by Alan Smithee

As if there wasn’t enough self-harm in the world, especially perpetrated by pop music reviewers; well now we have ‘Bangerz’. There’s always a point in one’s career where the question arises “how did it fucking come to this?!” In truth, I can be a sadist. It’s a compulsion. In fact, I look forward to beating my head against the wall of putrid pop with the hope of making myself bleed. After ‘Bangerz’, I think I have more than just a concussion.

Its definitely a morbid satisfaction which drew me to pick up ‘Bangerz’ and I can tell you for starters, there are no bangers to be had except possibly the sausage fest going on in Miley’s skin coloured panties *before* the VMA awards earlier this year. ‘Bangers’ is a colloquial term used to describe big sound dance tracks. Misdirection 1: This has not one iota of ‘Bangers’.

This album has many third person references such “Lets all party with Miley” as said by the little country munchkin herself. Hubris, much? There ain’t no parties like Miley Cyrus Parties except when Miley wears skin-tight-panties parties. F-f-f-ucken bangerz…indeed. I feel bad for Mr Big Hair, having a Disney bred daughter with little self-respect for herself in her music, let alone her relationships. No Wonder Liam Hemsworth left. “They ask me how I keep a man, I keep a battery pack” um, wow, that’s pretty fucking bad Mr Billy Ray, what do you say?

I can’t seem to concentrate on this album. Its so bad its like I was ear-fucked by the donkey from Shrek on acid. I know there’s a solid attempt to shake off the shackles of Walt here, but somewhere it got so far lost it just sounds like someone smashing their penis on an 808 MPC while a cat screams at a microphone while being anally raped by a horny record executive (cos only horny record execs are low enough to anally rape a cat while its recording). Misdirection 2: Smashing a penis on an 808 MPC usually sounds better than this.

There’s a hell of a lot of stolen stuff in this record which makes it lose what upstanding credibility it had before Miley found it. There’s “Stand By Me” brutalised in there, Might Jam Rock’s “We run tings, tings nuh run we” get’s repeatedly flogged and Salt n Pepa’s “Push It” gets its hook stolen. There is such a thing as lyrical/musical plagiarism Miley, ask your friend Will.i.am. Luckily there’s no real style to this album, just a slurry of homogenised writing, compressed dance stereotypes and some very out of place Trap beats. I really feel for the engineer on this one. Unless they are responsible, in which case, they should go back to the rock they crawled out from under.

Funnily enough, she sings southern, sounds like Rihanna on crack and has a dirty, dirty mouth. Just imagine a high crack whore Rihanna swearing at you for giving her $10 for a $20 handjob. Yeah, that dirty. Misdirection 3: Miley Cyrus can’t sing. At all. At…All…But I digress. As for positive notes, well, let me see, I know they’re here somewher…nope. None. Zip. Zilch….Oh wait, sorry, my mistake… Nada.

This album gives dubstep a bad name and for a name so easily slaughtered in pop music drive-by’s, that’s really saying something. By now, if you haven’t stopped reading this, I apologise. I really have nothing positive to say about this album. In fact, I stopped listening to it about three paragraphs ago just so I could rant in peace without the anal-raped cat distracting me.

Obscure Trap beats, RIP. You will be sorely missed. Ubiquitous dubstep sounds, RIP. You will probably be missed in Ibiza. Mr B. R. Cyrus. I apologise, something tells me you should have pulled out, son.

***Ear-raped Cat Screaming Misdirections***

0/10 Nymphomaniac Bestial Record Execs {Abrasive Andy}