Reviews by kuvien

Dizz to the erpness.

op, you thirsty fuck

Thanks for wasting my time, rando.

She sucks so much. So much. She fucking sucks. Everything I've ever heard of hers from any album sucks total ass. She fucking SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKS.

This one’s early in their career, before they re-watched the Japanese bousouzoku documentary and realized they’d misplaced the exclamation! mark. My response to this album is heavily influenced by my handmade limited edition vinyl copy, which includes interesting little artworks, a penny flattened by a train on the track, and a locked groove at the end of the album, so that it drones on softly into ∞, never stopping until you pick up the needle. I love that attention to detail. The music? Post-rock cowboys and trains, of course, right down to the dreamy steel guitar. What the West was built on, a waltzing homage to the emptiness of an aging and dead destiny just before the turn of the 21st century. Anyone remember that part where astronaut Dave enters the monolith as it orbits Jupiter? Yeah, this album sounds like that at one point. And then Dave evolves into a mosquito.

Total crap. kys

Trash.

I love all iterations of Pink Floyd equally, be it prog or art or psych. I guess I’m just a fanboy. But this album is my favorite. Not necessarily their best, but my favorite. It soars the highest and speaks most profoundly to me, detailing in such frightening and beautiful clarity the dark heart of man, and how that darkness only increases when systematized. Unlike the ending of Animal Farm, however, this album ends with a glimmer of hope: “you know that I care what happens to you, and I know that you care for me, too.”

A perfect album for all you imperfect people out there, all you children whose mothers didn't care for you, all you kids being taught to swim by men who aren't your biological fathers, all you keen-eyed philosophers who are aware of and celebrate the fact that we're all going to die, all you sufferers who understand that there is no shade in the shadow of the Cross, and all you broken-hearted seekers wondering why people won't love you.

The most beloved darling of hipsters everywhere, this album is a musical document I came to without knowing any of the cultural baggage surrounding it. It wasn't until after I'd heard and loved this album that I found out it was the darling of other music nerds, thus making me more hipster than them. Oh, and just for the record, I love Jesus Christ, too.

Psychedelic mysticism wrapped up in some good old hard rock. Does this music strike anyone else as being too warm? I mean, too warm for the Himalayas. After all, that’s the realm of the yeti.

This album jackhammered my brain and then molested me, leaving me confused with a butterfly tattoo trampstamp.

70 minutes of Friendscore torture.

A lot of things that should never have been said are said on this vile album.

Here's my problem with this album, it's definitely my problem and not a problem of the album, per se: it's not that the other songs are bad--though they are kind of mediocre--but nothing can compare to the brilliant run of tracks A2 through A5. This is due to the vagaries of exposure, since I was a kid in the 80s and was raised on MTV (and thus these hits).

This is a pretty good album that has such a killer ending it catapults the whole document into the stratosphere. I wonder if anyone could, when inevitably asked at a live show, just wow the audience and actually play “Freebird”.

I once heard a wise man say that Jeff's nipples leaked champagne.

This album has personal history with Young that everyone knows about, how it was written and recorded around the time of two deaths close to him. So of course there are unequivocal references to drugs (heroin) and those deaths. There's something about a cocky saloon piano that thrills me. I always chuckle, though, that Young sings like a muppet.

As solid a white-boy blues album as I've ever heard. Clocking in at 11 short tracks, four of them being covers, and seven original songs, this is a step further into a band known by the vast majority by its singles, songs that have made cameos in films from here to Vietnam and back. Speaking of covers, by the way, there are covers, and then there are 11-minute blues jams of Motown songs. Fogerty's songwriting is incredible, but his ability to arrange songs to suit his style is no less impressive.

There are CCR singles so magnificent that they've entered public consciousness, and then there's "Lodi", the band's greatest song, in my opinion, for it is them at their bluesiest, and thus at their most real and most beautiful. This is a brilliant rock album, no doubt about it, and "Lodi" shines right at its center.