The worst albums of 2016
Here’s to the dull and the derivative, the brutal and the banal
Isaac Newton’s third law of motion states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. To convert that into musical terms: For every great album, there is an equally wretched album. Here’s to the dull and the derivative, the brutal and the banal, the pointless and the just plain putrid. If you paid for any of these, you have my sympathies.
SUSAN BOYLE: A Wonderful World
Wonderful for whom? Not for anyone who’s fond of Madonna’s Like a Prayer, Abba’s I Have a Dream, Paul McCartney’s Mull of Kintyre or the title standard — all of which the Boyle blandifies on her seventh needless offering, in addition to a so-called “virtual duet” with Nat King Cole on When I Fall in Love. At least she left John Lennon and Lou Reed alone this time.
CHRIS BROWN: Royalty
Fatherhood changes a man. Unless that man is Chris Brown. The seventh solo disc from R&B’s crassest clown prince is named for his baby girl (who also adorns the cover). But fear not, fans: The usual litany of X-rated fantasies, blatant misogyny and pathetic boasting make it clear Brown won’t be earning that World’s Greatest Dad mug anytime soon.
MICHAEL CHIKLIS: Influence
The Thing sings? Yep. Chromedomed behemoth Chiklis — who got his start aping John Belushi in Wired — plays rock star again on his first album. And to be fair, displays more vocal and musical range than you’d expect, capably handling everything from modern rock and prog to funk and Latin. But even Vic Mackey could write more original songs. Pass.
DAUGHTRY: it’s not over … the hits so far
Don’t kid yourself, dude. It’s over. So over. And adding two generic new tracks — one arena anthem and one dance-rocker — to this who-cares collection of power-ballad bellowing isn’t going to make anybody care about your reality-TV butt any more than they ever did. Now go find yourself a respectable job and lose our contact info, OK?
AARON LEWIS: Sinner
Some guys are never happy. Lewis is clearly one of them. We learned that from his eternally miserable post-grunge band Staind. But apparently making unlistenably wretched rock was not enough to satisfy him — so now he wants to ruin country music with his constant whining and despair. On the plus side, seems he’s lost the eyebrow ring. Just go, dude.
THE LONELY ISLAND: Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping
Brevity really is the soul of wit. That’s partly why TLI’s shorts are a hoot, while their albums — including this soundtrack — fall flat. Sure, their well-crafted teen-pop and hip-hop parodies about mansions, the Mona Lisa, homophobia and crack raise a chuckle. But at 49 minutes, the disc has too many duds to earn an encore. Really, they can stop anytime.
RAE SREMMURD: SremmLife 2
The bad news: Mississippi siblings Swae Lee and Slim Jxmmi are back with another unlistenable platter of offensive rap misogyny and drug-fuelled hedonism for halfwit teenagers. The good news: According to one report, this might be their last disc together.
KIEFER SUTHERLAND: Down in a Hole
Listen carefully. Lives are at stake and I don’t have time to explain, so I’m only going to say this once and you’re just going to have to trust me: Nobody needs to hear the guy who played Jack Bauer growl amateur, depressing country-rock laments about booze, heartache and death. Now, you have five seconds to tell me who built this bomb before I kill you.
3OH!3: Night Sports
The party-rock party’s over. But these Boulder bozos won’t drink up and go home. Instead, like overstaying guests everywhere, they crack open a fifth one, crank up a mix of synth-rock jams that nobody listens to anymore and yell lowbrow raps about their groin while trying to pick up your girl.
Indeed we are, Steven. You, for instance, are a skinny-assed, biglipped rock ’n’ roll belter from Boston who’s been the frontman of Aerosmith for nearly half a century. But to the best of everyone’s recollection, you have never been a hillbilly, honky-tonk man or hayseed. And your long-gestating Nashville country album is nothing but carpetbagging cow pies.
STEVEN TYLER: We’re All Somebody From Somewhere