This is a tattoo someone got of a monkey looking at its own asshole. If that doesn’t sum up Chis Cornell’s Scream, I don’t know what does. This should, dog willing, be the last installment of my live (drunk) blog experience of this Chris Cornell/ Timbalind partnership in ruining everything that is good about life. Word.
11:06 pm: Almost out of Red Ale – But that’s okay. I saved the best for last. I’ll take on the last three tracks of Cornell’s monumental piece of shit while drinking Ninkasi’s oatmeal stout. Right now, I’m on track 12 (of 14), which is called “Climbing Up the Walls.” That reminds me of a Radiohead song on OK Computer. You know what OK Computer has in common with Scream? Fucking nothing. OK Computer is a magnificent album and Scream is dog shit personified. What can I say about this song? It’s bearable, in the context of this wholly unbearable album, but again, the chorus is just Chris Cornell (in Megatron Voice) repeating the title of the songs. Did he pick the song names first and then try to figure out ways to make sure that no one forgot them? I’m thinking of the (I think) four songs I’ve written for my band. I think one of them mentions the song title in the chorus. Maybe two of them. Too drunk too care.
11:11 pm: A Note about Jamming all the songs together – So little Double Red Ale left. What the fuck am I listening to? Oh yeah. “Watch Out.” This song, like all the other songs on Scream, is impressively terrible. Seriously. If you set out to write the worst pop song you could think of, it probably wouldn’t be as shitty as anything on Scream. Jesus God, this album blows. Cornell is still content to let his digitized Megatron voice sing all the choruses for him. Hey, Chris Cornell! I’ve got an idea. A duel: your album cover (you jumping and pretending to smash an expensive guitar) vs. Neko Case’s Middle Cyclone cover (her, car surfing with a goddamn motherfuckin’ broadsword). Neko Case disembowels Chris Cornell for the win.
11:?? pm: It’s motherfucking Oatis time – Out of Ninkasi Believer Double Red. I’ve moved on to the grand finale: Ninkasi Oatis Oatmeal Stout. It’s got a sweet but pungent bouquet, probably like the cologne Tom Waits wore on his wedding day. I’m responding to this beer in way that can only be considered Pavlovian. A taste, perhaps? Oh… my… god. This beer… this beer is… hold on. Look: if you love dark beer, you need this. Now. I don’t care where you are; drive to Eugene, Oregon and get you some Ninkasi Oatis Oatmeal Stout. Holy mother of god, this is a dark beer that comes right up to the Holy Guinness Line of Greatness and says, “You’re good. But I’m motherfucking Oatis.” This… this is a great goddamn beer. So great, in fact, that I’m going to take a minute to savor it whilst I listen to a good song. Perhaps… um… okay. There is only one song that matches the unsurpassed Awesomeness of Ninkasi Oatis Oatmeal Stout. Not surprisingly, it is “Tom Traubert’s Blues (Four Sheets to the Wind in Copenhagen”) by Mr. Thomas Alan Waits. Holy fuck. This. Is. Great. Beer. It is perfect. Smoky. Roasty. Hoppy. Beautiful. Sweet Zombie Jesus, I love this beer. Do I really have to finish listening to Chris Cocksucking Cornell?
11:33 pm: Yes. Yes I do – I’m on the bonus track now. “Two Drink Minimum.” It starts like a bad Audioslave song (trick assertion – there are no good Audioslave songs) I think this is supposed to be a bluesy song. It still sucks.
Okay. I’m done with Scream. If you could not surmise, from these live, uncensored entries, my feelings toward Chris Cornell’s new album, let me just say that I would rather shit razor blades than listen to it again. In fact…
A List of Songs I have to listen to, while drinking Ninkasi Oatis Oatmeal Stout, to cleanse my palette after listening to Chris Cornell’s Scream album:
“Tom Traubert’s Blues” by Tom Waits. ’nuff said. It’s Tom fucking Waits. If you don’t get it, I can’t help you.
“Redemption Song” – the Joe Strummer version. Meaning, “the definitive version.” Jesus Christ. I miss you, Joe Strummer. And I never fucking knew you. But you’d love Ninkasi’s Oatis.
“Magpie to the Morning” by Neko Case. “He sings ‘I am for you special’/ He knows you’re afraid of the dark.” I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Middle Cyclone is a goddamn beautiful album. Listen to it. Now. In fact, I think I will…
“The Geese of Beverly Road” by The National. “We’re the heirs to the glimmering world.” Especially when we’re drinking Ninkasi’s Oatis Oatmeal Stout. I do not use these words lightly: Oatis is a perfect beer. A… perfect… beer. Perfect. “Hey love/ we’ll get away with it/ we’ll run like we’re awesome/ totally genius.”
“Anywhere I Lay My Head” by Tom Waits. Fuck you, Kanye West. Tom Waits is the voice of every generation. He cries so you don’t have to.
“Constructive Summer” by The Hold Steady. You know what? Our psalms are sing-along songs.
“The Slow Descent into Alcoholism” by The New Pornographers. That about sums it up.
“On the Road” by Tom Waits. For some reason, Tom Waits is the perfect compliment t0 dark beer.
“I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” by Wilco. I love Wilco. I was single for three years in college and Wilco was indispensable to me. Fortunately, I don’t need them for that now.
“Most People Are DJ’s” by The Hold Steady. What can I say? I’ve drank my way through a Chris Cornell album and I still feel pretty sweet. Thank you, Ninkasi Brewery. Thank you, Jacques. And thank you, Tom Waits and The Hold Fucking Steady.
That’s it. I’ve consumed 66 ounces of beer to get through Chris Cornell’s Scream album. It blows. I defy anyone to like this fucker. I posted, in part 2 of this review, a picture of Budweiser with Clamato, a photo that was not altered in any way. Why did I do that? Because, when I first saw Budweiser with Clamato, I wondered to myself, “What kind of asshole would buy this shit?” And now I know the answer: anyone who likes Chris Cornell’s Scream probably also likes their Budweiser with Clamato in it. Which means they are not to be trusted. Which means that, if you know anyone who likes one or both of these things, you should probably drive a stake throught their heart, just to be sure.