Tag: erotic fucking baboon

78 Lil Yachty: Nuthin’ 2 Prove

~ Lex Leeson ~ 7 Comments

 

Longtime readers of this blog (hi, Mum!*) will know I have a bit of an obsession with Lil Yachty. I honestly think he’s a fascinating figure who has the sufficient lack of self-awareness and disregard for the supposed former statesman and accepted tropes of his genre that he could potentially create something very special. His sound is obnoxious, flagrantly disrespectful and nonchalantly artless. But then, I’m a depressingly old white idiot: the sound of 2018 should sound borderline offensive to me! Lil Yachty is 21 years old, he’s already released one stone cold classic song (fight me) and a patchy and imperfect debut album that nonetheless showed flashes of the buoyant/obnoxious/genius/overjoyed style that is all his own and that could see him take over the world before too long, to the fabulous irritation of old farts everywhere. Whether you like it or not, this was evolution and it was frickin’ exciting!

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(*My Mum has far too much self-respect to read my blog. Only people with a base level of pitiful self-respect would ever waste time reading this shit. Yeah, I’m talking about you. Aunty Cheryl, however, loves it! She is, however, a shameless crack cocaine addict and, if I’m being completely honest, has been dead for 12 years next April)

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Necessary Evil 2018

~ Lex Leeson ~ Leave a comment

An Unwanted Return That Nobody Really Wants and Everyone is a Bit Embarrassed At

‘Necessary Evil is for better or for worse the imaginative record of man’s sexual will’

-Peter Michelson

‘On Necessary Evil, every platitude leads to an obscurantist pretension and back again’

J Lloyd Samuel

Necessary Evil 2016 was posted in October 2017, Necessary Evil 2017 got a little closer by starting in February 2018 and now- look!- Necessary Evil 2018 actually comes out in two thousand and fricking eighteen!!

Yes, the countdown finally gets back to starting on December 1st in a vain attempt to capture the relevance it once had way back in 2015 (remember my review of Drenge’s ‘Undertow’? Special times, we’ll never have that type of magic again). And- fuck me!- the main consideration this year in to finish the thing before I go to bed early on New Year’s Eve, cryong over the fact I have no friends. So this year’s list won’t have as many 6000 word philosophical ruminations on the human condition as loyal readers of this blog might have come accustomed to. Also, in the name of brevity I have tried my hardest to condense 2018 into the 15 essential records that deserve whatever little attention this blog affords.

At least, that was the idea, and I honestly tried to exclude as many records as I could. As always, though, it turns out that there are just so many records out there! Loads of legitimately brilliant records that I want to shine light on; loads of perhaps less accomplished records by more obscure artists I believe deserve the attention; loads of records that might not be ‘good’ in the scientific sense but, to quote Jonathan Swift, light a spark in my whoopsie; loads of records that might not be ‘good’ in the scientific sense nor ‘good’ in any sense whatsoever but I want to tall about anyway because I love the sound of my own keyboard taps; and of course, as always, there are records that are the sound of Brexit.

I managed to scale it down to 82. Kill me.

It’s been another great year for music, with some NE mainstays delivering their greatest album yet out of nowhere, some old favourites releasing puzzlingly unsatisfactory records, and many artists jumping immediately to My New Favourite Thing status.

I’m still not sure if there were any amazing records released in 2018. All of the best albums of the year have at least one glaring flaw, and despite their being a perhaps record number of Extremely Good albums with four stars spilling out of their anuses, I’m not sure any 2018 album will in the future be regarded as a classic. Because of this, I’ve never struggled so much over which record should be number one, and there’s a very good chance I’ll change my mind about it in the 3’185 days it takes me to write this bastard list. This is also the first list in a long time that I’ve written with no idea what the critical consensus is leaning toward, so I don’t think I’d be exaggerating were I to call Necessary Evil the purest and- dare I say it?- most woke albums of the year list on the internet.

If you’ve read NE before you’ll know what to expect- it’ll start off a bit scrappy and ill-defined, hit its peak around half way through with some legitimately brilliant posts, then descend badly into nonsense as the writer just begs for it to end. We’re gonna have a good time!

