It has arrived. I thought it impossible, I knew it improbable, but right now I believe I have found the album to kill music, or at least my love of it. Seamless drivel, intentions incomprehensible, the inability to execute anything other than my eardrums is inspiring only to those who doubt their own abilities as a realization that there is always someone less talented than themselves. The sad confused man, thankfully the only person attached to this project, is blatantly unaware, ignorant of the characteristics required to create an enjoyable experience for others. The album does not withstand the test of the time it takes to listen, but it manages to inject itself into parts of the mind better left reserved for pleasantness. Not only is it not Executively Produced, as the title claims, it is a stretch to call it produced at all.
The opening track, Megamanmaniac, depressingly taunts the listener as it introduces a simple manic sufferer who accidentally discovers a loop creator, with volume level changes and discord that prove a complete disregard for flow or thematic intentions. Disguising the lack of coherence and ability with poor attempts at humour, Few Scrubs pays no tribute to its sample, misogynizing openly and implicitly. A Slightly More Complicated Desultory Philippic, a failed attempt to leverage Paul Simon’s similarly titled ode to popular culture, has no bridge, no chorus, just verses which dilute with every line. The stagnant echelon continues, inviting the listener to look around the room disconcertingly, expecting but hoping his house will burn down quickly and ferociously enough to incinerate the speakers along with every server or computer that holds a copy of this album.
The inexplicable vocal melange heard throughout Bug Body as well as the aforementioned track’s rapid but extended introduction that serves only to remind us all why Alvin & The Chipmunks was cancelled abruptly from its Saturday morning cartoon lineup. One may be stubborn enough to finally arrive at Five doller bill, y’all, apparently a reference to Limp Bizkit as well as a colloquial term translated from the French’s “end”. If this occurs, the minute-long torture sentence will only reinforce the confusion felt throughout the preceding half hour.
I made the grave error of purchasing the album, before the first listen, as I was admittedly curious as to how the creator could justify the outrageous price tag through the bonus items offered. The Few Scrubs vocal remix elicits pity but also anger, simultaneously and equally. It at least gives you a better indication of the specific mental problems suffered by the man who not only conceived of the new vocal track, but recorded it and placed it into a song that would be released to the public. Blaming the 28-day deadline is an option, but there is a distinct feeling that an additional lifetime would not significantly improve upon the frantic musings of a suffering dilettante.
I hope only that my unfortunate journey through Executively Produced can serve as a warning to any others who find themselves faced with the prospect of absorbing the nonsense that it holds. The laziness extending to the refusal to learn how to properly equalize the tracks of a song, there is absolutely no instinct for auditory appeal or empathy. It’s as if it was a test created to determine which of his friends could most easily masquerade the truth, to see who would stumble least trying to spin positivity into the album. Please, I implore you not to explore that which I deplore. Do not listen ironically. Do not listen to appease the person behind the music, even if you happen to be the unfortunate soul to birth him. Do not listen.
[Editor’s note: To read an antithetical review of this album, please click here.]