Typically in a music review, I might focus on several songs that caught my attention. I might tell you about a track that was particularly good, or one that was abysmally bad. Unfortunately, I cannot do that with this album, because it all ran together similar to the way that whatever foods you have eaten throughout the day might join together to form excrement at the end of the day (or the beginning or middle, or perhaps several times over, depending on how regular you are). But you’ve continued to read this far, so I guess I owe it to you to give it a shot.
I suppose I’d be lying if I said there weren’t a couple of standout tracks on the album. “Sliced Bread,” performed by WWE Diva Jillian, is a terribly sung rip-off of a Brittney Spears-style piece of pop trash, but since it’s supposed to be a terribly sung rip-off of a Brittney Spears-style piece of pop trash, I guess I would consider it to be good (I have a hard time bringing myself to use that word in association with this album). Considering his recent suspension for violating the WWE’s Health & Wellness Plan, the lines “… so you see the writing on the wall” and “You’re the architect of your own defeat” in Jeff Hardy’s theme song seem somehow prophetic and a bit ironic.
In a sense, the album does what theme music should do: there’s a boring hair-metal song for the guys with long hair, a power ballad of sorts for the guys who’re supposed to be known for having a lot of heart, and a faux reggae song for the guy from Jamaica. In that sense, they do represent the wrestlers’ personas, but if I listened to this album without being familiar with the WWE’s current product, I would assume their matches consisted of little more than a series of wristlocks and rest holds, with no fun, and no fast-paced, high flying action. I would assume that the show was outdated and couldn’t hold my interest for more than 30 seconds. Long story short, I wouldn’t be interested in the least.
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