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Superficially, I am penning this review to express my utter adulation for ( O___o)’s groundbreaking work,
( O_o). If you, dear reader, simply wish to understand why, exactly, this briefest (and oh, how brief it is!) of works deserves the respect it’s accredited since its earth-shattering release around the turn of the 20th century, hear ye this: “Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo, / Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi, / qui me ex versiculis meis putastis, / quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.” That is all you need to know, dear friend - the brilliance of
( O_o) should now be clear.
Oh, dear, are you still with me? Have I not scared you off with my vulgar usage of the ancient Latin language? Must I explain further the wonders of ( O___o)? Very well, then. I feel obligated not because you ask, not because the work of art needs more exposure (and, of course, it does not: for if a family does not have the special limited deluxe edition on every coffee table in their house, they are laughed off as uncultured neophytes), and not because Pitchfork, in an otherwise brilliant piece on the troubled collective hive-mind of ( O___o), called this work of art “the second-greatest collection of songs ever released, behind Radiohead’s Kid A.” Rather, I feel obligated to write this because the greatest affrontery imaginable has occurred within our sacred album’s sacred community: Sputnikmusic.com user treeqt. has deemed
( O_o) unworthy of his precious time, and has bestowed upon it a score of 1.0.
This, of course, cannot and will not stand. So, instead of prompting the CIA to enter his house stealthily every night and play this album while he sleeps until he is unconsciously forced to recognize the wonder of
( O_o), I will briefly try to explain some of the more minute details so that all may be privy to the creative prowess of ( O___o). First, the crudely-drawn album cover is very clearly a sneering jab at the “capitalist pigs” of 15th-century Sudan (the words of ( O___o), not my own). With the subtext of Malcolm XII’s recent passing, this criticism is especially timely and should be recognized by all. Meanwhile, the brilliant distortion of “Cops on the Scene” has two popular interpretations. Some believe it to be a tear-jerking retelling of the tragic Russian Revolution, as seen through the eyes of Rasputin’s corpse. As ( O___o) have pointed out so astutely in a rare interview back in 1946, “Who gives a sh
it about Rasputin, anyway? We do, we guess.” Others, however, assert that it is obviously a reference to the Anglophile cave paintings found in the tomb of Tutankhamen around the time of the album’s release. The subtle crackles of static, much like the ones used in Egyptian música erótica in Tutankhamen’s time, are clear indications of the homage. I can not decide for you, dear reader, into which camp you should fall, so take your time - this is a grave decision to make.
Now that all who have read this far have a sort of tenuous baseline for understanding what, exactly, makes
( O_o) so exceptional, I would like to close with two relevant quotes. First, the words of T.S. Eliot in his seminal work “The Wasteland:” “These fragments I have shored against my ruins.” Second, the words of Sputnikmusic.com staff writer Brendan Schroer in a captivating reaction to the brilliance of a mid-2013 masterwork: “sometimes when I'm alone in the bathtub I start flopping my dick around and do walrus calls as I splash all around and then furiously *** all over the bathroom in a raging fit because my wench refuses to let me butt*** her so then I grab my mountain dew and my copy of call of duty black cops and start jamming city of evil because I'm so tortured”
This is all the guidance I can give you, dear reader. Understanding the rest of this masterpiece is up to you. Enjoy, and I bid good tidings to your aunt Martha. Is she still doing well? I hope so - these are troubled times, you know.
