Sometimes reading a bad review can be just as enjoyable as reading a good one.

Here's a nice, less-than-positive review of James Morrison's "Songs For You, Truths For Me" that I found quite funny. (from The Guardian, Friday 3 October 2008 )

James Morrison is incontinent with sincerity. In case the title of his second album weren't earnest enough, just check out the cover picture of him fretting soulfully on the curb, and, if you must, explore the music inside. Despite looking as if he has been cloned from cell scrapings taken from Chris Martin and James Blunt, Morrison has neither the former's quivering anxiety nor the latter's creepy streak, thus attaining a level of blandness that is almost zen. Almost every song here is about a woman who has wronged him, a woman he has wronged, or little children, who can do no wrong. "You see life is a crazy thing," he explains on Please Don't Stop the Rain. "There'll be good times and there'll be bad times." Indeed. And despite Morrison's Rod Stewart-esque rasp, this overproduced blue-eyed soul, co-written with a small army of MOR hitmakers, is dead from the waist down. The result: airplay for him, boredom for you.

Any other good ones?

Ryan Schreiber's amazingly wrong-headed review of Coltrane's Live at the Village Vanguard from the early Pitchfork days must be read to be believed:

http://addictivethoughts.com/2009/04/14/for-posteritys-sake-the-infamous-ryan-sjohn-coltrane-pitchfork-review/

I believe it's been removed entirely from the site, and I don't blame 'em...that's a true trainwreck.


And yes, it's not really a negative review, nor is it "good" in any way. But it's undoubtedly entertaining.

As far as memorable negative reviews, there's Charles Shaar Murray's one-word review of Lee Hazlewood's Poet, Fool, or Bum: "Bum."

http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/9464-shine-on/

Rick Johnson in Creem, 1977, on The Runaways' "Queens Of Noise," begins with:
"These bitches suck."
... and goes on with a few more choice words, some of which can be seen here:

http://books.google.com/books?id=8-NGokpBxFcC&pg=PA24&lpg=PA24&dq=runaways+these+bitches+suck&source=bl&ots=QZuxKjSmYK&sig=Xd2-OtSr_IUB5f54nQGW2p5q4fY&hl=en&ei=1Q_7StLwG4aMnQen9oH0DA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CAgQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=runaways%20these%20bitches%20suck&f=false

"shit sandwich."

Not a music review, but worth noting: from legendary author and film critic James Agee, the complete review of a 1948 musical titled YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME - "That's what you think."

Did a quick search and couldn't find it anywhere online, but the negative review a Maxim writer gave after hearing just one song of the Black Crowe's "Warpaint" has to be a classic just because of the circumstances.

I know it sorta takes the fun out of a joke if it needs explaining, but anyway:

In Danish, the verb "to review" also covers the meaning "to report". And I've heard of reviewers writing: "Me review/report this? To the Police, perhaps!"

That's the same in Norwegian. A review is called an "anmeldelse", which is the same as when you report to the police.

Nettavisen actually filled out a real police report ("anmeldelse") when Åge "Glam" Sten Nilsen released his latest album. Glam was singer in Norwegian glam rock band Wig Wam, most famous for being in the Eurovision Song Contest. Nettavisen claimed the album was the year's worst album, even though it was released in February.

In the police report, they accused him of spreading horror around the country, and they issued the album Glamunition as proof.

http://pub.tv2.no/nettavisen/side2/musikk/anmeldelser/article2534551.ece

I remember reading a review in Q magazine of a nickelback album which describes them as being "as thrilling as a freezer cabinet".

Robert Christgau reviewing Emmylou Harris - Pieces of the Sky (1974):

"Abetted by Brian Ahern, who would have been wise to add some Anne Murray schlock, Harris shows off a pristine earnestness that has nothing to do with what is most likable about country music and everything to do with what is most suspect in 'folk.' Presumably, Gram Parsons was tough enough to discourage this tendency or play against it, but as a solo mannerism it doesn't even ensure clear enunciation: I swear the chorus of the best song here sounds like it begins: 'I will rub my asshole/In the bosom of Abraham.' C+"