Reason #25673 Why the World is Either a Cruel, Callous Place or is Run by Someone with a Sick, Sadistic Sense of Humor: An actual human being with some sort of pull at a record label signed the Blue Whale to a recording contract. A person with viable, healthy ears and some personal sense of taste in music did the following: 1) Heard the unfathomably vile noise created by the Blue Whale; 2) Said to him/herself, "Wow! This is great! I'd better snap these guys up before they hit it super big!"; 3) Gave the Blue Whale money to lay down the sonic equivalent of farting into the microphone, plus a venue and means through which to distribute their noise; 4) Did not spontaneously combust and die painfully (presumably; there's still hope for this). This character may still be walking the streets, blending in among us innocuously as his/her nefarious deeds go unpunished.

I could record the sounds of monkeys carousing on xylophones while a four-year old attempted to play the assorted works of Bach on the Jew's harp and it would be more sonically creative and interesting than Wind Runs Through It. I could capture on tape a scene wherein obese Southerners eat pork rinds and drink nacho cheese while laughing and snorting about that night's re-run of "Designing Women," and it would be easier for me to contain my revulsion than when I hear the Blue Whale. I'm not kidding. This could be the worst thing I have ever heard. I feel unclean writing this. I've already washed my hands 15 times in the last 20 minutes.

The humanoid organism responsible for this project goes by the moniker Mars. In addition to his earth-shattering musical accomplishments, he has also directed Japanese music videos and worked as a fashion designer... I'm not going to let myself speculate on what he's responsible for on that frontier. Wind Runs Through It is an accumulation of eight neo-psychedelic songs melded with '60s tinged pop and early '90s electronica that should not be heard by children. Mars, who sings throughout most of the record, not only has some variety of speech impediment which surfaces most prevalently on the first track, "Who Am I," but in addition, must be partially tone deaf. The latter is readily apparent on "Sitting in My Room," in which he yells the surprisingly creative lyrics: "I am sitting/ Sitting in room," in tones that are vaguely near the correct key, but far enough away to make skin crawl.

Perhaps the gravest offense on the album is when Mars lifts lyrics from the Beatles' immortal "I'm Only Sleeping" and has the gall to apply them grotesquely to one of his own toneless butcherings of music. On second thought, maybe it's when he tries-- very unsuccessfully-- to rap behind a screeching saxophone in "Go Slow." Oh, yes, then there's the painfully obvious fact that our boy Mars speaks much less than fluent English. Honestly, I'd rather not think about it.

At any rate, I seriously doubt that the Blue Whale had any malicious intent in making this record, despite the disastrous result. In fact, they're endeavoring to spread love, as demonstrated by the trite, contrived "Blue Whale Philosophy" included in the press kit, the central tenet of which instructs us to "Be NOTHING then you are EVRYTHING" (that's the spelling; they use it twice). Minus this minor caveat, I'm not joking when I say that this is the worst record for musicianship, creativity, and integrity that I have heard in a long while. There are legions of talented unsigned groups out there that are starving for an outlet for their craft while crap like this finds its way onto the streets. Let's please remedy this while there's still time.

Meanwhile, I'll be pursuing litigation against Shimmy Disc for pain and suffering endured while reviewing this album.

-Taylor M. Clark