Albums you should love but hate and other petty music hates

Miles Davis ‘Kind of Blue’ :face_vomiting:.

Cleverly put together elevator music for white boys who can’t dance to hum along to while patting their knees out of time like clockwork monkeys with a tiny pair of cymbals.

I couldn’t give a fuck how talented Miles was, the entire thing just makes me fucking nauseous. Like diarrhoea for the ears.

Cue wails from ‘music aficionados’ proclaiming that you have to like it “because because…” Just jog on you lonely autistic helmets.

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again, with more feeling this time :slight_smile:

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Jazzwank.

That’s the short version, for you.

Same, but for this

image

:smile:

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Nobody who likes Morrisey can EVER point the Pretentious Gun at anybody else.

Ever.

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Ahaha

Earth, Earthless etc I enjoy. Most Doom bores me. I’ve seen Sunn O))) a couple of times m they are as entertaining as they are silly.

This is clearly the truth.

I’ll take this opportunity to mention that the likes of REO Speedwagon and Foreigner were awful.

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Yacht rock. All. Of. It.

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Wassat then?

What next? Barge metal? Skiff jazz? Coracle prog?

If you don’t know, don’t google it, don’t listen to it, just get on with your life in blissful ignorance :+1:

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I’ve never got on with any of the Five, the Russian composers of the mid to late 19th century. About the only composition of theirs I like is Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade. Borodin especially can get to fuck.

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I like a bit of Mussorgsky I do :+1:

Thus making my point perfectly

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Brilliant, for the little he wrote. Mind you, he also did wonderful work in chemistry.

Stravinsky however is a pile of guff.

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The Firebird Suite is wonderful.

Fuck, I agree with Terry about music :crazy_face:

Original full ballet maybe, 1945 revision is miles worse. And then stuff like the Mass and Dumbarton Oaks are aweful.

Plus you get to wear the hooded robes. Again.

Eagles ‘Hotel California’ - makes me shudder at the mere thought of how deeply square and uncool this self important cack really is.

Cumbersome hammy lyrics over the top of some masturbatory musicianship. The sort of thing my dad would turn the volume up if we were in the car and tap the steering wheel to…

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