Customer Reviews

Philosophy of the World

5 star:		(63)
4 star:		(15)
3 star:		(20)
2 star:		(6)
1 star:		(33)

 

 

You either "get" this record, or you don't. The naysayers complain that people only like it because it's hip to do so - and there are undoubtedly some people who are guilty of that charge - but I think the naysayers are mostly just missing the point.

No one's denying that this is a terrible album, at least from the customary perspective of music appreciation and criticism. Technically speaking, these are probably the worst musical performances I've ever heard. But you have to look beneath the surface to truly appreciate the Shaggs - an effort which usually isn't made by the typical music listener. There are a number of things to love about this album.

First of all, it's just *fun*, in a delirious and incoherent sort of way. With only the barest rudiments of musicianship (actually, that's being generous), the Wiggin sisters effortlessly created a Dada masterpiece. Granted, it was entirely accidental, but what could be more Dada than that?

But the deeper importance of this record doesn't lie with the notes that are played, but rather what's *between* the notes, at the meta-level. Forget the out-of-tune guitars, the drunkenly meandering tempo, and the nonsensical lyrics. Listen to the naïve, adolescent earnestness, unrestrained by self-doubt or the straightjacket of musical convention. The Shaggs were inept, but they didn't know or care. And it's that unpretentious honesty - so rare in pop music - that makes this music meaningful.

Many others here have compared this recording to a child's crayon drawings, and that's very apt: you don't appreciate such artwork for its technical accomplishment, but for its honesty, for the *human* element - you simply appreciate the creative act in and of itself.

Ironically, given the trio's utter lack of musical ability, this album is most likely to be appreciated by musicians. Why? Because it reminds us of the true purpose of music. You can fixate on critical comparison and technical analysis until you're blue in the face, but at the end of the day, music means NOTHING without the creative experience, and the simple joy of sharing the musical experience (as musician *or* listener) with other people. That's a valuable lesson in today's world of self-consciously stylized, hyper-premeditated music.

"Philosophy Of The World" definitely isn't an album you'll need to listen to every day, but it'll give you a new way to look at music nonetheless.

Almost all modern music leaves the listener with absolutely no feelings whatsoever. Not so of The Shaggs. You do not so much listen to them as endure their total assault upon the concepts of melody, harmony, rhythm, and logic. Your first play-through will be a cathartic experience of sorts - disbelief turns into incredulity, incredulity mutates into speechlessness, speechlessness transforms into a deeply-rooted hatred of the life force within you, and before you know it your lower intestine is snaking up through your neck trying to strangle you. This is the music your dogs would make if they could strum guitars and speak English. And this is the beauty of The Shaggs - they are so mind-bendingly, death-defyingly horrible in every conceivable way that they grab your viscera, shove them through a turbocharged garbage disposal, and put them back inside of you in random order. Buy this CD (or rather inflict it upon yourself) and marvel at the amazing variations found within the human species. Besides, you have probably done something unspeakably evil in your life - this will be your punishment. You DESERVE this.

The consensus seems to be that the music of the Shaggs is one of the great modern paradoxes: It is juvenile, awful, inept, and unlistenable while being creative, beautiful, sophisticated, and progressive.

The truth is that the Shaggs were likely nothing more than overly indulged girls, whose father believed them to have far more talent than they really did. If the other possibility is correct, and they WERE geniuses, then surely they would still be producing music, and we never would have heard of Laurie Anderson.

Still, there is something so compelling about the album. Hearing these girls attempt to play their individual instruments is mesmerizing. They are actually the proof to the old idea that putting a million monkeys at a million typewriters for a million years will eventually produce "Henry V". If you were to put three other musical novices in a room together and ask them to play their instruments, you'd get nothing more than bad noise. The Shaggs, however, managed to hit that magic point where their racket actually combined to create a unique and haunting sound.

However, in my opinion, the real triumph of the Shaggs is that even though they will forever remain an asterix in history, their music will have been more influential than anything put out by the Satan-spawned Mariah Carey, Backstreet Boyz, Celine Dion and countless other artistically retarded, vapid, musical opiates.

When I started reading the reviews for this CD (first led to The Shaggs by an article in the September 27th issue of the New Yorker. Read it; very interesting) I was struck by the number of times the word 'genius' appeared in the reviews. After having checked out this music, I think it is safe to say that The Shaggs and genius are two mutually exclusive ideas. Whereas groups like The Velvet Underground and The Mothers of Invention employed disharmony, atonality, and primitivism in the name of musical experimentation, The Shaggs employ these ideas out of necessity; they are musically illiterate in the most profound way. The singing is appalling, the guitar work execrable, and the drumming laughable. Truly, truly rudimentary musicmaking.

