forgiven, not forgotten

Until recently, I did this column called Shit CD if the Week for a paper in Sydney. After ten months of scathing “reviews” I got pretty sick of it. You don’t get paid money to do reviews, the CDs you receive are contra. So I didn’t get many albums I liked, just a whole bunch of shit, some so bad I couldn’t even flog them off to a second hand record shop. Frankly, these CDs were making me hate music.
Below are a couple of my favourite Shit CD if the Week columns.

Skitzmix 17
Nick Skitz
Central Station
Zero stars
People got so bored with the music and clubs of the 1980s, they decided to pass time by annoying the shit out of each other and so the music genre of ‘techno’ was born. The associated subculture is marked by glow sticks and human refuse wearing teddybear backpacks.
Currently flying high in the ARIA dance charts, Skitzmix 17 fits into the tradition of techno so irritating you want to perforate your eardrums with a woollen blanket. Tracks include 2 Unlimited’s ‘No Limit 2003’, an updated mix of a classic that still sounds shit, and a whole bunch of tracks with varying degrees of poxiness.
The well-rendered cover image is a character named Astro Diablo, which means “Gay Devil” in Esperanto. In the sleeve is Diablo’s story, apparently written by a boxer high on crystal meth with tenuous language skills. Astro Diablo, it is recorded, is “he whom once lived and flourished on the Earth” until “all the greed and waste of human kind lead to the extinction of all Earth’s resources.” The in-your-face mascot for the album uses his “master craftsmanship” to travel the galaxy with a ring and, after he “climatised to remain alive,” Diablo took on a bunch of aliens to make sure “the cloud that for so long darkened the Earth was no more.”
That’s awesome! And by “awesome”, I mean “completely fucking retarded!”
If this album was one of Captain Planet & the Planeteers powers, it’d be: Heart.

That’s What I’m Talking About
Shannon Noll
BMG Australia
0 stars
Shannon walked toward the concert, head full of confidence shaped by Australian Idol viewers clamouring for his album. He ran through the stage curtains and was met with a dark silence. “Hello?” he called, searching for a mic stand.
Suddenly, blinding stage lights lit the arena. An announcer’s voice boomed, “Welcome… to Thunder Dooooome!”
Shannon found he was standing on a walkway leading to a large dome. Inside was a 7 ft muscleman piggybacking a midget. The crowd roared as the little man introduced himself as Master and his partner as Blaster.
Shannon was frogmarched into the dome and thrown to the floor. The giant Blaster rapidly kicked Shannon in the guts, causing the singer to defecate. Master said, “That was for the track ‘Tune In.’ Your annoying high-notes are an insult to the memory of John Farnham.”
The crowd cheered as Shannon tried to crawl away and Blaster executed several WWF-style moves, including the ball pulverising “Crushed Dreams.” Meanwhile, Master justified the actions.
“That was for ‘The Way That I Feel,’” said Master. “It’s repetitive verses and country pub guitar make me feel like vomiting!”
Master spat in Shannon’s bloodied face, clearly pleasing the frenzied audience. Blaster obliged by bringing the Aussie Idol down over his knee, audibly snapping his victim’s spine.
Master leapt off his partner’s back and walked to the broken body. He put the microphone to Shannon’s mouth, asking him for last words.
“I only wanted… to entertain,” gasped Shannon.
“You did Shannon, you did,” whispered Master as he choked the life out of him.
Picking up the microphone, Master announced “That was for the most annoying 15 minutes of fame since Bruce Samazan’s rapping career!”
The crowd broke into applause.
The End.
If music is a drug: this album is spraypaint in a plastic bag.