Leonard Maltin put a piece up the other day not so much on Zoolander 2 (which is, disappointingly, apparently pretty damn bad) but on walking out of movies in general. I don’t think it’s something I’ve ever done, and I usually finish what I start regardless of medium, too. Maltin gives a pretty good defense of himself, though, and actually offers measured criticism as a result.
I have been an avowed Kanye West stan since it became cool for skinny white people to do so. A friend of mine once said that him interrupting Taylor Swift at the VMAs changed his life without a hint of irony, and I can relate, as it was right before I would start exploring his first four albums. Since then he’s dropped two of the most acclaimed albums of this century, and they both live up to the hype. It’s pretty easy to see why many (myself included) have approached his latest project with trepidation. I haven’t heard the new album, hilariously titled The Life of Pablo, but I have seen the art and included it above.
Boy, is it awful — in the best way possible.
To start your week off awfully, I’d like to share something that helped affirm to me in my younger days that redemption cannot be afforded to us all.
I was in the grocery store the other day, absent-mindedly riding on the back wheels of my cart like a child when I laid my eyes on something that seemed too sinister, too eldritch, too grotesque to be true.
Move over, Wild Berry and other flavors that people actually want: the Watermelon Pop-Tart is here to fill you with dread. As soon as my eyes locked on the juxtaposition of the out-of-season fruit slice with the dry pastry that’s supposed to be its heir, I knew I had to buy them and eat them to see if I hated them.
Jon Benjamin will be recognized by many for lending his voice to television shows like Home Movies, Bob’s Burgers and Archer, but something he definitely wouldn’t and shouldn’t be recognized for is his talent as a jazz pianist. That’s because it doesn’t exist.
His new album, Well I Should Have… (subtitled Learned to Play Piano), is a comedy album disguised as a worthwhile attempt at making music. Backed by a professional jazz band, he basically plunks keys and tries to make it up as he goes along. I got about ten seconds into the first song, appropriately named “I Can’t Play Piano,” before I had to laugh myself.
This interview Benjamin did with NPR gets at the heart of the matter. The album is no Black Saint and the Sinner Lady and Jon Benjamin is no Charles Mingus, but even real jazz experts can probably find a little bit of enjoyment in the sheer incompetence on display here. To the undiscerning ear, it might actually sound legitimate at times. That’s definitely part of the point he’s making, but another is just to flat-out suck without any pretensions otherwise. It’s refreshing and definitely worth checking out.
If you’re reading this, then congratulations! You have stumbled on one of the worst blogs of all time, Worst of All Time. Your prize is having to read my blog. The goals of Worst of All Time are simple and merciless. This blog will serve as a living, breathing article of a very special kind of history–the history of awful things.