Over nearly 30 years of writing reviews for this site, I think the staff has come to know me as the writer’s version of Super Dave Osborne. You know—the one who will tackle the worst of the worst, just so they don’t have to fall on those audio grenades (or perhaps because I’m too stupid to say “no”).

Having Fun With Elvis On Stage? Sure, I’ll tackle it. Allman And Woman? I’m on it. Unfinished Music #1: Two Virgins? I’ll give it a spin. I’ve listened to ’em all, even occasionally finding something worthwhile in what was otherwise a pile of shit, and I’ve survived them all.

And then… there is Philosophy Of The World, the only release from The Shaggs, a record that some have called the worst thing ever to be recorded. Yet, over the years, it’s found favor with such musicians as Frank Zappa and Bonnie Raitt… so it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

No. It’s worse. Rounder Records… what the fuck were you people thinking when you agreed to re-release this? (For the record, no pun intended: No, I did not spend money on this one. Let’s just say I “inherited” it from a bunch of records that a radio station was getting rid of. That should have been my first warning sign.)

Picture this: three sisters, all of whom are barely functional on their instruments of “choice.” (Their willingness to be part of this has been called into serious question over the years.) On one side, you have Dot and Betty Wiggin on guitars that are severely out of tune… making you think that one of the first lessons they’d have learned would have been how to properly tune the fuckin’ things. On the other, sister Helen Wiggin on drums, playing as if she’s listening to an entirely different song, the beat is so out in left field.

And the vocals… dear Christ, the vocals. Sounding like a cross between The Simpsons’s Mayor Quimby and Elmer Fudd, the lyrics follow absolutely no rhythmic pattern. Or stylistic, for that matter; they’re so rambling that they border on incoherency. At least the vocals are somewhat in tune… unlike their guitars. (I’m sorry, that’s a sticking point for me as a guitarist.)

Allegedly, the engineers of this one-day session were rolling on the studio floor in hysterics at these 12 poor attempts at music. Me? I wouldn’t have been laughing; I’d be too busy trying not to lose my lunch all over the console (and, the deeper I’m getting into this album, I’d probably have failed).

I mean, I want to find something unique to talk about in these tracks. But, for the most part, songs like “My Pal Foot Foot,” “Things I Wonder,” “Who Are Parents?” and “My Companion” all merge together like some poisonous primordial muck. The vocals are all akin to nails on a chalkboard, the guitars refuse to stay in time, much less in tune… and Helen Wiggin seems perfectly happy just chugging away on the drums, as if she’s already playing the next song (and, undoubtedly, probably was).

Look, I understand that all musicians need a place to start out, and you’re not going to be Robert Fripp, Neil Peart or Andrea Bocelli the first time you go out there and test the waters. I’ve heard enough performers at Open Mic events I’ve frequented and played at over the years to know this; the thing is, with most of them, I’ve heard their skills improve over the course of a few months. If The Shaggs were one of those bands performing at an event I was attending, I truly believe they’d sound just as bad, even years down the road.

As for the musicians who found joy in Philosophy Of The World? I’m not gonna slam them for their opinions; if anything, the nicest thing I can say about this disc is that you can hear the germination of the sound that bands like Sonic Youth would champion (though they could actually play their instruments). Unfortunately, that’s about the nicest thing I can say about this album, other than it’s only about 30 minutes in length. Thank Christ it wasn’t an hour long.

The Shaggs somehow never got around to releasing a second album… which is proof positive to me that God does exist. Philosophy Of The World easily lives up to its ranking as one of the worst albums ever released. I’d give it a lower rating than an “F” if we offered it on this site, it’s that deserving. I would rather listen to Two Virgins and William Hung on infinite loop than listen to this album one more fucking time. It’s that bad. Avoid this turkey. You’ve been warned.

And remember, kids: “Super Dave” listened to it so you don’t ever have to.

Rating: F

User Rating: Not Yet Rated

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