Kidz Bop 27

Kidz Bop volume 27 is the perfect album for any and all occasions. So you’re craving that feeling of being trapped inside a giant fart filled PVC maze, with thousands of wailing kids, at DZ Discovery Zone? Kidz Bop 27. What about when you’re longing for that feeling of a kid doing a cannonball on your head? Shoving you deeper into the booger ridden poop stained balls in the ball pit at the McDonalds in Hammond, Indiana. Kidz Bop 27.  Who can forget about that feeling of getting pink eye from said balls? Yet another fond feeling that can be resurrected by the voices of screaming kids. It’s as though someone recorded the toy aisle at Walmart for 50 minutes on black Friday.

What could be better than hearing chicken shit top 40 songs as sung by the rejects from the after school choir at St. Joseph’s grade school? I’m surprised every song on here doesn’t have a recorder solo. I think my head would explode if I heard Katy Perry covering “Hot Crossed Buns” covered by Kidz Bop. Just could not be more confused as to who is buying this. Even a simple minded kid should be able to discern that whatever professional is singing the song is clearly better than their snot nosed peer. On the plus side if you order now the album comes with a pile of xannys and a half gallon of Everclear for any parent unfortunate enough to endure this.



DJ Tiësto produces drunk driving anthem of the year

Very few songs are considered champions for drunk driving, crunk wheeling, butt-faced cruising, hopping behind the wheel after exceeding the mid-way point on a 30-rack of Icehouse. Good ole Joe 30-rack. Staunch supporters are a rarity. Ardent advocates come few and far. Rightfully so, it’s perhaps the scummiest dirt-bag move in the existence of partying.  Dropping a 40 on your big toe while hitting on a girl that already wants nothing to do with you, experiencing a nip slip while dancing to “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy” at a western themed bar in a strip mall, and hurling that can of barbeque Pringles you pounded into a urinal at John Barleycorn all far surpass drunk driving in terms of social acceptability. Though not according Tiësto’s epic drunk driving anthem “Red Lights” , which holds a reverence, and adoration for the past time. An age old love affair. An ode to seeing double.

The song apparently draws inspiration from those glorious nights of tip-toeing out of party, in which everyone has told you not to drive. Before anyone else realizes it,you’re planted firmly behind the wheel of what is presumably a white Dodge Charger with a supper aggressive racing stripe and a spoiler that would have Vin Diesel pissing himself. Busting absolute ass, like a drunk driving demon god, with the headlights off, through as many stoplights as possible. If it’s green you’re stopping and waiting for it to turn red then peeling out. All in an attempt to crush as many XL Steak Tacos as humanely possible, no matter the cost. Sipping Miller Fortunes, furiously chain smoking cigarettes, and crushing disco naps all the while. “Blacked out, everything’s faded. On your love, I’m already wasted. So close, that I can taste it now, now” wails the song, prompting this next beauty of a line “Nobody else needs to know, where we might go, we could just run them red lights, and we could just run them red lights”, Nothing compares to a good discreet blackout, followed by a game of chicken with a brick mailbox.

“When the beat drops, imagine yourself letting go of the wheel, closing your eyes, throwing your hands to the sky, forgetting about the existence of the brake pedal. Just going where the car wants. Or driving with the window rolled down, the cold autumn breeze in your face, projectile vomiting at oncoming traffic. Or imagine tears streaming down your face lighting the wrong end of a cigarette”, said Tiësto longingly as he pondered the existence of his new anthem.

In all seriousness, drunk driving is absolutely asinine and completely inexcusable, even while listening to this song.

