(c)2008 DC Jam Records
This is the kind of music that makes people want to punch babies. I’ve never been a huge fan of babies (except for yours, of course), so it’s more telling to say that this cd made me want to kick puppies. 18 tracks of useless, casio-keyboard-fueled, Ernest Borgnine referencing lyrics — I was sobbing with relief when the cd was over.
Thinking it might be my bias against creepy esoteric jazz, I checked with my Mister (a Zappa and Mike Patton fan) — maybe I was missing something? No, he assured me, this cd is not Zappa-esque, it’s not layered with subtle genius nor painstakingly composed. This is the sort of crap that Mr. Bungle’s under-the-stairs dwelling troglodyte brother would bang out if he got loose. Sorry, but I found little redeeming social value in this. Skip this if you don’t want to stab your eyeballs out with dull forks, and please don’t give this to impressionable children.