I’m repurposing this from Facebook, but hey … why not?
In discussion with my great friend and fellow insufferable music cretin, Erik, a couple of weekends ago, we decided to tweak the ongoing “All Time Favorite Albums that Made an Impact … blah blah blah,” meme because — frankly — it’s too easy.
We thought it might be more interesting to prompt lists of “Favorite Indefensible Albums.” This is not to say “guilty pleasures,” however, as we both firmly believed that suggesting that one feels guilt over their listening habits implies that one should care about what other people might think. (Although I did post a lengthy “guilty pleasures” piece a long while back).
As gents in our silver-scalped years, we no longer thought anyone should apologize for their listening habits or musical predilections, and neither should you. As such, — be you a strident rockist or a cloying poptimist or whatever — these should be records you *KNEW* are lyrically and conceptually stupid, possibly offensive, ill-executed, irreparably dated and/or just plain ol’ bad, but you just can’t help digging them anyway, for whatever reason. We all have them. We want folks to own up, embrace candor, apologize for nothing and offer explanations only if they felt so inclined.
From here, I cited a slew of titles ranging from the simply idiotic (Shout at the Devil by Motley Crue) to the banal (Labor of Love by UB40), also including novelties like Chipmunk Punk, abortive false-starts like the first Birdland record and the haplessly dated proto-trip-hop opus that was Enigma’s debut.
On the seventh day out of ten, however, I picked Hated by GG Allin & the Murder Junkies. If I’m being perfectly candid, I would have sooner cited Allin’s earlier album, Freaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies, but thought the frankly indelicate album title would invite more well-deserved scorn than was really necessary. Rest assured, however, that Hated (the soundtrack to the Todd Philips documentary I’ve discussed here before) is just as outrageously offensive.
In any case, in the wake of that selection, I was left with something of a quandary. It struck me that it might seem somewhat disingenuous to go on to choose some comparatively reasonable record by Supertramp, Seal or Jefferson Starship in GG’s pungent wake as music that is equally indefensible (as the oeuvre of Mr. Allin, once again, is the very embodiment of indefensible). As such, that made the challenge more difficult. But, solider on I did with the selection below.
While the band in question did indeed needlessly record about five full albums, I’m citing the 7″ vinyl debut effort from the Happy Flowers, entitled Now We Are Six. A duo comprised of …. sorry … Mr. Anus & Mr. Horribly Charred Infant, the Happy Flowers hailed from Charlottesville, VA, and played sludge-laden, lo-fi guitar noise, punctuated by infantile lyrics barked from the vantage point of a vexed, disturbed kindergartener That they managed to sustain this shtick for over five (!!!) albums is a testament to something, although I’m not exactly sure what.
My friend Rob Bala and I first heard this particular effort while walking into Bleecker Bob’s one evening, and were enchanted by its abject wrongness. We went back the next night to fetch the record in question, although we couldn’t be sure we had the right 7″. We walked up to John behind the counter (former bass player for the Tuff Darts) and asked him if this was the record he’d been spinning the night before. “It’s….uh….kind of not music!” BOOM, SOLD ON THE SPOT!!!
Choice song titles include “Mom & Dad Like the Baby More Than Me,” “All My Toys Hate Me,” “Razors in My Apple” and “The Vacuum Ate Timmy.”
The official challenge rules, as conceived over several pints of Guinness at the Old Town Bar & Grill on 18th Street by myself and Erik Highter. Give it a shot, won’t you?
Cite 10 albums that you *KNOW* are lyrically and conceptually stupid, possibly offensive, ill-executed, irreparably dated and/or just plain ol’ bad, but you just can’t help digging them anyway, for whatever reason.
Source: FS – NYC Real Estate
For the Love of the Indefensible