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more from this author I didn’t even know Janet Jackson had a new album coming out. After 2004’s Damita Jo which sounded like late night Skinamax put to verse, I decided Janet Jackson need to go away forever. Sadly, as hard as I try to make her burst into flames just by thinking really, really hard about it, I haven’t mastered that ability just yet. But someone told me to give Discipline a chance. Not because it was a good album, but because it was a repulsive mess of sexual hilarity, as if Rihanna was out of touch with reality and went to an S&M club. While this wasn’t a great case for Janet Jackson’s album, I decided to give it a spin. You know how when a friend goes "Ugh, taste/smell this, it’s awful!" you don’t go, "No, that’s stupid," you immediately sample it. Yeah, this was just like that. So instead of a standard review, I decided to do a live blogging of my first listen of Janet Jackson’s discipline, because all of the cool kids are blogging nowadays.  Opening the album: Right off the bat this album is gross. Janet Jackson picked an extremely unflattering album cover where she’s wearing this weird mess of bungee wires and dominatrix-wear. Her hair is also gelled down against her head like a helmet and she’s covered in some kind of thick goo. I’m going to assume it’s either alien slime or the album cover was shot in Japan. Going with Japan because she’s got huge anime eyes. Also her nose is sculpted and she looks way too much like her brother did about six years ago. Great, now I have to listen to a sex album while thinking about Michael Jackson. I’ll bypass all the obvious jokes and just say I feel sick. Page 1 of 4  [1] [2] [3] [4] |
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