Twenty One Pilots, Clancy
Album Reivew by Alexander Cain in Music Review World, 6.12.24
I’ve never been able to take it seriously when someone tells me they’re a fan of Twenty One Pilots. I always think they’re joking. Not because Twenty One Pilots make horrid music (they do), but also because everyone knows they do. So you would need to be insane to admit to someone that you listen to this stuff, and more that you like it. You’ll be laughed out of the room by almost anyone who has a palette that reaches beyond a few radio stations.
Now, now. I’m not making fun of you for listening to this duo, but I am telling you that other people will. Sorry, kiddo. Don’t shoot the messenger, and don’t say I didn’t warn you of the consequences if you do start going around telling people that you thought this new album, Clancy, was in fact pretty decent, because it wasn’t. Anyone who knows anything will know that.
Not only will you face social crucifixion, I’m also sorry to report to you that I have in addition discovered that too much of any Twenty One Pilots music can have detrimental effects on your health. I’ve seen it firsthand in classmates and even one of my own friends. First goes your kidneys, and soon after your liver. By age 40 they’ll all need about half their organs replaced, and its because of albums like this one. So I recommend you skip it, because that transplant list is no office party, even if you’re filthy rich.
So if you have a lot of free time and you don’t care what you do with it, and you’re also willing to risk bodily harm, here’s what you can expect from this piece:
It opens with a low effort attempt at a dubstep buildup, but the generic trap beat isn’t compelling or attention grabbing, and the drop is not exciting, tapering off into a lamely assembled horn section that shows you how irritating this piece of music is going to be.
The instrumentals are so generic and repetitive that they serve the same essential purpose as water torture once you’re a few tracks in. Most of the album holds onto a industrial-wanna-be-emo-rap schtick which they can never pull off fully because they’re so goddamn goofy.
The only redeeming thing here is that the lyrics aren’t as infamously awful as other Twenty One Pilots projects, and this is because it’s the third and final record in a concept album trilogy set in some dystopian city I can’t recall the name of and don’t care to look through my notes for. But I’d rather all this geeky stuff compared to lyrics off albums like Blurryface.
Some of you may shake your head and tell me that it’s my job to go through all this sci-fi lyricism and break it down anyways because I’m a reviewer, and that’s my job. But to tell you the truth, all that stuff just doesn’t matter if you can’t get into the actual sound of the music itself. The “real” stuff like meaning and intent always make music better, but first it has to be listenable, which this album is not.
I don’t have a lot to say about this album because I don’t think there is much worth saying about it. It’s a bad album. They happen all the time, no reason to get too discouraged. You’ll like it if you like Twenty One Pilots, but if you don’t already, then this album will certainly not convince you otherwise.
Now, now. I’m not making fun of you for listening to this duo, but I am telling you that other people will. Sorry, kiddo. Don’t shoot the messenger, and don’t say I didn’t warn you of the consequences if you do start going around telling people that you thought this new album, Clancy, was in fact pretty decent, because it wasn’t. Anyone who knows anything will know that.
Not only will you face social crucifixion, I’m also sorry to report to you that I have in addition discovered that too much of any Twenty One Pilots music can have detrimental effects on your health. I’ve seen it firsthand in classmates and even one of my own friends. First goes your kidneys, and soon after your liver. By age 40 they’ll all need about half their organs replaced, and its because of albums like this one. So I recommend you skip it, because that transplant list is no office party, even if you’re filthy rich.
So if you have a lot of free time and you don’t care what you do with it, and you’re also willing to risk bodily harm, here’s what you can expect from this piece:
It opens with a low effort attempt at a dubstep buildup, but the generic trap beat isn’t compelling or attention grabbing, and the drop is not exciting, tapering off into a lamely assembled horn section that shows you how irritating this piece of music is going to be.
The instrumentals are so generic and repetitive that they serve the same essential purpose as water torture once you’re a few tracks in. Most of the album holds onto a industrial-wanna-be-emo-rap schtick which they can never pull off fully because they’re so goddamn goofy.
The only redeeming thing here is that the lyrics aren’t as infamously awful as other Twenty One Pilots projects, and this is because it’s the third and final record in a concept album trilogy set in some dystopian city I can’t recall the name of and don’t care to look through my notes for. But I’d rather all this geeky stuff compared to lyrics off albums like Blurryface.
Some of you may shake your head and tell me that it’s my job to go through all this sci-fi lyricism and break it down anyways because I’m a reviewer, and that’s my job. But to tell you the truth, all that stuff just doesn’t matter if you can’t get into the actual sound of the music itself. The “real” stuff like meaning and intent always make music better, but first it has to be listenable, which this album is not.
I don’t have a lot to say about this album because I don’t think there is much worth saying about it. It’s a bad album. They happen all the time, no reason to get too discouraged. You’ll like it if you like Twenty One Pilots, but if you don’t already, then this album will certainly not convince you otherwise.