The Top 30 Worst Songs of 2016:

Listomana gets started this year with the most fun list I compile each year: the worst songs I had the displeasure of hearing. This is the fifth time I have done the list, the fourth year in a row. A few superlatives: two former year-end "champions" are back with one getting the dubious distinction of topping the list for an unprecedented second time. For the first time ever, one musician has amassed four (4) entries in one year, thus becoming the artist with the most-ever overall entries since I started the list. Also, for the first time six (6) different artists have multiple entries. Four (4) of the artists here have the odd distinction of being on this list AND my top 100 best songs of 2016 list, which will be revealed later this month.

The song selected as the absolute worst this year was picked mainly for the lazy braggadocio and offence level in its every fibre. The runner-up defies logic and I'm puzzled how any music producer worth their grain could involve themselves in such a venture. But in this age of memes and Youtube view count relevancy, any shit literally goes. Here is the list:





1. Snapchat (Soulja Boy ft. Lil Yachty & Rich The Kid): not only the worst song of the year but the most offensive too. Nothing remotely funny about a line, “she sent me that pussy on Snapchat/ she bustin’ it open”, absolutely nothing.






2. Don’t Mind Me (Ice JJ Fish): vomit-inducing shit looped over and over for nearly four minutes.






3. Young Mommy (Snooki): thankfully, short trash.






4. Spoons (Macklemore & Ryan Lewis): still trying to figure out what genre to banish this mess to.






5. Queen’s Speech 5 (Lady Leshurr): not only ridiculous lyrically but the Nicki Minaj-like delivery on lines like, “your lips look like crispy bacon”, makes one cringe.






6. Supposed To Be (Ice JJ Fish): here without production as foil, comes this trashy attempt at actual R&B. Penny dreadful stuff.






7. Sweatshirt (Jacob Sartorius): this ridiculous emerging trend of young teens making music for commercial use in America needs to stop pronto.






8. Dance Off (Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Idris Elba & Anderson .Paak): but seriously, what the fuck is this?






9. Same Page (Ice JJ Fish): here with production as foil, comes this trashy attempt at actual R&B. Penny dreadful stuff.






10. Zillionaire (Flo Rida): this is for rappers dreaming of a career in grade one.






11. Hit Or Miss (Jacob Sartorius): singing about seeing through girls like Casper…sigh.






12. Where Are You Now? (Lady Leshurr feat. Wiley): not even one original bone running through this sorry excuse of a song.






13. Work From Home (Fifth Harmony): we’ve seen this bait so many times before. Yawn.






14. Over Here (Rae Sremmurd ft. Bobo Swae): displays an amazing lack of skill.






15. Who Be Lovin’ Me (Santigold feat. I Love Makonnen): speaking of lazy vocals, I Love Makonnen sounds like a stroke took him while putting down his contribution. By herself, Santigold gets the chill vibe right so a black mark for not omitting her turning an okay solo track into a duet.






16. What Time It Is (Ice JJ Fish): in a career that meanders from stunningly bad track to track, Ice JJ Fish at least has the thought to add production to his off-key horrible warbling. Still hopelessly bad but not the absolute worse of the year.






17. Me Too (Meghan Trainor): um, no Meghan, we don’t want to be you (whatever that is).






18. Closer (The Chainsmokers): another dud from last year’s champ.






19. White Privilege II (Macklemore &Ryan Lewis feat. Jamila Woods): pity this sucks because the idea was heartening.






20. No Money (Galantis): as bad as its unforgettable.






21. M.I.L.F.$ (Fergie): the definition of schizophrenic, shameless pop.






22. By Chance (Rae Sremmurd): lazily phoning things in.






23. Work (Rihanna feat. Drake): both Rih Rih and Drake have been pervasive in their obsession with Jamaica and here is what happens when that obsession becomes dark reality. From Rihanna’a lazy chorus to Drake’s insipidness, both miss out the heart of the culture they want to capture so desperately.






