Album Rating: 4.0
If one attempts, as has been the case often enough, to consider the use value of jazz, its suitability as a mass commodity, as a corrective to the bourgeois isolation of autonomous art, as something which is dialectically advanced, and to accept its use value as a motive for the nullification (Aujhebung) of the object character (Dingcharakter) of musk, one succumbs to the latest form of Romanticism which, because of its anxiety in the face of the fatal characteristics of capitalism, seeks a despairing way out, in order to affirm the feared thing itself as a son of ghastly allegory of the coming liberation and to sanctify negativity - a curative in which, by the way, jazz itself would like to believe
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Album Rating: 3.5
Alright, listen up, because this is important! Auto-tune is like that one person who shows up at a karaoke bar and decides to sing "Bohemian Rhapsody" after 12 shots of tequila. They think they’re Freddie Mercury, but really, they're just mercilessly butchering a classic. Auto-tune is that drunk friend in the recording studio, making every singer sound like a robot who’s just discovered its love for techno.
Remember when singers actually had to, you know, SING? Yeah, those were the days. Now, any Tom, Dick, or Harriet can warble into a mic, and auto-tune swoops in like a digital superhero, transforming off-key yelps into pitch-perfect melodies. It’s like giving participation trophies to everyone at a track meet. "Congrats, you showed up! Here’s a gold medal and a platinum record!"
But wait, there's more! Auto-tune has turned the music industry into a dystopian future where everyone sounds the same. It’s like Stepford Wives but with singers. You hear one auto-tuned pop song, you’ve basically heard them all. It's like if McDonald's decided every meal should taste like a Big Mac. Sure, it’s tasty at first, but soon you’re craving something that doesn’t feel mass-produced by a soulless machine.
And the worst part? It’s sneaky. You think you’re listening to the raw, unfiltered talent of your favorite artist, but no, it’s auto-tune in disguise, hiding behind those perfectly polished notes. It’s like finding out your grandma's secret cookie recipe is just store-bought dough. Betrayal!
So, in conclusion, auto-tune is like slapping a fresh coat of paint on a dilapidated house and calling it a mansion. It’s cheating, it’s lazy, and it’s robbing us of the beautiful, flawed humanity that makes music so relatable. If we wanted everything to be perfect, we’d be robots ourselves. But we’re not—we’re beautifully imperfect humans who deserve to hear the real deal. So let’s ditch the digital crutch and bring back the raw, unfiltered magic of music!
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