Also, because I’m really aiming to wrap this up in appropriate time, I’m afraid I won’t be filling my reviews with dumb, nonsensical wrestling references that literally nobody reading this is going to get.

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Only joking, I’m probably going to do more than ever– wait until we get to JPEGMAFIA’s album!! Oh, erm, spoiler, i guess…

OK, so No. 82 is…

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Entry #2 Manic Street Preachers: Roses in the Hospital

~ Lex Leeson ~ 10 Comments

Forever, Ever Pastiche

I’ve explained on this blog before how music journalism is absolute bollocks. A person’s response to music is a primal and unconscious reaction that simply can’t be described in words. Because of this paradox 99% of music reviews are the writer vainly attempting to explain why he or she likes or hates a song and twisting themselves into utter bollocks. You like a song because it sparks an unnamed fuse in your belly and twists your stomach in a knot*. You like a song because it reminds you of a time you were happier. You like a song because it reminds you of someone you love. You like a song because it soundtracked the sex scene in Trainspotting. You like a song because you really want to fuck the singer. You like a song because you did fuck the singer. All music journalism assumes an objective truth that can never be, and supposes there is any use in a larger knowledge of context. Just because you’ve religiously listened to all of Avril Lavigne’s records in the past doesn’t make your opinion on Hello Kitty any more valid. No matter the circumstances, no matter the knowledge, no matter the context, you can never force yourself to either like or hate a song. These things are primeval and undefinable.

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(*Evidently, reactions to music are primarily based in the digestive organs)

Music journalism could never hope to describe- or even comprehend- that dizzy and nauseous feeling you get when you fall in love with a song. This series isn’t a ‘review’ of the greatest songs ever, it’s simply aiming to be a practically collated list of all the songs that electrify your innards.

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2 Lorde: Melodrama

~ Lex Leeson ~ 6 Comments

She is Lorde, Ya-ya-ya

(get that out of the way, that’s your lot)

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Yep, neither Lorde nor Kendrick Lamar is my number one album: who could it possibly be?!

Have a think about it…

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Yeah, it’s that one.

Maybe you haven’t heard Lorde’s Stone Cold Masterpiece of a second album, because you’re a fucking idiot, but you know what it’s about don’t you?

I mean, her 2013 debut was written when she was only 14 years old

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and showed a prodigious level of writing ability that arbalested her to worldwide attention. It was a far better written (and plain better) debut album than the Arctic Monkeys’ was in 2006, and back when that was released there were some people unconvinced whether lyrics so good could have been written by someone in their late teens, and conspiracy theories abounded. There was no such debate over the much younger Lorde, because she was (and, brace yourself, still is) female, and so all of her art will always be undervalued, and people will just assume that a more naturally talented man was actually responsible for writing the songs, and Lorde just added bits about makeup and Kim Kardashian to get the writing credit.

(Hmmm, if you haven’t seen ‘The Trip‘, that Michael Caine picture might look a bit like I’m accusing him of something rather uncomfortable. Mind you, this is a guy who said he legally changed his name to Michael Caine because of ISIS, so I don’t really care)

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3 Kendrick Lamar: DAMN

~ Lex Leeson ~ 9 Comments

The C.O.P.O Gonna Kill Me In the Street, For Sho’

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Number 3 is as low as I’m legally allowed to place ‘DAMN’. Listening to it now, I’m not even sure it deserves to be this high.

Wait, wait, wait! Before the Court of Public Opinion (C.O.P.O. Do you see what I did in the title there, hmmmm, do you?) strikes me down as being shamelessly unappreciative of modern art, let me just get a few truths out in the open:

Click click click…

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4 alt-J: Relaxer

~ Lex Leeson ~ 3 Comments

Album of the Rising Interest

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Are you an ‘early adopter’?

By which I mean: when you adopt children, do you tend to do so when they’re younger? I would definitely recommend doing so: of the seven children I’ve ‘adopted’* the ones that were easier to deal with were the babies. I mean, seriously, those little things never ask for anything! Although I suppose, slightly ironically, if they could talk they might be able to let me know where they’ve disappeared to: I’ve not seen most of them since Christmas! I’m sure they’re fine though: Gradius is probably with them, he can walk and has probably learned English by now, so I’m not too concerned.

