

A Farewell To Kings [Mercury, 1977]

The most obnoxious band currently making a killing on the zonked teen circuit, not to be confused with Mahogany Rush who at least spare us the reactionary gentility. Imagine a power trio Kansas or Uriah Heep with the vocals cranked up an octave. Or two. D+

Everything Rocks and Nothing Ever Dies [1990s]

Pieces of Eight [A&M, 1978]

Wanna know why Starcastle are heavying it up? They want to go platinum just like Styx. Fortunately, they haven't yet gotten around to the cathedral organ. C-

Wisconsin Death Trip [Warner Bros., 1999]

horrorshow in stereo--they mean it, man ("Wisconsin Death Trip", "I'm With Stupid"). *

Stephen Stills 2 [Atlantic, 1971]

Steve Stills has always come on as the ultimate rich hippie--arrogant, shallow, self-pitying, sexist. Fortunately, he's never quite reached his true artistic potential, but flashes of success remain. The single, "Marianne", is very nice, especially if you don't listen too hard to the lyrics, but there's more, to the tune of an all-male chorus with jazz horns singing in perfect unison and without a hint of irony the chorus "It's disgusting" over and over. Keep it up, Stephen. It'll be a pleasure watching you fail. C-

Street-Legal [Columbia, 1978]

Professional rock journalists invariably learn to love and tolerate boastful, girl-shy adolescents. But boozy-voiced misogynists in their late thirties are a straight drag. This divorcee is too overripe, too in love with his own self-generated misery to break through the leaden tempos that oppress his melodies. Because he's too shrewd to put his heart into genuine corn, and because his idea of a tricky arrangement is adding a couple of horns or singing girls behind a basic I IV V chord progression, a joke is what it is. But since he still commands remnants of authority, the joke is sour indeed. C+

Infidels [Columbia, 1983]

All the wonted care Dylan has put into this album shows--musically, "License to Kill" is the only dud. His distaste for the daughters of Satan has gained complexity of tone--neither dismissive nor vituperative, he addresses women with a solicitousness that's strangely chilling, as if he knows what a self-serving hypocrite he's being, but only subliminally. At times I even feel sorry for him, just as he intends. Nevertheless, this man has turned into a hateful crackpot. Worse than his equation of Jews with Zionists with the Likud or his utterly muddled disquisition on international labor is the ital Hasidism that inspires no less than three superstitious attacks on space travel. God knows (and I use that phrase advisedly) how far off the deep end he'll go if John Glenn becomes president. B-

Faggot

these ones too

kys, bumpfag

maybe James Chance should kick his ass again

Have You Never Been Mellow [MCA, 1975]

After checking out most of the competition and finding it lacking--Helen Reddy is repeating herself, Joni Mitchell's latest was a letdown, Carly Simon is a bore--I began to entertain heathenish thoughts about this MOR nemesis. It was then that Carola reminded me otherwise. "A geisha." she scoffs. "She makes her voice smaller than it is just to please men." Whereupon I dropped my heathenish thoughts and resumed finishing the dishes. D+

Wild Tales [Atlantic, 1974]

The title's as phony as the rest of the album, which in spite of the bought and paid for goodies--a hook, a chorus, even a song once in a while--is mostly a tame collection of reshuffled platitudes. Especially enervating is "Oh, Camille" in which Graham lets us know he is morally superior to a doubt-ridden Vietnam vet. C-

>Partly because your humble servant is attacked by name (along with John Rockwell) on what is essentially a comedy record, a few colleagues have rushed in with Don Rickles analogies, but that's not fair. Lenny Bruce is the obvious influence. Me, I don't play my greatest comedy albums, not even the real Lenny Bruce ones, as much as I do Rock n Roll Animal. I've heard Lou do two very different concerts during his Arista period that I'd love to check out again--Palladium November '76 and Bottom Line May '77. I'm sorry this isn't either. And I thank Lou for pronouncing my name right. C+

Kek

Brothers in Arms [Warner Bros., 1985]

"Money For Nothing" is a catchy sumbitch, there's no getting around it, and side one moves with a simple generosity, a virtue not often associated with this studio guitarist's ego trip. We know Mark Knopfler's working class antihero is a thicky because he talks like Randy Newman and uses the same word for homosexuals that old bluesmen use, a word that he's somehow managed to get on the radio without any static from the PMRC. But it's too late for the ol' bluesboy to suck us in with his ruminations about the perfidy of woman and the futility of political struggle, while "Money For Nothing" is also a benchmark of pop hypocrisy. Why "See that little faggot with the earring"? Why not "See that little nigger with the spitcurl" instead? Mark? And while we're at it, how the hell did you get on MTV? By spelling its name right? C+

In Dreams: The Greatest Hits [Virgin, 1987]

