Orphans, Bastards and Timewasters

The verdict (content and order on the site keeps changing, so at the time of writing, this is the lineup):

Album 1: DJ Reggie. 4:20/20. 1.5 Stars.
The funny thing about this one is that, intentionally or not, DJ Reggie manages to knock Beck down half a peg by showing just how easily Mr. Hansen’s traditional m.o. can lead to silly results – falsetto refrains, guero mumbles, video game bleep samples and haphazard phrases quickly descending into ugly self-parody. The disturbing thing, though, about this one is that the lyrics to tracks like “When I Was Drugs, Inc.” and “Emotional Abuse” seem not just earnest but confessional, awkward glimpses of true emotional torment casually delivered in the midst of a crass musical belch. Less troubled, “Autumn In New York” seems like a fun first twenty minutes back from tour, though, and is endearing in its clumsy buoyancy.

Album 2: DJ Reggie. Hip-Hop Breaker. 2 stars.
Conclusive proof that Ryan is the new Dylan – if Dylan rapped (now) I think it would sound something like this. “Teen Wolf” actually has a hook, though. Like the pun on Heartbreaker. Actually it’s easy to like the synth work on “Don’t Look Down” and the organ work on “Matlock Rock,” too. Oh, and Adams spoils the big psychoanalysis exercise by making a point in not one but two songs of saying that he’s just doing this for fun (or does he protest too much?). No fun – let the pundits do their punditing, sir; it’s our birthright.

Album 3: DJ Reggie. A Reginald Gangster. 0.5 stars.
Mostly unlistenable, particularly after two other full “Reggie” platters. “Rascalflattz” is kind of fun, but otherwise, to paraphrase Morrissey, “that joke isn’t funny anymore.”

Just a quick interjection – at one point last week there was, I think, a different album on here, which, actually, had some truly good songs (with a lot of Grateful Deadisms) including a legitimate Adams tune called something like “Celebrities Hurt.” I suppose in an effort to remove all legitimate songs from this mish-mash (perhaps at Lost Highway’s imploring), it’s gone. A shame, really.

Album 4: The Shit. This Is Shit. 2 stars.
Reminiscent of The Finger, his earlier palate-cleansing scratch project with Jesse Malin, Adam’s slapdash hardcore punk way outclasses his slapdash hip-hop. That’s not to say the title isn’t dead-on in a basic sense, but if it weren’t for his regrettable singing you’d think you were listening to low-quality bootlegs of the Dead Milkmen (performing in a tin can). So the guitars are there, at least. Still, one can’t help but think back to “Faithless Street,” though, where a post-Patty Duke Syndrome Adams admitted “so I started this damn country band, because punk rock was too hard to sing.”

Album 5: DJ Reggie. Holla Dayz Inn. 2 stars.
Sigh. More of the same DJ Reggie half-jokes, though “Egyptiana Christamica” is somewhat catchy and “Doctor Robot” has some interesting techno squiggles. Plus the three-genre squiggle of “Blanky Night Time Friend” is one of the more amusing tracks in this whole collection. One is still under no illusions that Adams could actually make a legitimate hip-hop album, but his production skills are reasonable, even in the service of utterly boring goofs.