24. No (Meghan Trainor): tries so hard to project strength but fails.






25. Look Alive (Rae Sremmurd): if only the duo would only take the title of their own song’s advice.






26. Obama (Anohni): no President makes it out of office without a protest track so that within itself isn’t weird but while the human rights angles spins here, Anohni loses the plot every where else.






27. The Sound Of Silence (Disturbed): Paul Simon must cringe every time he hears this remake of his beloved song. I know I do.






28. The Life (Fifth Harmony): another shrinking violet.






29. Friends With Benefits (KSI): a song long in the making I’d imagine and sure enough the beat is pleasing enough but the culture-snatching lyric is the real offender.






30. Team (Iggy Azalea): with better lyrics, could have been tolerable.

Thieves In The Temple: An Appreciation of Prince and David Bowie...

I’m beginning to view my friend Emma Lewis as some sort of harbinger of entertainment doom. Back in January when I posted a review of David Bowie’s fantastic new album, Blackstar, on to my blog, I sent a copy to her on the fourth day of the year and six days later, I woke up early in the morning and read a very polite tweet she sent: a developing BBC report that Bowie was dead. Fast-forward to three months later, and I returned home after a supermarket run and there was another Emma tweet about Prince and his death. It took a while for the realization to hit but as I reached for the remote to turn on the TV, I sat down fearing the worst. Emma’s tweet had struck again!



The passing of both musicians dominated the news cycle over a twenty-four hour period, only punctured by the scant official information from their respective families and an even scanter burial process. In an era where everyone has a short attention span to any one news item for too long, it was touching to see stations like BBC and CNN break away from the new normal and stick with their coverage. But many younger music fans wondered why? Neither Bowie nor Prince were even on the pop charts at the time of their deaths even though neither had completely gone away from the realm of music. Here in Jamaica, the “Billboard generation” were in unison trying to figure out who the hell David Bowie was. Some even had no idea who Prince was until they heard “Purple Rain”. For some, not even that helped.



While Bowie’s influence as an artist may be harder for them to recognise immediately, it’s difficult to imagine why Prince was drawing so many blanks: he would occasionally be played on local radio or even at the soul music section of every dance/club right there with Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston. Personally, if I had I been a teenager in 1984, ‘Purple Rain’ fever would have no doubt engulfed me but all I remember of that year honestly was the Los Angeles Olympics and Merlene Ottey. It would take my high school years and Marlon James to bring Prince squarely in my music appreciation. Back then, James was writing brilliant music reviews for the Observer and Prince was mentioned in every single one of them. Bowie featured at times too. James would use both men to illustrate how daring an artist could be and how fearless, especially when bending the rules of pop music to serve their own purposes. But it wasn’t just their music that bonded fans to them, it was their unique style and fashion that transcended gender norms and challenged convention shamelessly and with very little restraint. Where Bowie applied gaudy mascara and dresses to confuse us with ambiguity, Prince put on pumps and writhed his hips as a call to arms and still got your girlfriend. Both were foraging into untapped version of pop music and culture, building glorious uncertainties along the way, both springing fully formed from the mount of the well Little Richard originated.



I came across a Popmatters article written by Joseph Vogel that explained how Prince was depicted as a sort of licentious rebel. He was deemed as the raw, self-taught genius from the streets of Minneapolis and sex and transgression. The same applies to Bowie but his aesthetic was unreservedly rebellious, queer even. He drew all the freakish fringe groups in society unto himself long before Madonna collected her underground gays and Lady Gaga had her little monsters. Bowie originated the school of thought that pop stars must continually change up their approach with every album, that they embrace technology and new music ideals. The 1970s saw him morphing from gender-identity questioning (Hunky Dory) to alien sexual life-force (The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust & The Spiders From Mars) to total music abolitionist (The Berlin trilogy). And, in America, it was Prince who took up this challenge long before it was fashionable to do so. Prince didn’t just bask in the task of shocking fans with lyrics but with performances too. Even before Purple Rain cemented his status of legend, albums like Dirty Mind (1980), Controversy (1981) and 1999 (1982) had ingrained in the American collective that some sexual yet undeniably beautiful monster was raring to get out of him.


