When I heard the hype and the blog rumblings starting on this record, I had zero interest.
I mean, a buzzy rap album seems to hit the shelves every week, and, to me, the more buzz, the higher the probability of total suckage.
(See the Universal Kanye Rule, which states: “Let he who wears Gucci and masturbates his ego on everyone become rich and famous. Let him write padded, radio-friendly singles and phone-in the rest of the albums until everything he touches, no matter what level of shit be praised.”)
And this record proves that that adage has some weight.
Silly me, expecting anything of substance. . . or intelligence.
It’s too bad; I had slight hopes for something more than tired, outdated ramblings, threats, ego-tripping and rampant misogyny from someone with an IQ comparable to a light bulb.
I don’t know what part of the devil’s ass he needed to kiss to get Florence Welch, Santigold, Skrillex, and Danger Mouse on this thing, but Holy Lord, there is surely no monetary reason these people need to be here, right? Just join the cast of The Voice if you need the cash, or sell your blood. Anything but this!
Be sure look up the lyrics to ‘Goldie’ and let thee be amazed at art in 2013.
Just throw this out and buy some Black Sabbath.