Or: Ten Inexplicable Space-Takers on My Record Shelves. Most of the time, I’m not sure how they even got there. Yet these overlooked discs continue to occupy valuable real estate on my CD shelves, sandwiched between albums that actually see the light of day, patiently waiting for their chance to shine. There are usually two reasons why the following space-wasters remain in my possession:

1. As a general rule, I can’t muster the time nor effort to sell a CD for less than $2.50.

2. As constant reminders that I should exercise a little more caution with my hard-earned dollars.

Here they are, the forever-neglected ten:

10. Radiohead Amnesiac Capitol, 2001

By the time I realized I was completely over this band, it was too late: I had already purchased Amnesiac (2001). During the summer of ‘01, I was nauseatingly sick of Radiohead in every way possible, chiefly attributable to the unavoidable wake following Kid A (2000). Group photos of the band were plastered everywhere: posters, magazines, newspapers. Their music was on a continuous feed in every public establishment with a stereo. Every jackass with a guitar was diligently perfecting his cracked falsetto in his dorm room. Folks were discussing what Yorke had for breakfast last Sunday. It really was too much. I just wanted them to go away. Yet, in a baffling lapse of judgment, I bought this record, perhaps hoping that it would redefine the phrase “artistic disaster” and Radiohead would disappear for a while. It didn’t. Heated discussions ensued with friends who praised Amnesiac as “groundbreaking,” as if Autechre, Boards of Canada, hell, any electronic music had never existed. There are only two reasons why I’d ever listen to this disc again: “Pyramid Song” and “Knives Out.” But for all intents and purposes, my Radiohead discography abruptly ended with the damn near-unlistenable album closer “Life in a Glass House.”

09. Cinematic Orchestra Every Day Ninja Tune, 2002

Chalk me up an “E” for effort with the Cinematic Orchestra, because Christ knows I tried with Every Day (2002). I tried to overlook the stock Jam Band 101 bass vamps and the tired repetition of the pretentious “odd” time signatures. I tried to look past the shameless Pharoah Sanders and Alice Coltrane swipes and the fact that, despite its intentions, genuine or otherwise, this record was about 30 years too late. Mostly, I tried to ignore the critical praise heaped upon this derivative garbage as “real jazz music!” (as opposed to…?) and commending the utilization of “actual live clarinets and horns!” as if we’re on the cusp of some sort of musical revolution here. Please. The verdict is that mastermind J. Swinscoe is a hack, plain and simple, even inflating his hot-air credibility with uninspired guest appearances from Fontella Bass and Roots Manuva. Motion (1999) was okay, and I admittedly liked Remixes 1998-2000 (2000), but this kind of unoriginality is more than I can handle. Every Day actually fetches a worthwhile amount in used condition on Amazon; it’s probably time I rid myself of it.

08. Red Hot Chili Peppers One Hot Minute Warner Bros., 1995

As long as the Red Hot Chili Peppers are fronted by that unbearable assclown of a vocalist, I will continue to deride them and take any available shot at the band. But back in September of ‘95, when I discovered that Dave Navarro would be providing guitar on their new record, I uncharacteristically gave them a chance, albeit for a brief spell. It didn’t change my opinion much, and with Kiedis drooling out lines like, “My tendency for dependency is offending me,” it wasn’t long before I was smacking my palm against my forehead in frustration. Longtime RHCP fans loathe this album to this day; I wonder how anyone can be a “longtime” fan of this band in the first place. I take a guilty satisfaction at observing friends peruse my CD shelf, notice this record but curiously no sign of Mother’s Milk (1989) or Blood Sugar Sex Magik (1991), and make a face akin to watching a baby seal being clubbed. Perhaps that’s why I keep it, but I’m still not sure.

07. Goldie SaturnzReturn ffrr, 1998

This record wasn’t so much a disappointment as an utter embarrassment. Something happened during the interim of Goldie’s genre-defining debut Timeless (1995) and SaturnzReturn (1998): Roni Size’s New Forms (1997), which instantly rendered this bloated monstrosity hopelessly irrelevant. Still, this was wicked cheap for a two-disc set at the time of its release, which explains why I own a copy; one would be lucky to get $0.50 for it now. The worst offense was the indulgent 45-minute snoozefest “Mother,” but the second disc had everything from weak Noel Gallagher and KRS-One cameos to jammy neo-soul instrumentals. One final note: what the hell happened to the mastering job here? I seem to remember jacking the volume up to obnoxious levels on my stereo just to hear those now-dated skittering drums.

06. Catherine Wheel Adam and Eve Mercury, 1997

One of the most painful scars of my teenage years was witnessing the demise of the once-invulnerable Catherine Wheel. After two unbelievable albums (debut Ferment [1992] and the near-impeccable Chrome [1993]), I was convinced that their next release would revolutionize rock music for the ’90s. Little could I have known the immense nose-dive that their career would take. I had nothing but disgust for the homogeneous macho-rock of Happy Days (1995), selling it the day after I bought it, and I had long since given up on the band by the time of 1997’s Adam and Eve. Then a few years ago, at the annual promo sale for the UMass Boston radio station, I saw this for $5, shrugged, and threw it in my basket. One thought relentlessly pounded my brain as I subjected myself to the music contained within: Why do I punish myself like this?