Several leading music publications have since lauded Bowie as the most influential rock artist of all time and it’s pretty hard to disagree with them. If we say Bob Dylan is the greatest cultural solo artist in music history, no one can deny that but Dylan’s influence is so encompassing of American culture that he remains an unlikely figure-head for anyone in this generation to even want to replicate. Mark you, Dylan influenced Bowie but not musically, just in the sheer stubborn way geniuses develop music. Like Prince, Bowie was a genius one deemed friendly enough to copy or to openly gush about. You could imagine jamming at a concert with both or grabbing a pint—Dylan, not so much. A huge part of it is the willingness of these artists to realise their scope on pop culture and respond to it. Look no further than Bowie’s “Changes” and its open-ended meaning. Both men were able to operate within a chart-driven industry too yet not be slaves to Billboard numbers in the pursuit of their craft. Who can forget when Prince stopped using his name and sported a symbol on his face in protest over his contract? The money side of the industry didn’t interest him even though I’m sure he was proud of Purple Rain’s twenty-four consecutive weeks atop Billboard Albums chart, a feat that clearly won’t be duplicated.



Nor will their individual greatness ever been replicated but every time you listen to D’angelo, Miguel or even Frank Ocean, et al. you hear distinctly the influence of Prince. As for Bowie, every British artist from the last thirty years who has made it big in America owes him a debt. Yes, even your precious Adele (and she has acknowledged such). It not even just the young artists who are indebted but some even older. Prince gave Sinead O’Connor her break with “Nothing Compare To You”, Chaka Khan got “I Feel For You” and The Bangles got their first top 10 global hit when he rebooted “Manic Monday” for them. As I saw Stevie Wonder tear up on CNN with Anderson Cooper over Prince’s death and grappled with that---I mean, this was the iconic Stevie Wonder---I couldn’t help but feel the need to play “When Doves Cry” that night. I had done the same with Bowie’s “Young Americans”---both songs are perfect pop summations not only of the respective careers of both men but of the way they elevated music to an art-form. I haven’t stopped playing either since…

RIP Prince...

THERE'LL BE NO MORE COOL THIEF IN THE TEMPLE...

THE BEST OF NEW TV SHOWS 2015:

Top New Show:


AMERICAN CRIME: from Oscar winner, John Ridley, comes a gripping look at race relations in America, Each character has their own devils dealing with, irrespective of outward calm. Oh, and finally a show had the range and emotional connection to land the brilliant Regina King an Emmy. (ABC)



the rest (in no particular order):


UNBREAKABLE KIMMY SCHMIDT: looked away by a cult, Kimmie emerges into the modern world to hilarious results. (NETFLIX)


ANOTHER PERIOD: follows the lives of the Bellacourts, the first family of Newport, Rhode Island, at the turn of the 20th century with all the slapstick it can muster. (COMEDY CENTRAL)


GRACE AND FRANKIE: two women find themselves thrown in a tailspin when both their husbands come out as gay—and want to marry each other. As expected when Lily Tomlin is around, a lot of mayhem ensues. (NETFILX)


ASH VS THE EVIL DEAD: somehow from the ashes of 1980s cheese horror films, this return of Ash feels fresh and funny. (STARZ)


FRESH OFF THE BOAT: Eddie is a young Asian-American with a fetish for black hip/hop being grown up with two younger brothers and a mom as serious as a job. (ABC)


CRAZY EX-GIRLFRIEND: I usually hate anything parading as a musical but this is a clear winner. (CW)


BLUNT TALK: Patrick Stewart stars as a newscaster slowly losing it amid the hectic pace of his life. (STARZ)


CATASTROPHE: the British version of You’re The Worst, just way funnier and more raunchy. (CHANNEL 4)


THE GRINDER: when a beloved TV drama actor (Rob Lowe) leaves his show, he becomes a comedic burden to his poor younger brother (Fred Savage). (FOX)
Top New Show:

RIP DAVID BOWIE...

NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS HIS IMPACT ON POP MUSIC AND CULTURE...

★ (Blackstar) (David Bowie) (2016)

Star 69



When David Bowie emerged three years ago with a new album (The Next Day) after a decade of virtual radio silence it caught everyone by surprise. Quite a feat for the pop/rock visionary: his entire career has been based on daring shock value complimenting his brilliant musical output. But the choice of Where Are We Now as lead single suggested a calmer, tamed Bowie, an old fartsy image to go along with his advancing age. Personally, I feared he was turning more into Leonard Cohen and less like Tom Waits. Okay, that’s a bit unfair to all three men but this is the man who gave the world Ziggy Stardust and androgyny to the music industry as a tool of fabulousness, so irrespective of his age, the stakes are always high.



In my summation of that album, I noted it “brims with shocking ferocity while revisiting his heyday of the 1970s but not stealing from it.” And listening to it now, this still holds true. Bowie has always had a genius for matching lyricism appropriately with vocals, as evident on the entire DNA of If You Can See Me but for his trademark intensity, only You Feel So Lonely You Could Die truly matched what came before it.



No such restraint with Blackstar, as evident by the title track (also the lead single). Released in November, the track is a creepy reminder of the visionary Bowie is: it’s a three-tier track that starts out with a subtle jazzy texture and him mumbling over abstract lyrics before mutating into a darker, funkier chant, “I’m not a pop star/ I’m a black star…” repeated sublimely until the track peters out. In short, fantastic Bowie is back.



It’s the sore thumb standout but the remaining six tracks that complete the album are not filters by any means, instead they’re jazz/pop tracks that move with ease and groovy pace. Two are particularly phenomenal: Tis A Pity She Was A Whore is Bowie like we haven’t heard in ages, almost drunk-raving mad with a propulsive electronic beat juxtaposed to blissful horns. The frantic beats and his atonal vocal work shouldn’t go so well together but damn if it doesn’t shoot its own load successfully. What makes this so stunning is the fact that this is a superior reworking of a track he did two years ago that served as a B-side to another song included on Blackstar (Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)), almost as if he revisited them and realized the switch was needed. Besides, no one can spin a frantic piece of pop like Bowie—well ever since Prince lost his way—and wiggle out of it just as frantically as he went in. There’s also I Can’t Give Everything Away, where an ethereal groove plays the perfect foil to his, “seeing more and saying less” scowl. As the closing song, we can see how it fits into the new Bowie reality.



The other songs on the album all benefit from Donny McCaslin’s tremendous saxophone work and the jazz team he carried with him, both working in tandem to be the album’s other clear choices of MVP. It’s also great to hear Bowie experiment with drum ‘n bass and let on that Kendrick Lamar influenced the album. One can’t help think the ending chorus of the title track was indeed a play on the rising prominence of the rapper merging into a global superstar. Either way, there’s no bigger compliment for a musician to get sake for Bob Dylan saying the same thing.



In avoiding making another rock album—by producer Tony Visconti’s own admission—David Bowie has surreptitiously turned into a new type of star at 69, the type that eludes the folly of his peers because he’s not trying to sound cool, he just fucking is cool. And that’s by not committing the often-made mistake of ripping his former self off or fronting with whichever flavor of the month musician is around. No, Bowie has simply reinvented himself and trusted that we’re open to his ongoing evolution. This lack of cynicism or chart-awareness matches his entry in pop culture and it’s clearly how our lovable Ziggy intends to ride out in the end.

RATING: 8/10

The Top 30 ALBUMS of 2015: Part Three (#1--10)...

A new year-end champ is crowned!







