DadKungFu
Emeritus

Reviews 146
Approval 100%

Soundoffs 27
News Articles 6
Band Edits + Tags 59
Album Edits 125

Album Ratings 2231
Objectivity 73%

Last Active 12-26-22 12:27 pm
Joined 10-20-12

Review Comments 6,144

 Lists
02.20.25 Sputnikmusic in 2035 ♦01.13.25 Jazz Palate Destroyer
01.10.25 2024: The Best (WIP) ♦01.02.25 2024: The Worst ♦
10.26.24 Fill my Phone12.07.23 Ranking 2023 Albums rev'd by me
06.08.23 What is sputnik's social security numbe05.03.23 My 10 favorite (active) writers on sput ♦
01.27.23 DadKungFu Reviews Your Avatar12.22.22 25 Albums I Enjoyed This Year
05.02.22 Rate what the user above you is listeni04.01.22 THE ONLY MESHUGGAH LIST THAT DOESN'T MA
01.31.20 Help me find workout albums01.27.20 If you're reading this
12.18.19 The Spirituality of John Fahey07.14.18 Road Trippin'
04.26.18 The MadKungfu Review Game04.01.18 Is it time to shut down the forum?
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Sputnikmusic in 2035

A lot has changed on sputnikmusic.com since 2025. Coltonmusic has come to dominate the music-kvetching internet space ever since it went only in early 2033 and other music journalism websites have sadly gone defunct. Users have come and gone, there's been a huge, artificial influx of users ever since mx implemented AI accounts to bolster numbers rather than ever actually fix the account creation issue. It still retains a contingent of loyal users, contribs and staff, mostly still hanging on because, hell, who else would want them? This band of ragtag music writers still plugs away, although their lives have led them in wildly varying directions, still with the same interface and janky code they’ve come to know and love like an old friend.
1pizzamachine
A Very Merry Crunkmas Tradition

Pizzamachine wakes at 3 PM, early for him. The crunkcore revival has been good to him, extremely bad for every other living thing with ears. As per usual a coterie of nasty groupies and empty cans of spray paint and airplane glue are strewn around him in his gauche neoclassical gilded penthouse in downtown LA. He vaguely remembers once having had a family. He flips on the phone interface on his neural implant, and hashes out his 3,650th review of the past decade, an obscure power metal album from Botswana. God knows why at this point. God knows why about anything.
2Cradle of Filth
Dusk... and Her Embrace

Hawks sits at his desk, sipping his morning coffee. He’s spent most of every paycheck on new neural implants to enhance every moment of his sputnikmusic experience. He’s rigged his implants so that with the twitch of an eyelid two dozen variations of “HELL YEAH BROTHER” appear on various threads. He sees the familiar words from over a decade ago “SHITONCE - SHITBOY SHITTER” and howls with helpless laughter until he collapses, wheezing onto the floor. Wiping away a tear, he sighs in satisfaction. Life has been good to him. His wife steps into the room. “Honey,” she says patiently, “When you do the dishes, can you make sure you get all the grease off the pots?”

Hawks freezes. An eyelid spasms. “Did you say…pots?”
3Seiko Oomori
Zettai Shoujo

JohnnyoftheWell crouches on a milk crate in his dilapidated London flat smoking a cigarette and typing his latest paragraph-long evisceration of some hapless dissident. The translation of the complete works of Basho into gen Alpha memespeak is strewn in loose paper sheets across the floor; it’s the only real work he’s been able to get in nearly the past decade. From another corner of the flat the somnambulant blowsing of Beach House begins to blare. “Jesus CHRIST babe,” Johnny snarls, “GET THAT 2.5 MASHED PEAS MEDIOCRE PAP OFF MY SPEAKERS”. He shakes his head, dissatisfied with his non sequitur and at the state his romantic life has come to. He’s out of cigarettes, and if he wants the money to buy more… He sighs, rifling through half-translated haiku. “"Deadass, this pond is mad quiet 💀/Frog yeets in—/SPLASH—vibes reset”. He runs a hand through his hair. Well, at least his half of the bills bills will be getting paid this month.
4Tindersticks
Tindersticks II

Doof sips his glass of bourbon and checks sputnik for the first and only time today. He’s been far too busy with his late-stage career of managing moody acoustic bands who wouldn’t know a hook if it was dragging them by the lip out of the backwater pond they crawled from. From across the bar a slide guitar rings out and a flugelhorn plays a muted melody. He notices a user’s posted “Tindersticks sucks lol”. Doof shakes his head. Life’s too short to worry about insignificant annoyances. But somehow, he can’t let this one go. He cocks his revolver. Hunting season is about to open.
5The Tallest Man on Earth
The Wild Hunt

Colton lounges back, counting the returns from the latest month of Coltonmusic. Better and better every month, he’d be able to spring for those limited edition ray-bans and new shoe lifts but… He checks the charts. Spiderland is now the number 1 album of all time. He mouths “what the fuck”, and begins altering code until its placement is once more next to Waking the Cadaver. Third time this week. He nods in satisfaction and checks the sputnik page, more out of habit than anything else. “Colton is a wankstain” is at the top of the featured lists, in fact is the title of every featured list for the past 8 years. He shrugs and puts on his favorite album. “GET THAT 2.5 MASHED PEAS MEDIOCRE PAP OFF MY SPEAKERS” snarls the familiar voice from the other end of the flat. Colton turns the music up with a self-satisfied smirk.
6Darkthrone
Transilvanian Hunger

