Revelation [Import]

Peter Andre | Format: Audio CD

Product Details

• Audio CD (September 25, 2009)
• Number of Discs: 1
• Format: Import
• Label: 101 DISTRIBUTION
• ASIN: B002GZRG8G
• Average Customer Review: 1.0 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (1 customer review)
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #387,262 in Music (See Top 100 in Music)

Track Listings

1. Behind Closed Doors

2. Distance

3. Ready For Us

4. The Way You Move (Up In Here)

5. Call The Doctor

6. Go Back

7. Sliding Doors

8. Outta Control

9. XOXO

10. Replay

11. Unconditional

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

3 of 12 people found the following review helpful:

1.0 out of 5 stars The Boy In The Padded Cell, September 25, 2009

By 

Paul Ess. (Holywell, N.Wales,UK.) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Revelation (Audio CD)

No sane person living in the real world can be the slightest bit surprised that Peter Andre's new album is a mess. As someone who shamefully uses his private life to both beef up his standing and publicize his 'product,' Andre's failure as both artist and basic human being is to be expected.
It just isn't enough to say that his new album - 'Revelation' (!!??) - is fireless, woeful and glum, and that Andre is blatantly exploiting the fact that his marriage failed (something that most people with an ounce of self-respect would be eager to keep quiet) to shift his 'product'....nowhere close.

The public-at-large have a worryingly pathological interest in his much publicized but totally uninteresting personal life; something akin to motorists rubber-necking road-kill, and even if 'Revelation' was the greatest work of art the modern world has ever experienced, it would still stink; hamstrung by thoughts of his children, unhappily blinking under the glare of his gross, opportunistic, self-promoting self-obsessiveness.
Ridicule could be deservedly heaped upon him: how his nights must be so lonely now he doesn't have monstrous personality Katie tickling his tummy.
The split seems to have taken on its own omnipotence: tabloid pages splashed with every intimate detail of the dullest couple in history's war with one other. From the high-brow glossies to the muckiest tabloid; headline BBC News to the lowliest regional report - the Knocked and the Knockers are everywhere you look.

So what we need is a stalwart Andre stepping bravely forward with an album of desire, resilience and thunder, a defiant middle-finger raised to critics lying in wait with thirsty razors...
I would've been perversely delighted to report such a mighty event, but Andre simply hasn't got the ability. He's 36 and only now going 'rock'...an appalling decision. Rock for the LOL, LMAO brigade, not real rock, not the rock danger of Strummer or Curtis, not the thoughtful, emotional rock of Dylan or Hunter, not even rock burlesque or pastiche. Andre knows as much about rock as he does about keeping ugly drunken doxies on a tight leash. As each song falls over itself not only to be murderously worse than the one preceding it, but also to fire yet another bullet into the foolish, naïve notion that he is anything other than a talent-less, serial pretender.
Peter Andre is secure in the knowledge that he won't be remembered for anything other than reality tv, and a bloodbath of a marriage to the most horrific of women.

Not one song on 'Revelation' is good.
As far as the music goes, it's typical Andre - un-ambitious and rubbish, and if you gave a pig a pen it'd come up with better lyrics. The only positive thing you can say is: the fact that this squashed, immature, squeaky creature can release any sort of music album at all, makes me weep for modern culture, and that, at least, is some kind of emotional response.
That such a desperate, publicity-dependant shambles can hawk his egotistical scrap around chat-shows and pop-festivals in the belief (and that's the thing: he really does think his efforts have merit!) that he's produced something other than an insulting, farcical mess is, predictably - yet subtly, reassuringly - galling.
He sees 'Revelation' as a sleek, smooth Mercedes but in reality it's just a big bag of bolts. His veiled missives at the pitiful Price are something an emotionally confined adolescent would come up with. He appears a maudlin boy-monster, nurtured by a fat, sycophantic publicity machine - demonstratively, the Frankenstein creation of a grabbing, throwaway culture.

There's a lesson here somewhere. Something along the lines of: we get what we deserve, but I would question whether even his 'fans' - swaying, day-dreaming, needful voids to a person - deserve this level of unprincipled pretence.
Thankfully, sudden, noisy blankness is not 'Revelation,' but it does sound very much like the beginning of the end....