Rascal Flatts’ Self Titled CD -Review

Yep.  I recently purchased a country album.  Why, you ask?  Easy, because my little darling Shawn Johnson said it was her favorite band.

That’s right.  Now this has less to do with me being creepy, and more to do w/ me always looking to expand my music tastes.  However if Shawn were ever to ask me to do something like pack our mouths full of marshmellows while we tried to drink a Coke, I assure you the two of us would be spewing carbonated beverage out of noses through fits of laughter in no time.  We would.  We’d have that much fun together.

But country.  Yeah, I like some of it.  I actually dig almost every genre of music.  The only real exception is house/trance music.  That shit is awful.  The first real exposure I had to it was a few months back when I went with this girl I was briefly dating out to this  warehouse/club to experience it live.

First of all the scene was totally ridiculous.  A few hundred nerdy 20-somethings all bobbing their heads to this dissonant phone-off-the-hook music.  Not even dancing, just pulsating or something with the beat.  It was just terrible.  Made even worse by my 30-something date who was ferverently pumping her ‘if you’d like to make a call’ fist along with the other pods.  Clearly we were a match made in another dimension.  It actually sort of cracked me up when she was like:

“Wait for it….wait for it…”

And I kept quiet thinking, “what for the music to start”.

And then she held out her hand in total anticipation.  “Hold on”

“I’m trying, but I’m so excited”.  (Internal dialogue).


Mmmps-mmmps-mmmps-mmmps-mmmps… (fucking etc. etc.)

Apparently the transition between “mmps-mmps-mmps and mmmps-mmmps-mmmps” was breathtaking.

Fucking garbage.

Anyways, the Rascal Flatts CD.  I have given it about fifteen good listens and here is my appraisal.

It’s not good.  I’m sorry Shawn, but I guess these are the sorts of things I have to come to expect when I fall in love with a teenager.

Now whooo’s my chubby bunny?


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