There are many people out there more deserving of our scorn than Miley Cyrus. Ted Cruz, my boss, Aaron Hernandez. Muslims. But the former Disney queen and her trainers have shot her forced celebrity right out of a twerking booty, spraying the stinking brown cannibalized remains of her once guileless childhood in our awaiting faces. Miley’s fucking nasty, infamous tongue is the newest lightning rod for our collective disdain while her latest album rides the #1 slot seemingly endlessly, like Cyrus herself in an NBA locker room.
And I understand too that the young woman is an easy target here at our website, a place where the average reader couldn’t get laid with 5 cold g’s, that would sooner be invested in something fruity like treasury bills or an autographed Tom and Jerry cell.
Nonetheless, disguised in yellow raincoat and black socks, I picked up Bangerz, Cyrus’ grotesquely over-produced, over-discussed 16 song album, just the latest pop culture offering to blow away the last remnants of Western virtue.
It’s a filthy affair throughout and Miley warbles “I just started living” on the opener, “Adore You” a warning charge aimed at poor ol’ dad ahead of surely showing the world her browneye before the year’s out. The song’s a showcase for Cyrus’ HGH’d low-range vocals that, bereft of studio magic, would sound more like Joan Rivers on karaoke night at the bowling alley.
Casting aside any innuendo, Miley raps
“everybody in line in the bathroom,
trying to get a line in the bathroom”
tucked between more sound walls and extremely expensive beeps and swooshes on track 2, “We Can’t Stop”.
Look, I get it, 20 year old girls do not want to listen to Nuclear Assault or have sex with me and need that light escape from the stress of watching reality TV, working out, skipping Photography class, and recharging their EBT cards.
A young, high rise leather boot wearing, E-cig inhaling vixen hitting da club on Thursday night is going to agree to disagree with me, in the form of spitting a loogie in my face, that singers who write their own music might be deserving of more praise and even sales, than those rehashing the words and music of fat ass programmers and studio geeks like Pharrell and Will.I.Am.
Fellow non-musician lip syncher Britney Spears joins Miley on “SMS (Bangerz)” that admittedly had a catchy retardation to it but after two minutes just sounds like elves singing in Santa’s workshop. About making dildos, probably.
Following that is “4 x 4”, the second most loathsome track on the record simply for being one of those redneck chic country jamz, the imagery depicted having taken over my fucking Facebook, and somehow is poorly connecting the world of David Allen Coe with that of Nelly, who guest raps.
I don’t understand my place in the universe anymore.
With Future’s help,“My Darling” destroys Ben E. King’s wonderfully plaintive “Stand By Me” and reminds us all that if rappers are going to steal samples in a post-Beastie Boys age, always at least make it 2pac’s “Changes”.
The first single, “Wrecking Ball” does contain hints of Axl Rose/Elton John grandeur, but is eventually betrayed by ten too many tawdry studio tricks and a general aura of bullshit too closely associated with the singer and her legion of backing decepticons. It’s designed as an earnest, emotive wailer but can you really see anyone out of their teens taking this crap seriously, in the same way we can the vastly superior, and more genuine, breakup song “Bad Romance?” Where the latter had the actual singer/songwriter busting out in what appeared to be real tears in the video, “Wrecking Ball” has a naked, syphillisy Miley swinging around on construction equipment.
There’s some other beepy, blirpy sound saturated filler stuffed in every orifice of this pasty mess and it appears the label even let Miley co-write one. The lyrics of “FU” are awful and yet I’ll give the girl a little credit here, as much as I’ve dissed her so far. Somehow, Cyrus stumbled across the right influences in her vocal output at least on “FU”. Her voice and the accompanying music call to mind (a little now) Gin Wigmore and Adele. Albeit mixed with some white dogshit.
The other track I found somewhat… banging (kill me) is “GETITRIGHT” a hand-clapper with a ridiculously catchy whistle I’m sure was stolen from an honorable Cherokee man whose tribe RCA Records then exterminated, so as not to pay any royalties. Though written no doubt by a computer generated algorithm, with its stutter step shuffle and that infectious whistle, expect this one to be the next hit.
“Drive” is a stupid song, as is “Someone Else”. What pop star releases a 16 track record?
“Love, Money, Party” and “Do My Thang” are just horrible, ugly white girl raps. If Salt-n-Pepa encountered this pre-programmed, mind numbing dreck they’d Push It – right off a fucking cliff.
Miley puts back on her big girl pants for the evil bitch justifying “Maybe You’re Right.” With it’s huge, arching chorus and ode to mental illness lyrics, young women across America will utilize this as the soundtrack to false rape accusations and Facebook threats of violence against anyone who dares harm their filthy, government subsidized “babies.”
“On My Own” has 46 writers and producers and in “Rooting for my Baby” I was hoping for maybe a throwback to the blue collar fistpumpers we grew up with like “Let’s Hear it for the Boy” or “Living on a Prayer” but instead we get inspirational lines like
“…you go through a lot
depression makes you hot”
Or maybe she was saying “pressure”. Who cares anyway? It’s just another sex saturated tribute to getting plowed, masked as another attempt by Team Miley to cater to the brick and mortar crowd.
Ludacris helps close out this skeezy regressive shitpile with the originally titled “Hands in the Air”, which I found to be an unspectacular snorer but no matter what they would have put here I’d have gone off on it because it’s not W.A.S.P.
Fuck this shit, I’m going to listen to some Go-Go’s.
Get off my lawn, Miley! *shakes fist*