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As for the best, there were some surprises seeing 2013 didn't suck as much in the music department as much as I thought it would. The best will take some time to post but as for the worst there was was only two that came across my ears. One of which was thus:
There are dogs and then there is Animal. Maybe I don't get Terri Nunn and her whole pseudo-sexualized approach to songwriting and I'm not sure I ever want to. For a person such as myself who can be open to listening to just abut anything one spin of this made me want to run out any purchase the entire Zep catalog. This tripe sounds like it was dated from 1998 pre-My Space electronica as Nun belts out
"Can you feel the animal? I feel it when you touch my body and you know what I really want, I want my fill of you..."
(gag)
Nunn, who must be what, in her mid to late 50's now is going all cougar town for the tweeny town dance market. Nothing here works, and even if it did it's some 15 to 20 years out of date. Much like Nunn herself.
The other was this one, obviously:
I'd love to flatten Katie Crutchfield face with a shovel. Bitch cannot sing, write or play yet, somehow, she is asslicked and worshiped as being "genius." This is post-My Space ghey pop for disillusioned emo kids and community college dropouts who study "art" but never produced anything above a finger painting. Katie Crutchfield is that whining brat you find sitting alone at a Denny's 3:00A.M. writing "poetry" on napkins so she can perform them later on her out-of-tune guitar in front of Starbucks sippers who refuse to find themselves a job. Just a horrid, deplorable record.
There are dogs and then there is Animal. Maybe I don't get Terri Nunn and her whole pseudo-sexualized approach to songwriting and I'm not sure I ever want to. For a person such as myself who can be open to listening to just abut anything one spin of this made me want to run out any purchase the entire Zep catalog. This tripe sounds like it was dated from 1998 pre-My Space electronica as Nun belts out
"Can you feel the animal? I feel it when you touch my body and you know what I really want, I want my fill of you..."
(gag)
Nunn, who must be what, in her mid to late 50's now is going all cougar town for the tweeny town dance market. Nothing here works, and even if it did it's some 15 to 20 years out of date. Much like Nunn herself.
The other was this one, obviously:
I'd love to flatten Katie Crutchfield face with a shovel. Bitch cannot sing, write or play yet, somehow, she is asslicked and worshiped as being "genius." This is post-My Space ghey pop for disillusioned emo kids and community college dropouts who study "art" but never produced anything above a finger painting. Katie Crutchfield is that whining brat you find sitting alone at a Denny's 3:00A.M. writing "poetry" on napkins so she can perform them later on her out-of-tune guitar in front of Starbucks sippers who refuse to find themselves a job. Just a horrid, deplorable record.
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