Este será, provavelmente, o primeiro post que não almeja os "Incríveis", mas antes os "Fraquinhos". Passo a explicar:
Ando a ouvir o "critically unacclaimed" segundo álbum dos Born Ruffians (Say It) e, mais uma vez, decidi ler a crítica da Pitchfork ao mesmo. Esta crítica está tão negativamente boa que me dá uma incontrolável vontade de ouvir o álbum. Afinal, "there's no such thing as bad publicity".
Como acho que o parágrafo que vos deixo é um sublime "mijanço para às pernas" dos canadianos, estou a pensar pedir à minha avó para bordá-lo num "napronzinho" e emoldurá-lo. Enquanto não o faço, "bordo-o" eu aqui. Ora leiam, e deleitem-se:
Both lazy and painfully forced, Say It is a paradoxically bad album-- fitting, then, that the album's most melodically inoffensive cut, "Sole Brother", is the biggest lyrical stinker. "Sole Brother" slowly concerns into what might be the most inane First World Problem expressed in musical form so far this year: doing your chores. Lalonde whines (literally) about having to help his 77-year-old grandfather with yard work, before issuing the following piddling complaint: "You never ask sister/ To help with the chores that are physically straining/ And sometimes/ I wish/ That I was/ A sole brother." (Even worse is the song's second half, sung in thin-lipped falsetto by Hamelin, in which he namechecks rappers like Raekwon, Ghostface, and Lil' Wayne, professing, "I love you/ I wish I was a soul brother.") Yes, he wishes his sister didn't exist, because he has to rake the leaves. Lord knows what his sister will think once she hears this record.
Aqui fica o som que, make no mistake about it, é, de facto, espantosamente mau.
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