Review Summary: About as appealing as the Ninth Circle of Hell.
Years ago, in a discussion with a friend regarding Slayer's "Reign in Blood," I described the classic metal record as "the soundtrack of the apocalypse," and jokingly claimed that when the sky opened up and the dead began rising from their graves, it would be "Angel of Death" playing on repeat through our heads.
This was before I heard Eamon's "I Don't Want You Back."
I now know that the day we meet our end, Satan himself will be be jamming out to this album as we're thrown into the fiery pits of Hell.
This album's god-awfulness is quite disappointing, though, because at first glance, it actually seems somewhat promising. One couldn't help but expect some Radiohead-caliber lyrics after seeing such song titles as "I Love Them Hoes," "Get Off My Dick," and my personal favorite, "Ass is Fat." Unfortunately, it seems my hope was misplaced, as just about every track on this train wreck of an album is borderline unlistenable. Gee, what a surprise.
To be able to write a somewhat serious review for an album of this nature, I'm going to have to focus mainly on a single song, "F*** It (I Don't Want you Back)." This is because, first of all, it's the only song on the album most people have ever heard of (it actually reached #1 in 9 countries), and it also happens to be the only song on the album that even somewhat resembles actual music. The first thing I noticed about the song in question is that Eamon drops the f-bomb an alarming 20 different times in under 4 minutes. Now, don't get me wrong; excessive use of profanity doesn't automatically make a song bad in my book. For example, Lamb of God's "Redneck" is laden with expletives, and I don't particularly mind it. The problem is, it just so happens that our friend Eamon is no Randy Blythe, and he comes across sounding like a 9-year old who just learned how to curse. Though the premise of "F*** It" has something to do with a girl who cheated on Eamon trying to win him back (and his rejection of her advances), it bears more of a resemblance to a psychotic madman screaming obscenities at his toaster.
I suppose it's time for me to address the worst part of this album: Eamon's voice. I've never been much of a fan of high, whiny voices, but this takes it to a whole new level. Every time this man opens his mouth, it embodies the cries of thousands of starving orphans. In all seriousness, I have no idea why anyone would voluntarily listen to Eamon's high-pitched wails for even a single song, much less this 16-track album. If really you want to listen to an R&B singer with a high-pitched voice, there are a multitude of better choices than this nobody. Hell, you could ask a random homeless man to sing Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," and it would be better than this garbage.
At times, this LP reaches Insane Clown Posse levels of suck, and takes itself way too seriously while doing so. In fact, it's so awful that if Eamon had come out and said the whole thing was a joke, I would've believed him in a heartbeat.
