Honestly, fuck any band that's named after a geographical location. Fucking B-list classic rock losers. I can't stand it. Chintzy lame-ass bullshit. I've given Chicago a fair shot in the past, even. This year's Summer Song Challenge involved exploring some albums after a song chosen to match one of our prompts sounded nice, and Walter had a Chicago song at the very beginning that sounded pretty good. The rest of the album, unfortunately, was ass, and I'm forced to concede that "Beginnings" by Chicago sounded good via context (i.e. the excitement at gathering friends for a new blog project). The Christmas album that Record Club did not pick in 2019—thank fucking god—is very bad in its own right.
Here's a term that I coined last year: CILO. "Christmas in Lyrics Only." There is nothing about the sounds of this Chicago album that make it sound like a Christmas album. Instead, there's the yacht-rock bullshit mixed with blue-eyed soul and the trumpets snatched right from the bowels of the worst Wildwood bar cover band you've ever heard, plus, I dunno, some lyrics about Santa and snow and presents and being merry and jolly and whatever. I often don't know what I want from Christmas music, but it definitely ain't this.
Full disclosure: I am writing this review while I'm listening to the album for the first time. Which is not fair. I'm not allowing the full album to marinate before casting judgment. Thing is, I know exactly what I'm getting from Chicago, so any premature opinions I have about this thing are gonna become mature real quick. As I was typing this paragraph, the AOR-styled cover of "What the World Needs Now Is Love" hits the speakers. VERY ROUGH, and completely in tune with what I've heard so far. I promise I will listen to the entire album but I honestly wouldn't necessarily need to. I could get away with it if I was that type of person.
But I wonder if hating on Chicago this much is not in the spirit of the holidays. It's nice to be nice, and there's no better time to be nice than Christmastime. It's also nice to be mean, especially in the context of writing a scathing album review. So these two truths are in conflict. Thanks, Chicago. Only the worst music is going to let the meanness win out on Christmas. Goddamn it.
I mean, jesus fucking christ, this thing really falls off a fucking cliff at the end here. There's overwrought Latin fusion; the bongos are thoroughly abused. Then the maudlin ballads are strung over the chimney. We got to the point where even Pam is saying this is the worst shit she's ever heard. She thinks I'm going crazy by voluntarily listening to Chicago, and I can't tell her why I'm doing it, because four hours prior she asked me if she's "losing me to the blog," and that inquiry scared me more than pretty much anything she's ever asked me in my life, and, like, maybe she has a point. Here I am listening to an absolutely terrible Christmas album by an absolutely terrible band just for... why exactly? That's right. The blog. Fuck me.
Well, at least this wasn't a Kansas album. Or Europe. Or *shudders* Boston.
GRADE: 1 puke out of 5
No comments:
Post a Comment