Yet...the stuff is strangely beguiling. As much as this is a CD to be endured as opposed to enjoyed, there are moments when these three musical hominoids actually manage to make some sort of sense, when the din of their music suddenly and surprisingly, for a few seconds, gives way to a strangely beautiful form of musical expression. Whether these moments are intentional or unintentional is debatable, and, probably, in the end, wholly unimportant. What is important is that these little epiphanies are there.

If the Shaggs had simply made an awful, talentless album, no one would care. A few novelty collectors and snotty uber-hipsters would cling to it out of reflex, but that would be about it. Things happen for a reason, and the reason people are so interested in the Shaggs is because they made a great album. Not great, as some reviewers believe, because it is so awful -- rather, this album is great in spite of the fact that it is awful. It is as if the vitality of music was removed from all the elements with which it is normally associated (able accompianment, understandable rhythms...), and placed in what would seem to be a musical disaster. It is no wonder that musicians can readily recognize this strange juxtaposition of talentless yet powerful music.

It is understandable if you do not like the Shaggs. They are not as easy to listen to as Britney Spears or your favorite corporate punk group. But unlike pop's sickeningly calculated perfection, the Shaggs unpolished expression of self is beautiful and real. And I am glad that I had a chance to hear it.

"You can never please anybody in this world."
--The Shaggs, Philosophy of the World

God save the Shaggs.

Like the Ed Wood film "Plan Nine From Outer Space," (or even the John Waters movie "Pink Flamingos") The Shaggs' "Philosophy of the World" really defies any attempt to give it a 1-5 star rating. It is just too indescribable.

What are the proper adjectives to even attempt to describe this record? Unlistenalbe. Fascinating. Horrible. Intriguing. Atrocious. Captivating. Yes, all of these work very well. One listen to the song "My Pal Foot Foot" will no doubt send you clamoring for the stop button on your CD player. A second listen will have you hunting for a hammer to smash the CD into as many pieces as you can. A third listen will have you strangely desiring a fourth listen, and that fourth listen will have you fascinated as to how you have managed to make it this far. I can assure you. There is nothing like this CD in your collection and, God willing, there will NEVER be anything like it in your collection ever again.

For more information see the fascinating article on The Shaggs in the 9/27/99 issue of The New Yorker magazine.

I won't judge anyone who thinks it's great or try to infer his or her reasons.
I bought it after reading Chusid's book. It is like the proverbial car accident.....
you can't look and yet you can't look away. I was transfixed by a sound unlike any other in the Universe. It truly is Unique and I listened to the whole thing, unbelieving yet unable to turn it off.

And I never listened to it again.

I first bought this album on vinyl in 1980 and fell in love with The Shaggs. While they're not actually better than The Beatles, they were brilliant in their own quirky way. Yes, the drummer seems to be playing a different song from the rest of the band most of the time, and the melodies mostly just climb up and down the scales, but strangely enough it works. The Philosophy of the World is hilarious. And as I've been saying for 25 years, if you don't like The Shaggs, you're square.

I had heard some things about the Shaggs and wanted to see what it was all about and was very surprised. Most people don't like this album, not because they completely buy into britney spears or mainstream pop, it really has nothing to do with that, the reason is that most people don't catch on to the emotions conveyed in the music. This music is more of a primal, earthy chant, like a Hindu sutra (if that isn't going too far to compare the two), than any kind of "American" music. If a baby was raised by robots in the jungle with no human contact whatsoever, this is the language it would speak. Living in a world of their own conjectures and concepts in isolation, these girls have, in a way, surfaced this strange language.

A few years ago, there was a Mexican restaurant here in Phoenix called the Hatch Valley Chili Company. As the name implied, they used really hot Hatch chilis in their cooking.

When you went to this restaurant, you were served a bucket of chips with salsa, and a bean dip that could best be described as painful, it was so hot. However, it was also DELICIOUS. The effect was almost narcotic. You'd take a bite and SWEAR that you'd never do it again, and in three seconds you were grabbing another chip and diving back in for more delicious pain.

The Shaggs are Hatch chili bean dip.

You want to turn it off. You know it doesn't work, you know your ears hurt, you know your sides hurt from laughing, but...hey, play another cut! Just one more! All right, I can't stand it anymore. Just one more.

What's really amazing is that the girls, without really knowing what they're doing, actually try some interesting things, such as playing the notes they're singing. This is hard enough for most guitar players--that Betty Wiggin (or whichever Wiggin was the guitar player) even tries it, is positively fascinating. Horrible, but fascinating.

Their lyrics are inane, but hey, when has that ever stopped anybody? Goo goo ga joob, know what I mean?

Order up a heapin' helping of the Shaggs and dive right in.