Under Control?

On April 9th, Cary Brothers released his new record 'Under Control' on his label, Procrastination Music. Intrigued by the buzz surrounding this release, I grabbed a copy off of bittorrent and gave it a couple listens.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm going to go all agro and tear the thing to shreds in a hail of abusive diatribes that accuse Cary of everything from anti-semitism to sexual deviancy. Normally you would be right.

Today, though, I have been changed. Today is the day when even I can't deny Cary's brilliance, his work ethic, his firm grasp of the pop idiom. Right from the get go he won me over with his...

...just kidding, this record SUCKS!

I was expecting to be underwhelmed, but honestly, I had no idea how mindblowingly inept this 10 track monstrosity of a pop record was going to be. It's as if every song was crafted specifically to take everything I enjoy about music and lash it together sloppily into a cruel, bitter mockery of love, life, and the idea of any objective goodness in the world. At one point I had to turn it off due to the grinding his stupid voice was forcing on my poor molars. I couldn't turn it on again until I'd downed a fifth of Sailor Jerry's (I keep a bottle around for that purpose, specifically).

'Ghost Town' is the stupidest, most aggressively trite song I've heard in a long time, and trust me, I know what I'm talking about. I have a trashbag full of demos by half baked Kansas City emo bands, and 'Ghost Town' makes that dreck sound like the Stones in their prime. When the first chorus hit, I threw my iPod through a window.

The eponymous single, "Under Control" was particularly loathsome. I haven't heard a person blather on about themselves in such an inane, nonsensical way since a homeless man tried to tell me about the microchip Bill Gates put in his head.

I could go on and on like this, but I won't. Actually, lemme do just one more. Track 5 is called 'Someday'. 'Someday' is the worst...thing...I ever hope to encounter in this life.

Cary, if you're reading this, I have just one request for you: please stop making records. I know the odds are really slim, but I have to ask. I need there to be even the slightest possibility that you'll never record again. I need it to help get me out of bed each morning and face my day.

Also, you ignored me at the 4100 last week. I was totally going to buy you a drink, too.