A round-up of albums I won’t review

I have a Winamp playlist of albums to consider for review, and it contains 42 hours of music.

I keep forgetting I’m only considering them for review — I don’t actually have to write about them. But there comes a point when you’ve listened to something enough times to develop an opinion about it. They’re not thorough listens, but they leave enough of an impression.

So how about a challenge? Post opinions about albums for which I don’t wish to write reviews? It’s the anti-review review. If that makes any sense.


I wrote a one-sentence review about this album in an earlier post, and it got called out by Keikaku. Ah, the perils of a vague generality.

It’s true that I am not a fan of ASIAN KUNG-FU GENERATION, and Fan Club wouldn’t convince me to join one. At the same, I don’t think AKFG sucks. In fact, Kita Kensuke is one of the finest singers in Japanese rock music, and I like his voice.

But my ears aren’t finely-tuned enough to the nuances of ASIAN KUNG-FU GENERATION’s sound, and I can’t suss out the difference between Fan Club and Sol-fa. I’m left with a vague impression that Fan Club gets a bit more complex than Sol-fa, but I couldn’t pinpoint where.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

Boom Boom Satellites, On

This album leaves me all jumpy when I put it on, and there’s no way my mind can relegate it to the background. It’s the kind of work that forces your attention to it, and sometimes, I would like to work subliminally.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

hyde, Faith

hyde set too high a bar with Roentgen that his attempts to sound nü metal come across as charlatan.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

Remioromen, Horizon

Cut and paste what I said about ASIAN KUNG-FU GENERATION here.

Fujimaki Ryouta is another fine voice, perhaps the closest competitor to Spitz’s Kusano Masamune. There was a time when Remioromen straddled mainstream appeal with an indie rock sense, but now that they’re chart-toppers, the tip to the mainstream has overshadowed any indie rock roots.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

Straightener, Dear Deadman

The hooks don’t hook me as immediately as before, despite the fact their arrangements are getting more sophisticated.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

The Back Horn, Taiyou no Naka no Seikatsu

The Back Horn can get a bit too overwrought for my taste, and I’ve never really warmed up to them enough to champion their music. This album doesn’t give me much reason to start doing so.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

Tsubakiya Shijuuso, Bara to Diamond

This album kind of sucked.

So, no, I don’t need to review this album.

Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris, All the Roadrunning

I love Emmylou Harris, and I bought this disc because of her. But it’s really Mark Knopfler’s show, and I’m no fan of Knopfler. Part of me wonders whether I still hold a grudge by that line in Dire Strait’s "Money for Nothing" about "the little faggot with the earring and make-up". But mostly it’s because I can’t stand Knopfler’s voice — there’s nothing to it. Unlike Bob Dylan, whose terribly wheezy voice has a strange appeal, Knopfler is just a mumbling zombie.

So, no, I’m not going to review this album.

The Flaming Lips, At War with the Mystics

This album has an identity crisis — on the one hand, it wants to unshackle itself from the orchestral lushness of The Soft Bulletin and Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, and on the other hand, it doesn’t want to lose the listeners who jumped on board for that orchestral lushness. At War with the Mystics is scattershot.

So, no, I don’t need to review this album further.