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An album review, without even a vague attempt at objectivity
I wasted a lot of money last year. On fancy white tea to which I ended up developing something of an allergic reaction. On overpriced jeans from the Gap. On at least nine pairs of thong underwear. On an extremely frilly pink dress. On vegetables that grew mouldy in my fridge. On Release the Bats. On the seventeen dollar box of lactaid I left behind on the floor underneath my table-for-one at the Japanese Sushi & Roll restaurant.
Did I mention Release the Bats?
I don't really regret any of these purchases. Well, except the lactaid. But they were for the most part self-indulgent and wasteful. However, if I were asked to pick one purchase—one—for which I am absolutely, positively certain ever single god forsaken penny spent was earned by the creator of the product, it would be While the City Sleeps, We Rule The Streets by Cobra Starship.
I don't consider what I did making a purchase, really. I consider it giving alms. My donation to the church collection.
The Church of Hot Addiction, if you will.
How do I describe this album?
This album is hardcore pop.
And no, I do not mean pop with hardcore elements. I mean the pop itself is hardcore. This is no ordinary pop music. This is pop music with a mission. The most noble mission there could be in this world of angst and weemo. A mission to teach the hipsters how to dance and not take themselves so seriously. A mission to tell emo kids to stop being pussies.
Gabe Saporta is bringing pop music to the h8ers, and making them like it.
This is only why I appreciate this album. This is why I respect this album. However, this is not why I love this album. I love this album for another reason entirely. My reason is very simple, really. I love this album because Gabe Saporta is free. As a bird, free. Jack Sparrow on the Pearl, free. Hanging male genitals in a kilt, FREE.
You see. Once upon a time, Gabe Saporta was not free. Gabe Saporta was in a band called Midtown. And really, that says it all. He was in a band called Midtown. He sang like he was the boring lead singer of a boring rock band. He looked rather ... sedate, in all of his band photos. Then he started a new band.
His new band was not called Midtown. It was called COBRA STARSHIP.
His new band was made of crack.
His new band put furry sex and m-preg in their first music video, and acid trips, talking snakes and space travel in their second. His new band lets Gabe make horribly blatant homosexual innuendo on stage and fly into the air in the splits and croon into the microphone on his knees and sing at the very top of his ridiculously high vocal range. His new bad has a keytarist. A KEYTARIST.
Who plays KEYTAR.
And is also really hot in her minidresses. But I digress.
I like this album, because I can dance to it. I like this album because the music is fun and the lyrics are funny. I love this album because every time I start up the playlist, I have the pleasure—NAY, the PRIVILEGE—of listening to Gabe Saporta be free.
This album is my happy place. He sings the love ballad of a serial killer in "It's Warmer In the Basement," and if the dark, twisted crack weren't already eough to make me love the song, he makes the victim gender-ambiguous. And every time the lyric "you're too slow, speed it up" comes up in "It's Amateur Night At The Apollo Creed!" I hear Billy Blanks telling me to go "doubletime!" on a tae-bo vhs in 9th grade girls' PE. Specifically, the vhs featuring the nipple baring leotard. And every time I listen to "Bring It," Samuel L. Jackson is tired of these motherfuckin' snakes on this motherfuckin' plane. And, okay, I have one disappointment with regards to this album.
Whenever I listen to "The Kids Are All Fucked Up" I can't help but wish it were a cracked out cover of "The Kids Aren't Alright" by The Offspring. It would have been the best cover ever. Seriously.
IN CONCLUSION:
[insert conclusion here]
Did I mention Release the Bats?
I don't really regret any of these purchases. Well, except the lactaid. But they were for the most part self-indulgent and wasteful. However, if I were asked to pick one purchase—one—for which I am absolutely, positively certain ever single god forsaken penny spent was earned by the creator of the product, it would be While the City Sleeps, We Rule The Streets by Cobra Starship.
I don't consider what I did making a purchase, really. I consider it giving alms. My donation to the church collection.
The Church of Hot Addiction, if you will.
How do I describe this album?
This album is hardcore pop.
And no, I do not mean pop with hardcore elements. I mean the pop itself is hardcore. This is no ordinary pop music. This is pop music with a mission. The most noble mission there could be in this world of angst and weemo. A mission to teach the hipsters how to dance and not take themselves so seriously. A mission to tell emo kids to stop being pussies.
Gabe Saporta is bringing pop music to the h8ers, and making them like it.
This is only why I appreciate this album. This is why I respect this album. However, this is not why I love this album. I love this album for another reason entirely. My reason is very simple, really. I love this album because Gabe Saporta is free. As a bird, free. Jack Sparrow on the Pearl, free. Hanging male genitals in a kilt, FREE.
You see. Once upon a time, Gabe Saporta was not free. Gabe Saporta was in a band called Midtown. And really, that says it all. He was in a band called Midtown. He sang like he was the boring lead singer of a boring rock band. He looked rather ... sedate, in all of his band photos. Then he started a new band.
His new band was not called Midtown. It was called COBRA STARSHIP.
His new band was made of crack.
His new band put furry sex and m-preg in their first music video, and acid trips, talking snakes and space travel in their second. His new band lets Gabe make horribly blatant homosexual innuendo on stage and fly into the air in the splits and croon into the microphone on his knees and sing at the very top of his ridiculously high vocal range. His new bad has a keytarist. A KEYTARIST.
Who plays KEYTAR.
And is also really hot in her minidresses. But I digress.
I like this album, because I can dance to it. I like this album because the music is fun and the lyrics are funny. I love this album because every time I start up the playlist, I have the pleasure—NAY, the PRIVILEGE—of listening to Gabe Saporta be free.
This album is my happy place. He sings the love ballad of a serial killer in "It's Warmer In the Basement," and if the dark, twisted crack weren't already eough to make me love the song, he makes the victim gender-ambiguous. And every time the lyric "you're too slow, speed it up" comes up in "It's Amateur Night At The Apollo Creed!" I hear Billy Blanks telling me to go "doubletime!" on a tae-bo vhs in 9th grade girls' PE. Specifically, the vhs featuring the nipple baring leotard. And every time I listen to "Bring It," Samuel L. Jackson is tired of these motherfuckin' snakes on this motherfuckin' plane. And, okay, I have one disappointment with regards to this album.
Whenever I listen to "The Kids Are All Fucked Up" I can't help but wish it were a cracked out cover of "The Kids Aren't Alright" by The Offspring. It would have been the best cover ever. Seriously.
IN CONCLUSION:
[insert conclusion here]