Now there should not be a shadow of a doubt left in anyone’s mind what McAnally’s agenda in music is, which is to completely reshape “country” into his own image, which happens to be an extremely urban, stultifying, primarily laptop-composed shitblob served with an almost sadist attitude, and with the sole purpose of making himself lots of fucking money at the direct expense of the intelligence and mental well being of the masses. Being the principle puppetmaster behind Sam Hunt wasn’t enough for Shane McAnally. Shane McAnally had to make a label especially for it. Not even Nashville’s unscrupulous major labels would sign off on this it was so terrible. Walker Hayes is a complete construct of desperation, and of slavitude to whatever he thinks will sell, along with an assessment from the new Country Music Antichrist, Shane McAnally, who relaunched the old mothballed label Monument Records just to produce and release this piece of shit, and inflict the world with the pussing musical scourge known as Walker Hayes and Boom. It is literally the worst thing possible, ever. Even someone like Sam Hunt should see that the danger Boom poses to country music as absolutely existential. Even a performer like Luke Bryan should see the value in adamantly opposing Boom. It is diabolic in its scope of cultural degradation. No, Boom is literally the most acidic and destructive form of music to the country genre that not just has ever been produced, but that could ever be conceived of by the human brain or artificial intelligence, or a combination thereof. Boom isn’t just the exact polar opposite of country music. The songs of Boom are in no way a representation of him, let alone country music. I’m embarrassed to be a part of the same animal species that would produce such an audio abortion and proffer it to the public for consumption.įirst off, understand that everything about Walker Hayes is complete and utter fabricated bullshit.
I would rather personally watch my male genitalia cleaved clean off my abdomen with the combination of a rusty maul and a frozen sledge hammer, then strapped up with a Go Pro and my eyes clamped open and forced to watch on a monitor as a carrion bird carries it far away before ultimately descending into some foul-drenched alleyway drowning in refuse to vulturously pull at the bloody and putrefying flesh with its beak and talons, only to regurgitate it hours later after it’s marinated in the most vile hell of scavenger digestive juices, to then be re-consumed eventually by an emaciated mongrel and vomited up again in the middle of the road, and trundled over by heavy vehicles so many times it becomes no more discernible from a spot of grease discarded from the undercarriage of a Toyota than listen to one more electronically-derived and idiotically conceived millisecond of Walker Hayes’ Boom.
The only question is if I can steady my hands enough through the roiling anger twitching behind my eyes, and the abhorrence to the mere notion of this album that’s bubbling my bile to physically type what must be shared.įuck this album, I’m sorry.
But it would be such a gross dereliction of Saving Country Music duty to not draw and quarter this audio monstrosity, I would die from neurotic distress due to the feeling of unfullfilled purpose if I let this embarrassment achieve wide recognition without a murmur of protest, let alone the barbaric yawp of sheer unmitigated ferocious dissent it deserves to be met with. Friends and neighbors, I know you would rather spend your time reading about something a bit more positive in nature than the rabid attitudinal protestations of some twisted up music critic spouting off about this grotesque specimen of audio diarrhea, and during what is supposed to be a festive season no less, and with so much else out there in the world today eating at your mind and angering your blood.