He’s smart,
he’s funny and
he works his fat ass off

I love to laugh and and this year’s music has provided a mother lode of humor. There’s the obvious stuff – a new album from Weird Al has its moments; the guys from Little Britain are wonderful in the Pet Shop Boys’ I’m With Stupid video, but there doesn’t seem to have been too much else that was purposely trying to make you laugh.

Then there’s a glut of other stuff that’s just too easy to laugh at – albums from Paris Hilton and Nick Lachey and that dweeb from Black Eyed Peas attempting to destroy Sergio Mendes’ 40 year career in 60 minutes, Janet Jackson thinking anyone still cares, Chinese Democracy still not released. Seems to me I even noticed a new William Hung album a little while ago. Not to forget two howlers that I’ve already mentioned in this column, Rod Stewart’s “Still Inane” (which was a #1 album in the U.S., the same country that sort of voted for George Bush twice) and Sting’s lute album, which seems to last as long as his fabled 8 hour tantric sex sessions. Of course the problem with this stuff is that, sure, you can laugh at it – as long as you don’t actually listen to it.

And there’s another category – stuff that’s meant seriously and somehow ends up being both funny and sad. I’m thinking Meat Loaf here, with his awkwardly titled Bat Out Of Hell III – The Monster Is Loose.

Well, let’s step back for a minute. The original Bat Out of Hell. Another writer of this esteemed publication deems it a guilty pleasure. I take no guilt in my enjoyment of this platter. Seven songs, each one memorable, with production by Todd Rundgren and a band that included Roy Bittan, Max Weinberg, Edgar Winter, all the members of Utopia and Phil Rizzuto. Coming in the midst of punk, Steinman’s over-the-top songs sounded like nothing else at the time and the album went on to become one of the best selling of all time.

Twenty nine years later, Meat Loaf (a technically strong singer but not blessed with an especially distinctive voice) finds he can’t sell anything without the words “Bat Out of Hell” in the title, so we get this second “sequel” to an album that wasn’t really a concept album to begin with. Meat and Steinman don’t talk except through lawyers, so the seven Steinman songs on BOOH3 are older songs. But there are seven other songs as well, and those are supplied by schlockmeisters Desmond Child and Diane Warren. Nikki Sixx is listed as a co-writer on one track for f**k’s sake.

Look, I want to like Meat Loaf. I don’t blame him for the fact that I never got to see Rust Never Sleeps because he sat in front of me at the premiere (he really is huge). He’s smart, he’s funny and he works his fat ass off. And anything I say about this album isn’t going to mean anything at all (that could be a Jim Steinman song title right there) because everyone knows whether or not they want to buy this once they hear it exists. But folks, if you’re expecting this to actually be good, maybe the last laugh’s on Mr. Loaf.

The last category today is Robbie Williams, who represents a category completely unto himself. He’s a big enough star that he can do whatever he wants. And the hype on his latest (very) long player, Rudebox, is that he’s given up on ever achieving U.S. stardom and finally “made the record he wants to make.” Now what exactly would that be? It’s a novelty record!

The title track is the clear tip-off: a novelty record! Williams’ sounds completely bored and for some reason that I can’t explain I found myself thinking of a rapping square dance caller. (Actually you have to wait for the second track, Viva Life on Mars, for the banjo solo).

The song Keep On recasts the “hotel motel Holiday Inn” refrain from Rapper’s Delight as a Vegas-style ballad. There are two, count ‘em, two collaborations with the Pet Shop Boys, one even titled We’re the Pet Shop Boys which seemingly namechecks every PSB single from the last 20 years.

There are lyrics like “I love you baby, but face it, she’s Madonna.” He duets with Lily Allen on a cover medley of two Manu Chao songs - “Bongo Bongo and Je ne t’aime plus. The heavy production means they don’t quite have the unique charm of the originals, yet I’m sure when he sings, “they say there is no place for little monkey in this town,” all the little girls – wait, he’s over 30 now – all the moms will shed a tear.

What to make of all this? Is it really meant as a comedy album or is it just some bizarre nose-thumbing at his audience? Some of this is brilliant – the one-two autobiographical punch of The 80’s (his childhood) and The 90’s (his years with Take That) are completely heart-on-his-sleeve sincere.

The album closes with a hidden track, Dickhead, which I think has more curses in its four minutes than an entire episode of Deadwood. It’s more consistent with his recent mooning of the entire audience at the MTV Latin America music awards – imagine what surprises he might have had for Hong Kong if he hadn’t cancelled.

All of this is funny; very little provides actual belly laughs. There hasn’t been anything as timeless as the Bonzo Dog Band, Spinal Tap or the Rutles, and still no new albums from Bruce Willis or Don Johnson. I’m optimistically holding out hope for the new Tenacious D album and movie, because otherwise all that’s left to laugh at will probably be Eddie Murphy’s singing in the film version of Dreamgirls.