Lou Reed & Metallica Album ‘Lulu’ Gets Blasted By Reviewers
Lou Reed & Metallica must have known their intentionally difficult new album ‘Lulu’ would elicit a wide range of critical response, but we’re guessing even these thick-skinned music legends might be a bit surprised by some of the venom that has been thrown their way via various album reviews from across the world.
As you can see from our ‘Lulu’ review, we don’t see things quite so harshly, and soon we’ll do a rundown of the positive assessments this album is getting, but first let’s take a look at some of the most scathing reviews of ‘Lulu.’ You can click on the publication name above each blurb to read their full reviews.
“Fail? Yes. Bad? Not always. This kind of failure is such a glorious, mythic, supernova failure that it’s worthwhile to hear it happen. After aging artist playtime is over, what’s left are a few slivers of good, boldly highlighted like a few flecks of gold in a bag of discarded colored dicks, used tampons, and dried semen. Oh, you weren’t ready for that just then? Too bad. Neither was I when I heard those lines spoken on ‘Lulu.’ Suit up.”
“Unfortunately, even on those moments where it seems like the project might take flight, they’re still merely less discomforting than the many, many disappointingly bad musical choices made here. Any hope gained from the two tracks mentioned above is quickly dissolved by ‘Frustration,’ which returns to the unfortunate combination of heavy metal and spoken word. To make matters worse, it features a mid-section with nothing but Reed and drum fills by Lars Ulrich, in something that dangerously resembles Spinal Tap’s ‘Jazz Odyssey.'”
“The longer this album drags on for, the wider and more glaring its many, many (many) faults become. At no point does the lumbering, stilted tones of Lou Reed’s vocal delivery ever feel in sync with Metallica’s boisterous backing band pretence. James Hetfield and his comical repertoire of “hey-yeah-hair!”s remain neutered throughout, at best offering up pitiful Lou Reed-imitations, and at worst being left to bellow guff like the already much-parodied “I AM THE TABLE!” line from ‘The View’. Lars Ulrich even achieves the near impossible of managing to make his stickwork seem lazier than ever before, despite the multitude of studio tools that almost certainly were used to improve them.”
“Imagine ‘Iron Man’ played backwards slowly while your molester uncle talks some weird s— about his ex, and you’ve got a good sense of just what the f— is going on here.”
“Rarely has one record induced such feelings of anger and utter revulsion. This isn’t the decadence of chopping a few lines out, getting the nipple clamps on and kissing boots of shiny leather but an exercise in the worst kind of self-indulgence. Lulu’s existence is offensive in the extreme. Not because of its sensibilities or mores – Lou’s beseeching in ‘Mistress Dread’ to”Tie me with a scarf and jewels / Put a bloody gag to my teeth / I beg you to degrade me / Is there waste that I could eat?”is more chortlesome than shocking – but because it wastes so much of life’s most precious commodity: time. We have but a short period on this earth and Lulu, spread over 95 – yes, 95! – tedious and excruciating minutes simply eats into time that could be more constructively spent watching the grass grow or perhaps wanking into a sock.”
(Imagining if Metallica’s management had stepped in to stop ‘Lulu’): “‘If you guys spend two months writing superfast Diamond Head songs about nuclear winter and shape-shifting, we can earn $752 million in 18 months, plus merchandizing. That’s option A. The alternative is that you can make a ponderous, quasi-ironic art record about ‘the lexicon of hate’ that will outrage the Village Voice and mildly impress Laurie Anderson. Your call.’ Ten minutes later, Bob Rock would be parking his Lexus at the studio.”
“Was there a point where any of those involved thought that what they were creating was not 100% acceptable? When Reed presented Metallica with lyric sheets replete with lines about gobbling down on “coloured man’s dicks” and “I’m a woman who likes men” did nobody think to say ‘Hey, Lou…cut it out.’ When a group like Metallica with years of expertise and a number of classic records to their name recorded little more than incomplete jams and jarringly repetitious riffs where were those involved with quality control? Why was Lars Ulrich allowed to run free with drum patterns that make AC/DC sound like Dream Theater?”
“The modern musical landscape does promise a few things, and thanks to projects like this, we can always expect some super famous and well-renowned groups making something so comically bad it makes the masses mock in unison. So thank you Metallica. Thank you Lou Reed. Oh, and f— you both.”
“‘Use a knife on me! Blood spurting from me!’ Reed croaks. And truly, croaking is among the kindest ways of describing the barely-discernible babbling mess of dark-ass lyrics and morbid verbal pictures that only fleetingly connect with the music in any way.”