Wit My Woes, the first album by Toronto hip-hop/comedy collective Runnin' at the Mouth, starts off promising enough, with a moving account by a member of the collective touching on the importance of comedy in his life.
After about a minute, a jarring, badly mixed piece of music cuts into the track (cue frantically searching all your open tabs for the source, before realizing it's coming from the track itself). Thus begins the format for the rest of the album, a combination music-comedy album. It's a great idea in principle; in execution, it's terrible.
Sex and vulgarity are the overarching themes of this record. Explicit humour can be great, but this is of a calibre more suited to a seventh grade classroom. If that isn't bad enough, the entire album reeks of rampant misogyny. Here's a winner: "I fucked a bitch, her pussy so good I don't even call her bitch no more, I refer to her as ma'am."
When track four begin and I heard the first piece of music sung by a woman, things seemed to be looking up, but I thought wrong. The only role for a woman on this album is that of an ex-girlfriend who's painted as "psycho" for being angry that her partner's an asshole. I kept waiting for the ironic twist, for there to suddenly be an "a-ha" moment; around "Titties on my Shoulders," I gave up hope.
Wit My Woes lacks wit, and leans too heavily on vulgarities strung together in an effort to procure cheap laughs. What begins with potential quickly declines into a mess of adolescent humour; the closest it comes to being comedy is that it's utterly and, yes, laughably bad.
After about a minute, a jarring, badly mixed piece of music cuts into the track (cue frantically searching all your open tabs for the source, before realizing it's coming from the track itself). Thus begins the format for the rest of the album, a combination music-comedy album. It's a great idea in principle; in execution, it's terrible.
Sex and vulgarity are the overarching themes of this record. Explicit humour can be great, but this is of a calibre more suited to a seventh grade classroom. If that isn't bad enough, the entire album reeks of rampant misogyny. Here's a winner: "I fucked a bitch, her pussy so good I don't even call her bitch no more, I refer to her as ma'am."
When track four begin and I heard the first piece of music sung by a woman, things seemed to be looking up, but I thought wrong. The only role for a woman on this album is that of an ex-girlfriend who's painted as "psycho" for being angry that her partner's an asshole. I kept waiting for the ironic twist, for there to suddenly be an "a-ha" moment; around "Titties on my Shoulders," I gave up hope.
Wit My Woes lacks wit, and leans too heavily on vulgarities strung together in an effort to procure cheap laughs. What begins with potential quickly declines into a mess of adolescent humour; the closest it comes to being comedy is that it's utterly and, yes, laughably bad.