From Chuck Berry on Mercury to the reunited Everlys, rerecorded best-ofs like this one rarely deliver magic or chops. The youthful buoyancy that kept the melodrama from getting soggy is in short supply, and without much trade-off in the standard interpretive nuance. A quarter-century later, his voice still socks and soars, and if on some songs--"Pretty Woman" of course, "Blue Bayou," "Candy Man"--it's clear that only the original artyfact will do, nobody who wasn't there would swear to the general inferiority of this marginally more tasteful recreation. After all, just exactly how great were his hits? Crowning him rock's first neurotic is as overwrought as damning Donald Duck for a protofascist--pop-rock (cum countrypolitan) self-pity has its own conventions just like slapstick did, and he is their slave. So as a heretic who isn't positive Phil Spector was good for rock and roll, and also as a heretic who was there, I'll stick with the artyfacts after all. They're certainly no worse. And versions you don't need. B

Ringo's Rotogravure [Atlantic, 1976]

This fellow sounds as if he can use a band. Do you think Leon Russell could drum one up? C+

Ringo the 4th [Atlantic, 1977]

The realization that people will buy this depressing record just because it was made by a Beatle saddens me. Only they didn't, because for all practical purposes it never finished higher than #199 in Billboard's end of year album list, which was no doubt some statistician paying his respects. C-

Thousand Roads [Atlantic, 1993]

David Crosby lends new meaning to the word "survivor", meaning "If you can't kill the motherfucker, at least make sure he doesn't breed", and until VH-1 got on the revolting "Heroes" video, I'd hoped to never sample this piece of make-work for his rich, underemployed friends. Oh, well. The only thing that could render it more self-congratulatory would be a cover of Jefferson Black Hole's "We Built This City". C-

dubs and he'll be fine

Hybrid Theory [Warner Bros., 1999]

the men don't know what the angry boys do ("Papercut", "Points of Authority") *

I don't think about Christgau much

Hell, I don't even frequent Sup Forums.

But when I do stop by, I can always count on at least one thread to remind me why I hate him.

(C+)

Boston [Epic, 1976]

When I first heard that someone had achieved an American synthesis of Yes and Led Zeppelin, all I could do was cover my ears and say "Gosh." C

Don't Look Back [Epic, 1978]

Debut pomposities having been excised, what remains is a pure exploration of corporate rock. Brad Delp's tenor being too thin for nasty cock-rock distractions leaves us free to contemplate unsullied form. The fact that I occasionally find myself enjoying it must mean there's still some corruption at work. True formalists, from Mallarme to bluegrass, leave me cold. B-

Third Stage [MCA, 1986]

A decade later, whatever moved Tom Scholz to create this work certainly wasn't multiplatinum ambition. He's more like the Pope of latter-day arena rock, constructing elaborately-woven textures and magnificent cathedral vocals as the purveyor of an art metal thought long extinct. Not as bad as you'd think, nor worth giving a second listen to. B-

Everything Rocks and Nothing Ever Dies [1990s]

The Magician's Birthday [Bronze, 1972]

Thirdhand heavy metal fantasies borrowed from Led Zeppelin and hooked to some clean, powerful arrangements. Okay stuff. B-

>each household appliance is like a new science in my town
explain this

autist

I Get Wet [Island, 2001]

The music is as simple as it is hard--the Ramones for an era when "Blitzkrieg Bop" plays over the PA system at Shea and professional wrestlers are all on steroids. Beware--this is also a Gary Glitter/Quiet Riot/Kiss record, meaning that there is no expression, tempo shifts, or concessions to human fallibility. If all the songs were the same, it would be perfect. But they aren't and it isn't. A-

The Wolf [Island, 2005]

Average song length on "I Get Wet"? 3:15. Average song length on "The Wolf?" 3:45. Either the steroids or his fratboy fans are getting to his head. C+

Not Fragile [Mercury, 1975]

The Who, slightly plodding, is turned over to reveal...Black Sabbath, that's who, without the horseshit necromancy. And I'm loving every single stolen riff, if not every original one. B+

Hotel California [Asylum, 1976]

Speaking strictly as a nonfan, I'd grant that this is their most substantial if not their most enjoyable LP--they couldn't have written any of the songs on side one, or even the pretentious and condescending "The Last Resort," without caring about their California theme down deep. But though one strength of these lyrics is that they don't exclude the Eagles from purgatory-on-earth, Don Henley is incapable of conveying a mental state as complex as self-criticism--he'll probably sound smug croaking out his famous last words ("Where's the Coke?"). I'd also be curious to know what Mexican-Americans think of the title tune's Spanish accent. B

The Long Run [Asylum, 1979]

Not as country-rocky as you might expect--the Eagles are pros who adapt to the times, and they make the music tough. I actually enjoy maybe half of these songs until I come into contact with the conceited, sentimental woman-haters who are doing the singing. I mean, these guys think punks are cynical and antilife? Guys who put down "the king of Hollywood" because his dick isn't as big as John David Souther's? C+

Greatest Hits Volume 2 [Asylum, 1982]

I admit it--this made my A shelves after the Bellamy Brothers softened me up. But that was unjust to the Bellamy Brothers. The Eagles are slimy not smarmy, pulchritudinous not purty, multiplatinum titans not singles artists, pretentious cynics not small-time con men, Topanga Canyon not San Fernando Valley. Sure their tunesmanship, zeitgeistheit, and guitar goodies were fun on the radio. But the next time I weeded my shelves, they were tracked to the reference collection. B-