1.D’angelo Black Messiah: almost overnight, fifteen years of radio silence ended and the remarkable career of D’angelo resumed in the strongest way possible. We know he’s a perfectionist and its clear Black Messiah was worth the wait: you hear it in the sweetly-timed production one every song. The refrain in D’angelo’s voice isn’t praised enough but here it guides everything, like water gently cascading through a stream. He’s political too: The Charade keeps racial profiling in check with huge swathes of groove while Back To The Future takes prying eyes off his physique with nifty lyrics.







2. Kendrick Lamar To Pimp A Butterfly: modern-day masterpieces by Badu, D’angelo and Outkast come readily to mind when one imagines the playlist Kendrick must have been listening to when planning this album. It is a co-dependent relationship acknowledged, one he expertly masters time and time again on To Pimp A Butterfly, never skipping the truism emanating from the state of America’s constantly charged stance to the black male.







3. U.S. Girls Half-Free: as the second track of Meghan Remy’s remarkable album begins, a woozy reggae beats bleats out and when she utters the first line, Grace Jones pops out of her mouth. It’s a magical effect, one that Half-Free utilizes repeatedly, not caring if you’ve won over or not. In fact, Remy’s so confident of her goods that immediately she sneaks in the greatest interlude I’ve heard this decade, It’s a telephone conversation where she confesses that she was “hot stuff” as a little kid and sardonically ruing that she’s just another woman with low self-esteem. Low self-esteem dominates the rest of the album as the women in Remy’s tales get to work, settling into their bad choices and living silently with their lives.







4. John Grant Grey Tickles, Black Pressure: sometimes an artist has to undergo self-realization before the need to record becomes clear. Former Czars singer, John Grant has faced quite a lot the past few years and it shows on this stunning new album, one that Beck would kill for, with its deep-base pop and funk. Grant said he wanted to record an album in response to all the times someone called him a faggot. That makes Grey Tickles, Black Pressure his it-gets-better stand and a great one too.







5. Joanna Newsom Divers: five years ago, on the chorus (which she sang only once in the song) of Good Intentions Paving Company, I dawned on me that Newsom would have to bridge the gulf between her and adult contemporary fans put off by her fabulous lyricism. And here is Divers, that obvious compromise that sounds accessible yet still totally a Newsom project, one where only she could pull off. There’s no animal tale here or history legend sake for the absorbing Sapokanikan and yet Newsom reels us in, leaving us breathless from her steady, peerless craft.







6. Susanne Sundfor Ten Love Songs: while the music-buying public buys the new Adele record and swears she’s soul incarnate, critics are still in awe of Sundfor’s latest because its better, simpler and more soulful than 25 by a mile. This is the type of Nordic pop that has been topping year-end lists ever since we caught sight of Robyn. The opening arc here—all the way to the majestic Fade Away—is so awe-inspiring, so full of pure vocal magnificent that you’ll find yourself putting them on loop for days.








7. Julia Holter Have You In My Wilderness: Domino Records is virtually maintaining its own fabulous collection of freak/folk artists and now Julia Holter has finally put out the album that feels right at home. Right from the whimsical opening two tracks, the album draws you into its universe of sparse beats and her wild imagination. Joanna Newsom better watch out: there’s a new baroque pop deity rising.







8. Miguel Wildheart: at the same time when The Weeknd went mainstream only to lose his unique soul identity, Miguel fully realized his. Wildheart is a slinky collection of grooves that jangle with pop, hip/hop and alternative. And he doesn’t shy away from the corn-dog sex this new school tend to focus on but, here at last, he’s mastered it.







9. Grimes Art Angels: it’s hard to realize that Claire Boucher has been away for three years but her absence did make our hearts grow fonder for her insanely-catchy electronic music. With every release, Grimes has been embracing pop and Art Angels is no different, even if it’s a sort of night-life, DIY jigsaw model that no one else does better.







10. Siskiyou Nervous: never heard of this Canadian band before, then join the club but it’s no surprise why it’s on the long list for the Polaris prize. Lead singer, Colin Huebert. Has a tremulous voice and his band quietly plays up, molding their sound to get in sync. Nervous is an apt title because the tension throughout the record feels in grating, personal yet deliciously so.