There’s also the secondary meaning of ‘early adopter’, meaning that you’re always into art, culture, gadgets and trends first. You had an iPhone before they were even invented; you were throwing pennies at Ed Sheeran as he was busking on the streets of Framlingham, hating him with a passion way before it was cool; you practically invented ‘Fortnite’, and could easily make a smart joke here because you’re 100% sure what ‘Fortnite’ is; you have a Smart fridge, a Smart Toaster, a Smart Toilet and a Smart Colander. If it’s ever happened, if it’s happening, or if it’s going to happen: you’re there first. Being first is the best, isn’t it??

(Ed Sheeran was really born and raised in a place called fucking Framlingham?? He’s the biggest pop star in the world: how have we let this happen?)

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8 LCD Soundsystem: american dream

~ Lex Leeson ~ 1 Comment

LCD Go Down Cistern

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…is what I’d call this piece if the album was rubbish. Honestly, I’ve been waiting for ages to use that pun.

Down the toilet, see? Like crap. Because the album’s crap. Utter faecal matter.

Unfortunately, LCD are yet to afford me an opportunity to use it, and I’m really starting to think they might not ever. They are an irritatingly consistent band.

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9 Jane Weaver: Modern Kosmolosy

~ Lex Leeson ~ 5 Comments

Modern Kosmetics

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The Weavs has had an astonishing career.

Her first band, Kill Laura, were about 4% as bad as you’d expect a band who released their first record while Weavo was still at college- in 1993- to be. Kill Laura ended up on a record label run by Rob fuckin’ Gretton, where one can only assume the band were paid in horse tranquillisers and forced to record their songs while Rob aimed a crossbow at Weavy’s forehead and masturbated into a tin bucket full of custard ‘for the acoustics’. Weev actually recorded a solo album while at Manchester Records (really, Rob? That’s actually the best you can come up with? Fucking waste of space) which was never released because it coincided with Gretton’s death (I’m sorry for your loss. Bur Manchester fucking Records?? That is such bullshit! I’m not saying I’m glad he’s dead, not at all).

Weaverino went on to form Misty Dixon, a band who you can tell from that one song were roughly 76 times better than more than two thirds of your embarrassing record collection. As they were always likely to be, as they featured the talents of not only Weaverine but also Dave Tyack, one of the founding artists of the Twisted Nerve label. The release of their debut album was overshadowed slightly by the disappearance of Tyback. He was found dead in Corsica, two years later. Misty Dixon had already broken up by then. The quitters…

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11 The National: Sleep Well Beast

~ Lex Leeson ~ 5 Comments

Write Poorly, Swine

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Erm…

Jeez.

Now, this album’s called ‘Sleep Well Beast’, and although I used to consider myself an insomniac, I actually sleep far better now ever since I was prescribed…

No. No, that’s really dull.

Beast. Beast. Beastbeastbeastbeast. Beast.

The Beast of Bodwin Moor! We all know about the Beast of Bodwin Moor, don’t we? Yeah, definitely, a keenly observed reference point that, aye? I may be about to blow your tiny minds, but did you know that actually the Beast of Bodwin Moor

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Probably… probably doesn’t exist. If you suggested it did you would be laughed out of the dinner party in which you are reciting the anecdotes by all surrounding scientists.  They will derisively reject your claims due to many factors such as the improbably large numbers necessary to maintain a breeding population and because climate and food supply issues would make such purported creatures’ survival in reported habitats unlikely. I mean of course it doesn’t exist. No ‘beast’ has ever existed: from the one on the Bodmin Moor, to those Fantastic ones that people are looking to find, to Adebayo Akinfenwa, to The Beast from the East that we heard so much about recently. Did you ever see this mythical ‘beast’?? No, of course you didn’t, probably because the bad weather ‘coincidentally’ happening at the same time made it difficult to so see much of anything recently.

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