Music on the quick #3

by Ben

I was finishing up The Last Wish the other day when I almost tossed my Kindle through the wall in frustration. I mean I get the title of the book, but at least tell me what the wish was. You can’t just have a jovial fuckfest in the ruins of an inn and then hop-skip-jump to the last page. That’s like edging for two straight weeks and then getting a one-roped dribble.

That has absolutely nothing to do with music, but I figured I might as well bitch about it because it really pissed me off. I mean I still turned around and bought both the video games (with real money!) after I was done, but that doesn’t excuse shitty authorship. I mean the guy’s Polish so that explains most of it, but FUCK.


13. Colette Carr – Skitszo


I never listen to rap. Or “hip-hop” or whatever the hell it’s called these days. I hear tell there’s a difference between the two and they’re distinct genres, but to me it’s like comparing being shit on by a Sumatran rhinoceros or being shit on by a post-op stripper with plastic knockers larger than a diamond-gilded globe.

A hipster-looking white chick from America probably isn’t what most people think of when it comes to rap. Whenever I heard the word “rap” in secondary school it was either from the ghetto kids whose parents scraped together the legendary tuition by selling crack to local politicians or the ultra-rich crowds who drove bigass SUVs with spinners and twin 1200-watt spine readjusters strapped in the back. Either way it was music only listened to by posers and wannabes, because my school was “unintentionally” all-white.

None of that has anything to do with Colette Carr or this album. Like I said, I never listen to rap because I think it’s annoying, like being shit on by a squadron of soldier ants. But Scitszo, a title which rests close to my heart, is a pretty big success in my mind. For starters, it’s a rap album which I can actually listen to from the beginning to end without wanting to impale myself on an apple corer. Last time I tried this was with Mackloverrated and that almost resulted in the intentional removal of my ears with an HPV-crusted wrecked dick. I think I like Scitszo so much because it has heavy electronic overtones and that really appeals to me. It’s not so much in-your-fucking-face-with-a-flurry-of-N-bombs “music,” but instead a well-constructed collection of electrohop (copyright) stuck together in a cohesive and entertaining package.

My obsessive personality has informed me that I’ve listened to Carr about 185 times in the last couple weeks. That speaks more about my enjoyment of this than any overwrought joke-riddled prose could. I’ll probably listen to it that many times more before my eyes bleed and I cram fistfuls of nails up my nose.

Verdict: Borneo. 3.5/5.0


14. Sirah – Inhale


I never listen to rap or “hip-hop.” To me it’s like being jacked off by either a colony of Africanised honey bees or a pride of rabid lions stalking a pack of meth-addled babies in Detroit. 

A hipster-looking white chick from America probably isn’t what most people think of when it comes to rap. Whenever I used to think of the word “rap,” I instinctively dove for cover while yanking my gat from my checkered boxers and denim shorts and spraying bullets in the general direction of the bumping. It’s kind of like the first time I listened to Skrillex without vomiting my appendix or eating a few dozen poppy flowers; part of me wondered if this sort of thing should be used to torture people or if it actually qualified as music. But I liked “Kyoto” a great deal, and that had Sirah.

Inhale also has Sirah, given that it’s her fucking EP. I’m also including C.U.L.T. here because talking about one without the other is like forcing old people to shuffle across burning coals drenched in jet fuel in order to get their dentures back. I like these EPs for same reasons I enjoyed Colette Carr; it’s laced with so much electronic production values that it’s difficult to determine where one ends and the other begins. Except here, Sirah has that sort of ghetto twang to her lyric delivery, which is biting and acidic but also fascinating to hear. I mean like I said, I never listen to rap, but it almost wanders into the formulaic genre rapping style (at least what I imagine that would be).

But then it doesn’t. On To the NextInhaleBlew Your Mind, and C.U.L.T. are pretty goddamned amazing. Some of the filler tracks don’t really measure up, kind of like what I imagine Katy Perry looks like naked to what she probably actually does look like naked. We can’t all be winners.

Verdict: Waffles are overrated, but sometimes I still eat them because they’re easy to make. 4.0/5.0


15. Ke$ha – Warrior


I love Kesha. I’ve listened to her over one thousand times. The first time I heard Tik Tok I just about drowned myself in the collected saliva of the unraped inmates at the State Prison of Southern Michigan (that’s totally not another Detroit reference). The second time I was exposed to Kesha I started sweating and nervously looked around for fear that someone would notice me and then I’d have to go postal with two chopsticks and a condom loaded with AIDS vaccines. Then I accidentally discovered Animal on my computer. I have no idea how it got there, and I assume to this day that a Romanian SRI agent tracking down an international ring of smut peddlers infiltrated my system and planted pirated music on my drive to attract scrutiny from the NSA and RIAA along with their butt-trained, sue-happy corporate law farms.

Anyway, I kept listening to it, and after a few days more Kesha songs and albums were found on my computer. I’m betting that a terrorist cell from Cameroon put them there so I wouldn’t notice that they stole my bank account information and my collection of lemur pictures. I fell into some kind of trance then got my GF to shave all over and made a movie where she got full frontal and then nothing else fucking happens. (That was not a Danny Boyle reference.)

I also went ahead and watched both seasons of Kesha’s TV show twice; once because I was interested and the second time only to satisfy my burgeoning obsession with her. Unfortunately I noticed she basically became a skeleton by the end of the second series and that’s less appealing than choosing between having brain cancer or growing a vagina on your face. Of course that really doesn’t have anything to do with Warrior, but I don’t really care. I mean I’ve fucking listened to her over a thousand times. Assuming each song was around 4:10 in length (which probably isn’t accurate), that’s about 69.17 hours. Flying to the moon takes less time than that (citation needed).

Verdict: I really like Kesha. That I’ve now publicly admitted such should be evidence enough to qualify my appreciation. 4.5/5.0


16. Brain MRIs


Wow this is the best album of all time. Having a strap put over your skull, foam pads crammed beside your ears, and a hard plastic assembly lowered around your entire head, then being stuffed into a tube about the width of Lil’ Kim’s asshole and blasted with what I would imagine a retarded freight train logging on to AOL in 1997 would sound like is the best music a soul can endure without imploding into a black hole which connects us to 1066 England.

What’s better than one? Having a second right after some incompetent technician stabs your arms with a syringe only two gauges smaller around than an industrial PVC pipe which is loaded with Gadolinium and probably SARS. If you’ve ever had an MRI, you’re aware that it could certainly be classified as music. In fact, it’s actually better in a phonic sense than The Beatles and Eminem put together. I mean at least I’ll know if I have a testicle-sized brain growth now, but there has got to be better tests than this. If this is the pinnacle of contemporary medical technology I have no hope for the longevity of humanity.

Verdict: Cancer. 14/88