Do (sh)It YourselfShania Twain half-hammered down my front door last night, stinking of brandy and slurring like a cheap pianist. In-between the potty-mouthed cuss talk and the kind of sexual filth you'd expect only of a navvy, she managed to stutter something about this year's top-selling Father's Day gift being DIY Songs. "Nonsense" I replied, being a contrary bastard, but the harlot was right.
Music Mongols at Dante's Handcart would like to heap a lavish dollop of sage-scented praise onto the label responsible for this monstrous belch of shite, EMI Virgin, and establish a candle-lit vigil in anxious anticipation of what barrel-dredging wank they conjure next. If we were cynical sorts then we might suggest Rock Music: Music to Rock Back & Forth like a Romanian Orphan To, Mopping the Floor Tunes and, my personal stiffie-starter, Number Ones for Number Twos, a collection of the best hits to accompany the squeezing out of a great, marshmallowy turd.
Buy it for your Dad, I'm sure he'll love it. Or, alternatively, give him what he really wants - a coffee enema and a copy of Razzle.