WASHINGTON D.C. –
Last Tuesday, Rand Paul released an album. The Colonel is going to review it here.
The record, a truly variegated, complex, and ambitious concept album, is a sagacious intellectual journey, a profound, pulchritudinous dive into the depths of Uncle Sam’s burly, bulging, and yet beguiling beerbelly of an underbelly: the American underclass.
The 76 minutes of sonic bliss, a manifest musical meridian, explores the ontological, and even metaphysical, depths of poverty, through a wide array of interminably shifting textures, dastardly demanding extended vocal techniques, and a superbly, mathematically intricate Klangfarbenmelodie collage of univocal yet multi-timbral, almost mystical madness (in both conceptions of the term).
Track one, titled “Poor People Suck,” was a tour-de-force of astute, scintillating formal and compositional splendor. Rand Paul’s cacophonous, creatively cutting-edge, simultaneously micro- and macro-polyphony cleverly dissects classism, a truly dire issue in contemporary America. And the direness of this issue is most expertly conveyed, and then some, in this audial attack on one’s aesthetic subconscious.
Track two, brilliantly also titled “Poor People Suck,” is an even more elaborate investigation of this touchy, socially significant material. It adroitly lampoons this most repugnant form of sociocultural discrimination. The dazzling ditty drips in sardonic virtuosity. The skill, and of course ease, with which Paul massages a magniloquently, musically metaphorical mythos practically brings a satirical tear to the satirical eye of the satirically educated satirical listener. Satirical.
Track three, “Poor People Suck,” demonstrates the artist’s tremendous capacity for self-disparagement—a capacity that is only tremendously capacious… and commendable. The manner in which the blatant corporate shill sarcastically condemns his critics’, and most rational people’s, even all rational people’s, insistence that he is in fact an unmitigated classist prick can only inspire one to smirk wryly. Wryly. Smirk wryly.
Track four, yet another “Poor People Suck,” like track one, consists of Paul saying “Poor People Suck” in as many ways as possible: speaking normally, speaking quietly, speaking loudly, whispering, chanting, yelling, growling, screaming, yodeling—the variety is impressive. My first criticism emerges: the utilization of these techniques is rather hard to identify, as they all appear to result in an uninterrupted, identically articulated phrase… but the liner notes do say that these techniques are used… or maybe it was just someone that told me that…
Track five, once again, “Poor People Suck,” like track four… and track one… and tracks two and three, now that I think about it, is comprised of Paul repeating “Poor People Suck” for almost 6 minutes.
Track six, “Poor People Suck,” is remarkably retro. Yet… new.
Track seven, you guessed it, “Poor People Suck,” is, at this point, getting pretty, pretty old.
Track eight, Paul appears to be getting out of breath at this point, but perhaps that is just me… Nevermind, that is just me, I checked. Turns out this track is same as the last.
Track nine, and same as the last.
Track 10, and… same as the last.
Track 11, alright, now this fucker is getting on my nerves.
Track 12, AHHHHHH! FUCK RAND PAUL!!
Track 13, “Poor People Suck,” sucked ass. I’m done with this shit. Fuck The Colonel. I hate this fucking publication. I’m not doing this shit anymore. I’m done. Goodbye. Sayonara. Fuck you.
Given each song oddly sounds as though it is an exact repetition of the previous track (each song is an exact repetition of the previous track), and given the inability ergo to distinguish one track from the next, this album gets a “Fuck You Paul, You Classist, Racist, Misogynist, Sociopathic Motherfucker” out of 5.
Just not enough djent.
Keep your eyes peeled in the upcoming months, in which the stupefyingly (in both conceptions of the term) prolific Paul will release his much-anticipated, already-Emmy-Award-winning (we’re on the board) albums Women Suck, Non-White People Suck, and his magnum opus Compassion Sucks.
BY GAR LICH EN UN YUNS