After reading Chuck's almost entirely deserved beating of Richard Ashcroft's Keys To The World, and since I just recently reviewed the Verve -- a much better musical outfit than Ashcroft could and will ever be -- I'm offering up his 2002 stinker, definitely the worst of his solo output, for slaughter. Problem is, it stinks so bad I'd rather just let the bathroom air out for awhile and take a stroll outside to pretend to puff some cancer sticks. Here, read this while I'm gone. Richard Ashcroft does; you should, too.
1. Wash and condition your hair. Blow your hair dry with a round brush to remove wave. Use a ceramic flat iron to straighten naturally curly hair. 2. Section off the hair on the top of your head. Make a part at each of the temples, to the back of the head. Clip the hair on the top or your head together so that no stray hairs hang down. 3. Use a rat tail comb to back comb the hair around the border of the part. Rat the hair in the back of the head as well as the sides. 4. Spray the back combed hair with aerosol hairspray to give extra support hair extensions. 5. Use dark hair extensions for light hair, or light hair extensions for dark hair. Clip the extensions into sections of back combed hair. 6. Unclip the hair on the top of the hair. Smooth the hair down over the hair extensions. Divide the bangs into two sections. Back comb the under section of hair and spray it. Clip hair extensions to the bang area. 7. Smooth the top layer of bangs over the extension. Run your fingers through the hair to smooth it. Spray the entire hairdo with a quick shot of aerosol spray.
This album makes me feel massive indifference towards everything. Poverty. War. Salmonella. Elections. Rock star hair. Whatever. It's hard to feel good about anything for most of this half bummed-out acid trip, half-Sting pretense of an endeavor when there really isn't anything to care about. Even the world's ugliest dog got more loving than this speckled bit of rot. "Check The Meaning," as close to a song as you can probably assess one to be, is the first track and the only thing resembling human decency that I can imagine Ashcroft envisioned for us to enjoy. I like it sometimes. He probably loves this album. Everything else -- is just like that middle paragraph you may or may not have suffered all the way through. F
5 comments:
"half-Sting pretense"
These words alone tell me that I need never bother with this album. It makes the grade of F seem generous.
Some albums I wish I could give them worse than F, but that's the limits of a system, you know?
Gentlemen, you've left me speechless. The snark, the sarcasm, the bitter words bandied about without a care for their sharp edges... I'm proud to know you.
To be honest with you I have never really spent much time on his solo stuff. To me The Verve was so much a sum of it's parts that I never really wanted to do the individual ingredients.
Starr,
I agree, but -- being Verve-less from 1997 to 2008 is a bummer, so I naturally had to try.
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