By Ashley Dean and Dylan Owens
December is the month of lists — best this, best that, best of the best. But, sometimes negativity is fun (or more fun even), and we wanted to highlight some of 2014’s horrible music.
So get with the hating and take a look at our list of the 10 worst albums of 2014, then go and forget that these ever existed … if you can …
10. Pharrell, “GIRL”
You show me someone who hasn’t heard Pharrell’s insidiously popular song “Happy,” and I’ll show you a liar. Because to have avoided it in truth, they would have had to steered clear of all cars, televisions, shopping malls, sporting events, restaurant chains and movies for the whole year, not to mention contact with anyone who has been around any of the aforementioned.
Itap that contagious. Put simply, if “Happy” were a deadly pathogen, the Western Hemisphere would be long gone by now. Sadly, it mutated into a Pharrell obsession for some, leading to questionable hat purchases and a turn to his new album, “GIRL,” released on ever-profitable heels of “Happy.”
Pharrell has the advantage in production, but make no mistake: “GIRL” is lockstep with every Top 40 pop album of the last two years. The generic goading voice has been cranked firmly onto lady’s man, but there’s really no flavor or intrigue to his musings. References to Duck Dynasty and “baes” aren’t ironic so much as immediately dated and lame. And no matter how much your preteen nephew clamors for it, hyper-sexed tracks like “Gush” (hilariously slotted right before “Happy”) may make you think twice.
9. Foo Fighters, “Sonic Highways”
Foo Fighters suffer from the same aging arena-rocker problems that U2 does. The band does its thing and does it well, but its just not interesting or exciting anymore. “Sonic Highways” sounds good, but it doesn’t do anything we haven’t heard before. The review headlines basically had no choice but to say it went down a familiar road, a wrong road or a road to nowhere.
The bigger problem is that it was meant to be a concept album. Without the accompanying HBO show or the album press, you’d never know the band traveled around the county to record each song in a different storied studio. You wouldn’t notice guests like the Preservation Hall Jazz Band (and you’d think that group in particular would be tough to obscure). “Sonic Highways” was meant to celebrate a variety of American music, but itap just a mediocre Foo Fighters record.
8. Broken Bells, “After The Disco”
I’m not so sure anyone asked for a follow-up to Broken Bells’ self-titled 2010 debut album, but damn if James Mercer and Danger Mouse didn’t do it anyway. To their credit, the duo’s introduction had one briefly enjoyable song to its name in “High Road.” Lacking that, “After The Disco” added a conceptual “hook” and a short film to go along with it, should anyone listen to the album and say, ‘You know, I wonder if there’s a story arc behind all of this disco-lite hummed falsetto.’
The problem here is that Broken Bells suffer from a double-case of stylistic over saturation that was tiresome by about the third track of their debut album. Separately, Danger Mouse and James Mercer have such distinct and specific styles that much of their new material sounds like variations on a theme. As Broken Bells, they don’t combine so much as stack on top of each other, like if Wes Anderson and Tarantino made a revenge flick together full of perfectly symmetrical shots and twee folk rock. “After The Disco” is almost as comical, and registers as a prime example of what people hate when they disparage “indie” music.
7. U2, “Songs of Innocence”
Admittedly, U2 earns a spot as one of the year’s worst albums because of its forced delivery. But if we hail Beyonce for her surprise release, it seems fair to slam U2 for presumptuously popping an album into our iTunes libraries. It set a bad tone before most people listened.
A lot of people did listen to “Songs of Innocence,” though, and yawned. Itap well-executed and polished, but its business as usual for U2. It gives you the impression you should be inspired, like you should throw your head back and your hands up, but thatap just a old trick of chord progressions and song structure. It lacks any actual inspiration.
6. Riff Raff, “Neon Icon”
With his label Mad Decent supplying the beats—the easy highlight here—Riff Raff has one job on “Neon Icon,” and he knows it. He speaks to it halfway through the album-opener: “Diplo talkin’ about ‘You gotta focus on the lyrics in your songs.’”
