Today I continue a series of posts dedicated to the best albums of the last decade, posting analysis of one album at a time.
48. The Bloodhound Gang – Hooray For Boobies
Part of making a personal list of your favorite albums of an entire decade requires you to realize that you were younger and more juvenile once. And I suppose that’s all I can say to my 2010 friends, the ones that know me now in all my present music snob glory. That’s the only defense I have for putting this album on my list of my favorite albums of the 2000s. Those who have known me since grade school, however, would not be a bit surprised. They heard me blare it constantly long after the novelty wore off – they saw me slowly learn all the words to the whole damn thing. I imagine I could have put something more in the “critical darling” category in this spot, but I opted to put something I actually listened to incessantly, as opposed to a summer fling album (it was either this or Hybrid Theory, though I’m sure some of you wouldn’t have minded). I suppose this album represents the nostalgic part of this list – a time when life was simpler, making Mom mad with “parental advisory” stickers on CDs was a thrill, and I was easily amused by witty fart joke raps.
Released at the turn of the century, Bloodhound Gang’s third (but really second) album Hooray For Boobies continues the crew’s brand of now-cringe-worthy middle school humor delivered in generic rap-rock fashion. While it didn’t have the immediate hilarity or major success of 1996′s One Fierce Beer Coaster, the disc spawned the major novelty hit “The Bad Touch,” featuring the most memorable line of BHG’s career (“you and me baby, ain’t nothing but mammals….” you know it when you hear it). After a massive tour, they released the disappointing Hefty Fine in 2005 and made random appearances on the Bam Margera show. Haven’t heard from them since. Not surprised. When you make music like this, you’re bound to embody the epitome of your core fanbase (privileged, slacker, stoner, white kid, et al).
In my defense, the melodies are catchy and radio-ready – the guys were good at coming up with hooks, and Jimmy Pop’s rapping is clever and at times laugh-out-loud hilarious, the best it’s ever been. In “Three Point One Four,” witty remarks are delivered at rapid-fire pace, as are the dick jokes littered in the fellatio ode “Yummy Down On This.” The whole album features Pop’s ability to take a taboo subject and litter it with metaphors, puns, similes, and random musings; it makes the disc (or at least portions of it) worthy of multiple listens. Another appreciative aspect is the diverse use of electronic instrumentation (especially drum machines) and liberal, appealing sampling (Falco, Metallica, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and Homer Simpson are all heard in “Mope”). For such a dumb album, these guys sure spent a long time putting it all together.
At age 24, I’m not going to pretend that this album is awesome, or defend its musicality, or say it changed my life, or even make false claims that I listen to it today. I guess it’s just here to remind myself that I’ve come a long way from 8th grade. And that I used to enjoy life more. And I used to have a lot more fun. To everything there is a season….