Trifolium makes his 50th post in this month’s CaCo thread. Glancing at the post count he frowns. 51 comments. He shrugs and grins, typing away. His hands are leafy appendages that clack woodenly against the keys. His head is now a thick array of petals swaying slightly as he types away blissfully. The tea kettle begins to boil, reminding Trif of some double entendre he almost forgot to post. With a start of sudden horror, he realizes he is Dutch.
7Celtic Frost
Morbid Tales

Budgie squawks violently in his enclosure and lets loose another spray of feces onto his layered newspaper. He's typed another dozen homophobic insults in the past 10 minutes and he's not done yet. In the post-post-ironic world of the future though, the words somehow don't have any bite to them. He pauses to scroll. In the past 25 minutes five new AI accounts mimicking budgie's diarrhetic non-discourse have cropped up, and the worst part is that all of them seem to be funnier than he is. He sighs. Maybe it's finally time to hang it up.
8Tool
Fear Inoculum

Baseline adjusts the interface of her virtual display and minimizes the Sims 8 window, where she has just dropped her virtual husband's illicit lover into a punji pit and poured in a can of gasoline. She flips over to the Fear Inoculum page and types the words, "It really is amazing how Keenan packed each interstice between the notes with pure ayahuasca energy". She refreshes for a few minutes until, finally, the desired results appear on the screen. Attention! Her lifeblood and sustenance! She sits back with a grin and spins around in her chair. In the kitchen, the sound of her droid-husband doing the dishes echoes. All things considered, things have gone pretty well in the past 10 years. She idly refreshes, only to see a news item appear on the top of the sputnik page: New Tool Album Nearing Completion After 9 years. Her breath hitches. Looks like another banner year is on the horizon.
9Coheed and Cambria
In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3

Storm In A Teacup is in a rush, which is as much the norm as it ever has been. He waves his arms wildly, switching between screens on his VR projector to switch to a view of his third drone, which is making the drop at his client's house. 6 drones active, two more waiting for calls. Since he'd begun utilizing drones for his food delivery service, business had skyrocketed. Only problem is, he barely has the time to spend all the money he's making. He switches to drone 5, a delivery of a bucket of mountain dew flavored soy protein gruel. He runs a hand across his sweaty forehead and dodges another drone that was flying in his path. He hasn't had time to listen to music in months, let alone post about it but that goal is on the horizon. As he makes his final delivery and collapsed in his seat, visions of turgid butt-prog dance in his head. Three more months and he can afford to hire someone else. Three more months and he can afford to breathe a little.
10Oxbow
An Evil Heat

Demon of the Fall has long settled into a familiar routine, so much so that it is quite reflexive at this point. He looks out the window. Cumulus. That can mean only one thing. "Time to nip on down to the pub love!" He calls. He's fallen into the habit of playing Xiu Xiu's Knife Play on the jukebox in the past years. To the surprise of nearly everyone, the album has subsequently become a roaring hit all over England, nearly knocking Mr. Brightside from its top spot a handful of times. American tourists flock to the pubs just for the "authentic British experience" of hearing a crowd of football hooligans chanting "THIS IS THE WORST VACATION EVER. I AM GOING TO CUT OPEN YOUR FOREHEAD WITH A ROOFING SHINGLE" in unison. Demon shrugs. One never knows how one might end up changing the world.
11Ornette Coleman
Ornette!

Tectactoe leans back in his seat outside the cafe, trying to enjoy the taste of his "foamy" "coffee" drink. Ever since the tariffs made coffee exorbitantly expensive, people realized they could boil ground up road asphalt and provide a slightly similar experience. If one wants a caffeine-adjacent kick, a half a teaspoon of methamphetamines could be provided for an exorbitant fee. At least he has this cafe, which is one of almost a dozen that have cropped up in recent years that blasts free-jazz. A tuned up early 2000s Toyota with anime decals screeches to a halt in front of him and a half-dozen young punks wearing Pizzamachine shirts pile out carrying chains and baseball bats. Their leader, with neon-colored swoop bangs and no less than four belts with oversized buckles, slams his bat into the outside speaker, cutting short Cecil Taylor's frantic pounding. "This is a crunkcore spot now Gramps, you hear?" the punk sneers. Tec sighs and chews a crumb of asphalt stoically.
12Joni Mitchell
Blue

Koris sat back at his desk, weighing the decision to launch the full weight of the US armed forces against those of Andorra, which had recently committed the unforgivable international crime of existing on top of a massive oil reserve. He wasn't sure what twists and turns had brought his career to the full command of the armed forces, but they had certainly not been intentional. He mulled the decision despondently; the pressure from above to invade was intense. Once upon a time he would have written a rev to distract but... how long had it been? He nodded and sent a comm to his immediate subordinate. "Vice-Admiral, there's a certain music website. Make it mandatory that all enlisted personnel write at least one review of an album of their choosing each week." "Sir, what does that have to do wi-" "THAT'S AN ORDER, VICE-ADMIRAL". He leaned back and smiled, for the first time in years. Most likely he'd be forced to resign within the week. At least he'd do it with a clear conscience.
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