Yeezus Christ...

I've been waiting for inspiration to hit me for a while. The cause for my blog brain block could perhaps be related to the fact that I've confined myself to my house in a state of gap year lethargy. It could also be the fault of my friends who have offered interesting subject contributions. Such as 'potatoes'. So, you can imagine how pleased I was when I turned on the radio and heard a song which fuelled my burning anger for the ass hole, more formally known as Kanye West.

I don't care about the fact that he so gracelessly pissed on Taylor Swift's bonfire. Sure, that was incredibly unsubtle of him, but I'm glad someone knocked her off her self-constructed pedestal and she finally had a reason to cry tear drops on her guitar and churn out yet another 'your loss. I'm a catch. Please love me' song.

I could easily forgive the stupid name he bestowed upon his child. If anyone should be reacting negatively towards that it should be child services. The nub of the matter is this: I seriously doubt that when North is grown up, she'll be ridiculed by the kids on the playground for her awful name. The fact that she is the child of Kim Kardashian will surely provide them with more than enough ammunition. However, I do hate how he tries to justify the name by stating that North is not a direction, but it is symbolic of the 'highest point'. Yes, North is the highest point and with any other surname, the name would be less of an atrocity. But surely all symbolism is made void by the fact that her name is now North West, which to me symbolises the slow but inevitable deviation from the 'highest point'. Manchester City Council welcomed the news.

I can even look past his megalomania. If the album title and self-appointed nickname 'Yeezus', featuring the song 'I am God' wasn't a give away, his Rolling Stones photo-shoot in which he posed with a crown of thorns accurately portrayed his messiah complex. What makes that magazine cover bearable is the fact that his face in the same space as the heading 'James Blunt'. To be honest, I kind of felt sorry for Kanye.

As you see, I am not a completely unforgiving person.

However, what I find completely inexcusable is his execrable knowledge of history. If you're going to write a song, make sure that your lyrics are factually correct. Especially if the lyrics are in your CHORUS. In his latest song, 'Black Skinheads', Kanye West claims 'to keep it 300, like the Romans', over, and over, and over again. If you're wondering what that sound in the distance is, it's the despairing cries of Leonidas somersaulting in his grave. Gerard Butler didn't shout 'THIS IS SPARTA' just to enhance our cinematic experience. I don't expect him to be a classicist and know the battle of Thermopylae backwards, but I equally did not expect him to be a complete moron.

I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't make a mistake like that, Kanye. Out of all the plausible factors involved in hating Kanye West, these disastrous lyrics have provided me with indisputable evidence that he is an awful human being who should go jump off his tower sized ego and drown in a pit of historical inaccuracy. 

The Hits That Missed...

As the year is drawing to a close, I thought it appropriate to look back at the songs which have been terrorising our charts and due to unimaginative radio stations everywhere, have been shoved down our throats and into our guts creating mass musical constipation. I don't even think my bowel related metaphor does this year's music justice.

Starships - Nicki Minaj
The only thing stranger than Nicki Minaj's body proportions and schizophrenic smile is her understanding of the English language. Not only has she come up with her own British and 'gangsta' hybrid of an accent, but in the distance, if you block out the sound of the soul destroying dance break, you can hear the sound of every literary figure's corpses doing cartwheels in their graves. Are starships meant to fly? I just don't know Nicki, and you know what annoys me? After three minutes of water boarding my ears to your song, I am in no way closer to finding out the answer. If anything I am more curious as to 'they say, what they gonna say?' WHAT THEY GON SAY, NICKI? WHAT?

Anything Adele. Or as she says, Adeh-w.
I am so bored with people drooling all over Adele's musical chick flicks. I admit, Skyfall was good, because for once, she kept her angsty oestrogen at a safe distance from the lyrics. Everything else, however, is just one dementia patient away from a Nicholas Sparks novel. She just has to shut up and sort her man problems out. Here's a thought, Adele: maybe you're the problem. Sing about that.

What Makes You Beautiful - One Direction
There are several reasons why this song is the musical reincarnation of the devil. It is essentially recycling the 'Summer Loving' tune from Grease. And even in that case, the only redeeming quality is the theme of teen rebellion and Danny Zuko in skinny jeans. But out pops these four gangly teens in a rainbow assortment of Topman chinos singing about anything but teen rebellion. They're also very frugal with their lyric count (unlike Nicki), evidenced by the fact they use three syllables to say the word 'eyes'; “I look into your ey-ey-eyes". If they were Mexican/ Speedy Gonzales, sure, that would make sense. Then a good year of our lives is shaved off while we wait for the end of the 'Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na [x2]'. What poetry.

I have it on good authority to believe that we are devolving and soon we will be swinging with the simians singing 'Call Me Maybe'- or if you don't believe in evolution, let's just say that 2012 is to music what Scientology is to religion.

Music's Obsession With Bad Weather...

'Never mind, I'll find, someone like you...'

Yeah. You go and do that Adele and please for the love of god stop moaning and wailing. Not only are her songs as sincere as a dead gnome, but if I hear about her attempting to set fire to the rain again, I think I may just eat my radio. There is nothing deep or musical about that metaphor. It is stupid. Adele is the kind of singer who can sing absolute crap like 'I found the blue in red and robed a giraffe's snore in bidets' and make a platinum record out of it, claiming that it is representative of the chaos within life. I'm sure Tracy Emin is currently reading this and planning her next art installation.

Don't get me started on Ed Sheeran. I realise he represents the ginger minority but we see enough of Rupert Grint to last us a life time on the ginger public platform. The number of times he refers to 'cold Decembers' demonstrates a great example of pathetic fallacy. If I wanted to be reminded of the crapness of the weather I would attempt small talk with a British person. I know what you're all saying - he claims that '(his) mind will always be stronger than (his) songs are'. You know that there's something wrong with the music industry when a singer rising in the charts admits to his songs being weak, unnecessarily depressing and much like girls from Essex - unnaturally orange. Fine, those are my words not his, but I expect he's too busy destroying lego houses or trying to incorporate meaningful words such as 'pastries' into songs based on prostitution and drugs. Or maybe even doing other indie things like setting fire to rain.