Review: Get Schwifty EP

Debut EP from Grandfather & Grandson duo of immense delightful confusion.
Debut EP from Grandfather & Grandson duo of immense delightful confusion.

Just recently living in a time when Earth was just hit by a hoard of floating space heads that have caused people to A) form idiotic cults, B) cause mass cannibalistic hysteria – my Vietnamese bride is now having a honeymoon in a ten year old's gullet – or more oddly C) suddenly militarizing reality show singers. Apparently overnight this grandfather/grandson act that's been painfully compared to LMFAO on YouTube comments has appeared as quickly as the latter act has vanished. Dropping a debut EP titled Get Schwifty has been gaining notorious momentum as they've conquered PayPal charts, and have taken Lil Kim's record for selling the most units through said service. Luckily a record label based in Georgia has hosted free digital copies for those interested. This was only recently implemented after bootleg copies started selling from $80 to $40k even on cassette and hit clip formats. I was one of those who had to hunt down an expensive copy for this review despite my editors making me write this piece. Failing to pay half of my payments for this EP, I resorted to doing favors I will not post in detail as other people have detailed over the month on hashtag #GettingSchiffy4Schwifty


My first taste of this EP was equivalent to when I first saw them live – who the fuck lets a grandfather drag a twelve year-old cross-country with a Casio keyboard in a flying spaceship full of empty beer bottles? Toyota was not aware of unsuspected sponsoring from the elder band member Rick. He half-joked in an interview drunk, and inebriated on some unknown exotic hallucinogen about advertising car brands. Apparently this led to him vandalizing hood ornaments and plastering them on his spaceship to get gigs from places thinking he had such tour support. This was also apart of his plan to start a line of sporty-spaceships with whatever company was willing to fund his vain venture. A venture he said would appeal from families to things called [Meeseeks?] being able to use these things till their duty is done – usually suggesting as short quality as their duties.


Other intricacies in the mystery of this duo also include famed bestselling author behind My (Terrible) Father being related to young band member Morty who apparently conceived this half-terrestrial through a sex robot. More tales of this band are as hazy and outlandish as this minimal 3-track project insists with mostly cheap beats, and some bare vocal deliveries.


The title-track Get Schwifty is a fifty-second club stomper that has gotten the group numerous major label offers. Notably there was the publicized screeching support from Lady Gaga's upcoming label, and Taylor Nation's plead to have the band merge with Taylor's rotating 'precious posse' collective. Being hammered almost in 97% of most club's playlists has caused either mass suicides or unplanned shitting suicides on dancefloors worldwide. This standout track has even the president oddly announcing this as the new Christmas first dance tradition that leads through the new year to St. Patrick's day. Despite his odd law of announcing anyone detesting this club staple to be labeled a terrorist, – yet, I'd agree it'd be even un-Canadian to detest this tune – it seems inhuman (un-alien?) to not want to tap their foot before wanting to get 'schwifty' as the sawing synths plod along.


A simple four-on-the-door twerking drum beat, as Rick tells you. “Take off your pants and your panties.” It could say that Rick only likes women who wears the pants, but can take off her panties - then shit on the floor. Looking more openly, it can talk about his rumored many 'loves' where even he can take his pants off; then shit on the floor. This song tells simple instructions on how Rick has taken over many stadiums, and even led to the controversial first of an American winning the UK Mercury Prize. It's this song that brings the outlandish out on all fronts, and shoots it onto the backsides of aggressive Rickians and Mor-ty-shanz –given names of their devoted following.


The follow-up cut Goodbye Moonman is a resounding track that is shocking as the past moments detailed. Under a private interview done with Morty (XXX-Files Club issue**siezed by the FBI/CIA/MI6/SOPASONYPSNETWORKGOTYOURCREDITCARD**), his account of the creation of this track suggests a ghost (((cloud that poops gold?))) writer made this ditty. A calming ballad that comes in the middle of a mostly – yet this is the longest song on the EP – beat pumping record would usually be a buzzkill. Yet, it turns out this track would make any record producer willing to sell their virgin children to have such a lush single. I'm actually more than inclined to agree with Morty that this song could not possibly be made by them, nor anything, in this dimension. Every time I spin this record it takes me to places that seem impossible, almost impeccable, but nearly lethal.


Closing track Head Bent Over seems to be a rehash of their debut hit. Maybe rumors of that uncredited second voice on Rick's verses say that the president did make a stab at musical stardom. His constant denial of collaborating with the duo must be more telling of internal conflict of the music business than national security. Even though this is their third track to go diamond and resurrect TRL (Total Rick Live @MTV5169), he finds that being a nation's leader pays more than touring around performing in private rooms only sanctioned by his security; tickets being only offered to his own security for extra security. It's a crass, rehashed, wagon-collaborating, desperate stab at a quick hit after offering two century defining hymns. Lacking the near instance of their first song, and depth of their second, Head Bent Over is what's given to those begging for Moonman, but only affording a cheap demo of Head.


Coming out of the gate so strong with a limp end to a small trilogy of tracks, Get Schwifty could easily be their album in terms of what they could offer to what we know about them. Lets say they fleshed out a whole LP and there could be another Schwifty in the wings, but as grand as Moonman was blessed upon them, could a nation handle another wave of Head Bent Overs? As many viral videos of dedicated fans offing themselves listening to the last track suggest, would they be able to sustain an album that serves many Schwiftys and Moonmans? It's a tall order to make after making such major songs, but if given time, they could hopefully avoid another Head...




[[Post Mortem Article published after author realized that Rick & Morty could never match Get Schwifty]]


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The Trunk

1st new post on new blog site. Hopefully this will be at least my main blog site for awhile. Never really been consisten with my sites, but so far I like it here. So here's a lovely short story birthed from a prompt that I entitle 'The Trunk.'



How I wish I had known what was in the trunk of my car. Personally it was my fault. Last night was shitty. I mean I'm 28, and my friend took me to a high school dance he was made to chaperone. He propositioned me by, "If I'm gonna be stuck babysitting these horny brats, you're going down with me..." Instead of me going out to a real club or bar like a person my age should do, I got stuck watching teens grind on each other like the pedo I felt like throughout that night. The night passed and I was awaken by the sun. I guess a couple flasks too many that were hidden under my friend's coat from the night had left me a massive migraine. Awaken though to where I was by the next morning's sun, I apparently parked my car on the beach. Whatever happened at the dance and where my friend was is what I would give a shit about later as I started my car to get off the beach. Reversing, I felt a large thump in my car. Stopping, I got out to look around. Checking around the back of my car, my trunk door was slightly ajar. Opening up to check what might be there after my hazy night, I had found my friend slumped in a lifeless position. Coming back to me, I thought, "Dammit, how am I suppose to explain his alcohol poisoning and trace amounts of my DNA inside of him to his family?"