Dog In The Sand

I should have put Howl in the car 2 days running, I apologise if anyone gets this delivered by RSS to a work email, or you object to any of the following words, Shite, Filled, A and R, Bypassing, Pile, Of, Bollocks.
That all said todays car journey CD was the Frank Black album Dog In The Sand. Without being too rude it is best described as a shite filled A and R bypassing pile of bollocks. It appeared to put an extra hundred miles on my journey, seemingly a hundred miles that were cold grey and lifeless, I appeared to be stuck tearfully in a gridlock of emotions that were neither joyful or content. This album is a stinker, its lazy, cliche driven, middle of the road whilst dressing as a hip young gunslinger, this is I Just Called To Say I Love You, this a moustache on the Mona Lisa. I did not like at all.
Even ruling out Black's career with the Pixies and arguably his first couple of solo efforts, this is an unforgivable album, he has popped his career on cruise control and he is reading his stars, (Aries, you will find an overwhelming urge to release dull rock that only loyal followers will buy and like as they hope one day you will write something close to your early career output, oh and a dark haired man will talk washing machines with you), he needs to pay attention to his career and put down the metaphorical newspaper. This is a bad album, a really really bad album. No song was memorable, no song was enjoyable, 0 out of 10. it would be less than zero but then we get into that stupid X factor one million percent nonsense. No video as well, as that would imply there was something good about this.