05. Photek Solaris Astralwerks, 2000

Minutes into this album, I was looking for someone to blame. Rupert Parkes, pka Photek? Astralwerks? Tone-deaf diva Simone Simone, who phoned in two of the vocal tracks here? Someone was responsible for this, one of the worst follow-ups in the history of electronic music, and like anyone who has been victimized, I needed to know. Parkes didn’t know how good he had it on Modus Operandi (1997), an entirely unique and masterly incorporation of drum ‘n bass and avant-garde paranoia, and a record that I still listen to regularly. His shuffling drum tracks were immediately recognizable and fiendishly addictive; hell, his hi-hat programming alone was brilliant. Did this guy have any idea how difficult it was to establish a distinctive, original sound in the stylistically limited, monotonous world of drum ‘n bass? Evidently not, because for Solaris (2000), Parkes totally abandoned the creepy film noir soundscapes for half-assed stabs at tired trip-hop and laughable acid house experiments. Yes, I understand artistic growth, I understand negative “pigeonholeing,” and I understand expectations. That still doesn’t excuse this maggon-infested pile. God, what a disappointment this was.

04. Rahzel Make the Music 2000 MCA, 1999

I chuckle when I think of this album, because I have no idea when, how, or why I came to acquire it. It was as if, all of a sudden, Rahzel decided to infiltrate my CD shelf, nestle his way in between Raekwon and Redman, and pretend he belonged there, hoping I wouldn’t notice. I’ve probably listened to bits and pieces of this record no more than twice, likely hoping for some of that crazy-ass beatboxing he elevated to a new plateau with The Roots, but I only have a cloudy memory of a disjointed album full of throwaway beats and weak guest spots. This appears to be a promo copy, but again, I’m drawing a blank on this one.

03. Teenage Fanclub Thirteen DGC, 1993

My relationship with Thirteen (1993) was doomed from the start; as phenomenal as Bandwagonesque (1991) was, I just couldn’t be arsed to give it the attention it desired when it was initially released. I was still trying to wrap my head around In Utero (1993) and Vs. (1993), and regardless, knowing that you couldn’t give this CD away was a bit of a turnoff. It’s been probably ten years since I’ve listened to this, but I clearly recall walking to school in the morning with it in my Walkman and wondering why I wasted a perfectly good side of a 90-minute Maxell for a more portable version of this record. Remarkably, Thirteen still has its staunch defenders, and the general feeling seems to be that it’s not the disaster it was initially made out to be, er… thirteen years ago; maybe it wouldn’t hurt to revisit it.

02. Tool Lateralus Volcano, 2001

I used to suffer from a disorder I refer to as Empty-Handed Syndrome, where I used to chastise myself for leaving a record store without buying something, anything to feel like the trip had been worthwhile. Fortunately, those days are long gone now, but I must have been suffering from a full-blown outbreak when I arrived home with a copy of Lateralus (2001). I should have prefaced this by acknowledging that I’ve never thought Tool was all that bad, and convenient as it may be, I refuse to slam a group simply because their most rabid fanbase has the collective intelligence of a lawn chair. For me, they’ve simply always been a few-steps-above-mediocre art-rock band; I won’t defend them to the death or anything, but I can tolerate them, and one could do a lot worse nowadays. I thought Aenima (1996) had some decent moments, but that still doesn’t justify or even remotely explain the complete unnecessary-ness of this purchase. If I remember correctly, I listened to the first three tracks, thought, “Eh, I’ll try it again later,” and haven’t heard a note of it since.

01. R.E.M. Around The Sun Warner Bros. 2004

R.E.M.’s most recent defecation on their legacy, Around the Sun (2004), could only make the top of this list, all due to the fact that I’ve never even heard it! Seriously, I have no idea what this album sounds like. So why do I own it? Well, this is where the completist in me rears its ugly head: why stop at the vomitous Reveal (2001) and not have every R.E.M. release to date? Why have only roughly 97% of a band’s recorded output instead of 100%? Thus, in what could only be described as a pathetic, alcohol-soaked stupor, I found this record for mere pennies online and a few days later it arrived uneventfully at my doorstep. Yet when I inserted the disc into my trusty PowerBook, it refused to read the disc. No matter. I muttered incoherently as I ejected the CD, filed it away on the shelf, and blissfully forgot about it until I compiled this list. Now that, friends, is the very definition of an inexplicable space-taker.

Honorable Mentions:

Breakbeat Era, Ultra-Obscene (XL, 1999)
Cracker, Gentleman’s Blues (Virgin 1998)
Night in Gales, Thunderbeast (Nuclear Blast 1998)
Self Scientific, The Self Science (S.O.L. Music Works, 1999)
Summer Hymns, Clemency (Misra 2003)