Published on Jun 13, 1999
Often, when I get flame mail for a review I’ve written, the
author trues to throw a 50-ton zinger at me: “Maybe you’d
understand if you played a musical instrument…blah, blah,
blah.”
Well, here’s a surprise: I
do play musical instruments. In my life, I’ve played piano,
drums, trumpet (which I had to give up because of my asthma… and
because I sucked at it), bass guitar and guitar. I’ve even written
songs, and at one point in my life, I recorded a tape of my own
music that I distributed to my friends. (Some of them are
ex-friends now, though I don’t think it was because of this
tape.)
But there’s a reason that music critics do what they do –
partially, I believe it’s because we are frustrated musicians.
(You’ll note I never claimed I played
well – I was a good rhythm guitarist, but I never could
handle leads.) So, I stick with what I know I can do well. One of
my colleagues in this field, David B. Wilson, might have been wise
to do just that with his self-released CD,
A Little Less Crappy.
Almost entirely executed by Wilson (who writes for the site
“Wilson & Alroy’s Record
Reviews”), save for some vocals from Lisa Ferber, Wilson
tackles his own creations like a midget going after a defensive
tackle – someone’s gonna get hurt bad. The songwriting isn’t the
strongest in the world – c’mon, “Lousy Produce (Your Neighborhood’s
Got)”? – and the execution isn’t the greatest, either (though one
should give Wilson some kudos for tackling everything himself).
One big problem Wilson has is that he doesn’t always sing on key
– and this is painfully evident on tracks like “(Make The World) A
Little Less Crappy”. If I had to listen to this song one more time,
I was going to lie down in front of traffic on the expressway.
Things don’t get much better on songs like “Créme
Brulèe In A Paper Cup,” “Funk Is Alive And It Lives In Your
Butt” (George Clinton, your job as the Funkmaster is safe) and
“Instant Parent” – on which Ferber’s vocals are as pleasing as
running one’s fingernails up and down a chalkboard. Eek.
Another problem is that Wilson often overstays his welcome with
his songs. “Let’s Send Everybody Back” might –
might – have been an okay song had he not stretched the idea
out so thinly, to the point where he’s bored the listener to tears
by the time he reaches the anticlimax. As for other songs like “A
Mysterious Pile Of Garbage,” it goes without saying that Wilson is
no Shel Silverstein.
I’m not saying that Wilson shouldn’t have recorded his own CD –
he burned the disc and designed the package himself, so no one else
got hurt. But sometimes, one’s own creations are best kept private,
or circulated among one’s closest friends – after all, they’re the
ones who are the least likely to beat you to death with the stereo
speakers.
But, hey, maybe one day I’ll make it up to Wilson, and I’ll dig
up a copy of the tape I recorded way back in 1993 and send it to
him for his own lambasting. Until then, it’s best to take
A Little Less Crappy and flush it.