Pitbull Wins Creepiest Guy of the Year in a Landslide (already…)

Pitbull has been working tirelessly to join the ranks of transcendent tools like Guy Fieri and Kanye on the Mount Rushmore of blowhards. His tremendous effort has not gone unnoticed, by doing things like nicknaming himself Mr. Worldwide and being a walking advertisement for Jos. A. Bank he’s quickly imposed his miserable stench on anyone unfortunate enough to turn on the radio in the last year. Forcing his stink on us, like the person resurrecting curried catfish in the office microwave. Pitbull’s loathsome douchebaggery is elevated by his unwavering verbal creepiness. His eerily shiny/malleable head also compounds how disturbing he is. One hand stroke from a video vixen in the Timber video and the thing was lumpier/greasier than the new cheeseburger pizza at Papa Johns. Below are lyrics and analysis that support his Creep of the Year nomination and award for anyone that may have doubts.

Give Me Everything
1.) “Give me everything tonight, for all we know there might not be tomorrow”
2.) “And I might drink a little more than I should, tonight, and I might take you home with me if I could, tonight”
3.) “Tonight I’m going to make you my queen, and make love to you endless”

Pitbull just butt funneled a handle of well silver rum, and he’s out leveraging doomsday fear to land the hottest, most fearful strange he can find. (1) After stumbling out of the bathroom in a Men’s Warehouse suit, drenched in Drakkar Noir, armed with a sketchy condom he got from the bathroom attendant, Pitbull is officially ready for action. Nothing gets the ladies going like breathing hot rum fumes in their face whilst babbling about a meteor headed for earth, right before jamming a tongue in their ear. (2) Instilling terror is crucial, the apocalypse is a confirmed aphrodisiac. If that doesn’t do it, then certainly the prospect being humped by Pitbull (still wearing his white tuxedo) for one eternity will be enough to bring home a slam piece from the club. (3)

1.) “I’m slicker than an oil spill, she say she won’t but I bet she will…timber”
2.) “One more shot, another round, end of the night it’s going down”
3.) “Swing your partner round and round, end of the night it’s going down”

If fear mongering about the potential end of the world doesn’t work (though it almost always does), then it’s time to pull out a backup plan that’s guaranteed to work. The process is pretty simple according to Pitbull. The first and most important step is drinking fortified wine. A lot of it, enough so that you puke in a potted plant upon arriving at the club.  The room should be spinning when you close your eyes. You should also be smoking the wrong end of a cigarette. (2) Do these and your golden. If you haven’t landed any yet start weaving an elaborate web of drunken lies. She’ll look annoyed or even angered, but all that means is that she’s totally into you. Also make sure your bald head is greasy enough for the person to see their reflection in. (1) When all else fails, pop onto the dance floor barely able to stand up. Grab the closest chick and go into a complete tailspin. Most of your weight should be balanced on this person. Keep spinning until the dizziness causes enough confusion for a potential hookup. (3)

The line in his new song needs no explanation “I just wanna skeet-skeet-skeet, ride out and go, I came, I saw, I conquered, off to the next, let’s go.” Can someone please tell me who actually listens to the man pictured below?


Lady Gaga Is Avant Garder Than You

I have a sneaking suspicion Gaga was created in a lab. Funded by a pioneer research company studying causal factors of annoyance and confusion in humans. Painstaking years of trying different recipes until this following combination of DNA yielded Lady Gaga, Chris Jenner, every person involved in the production of Grown Ups and Grown Ups 2, Wendy from the new Wendy’s commercials, Family Guy deep cut scripts (discarded for being too random), and anyone who maintains that TNT produces great original series (I’m looking at you Rizzoli and Isles).

Gaga is a symbol for both everything and nothing nowadays, the most annoyingly random entity to ever exist.  Jerky motions atop a soiled mattress, smearing paint, and wearing a unicorn tail is the sure fire way to put an end to any and all injustices occurring in this world. It also functions as an incredible diversion from the futile lyricism and brain numbing beats.  There’s likely several profound and beautiful statements buried somewhere deep in the video for Applause. One such statement, both controversial and relevant, is protesting the mistreatment of genetically modified humanoid ostrich creatures, like the one seen below in the video. It’s been neglected for years and it’s incredible that Gaga is both random and edgy enough to increase visibility. There are probably plenty more but they would almost certainly take someone as brilliant as Tom Hanks’ portrayal of Robert Langdon to decode.

