![]() The token product placement is similarly baffling. It feels nourishing in the moment, but you aren’t adding anything that wasn’t there before. It’s a process similar to eating the insides of your own cheeks. Like third-year philosophy classes, the second season of True Detective, movies with Greta Gerwig, Ulysses and so on. A puzzling show of how something so flimsy can also feel so long. The soundscapes of Blond are a staggering paradox. But while Blond certainly has some words set over some music, what it doesn’t have is oomph, zing, moxie, pep, vim, zip, welly, pizzazz or hutzpah. So I understand why Blond feels so effortless (as in devoid of any feeling of effort put in). Stegosauruses may look cooler, but sliding down its back would rip your asshole so bad it’d look like Lana Del Ray’s mouth. There’s a reason why Fred Flinstone slid down the back of a brontosaurus at the end of a long work day. Sometimes, the path of least resistance can be a grand thing. I can only imagine how R.Kelly must feel to see someone get success from apathetically mumbling about inane sexual activity over undercooked melodies. ![]() ![]() I myself felt that sting when mohawks, sleeveless flannel and army boots were commissioned by radical lesbians. It’s always frustrating when things that you thought had previously defined you get usurped by militant groups with good PR. ![]() Review Summary: An album that, better than any other album, can make you understand how an album can be a bad album. ![]()
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