and bleeding cheese. I am in the car on the way back from Weems listening to Blake Lewis’ debut album and weeping softly on the inside.
It’s not just bad. It’s atrocious. It’s like caramel popcorn dipped in glitter. The purple and pink album cover should have tipped me off. But after Blake’s promising originality on American Idol, I thought, maybe, just maybe, he had some talent worth supporting.
Turns out, not so much. The album’s a sticky, synth-pop, overproduced 80’s B-movie soundtrack that got run over by a gaggle of teenage girls and then remixed by an old school Casio keyboard stuck in bossa nova on crack.
And that’s me being generous.
p.s. We just drove past Don’s Turkey Shoot. I love this route.