Gaga should be cast from relevance, effectively collecting dust with the acoustic guitar you never play, any box set DVDs you may own, and that pair of skis that would pay for themselves in fun within the first winter of owning.



Artist: MGMT
Album: MGMT
Rating: 1.0/5.0
Download: Promoting things isn’t indie so they wouldn’t want me to post the download link.

MGMT has always been the absolute awesomest. They’re wiry, they wear thick rimmed glasses and Bill Cosby sweaters, and they really like cats, all of which makes them exceedingly anti-mainstream and unique. Unconditionally different than those who have ironic mustaches, wear argyle socks to match the pants that have a pocket for their U-Lock and demonstrate a disregard for basic human hygiene. There are probably only a handful of these types of free spirited hipsters in the entire WORLD.

Being nerdy is the new bro.

They were the inspiration behind the ingenious and highly spiritual shaman-festival-attire movement. Having their songs featured in Gossip Girl and the new 90210 is the epitome of anti-pop. They’re as indie as indie gets and that is REALLY REALLY COOL. They never play their hits live and also say really cool stuff about their new album…like:

“But at this point in our careers, we can’t write a pop song. If we tried, we’d either get bummed out, or we’d change it enough until it was something that we actually liked.”

One thing must be done to cement a band’s legacy as cooler than everyone else: Take a massive dump in a cloth baby diaper, wrap it in wet hay, sprinkle some Alaskan cod on top, pop it in the microwave with an IceHouse fart for 20 minutes and serve it up as an album to once- loyal fans. In this effort, MGMT has succeeded. Hey, MGMT, congrats…you transcended cool by creating something only you find enjoyable.

Watch Here (2nd video):


Artist: Ray Lewis and Pharrell
Album: Natural Born Hitters
Rating: 0.0/5.0
Download: Fuck No, I will not provide the link

Natural Born Hitters makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Though it pales in comparison to watching a grown man uncontrollably weep after every football game regardless of outcome or watching an inspirational/cryptic speech to confused team members that demands they; give it their all, have no fear, fear God, don’t fear God, love God, take one shot, climb the mountain of truth, climb down from the mountain and enter God, stab, be thirsty (but drink from the fountain of truth and effort), be hungry (while consuming the lamb of God). Easy enough to distinguish and digest through hysterical crying bouts. I didn’t realize watching someone cry could actually suppress pity. Natural Born Hitters is still uniquely and incredibly awful though. It actually doesn’t qualify as music at all.

It will leave your boxers skidded worse than a Long John Silver’s run made in the first 10 minutes of a three hour road trip in mid-August. You don’t own that food, you only borrow it for a brief time. The ravings of a complete wimpering lunatic being pile-drived into your ears creates an identical feeling of both panic, urgency, squirminess and disgust.

Under no circumstance should you download this mixtape.

Bang Pt.2 I Don’t Like

Artist: Chief Keef
Album: Bang Pt. 2
Rating: 2.0/5.0

All good things must come to an end. And in Chief Keef’s case it was never really that good. It was a novelty item that you would shoplift from Spencer’s gifts in junior high. Fart pills, lava lamp, F.B.I. (Federal Booby Inspector T-shirt) and most unforgettably the pen where when you tilt it the top comes off a busty woman. It also reflects the immense gullibility experienced in those transitional years. Eagerness to commit to just about any brand of music, so long as it was being widely listening to. Petey Pablo. Ying Yang Twins. Ja Rule.


Bang Pt. 2 is beyond dull. Consisting of tired beats and rhymes that rival the book Hop on Pop in complexity. At its best it seems like someone who recently splurged on Rosetta Stone and is becoming discouraged with their mediocre scores. Bang Pt. 2 is completely void of any innovation. It is something that was made for the sake of being made…like American Idol Seasons 2-12, Two Broke Girls, Constantine starring Keanu Reeves, the Miller Lite vortex bottle and Flo from Progressive Auto Insurance. We would all be a lot happier without these things and Bang Pt.2.