His response: “Man, f*** that.” But when a rapper’s lyrical style is based on him not giving a damn about what he says, so long as you crack a smile, thatap the right attitude. Unfortunately, “Neon Icon” is the equivalent of a bargain bin comedy thatap entertaining only as a curiosity, and rarely on purpose. Riff Raff is the white Danny Glover, Gucci Mane, Wesley Snipes, Eddie Murphy, and—yeah. You get it. When he’s not beating a dead horse, he’s incorrigibly random, bragging about how he smells like a Power Ranger (“Wetter Than A Tsunami”) and can freestyle to the sounds a dolphin and a tambourine (“Aquaberry Dolphin”). Itap as good as a middle school class clown’s blog entries, but with skits. And the less said about them the better.
5. Julian Casablanas + the Voidz, “Tyranny”
Julian Casablancas, along with his new band, the Voidz, took a lot of chances on “Tyranny,” and the results are erratic. Itap a rough listen. For every moment of beauty or every fully-formed idea, there’s a noisy assault to make you forget it. Itap dissonant and jarring, just as Casablancas clearly meant it to be, and goes off the deep end of cacophony. The ears can only take so much screeching and no one wants to feel so off-balance for every minute of an hour-long record. Itap nice that Casablancas is feeling a creative spark again, that he’s not phoning it in, but “Tyranny” is nearly impossible to sit through.
4. Linkin Park, “The Hunting Party”
Yes, Linkin Park are still kicking around. In fact, they’ve been putting out albums about every two years, with Rick Rubin in the boothno less.
But even he jumped ship when it came time to cut “The Hunting Party.” Chunks of the album were written improvisationally in the studio and it shows. This thing’s a mess, mushing droll emo, screeching metal and even a dash of hip-hop (Rakim inexplicably features on “Guilty All The Same”) into a 45-minute block of drone and toilet stall poetry. “Tell us all again how to do what you say / how to fall in line, how there’s no other way,” lead singer Chester Bennington (thatap somehow not an alias) bleats in an ostensible middle-finger-to-the-corporation verse that has the unfocused ire in delivery that a temp worker might while singing Linkin Park karaoke at his last company party.
3. Robin Thicke, “Paula”
Honey, no. No, no, no. Writing an album to win your estranged wife back is not cute. Itap a Nice Guy move. “I’ve made this grand gesture, so she HAS to love me.” And if he had to make this record, maybe he shouldn’t have made a video in which he asked for forgiveness for infidelity while getting stroked by a model. The album is alternately campy and dramatic, and that makes it feel insincere, even if he is truly remorseful. Thicke’s voice is pretty, but that can’t save “Paula” from being creepy and cheesy as hell.
2. Pitbull, “Globalization”
Here’s a quick rundown of the content on Pitbull’s latest over-produced party rap album: “I’m wasted! That girl is hot! Now, that girl I just mentioned? We’re having sex! Support your team in the World Cup!”
That last one is from “We Are One,” the official song of the 2014 World Cup. But like FIFA itself, all its flag-waving love-of-the-game bravado is a front to push a brand and make money. In this case, that brand is Pitbull, of which music is only a periphery byproduct. What he’s really selling is a lifestyle, one many club dwellers would swear off table service for a year to be a party to. “Globalization” is Pitbull’s postcard from his vida loca, which reads like the desperate scribbles of a man fending off a ten-year hangover. “Day drinking / sun goes up and drink goes down,” he explains on “Day Drinking.” We know, Pitbull. We know.
1. Yung Lean, “Unknown Memory”
Whenever I hear a Yung Lean song, I also hear 30 Rock’s Tracy Jordan in my head saying, “I’m a ridiculous man.” Yung Lean doesn’t seem to know he’s absurd, though, and he’s not even ridiculous in the playful, neon-colored Riff Raff way. “Unknown Memory” is lifeless, soulless and humorless. The production is tinny enough to leave a metallic taste in your mouth. It wavers indecisively between hip-hop beats and atmospherics that really only amount to background music. When he sings, its pitchy, and when he raps, its flat. His lyrics say “swag” but his tone says “I’m dead inside.” Itap as if that talentless kid trying to rap his way out of your hometown somehow got noticed.
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