Upon first glance at this album cover, I saw what any sane person would want from life: nude people, champagne, vinyl records, Deutschmarks, leopard skin towels, oversized jewelry, and tattoos! At that moment, I forgot whether I was in a music store or an art museum. This cover was obviously rendered by one of the old masters of the brush. Displace one nipple and there would be diminishment and chaos. Rarely has a piece of cardboard been so alluring. Yet the liner notes refused to submit to my beckoning, preferring to lay next to other inanimate objects on my desk. That circular prude!
After a brief moment to compose myself, I knew I could never open this album lest I ruin its Tao. So now it stands fung shuied in its purest form amongst a rock garden, a picture of Mount Fuji, and a bonsai tree. In order to do this review, though, I had to listen to the songs, so later that day I downloaded some songs off the album including “Liebesspieler,” “Wort zum Sonntag,” and the Euro-sensation “Hip Hop Bommi Bop.” They suck.
Anyways, back to the album cover: God, it is hot! I think everyone should buy porn in the form of expensive imported CDs. Honestly, who doesn’t think it’s sexy when his/her preferred mate is a spinning at 500 RPMs. I hope the hot chick tornado hits my town, yeah boii!
Archived article by Chris Kakovitch