Chanel West Coast

Artist: Chanel West Coast
Album: Now You Know
Rating: 0.0/5.0

A television personality with no personality.  A crudely propped up, discount Real Doll with a TalkBoy FX stuffed down its perpetually circular mouth, repeatedly squawking the same mindless commentary in an overblown fabricated and unrealistic thug accent. The wind howling in the empty vacuum positioned between its two ears is more annoying than it should be. The thousand mile stare at nothing in particular suggests its lifelessness.

Sound familiar? It’s  aspiring rapper and Fantasy Factory receptionist Chanel West Coast, better known as “that one blonde chick, from that one Rob Dyrdek show”

I would say this album is an embarrassment however that would imply the existence of integrity or perhaps another something else acclaimed. Outrage is a more appropriate assignment.  I admittedly only got two songs into the album,  however I would say the rhymes below warranted its premature dismissal :

“Know my name and they feel me just like a groper”

“I do it for myself, I do it for my crew, we do it like a stealth…cuz you never see my crew”

Crew rhymes with crew. I should have written this review before actually listening to the album, what else was to be expected?  There is always a certain feeling of gratification after an assumption is realized however…so at least something salvageable remains.

Magna Carta Holy Grail and L.L. Bean

Artist: Jay Z
Album: Magna Carter Holy Grail
Rating: 2.0/5.0
Download: iTunes

Jay Z has to be the coolest rapper to ever exist…he makes commercials chronicling hanging out with famous producers, discusses making history, he is aware of the existence of ancient documents, and perhaps most importantly he loves Samsung Galaxies which is the ultimate measure of street credibility.

There were absolutely no expectations surrounding this album. The non existent excitement was fulfilled and adhered to beyond even the most wild of dreams. It is a jumbled mess void of any cohesion. Holy Grail sounds like it was produced at the Payphone with Adam Levine. There’s also a song dedicated to Miley Cyrus twerking. All other songs have Jay clawing and scratching for any word that rhymes, effectively being drowned in the accompanying samples. Instead of spending time working on continuity and flow Jay has spent the last several years perfecting some truly beautiful and lush phrases like:

1.) “ha-ha”
3.) “he-he”
2.) “HOV!”
3.) “Look what ya’ll made me did!”

The old Jay is officially gone, and has been gone. Jay appears now a toiling cantankerous dad wrestling with his independence and masculinity in a house full of women. Rocawear will undoubtedly start looking more like L.L. Bean and his cologne brand will start smelling more like Old English Leather. This is the death of Jay Z as a rapper and the birth of him as a Dad.

Slip into a pair of wide legged Wrangler jeans and a boxy team volleyball shirt from Blue’s grade school and welcome fatherhood.

Goddamnit…Asher Roth

Artist: Asher Roth
Album: The Greenhouse Effect Vol. 2
Rating: 0/5.0

I can’t figure out who Asher Roth is making music for. It’s likely the same demographic of people that consume Miller 64 while playing beach volleyball. His most recent album was extra upsetting and threw me in to quite the little snit. It’s rare that something on first glance can cause such immense annoyance but what pie-eyed  hesher was the mastermind behind the absolutely inane looking cartoon below? Every song worse than the one before until it culminates on song 23, the largest toilet clogging/staining protein sinker in the last decade.

Far more annoying than Johnny Depp turning every single character he plays, no matter the genre or era, into a face painted flamboyant pirate that prances around like a deflated scarecrow and EASILY more annoying than the guy tilting his 36 oz Evian bottle and filling it to the brim at the gym water fountain, not a care in the world, including  the withering cotton mouths lined up behind him. Prepare to be incredibly frustrated: