I think it’s fair to say that I’m less enamoured of kitsch than my fellow Thrifty Vinylese. However, there are times when my head is turned by “apparently artistic operation[s] which make up for a lack of creative force by stimulating the imagination through particular ingredients [including the] erotic, political, religious [and], sentimental,” as Gillo Dorfles would have it.
I wish I could say that the one-time Laurence Tureaud’s rap foray into self-aggrandisment, fool pitying and didactic positivity lived up to the promise of its creepy cover and was laughably bad. Alas, while T’s familiar gruff flow is predictably poor, the album itself had enough money spent on it (this was CBS, after all) to make it merely mediocre, boring and mainstream sounding. Not that I would say that to his face.