On this album, you will hear the following:
- Yoko Ono comparing women to niggers, which was already an absurdly hyperbolic and century-dated concept (see: Hannah More) (“Woman is the Nigger of the World”);
- John Lennon singing Yoko Ono’s sentiment with absolutely no sense of melody (“Woman is the Nigger of the World”);
- Phil Spector covering John Lennon’s lack of melody with as many instruments he can find (“Woman is the Nigger of the World”);
- Songs that go on for way too fucking long because of how many instruments there are (“Woman is the Nigger of the World”);
- Songs that go on for way too fucking long for absolutely no reason at all (“Born in a Prison”, “New York City”, “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, “We’re All Water”);
- Yoko Ono calling someone (apparently no one) a “male chauvinistic pig engineer” and John Lennon chiming a “Right on, sister!” in a voice that sounds like a cartoon imitation of John Lennon (“Sisters O Sisters”);
- A blues number that would have been a throwaway on any other John Lennon album but could be called a highlight here (“Attica State”);
- John Lennon suddenly finding his Irish heritage and singing about it that reeks of more hypocrisy than “Imagine” could ever dream of. “You’d wish you was English instead” – you fucking are English, you moronic fuck (“Sunday Bloody Sunday,” “The Luck of the Irish”);
- Bono taking notes to write a better song (“Sunday Bloody Sunday”);
- John Lennon breaking up the word “genocide” with sudden flights of falsetto that were recycled straight out of “Imagine” that are so over-the-top it shits on every genocide that has ever happened (“The Luck of the Irish”);
- Yoko Ono pretending to have an Irish accent and knowing what the Irish have been through (“The Luck of the Irish”);
- John Lennon repeating “gotta” 9,001 times as a hook (“John Sinclair”);
- Yoko Ono ditching her screaming style of Plastic Ono Band for vaguely melodic singing that ought to be commended because it’s vaguely melodic singing (“Sisters O Sisters”, “Angela”);
- Yoko Ono using her screaming style of Plastic Ono Band for at least 3 minutes longer than necessary (“We’re All Water”);
- A second disc of live jams because why the fuck not. The people cheering at the beginning and end of each song makes me feel sorry for everyone involved.
1. Pseudo-feminists who mistake misandry as a form of equality should shut the fuck up before they set the world back further.
2. The saxophone of “Born in a Prison” is the album’s best melody and the boogie-ish “New York City” is alright, but as mentioned, both songs are too long.
3. If Mark Chapman cited this piece of shit of an album as his reasoning and not “Imagine,” I would have actually understood. Not condoned, but understood.
4. “I could puke every time I hear it.”