... where comics Delanie Fisher and Nick Kaufman and Rotten Tomatoes editor Sarah Ricard join me to talk about friends who come over unannounced, dudes who like to show off their dicks, and so much more.

For the purposes of this column, though, I'll just stick to music. Since we're on the verge of celebrating two decades of completely telegraphed swear words, I wouldn't mind seeing some labels for a few of the other unwelcome surprises that sometimes pop up in modern music. For example ...

Should Apply To:

The aforementioned Metallica is an obvious choice here. People have been complaining about Metallica not sounding like Metallica for about as long as there's been a Metallica.

Some would argue that Weezer deserves it, but I'm more of the opinion that their sound hasn't so much changed as their songs have just kind of started to become awful. It still probably applies, though.

A more recent contender is Best Coast, a band who released a few early singles that sound like they were recorded on a 1980s boombox placed in front of a floor-model television speaker ...

... and have been dealing with fans clamoring for them to make songs that "sound like the old stuff" ever since. Sure, by the time they released their first proper studio album they'd already moved on to recording in much more acoustically pleasing closets ...

... but people still treat every moderately well-produced record the band makes ...

... like some kind of radical departure from "the sound that made them famous."

That seems a bit harsh to me. Can we at least give them a chance to become legitimately famous before we start giving them shit for selling out once they became famous?

The recording studio is a magical place, capable of making even the most dreadful of noises sound somewhat music-ish. While employing the various technological bells and whistles that modern musicians have at their disposal can make for a fine experience on record, too much studio trickery can lead to an album full of songs that the band in question is completely and totally incapable of recreating in a live setting. It might seem like a minor sticking point if you aren't the concert-going type, but people who rarely attend concerts are the ones who need this label the most. Concert tickets are expensive. Should it ever come to pass that you find a song so moving that it compels you to spend that kind of money, wouldn't it be nice to have some assurance that you aren't making a foolish investment?

Should Apply To:

There are actually a few practical applications for this label. As mentioned previously, fancy studio tricks are always difficult to recreate onstage, so R&B sensation T-Pain would be an ideal candidate ...

... if people still gave a shit about that guy. There are plenty of acts that are just as deserving, though, and most of them are way less honest about the magic they employ to make their voices presentable.

Even in cases where bands can reproduce technologically complex songs in live settings, the odds of them doing it regularly are slim to none. Case in point, check out this performance of Radiohead's electronics-laden "National Anthem" single:

If I'm not mistaken, playing that song in concert requires the use of an old-timey telephone switchboard and at least one 13-inch television monitor.

YouTube
Practical!

A band might be fine hauling that kind of contraption around when the songs are fresh and new, but rest assured, five years down the road they'll have reworked all that fancy computer music into something they can play on regular instruments.

Also, it's probably a moot point now that Courtney Love definitely didn't kill the band's lead singer years ago, but Nirvana's landmark Nevermind album probably should have come with a heads up about the differences one should have expected to hear when those songs were released into the wild. So much trickery went into making that album sound HUGE in the studio ...

... that a three-person unit could never come close to accurately recreating them in concert:

Like I said, it doesn't matter now, but it's something you might have wanted to know in 1992 or whatever.

Should Apply To:

A lot of people should, by law, be applying this label to their albums, but no entertainer has run up a longer list of offenses related to inviting unwanted guests to the party than Lil' Wayne. Of the 15 songs on his album Tha Carter IV, eight of them feature guest appearances from other artists. That's all fine and well if the guests are of the same caliber talent as the main star, but this is almost never the case. For every Drake or Nicki Minaj that emerges from Lil' Wayne's circle of friends ...

... there are twice as many Mack Maines and PJ Mortons that no one will ever care anything about.

If you're paying full price for an album that's secretly half about furthering their careers, a warning of some sort is definitely in order.

Should Apply To:

Even if we never attach this label to any album ever again, it at least belongs on De La Soul's first two albums, Three Feet High and Rising and De La Soul Is Dead. As I've mentioned before, those albums clock in at a jaw-dropping 24 and 27 songs, respectively.

Look at 'em all!

But when you subtract the useless filler that permeates both albums, like this nonsense ...

... you're actually left with about half as many real songs. Don't get me wrong, they're both fantastic albums and a bargain at damn near any price, but the "comedy" you have to sift through to hear them all is definitely worthy of a warning of some kind.

Should Apply To:

Pick your poison. Fiona Apple and Wilco both had some of what turned out to be the best work of their respective careers shot down by dipshit record executives before it ever saw the light of day.

Nirvana's In Utero wasn't completely rejected, but there were rumors that it was going to be on account of it not sounding as much like a Tiffany record as the one that came before it, but it's a way better album if you ask me, which you should, because I'm already here talking about it and whatnot.

In general, record labels just tend to make shitty decisions in this department. A little selective labeling might go a long way toward helping us reap the benefits of those shitty decisions.

Should Apply To:

Well, did you know the lead singer of Journey is a Filipino dude? There's nothing wrong with that, obviously, unless you were buying the Journey DVD pictured above. It's the one in the middle. It's barely distinguishable as a Journey product at all, much less one featuring the lead singer who replaced the lead singer who replaced the original lead singer.

If you were buying that as a gift for your baby boomer dad because you knew he was a big fan of Journey in the '80s, there isn't a whole lot there to tip you off to the fact that the band's original frontman, Steve Perry, hasn't been around for ages.

Of course, it's ultimately your dad's fault for having such shitty taste in music, but still, a label would be nice.

Nothing brings out the worst in a creative type like being forced to do something. Even if it's something they would typically enjoy doing, like a musician making music, for example, once it becomes something they have to do, you're likely to see far less desirable results than if you were to just let the "magic" happen on its own.

That's natural enough, I reckon, but it also presents a huge problem for the record-buying public. How in the hell are we, the consumers, supposed to know if a musician is only giving half their usual effort because this particular album was recorded as a condition of their parole or some shit? It's almost impossible to tell; that's why we need the label.

Should Apply To:

Well, it's almost impossible to tell. Willie Nelson made the point pretty clear when he released an album called The IRS Tapes: Who'll Buy My Memories? to pay off a gigantic tax bill. Then again, that's Willie Nelson. He's been talk-singing along to the exact same guitar for so long, he's literally worn a hole in it. You generally know what you're getting when you buy a Willie Nelson album, no matter what the inspiration for recording it might have been (I'm assuming it's usually weed).

Kevin Winter/Getty Images Entertainment
At least he can smoke with it now.

You'd think a youngster like Justin Timberlake would still have a lot of musical adventures left in him, but there are rumors to the contrary, surprisingly enough. A recent Hollywood Reporter story claims that he was forced into recording his most recent album, The 20/20 Experience, solely to fulfill a contract obligation, presumably one that called for him to finally release one truly awful song before he hangs it up.

The "hang it up" is the concerning part of the story, because he apparently wants to do just that as it pertains to music, and would have a long time ago if business didn't necessitate one last trip to the studio. He has been saying for a long time that he wants to focus mostly on acting. Will history someday prove that his first truly award-worthy role was convincing the world he cared about music one last time?

I don't know, but that was a great fucking sentence.

Adam hosts a podcast called Unpopular Opinion that you should listen to on Soundcloud and a live stand-up comedy show of the same name that you should come see sometime if you're in the Los Angeles area. You should also be his friend on Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr.

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