Here now, a small sampling of the worst album covers ever.
Much like the ‘Random” Facts About Chuck Norris‘ and ‘Shockmaster” Incident’ posts, the ‘Worst Album Covers Ever’ post was a long time coming. Sure, I didn’t really discover any of these, and the same terrible covers have been tossed around forever, but I felt I needed to bring a similar post to the CDP.
Why? Well, because some people might not have seen these covers yet, and also because I’m fresh out of original ideas.
Away we go.
When you put a vicious, snarling animal on the cover of your album, you’re normally trying to invoke a sense of fright or danger. You know, let the kids know that you mean business and are capable of getting biz-zay frequently and sufficiently. In the case of this Wolf album, you’re left with the theory that the artist was attempting to draw a wolf, but decided to turn it into a gorilla wearing a trench coat and a Freddy Krueger mitt at the last minute. While I respect his or her decision to go with their gut, I don’t think it’s possible to come up with something less intimidating.
This photo was clearly taken at a local Sears or Citgo station, purchased with the money those two guys won at the World Beard & Moustache Championships. How they managed to take a break from life on the farm long enough to pick up matching outfits is beyond me, let alone record an entire album. Now, the gentleman in the middle has his hand on the girl’s shoulder, which would explain why he was mysteriously murdered later that day and replaced with her husband on lead tambourine. Furthermore, when members of a church start dressing the same, it is officially a cult.
Ah, Joyce. You lovable, lonely woman. No doubt, this albums contains tracks of love and loving lovers lost, with just a dash of hope for the future. Joyce seems vulnerable yet self-sufficient, holding a single rose as if to say, “Look at me. I’m distraught and alone, and that’s okay!” Her once empowered female fans were generally upset and confused with the release of her sophomore album, “I Am Totally Down With Being Tyrone’s Ho’.” She was nominated for a Source award that year, but sadly lost to MC Lyte.
For all the ‘facets’ that Roger seems to have, something tells me that they all end up the same way. Sweating through yet another jumpsuit in the dressing room of a smoky disco, cutting up a rock of coke so big I could set my television on it.
I found out that this was a spiritual album (really?), which raised a lot of moral questions with me. First off, has God ever dropped your own personal dove from the sky? Ever? If He did, would you keep it? Secondly, I’m completely convinced that Jesus would never listen to about 99% of the crap people write about Him. I could see the Almighty listening to Sufjan Stevens or All Star United, but He wouldn’t stand for this. No way. At least, not the Jesus I know. Also, the Jesus I know smells like sandalwood and pine, and never tires of my endless tirades about the government and student loans.
Let’s talk demographics for a sec’, kay? Who is this appealing to? Male metal fans? Nope. Female metal fans? Well maybe, if there were any. You know who this cover appeals to? Manowar. That’s all, nothing more and nothing less. Furthermore, that’s up with the one guy who’s not shirtless? Did he have a no-nudity clause in his contract? Maybe he thought his moustache was statement enough, which is totally true. Everyone should know by now that the only people you attract with naked men are other men who like naked men. Stick with the scantly-clad ladies that got you here, Manowar.
First off, Devastatin’ Dave is not a DJ. He looks more like a professional wrestler. In any regard, he could almost certainly get his ass trounced by ‘Rowdy’ Roddy Piper, or ‘Mean’ Gene Okerlund for that matter. It would also appear that Dave is an African-American fellow, which would make his use of the term ‘slave’ very odd at the least. Also, did you notice that the word ‘zap’ is directly placed on Mr. Slave’s embarrassingly tight pants? Is that supposed to be some sort of subliminal message? That all being said, I’m quite certain that anything in my pants could spin records better than Devastatin’ Dave. In fact, my pantal contents are challenging Dave to a spin-off later this afternoon.
Mike Crain is a triple threat. Not only is he a singer as well as a man of the cloth, he’s also a black belt! That’s more than I can claim, so I can’t bust on this guy too much. Say what you will, but when was the last time you saw a preacher smashing bricks with his palms in church? Maybe if there were more guys like Mike Crain around, I’d go to church more often. You know what? This might actually be the best album cover ever.
“The power of Christ compells you…to break these bricks of Satan! Yaaahhh!”
As much as it pains me and my ‘stache loving friends to say this, Jim’s super-thick ‘stache is what ruins the cover. You know, a whole lot of album covers have the lead singer standing naked under a waterfall or frolicking in a Finnish sauna, but they normally don’t sport a crumb catcher that can absorb a good 9 quarts of liquid. Look at the damn thing! Can you imagine how much that mass weighs right now? Brutha’s gunna have a stretch mark on his philtrum. After some digging around, I found out that Mr. Post now does side work as a Mark Twain impersonator (really).
Oh, hell no.
John, what are you doing? There’s nothing even close to legal with this situation, whatsoever. You took this girl to a bar; now you’re drinking a beer, smoking a butt and holding her hand. Who’s going to drive her home when you pass out? You could have at least taken her to Chuck-E-Cheese so she could be around people her own age. Maybe if you got rid of that lousy hat, you could find someone over 16 that wants to be seen in public with you. Thank you, John Bult, now I need a shower, maybe two.
Upon closer examination of the cover, you can see that the Julie in question is gazing longingly at the cigarette and mug of beer (probably Blatz, possibly Billy). So maybe, just maybe, the concept of the album isn’t rampant pedophilia and a pending child molestation charge, but just that Julie’s depressed she’s too young to smoke and get smashed.
You can take the title of this album one of two ways. One, you could see Mr. Gage as an unlucky and depressed fellow who has seen his most beloved people parish in this cruel and unpredictible thing we call life. Or, you can see it for what it’s worth. That Freddie Gage is an unstoppable serial murderer and you should avoid being his friend or acquaintance at all costs. What could this guy possibly be singing about? Smiths covers, I assume. And if all of his friends are dead, who’s buying his albums?
You know what? Forget it. I’m not touching this one.
This is the only cover on the list that makes me laugh every time I lay eyes on it. Mike Terry appears to be having a great time playing his piano. Oh, and he’s also stuffed like a beef sausage into a suit that Liberace gave up for being ‘entirely too gay.’ I can only imagine what the cover of Volume One looked like. Furthermore, look at his neck. It looks as if the costume is on backwards, dangling dangerously and clinging onto his waddle for dear life. Maybe he’s wearing a spandex jumpsuit under this, and he tears it off during a rollicking Scottish rendition of ‘Great Balls Of Fire.’ (roll tongue on the word ‘great’ for maximum effect)
Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what time it is! This is Ken, man!
The two things about this cover that strike me the most are 1), the shot on the right is most certainly in an outhouse, and 2), the shot on the left is a crude, carved stone figure of the man on the right. This is widely regarded as the worst album cover of all time, and just sleeves of this album go for big money on Ebay. Something tells me that ‘By Request Only’ means his set list consists of about half a song before he’s quickly escorted back to his customized barstool, where he’s fed vodka tonics for the remainder of the night. Then at 2am, he’ll stumble back into the ballroom, fart into the mike and fall off the stage.
Okay, there’s something you need to know about the cover of this album. The translation reads, ‘Dear Mother…A Bouquet That Never Wilts.’
Thanks, Oedipus. Way to expand your fan base.
Can you imagine what this album sounds like? Really? For my money, all the booze, weed, shrooms, smack, rock, ice, airplane glue, gasoline, Knightmare Juice and shoe polish in the world wouldn’t even get me in the same ballpark. Thank you, Heino. This is truly the funniest and most unsettling album cover I have ever seen.
So, there you have it. Sound off in the comments section about your favorite album cover, and feel free to submit your own.