You’ll know and understand by now that, I seldom take myself seriously when it comes to my written review content. Don’t get me wrong, there are albums that I do genuinely adore, and occasionally a new band, or artist will pop up that I legitimately recommend and promote wholeheartedly, but, for the most part, I prefer the challenges of the downright questionable.
There are records by the likes of say, COREY FELDMAN or, BIG DUMB FACE that I’ve tried to be fair with, despite me needing to clean grey matter from under my fingernails, having scratched my head so hard out of confusion. But neither of these were necessarily offensive to my eardrums, despite the low scores, just, stylistically quirky in their own right; unique in many aspects, and unashamedly indulgent in the particular artistic avenues they chose to travel down.
There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s funny when they get upset. Corey, I accept if I got it wrong when I thought you were in one of the “Sharknado” films... HOWEVER, you proudly correcting me that you were instead in an indie-flick about periods that nobody has heard of is no better. That isn’t cult status, that’s a typo. Wes Borland? I gave your Big Dumb sequel a 5 out of 10, because I was honestly on the fence. I didn’t hate it, I just explained that it’s been a long time since the first big dumb album...people tend to forget. People were going to listen to the new one and think, what in the ever-loving fuck is this?! It’s like, you expect some LIMP BIZKIT, but when you open the tin its Nan’s sewing kit. I digress.
However, there are then those records that exist in spite of common decency...the kind of art that would wipe the smile off of even Bob Ross’ face. The kind of content that, if spoken of in a confession booth, would find the priest asking for forgiveness while hiding your body. Such records include that WILLIAM SHATNER blues album...that “Ram Ranch” album which is less yee-haw and more hell-naw, and we can’t forget KIM PETRAS. That last one ties us into today’s review...let me explain.
If you recall, Kim’s “Slut Pop” EP was quite simply filth. I mean it delivered on its promise, being one of the sluttiest selections of sexualised dance-pop anyone has ever heard outside of a Brazzers shoot. But it has a challenger. Let me, try to introduce you to REGINA HARDON. Little is known about Regina; to the point where we don’t particularly know if she’s even actually real, with some suggesting it’s some sort of AI project. Allegedly UK based, the only biography I can find on her is riddled with nonsense and there is nothing but mystique surrounding her. This year found her releasing her debut EP; “Bucket Pussy”, as she implores the listener to “grab a raincoat and explore her anatomy”. I implore you to grab your toaster and run a bath...let’s get this over with.
The EP opens up (I mean it’s practically gaping to be honest) with “Call Me Kim”. While contextually you could believe this to be a direct nod to Miss Petras, for opening the floodgates for such content, it’s more than likely an out-of-date reference to Kim Kardashian given some of the lyrics, and once again it’s the lyrics that grab your attention harder than Donald Trump can grab a pussy.
It’s for the best part a track about getting dicked and making a sex tape essentially, and some of this lyricism is simply poetic. “Come in my room lets have some fun, see how many dicks you can fit in my bum” ...you going for a Guinness world record love? How many do you need up there like? “Rub my clit let's make a porno, make sure you strum it just like a banjo” ...ah yes, the banjo, the most seductive of instruments. Nothing says passionate love making like the sound of being sodomised by hillbillies. “Swallow your kids – call it child neglect” and “Murder this bussy like you’re Jeffrey Dahmer” ...make you double-take, but the following lines legitimately made me laugh out loud. “Think I queefed when you went down on me, blasted you away like Hurricane Sandy” and last but by no means least, “Find my clitoris, make me wet, pussy talk French oui oui baguette”. Words evade me I swear...we’re only one track in and I’m at a loss. We haven’t even touched on the music. It's slow, low and synth-driven with minimal clapped percussion with light high-hat dustings...it’s frankly irrelevant. Seriously, it’s ONLY background noise as she spoken-word raps away in a very flat, lifeless manner; this is awful.
We follow up with “In The Air” and we’ve got more of a pulsing electronic aesthetic kicking things off, before the first line “Took a shit in the shower”. Marvellous. She didn’t even waffle stomp it down the plug hole, dirty bitch. The vocal delivery here is more regimented, almost bullet pointed and cold, very synthetic in presentation, and it remains this way for the track's duration in more of that spoken word style. She’s on about, doing yoga on the pole, paying for drinks with her hole, all the while at the bar with her dad? More absurd lyrics about sex and it’s really quite one-dimensional already. In the air? In the bin with this one.
Halfway there now and we have her first single I believe; “Never Been To Mexico”. Now, I myself have never been to Mexico, but I promise you this instant, you’ll never see me writing and recording songs about riding dick because of it. I don’t care how good the tacos are. Apparently, it’s about giving sexual favours in return for being spoiled with exotic holidays and such, sort of unashamedly sugar-daddy-ish. The instrumentation again is minimal at best, some synth-effects giving off an echoed sound, with more basic high-hat tickling. More lines like “My bum is soft like an uncooked chicken breast” continue to ensure this is utterly ridiculous and it’s already not funny by this point. You’ve probably never been to Mexico because they won’t allow you into the country, on account of you likely being so incredibly infectious with a catalogue of STD’s. North America wouldn’t have seen such devastation to its populations health since Columbus landed!
There’s nothing subtle about our next track; “Sitting On His Face”. It’s got this almost icy hip-hop / trap style beat which gives it more of an urban vibe, which does admittedly accompany Regina’s vocal delivery better, but that’s about as much of a compliment you’ll get out of me for this entire EP. Her spoken style and presentation here honestly reminds me of that LOUIS THEROUX money jiggle-jiggle rap, that’s how toneless we’re talking. Some of the lyrics here are outright nasty, like, seriously I want to jet wash my ear drums with a flamethrower. “I start to cream but its green cause I’m clapped” and “His tongue is in my sandwich; he’s having a picnic” nearly put me off my kebab. NEARLY.
Finally, then we finish on (No I won't say that I won't give it the satisfaction), we conclude this EP with the title track, “Bucket Pussy” and we’d have been naïve to expect anything different here really, wouldn’t we? It’s another subdued, lightly synth layered, percussive piece of background noise for more eloquently delivered smut, as she proudly describes the sheer enormity of her massive apocalyptic minge. There is a slight key change to her vocals on the chorus, if you can call it that...so there IS progression...but it’s far, far too little too late for redemption at this point.
Given the lack of variety in Regina’s monotone vocal delivery it’s easy to see where the AI accusations come from, as well as the lack of information and photos, but regardless of if she is some computer-generated project or not, this EP is about as entertaining as chemotherapy and about as welcome as Jimmy Saville hosting BBC's Children In Need. The music is an afterthought and contributes next to nothing of merit, while the flat delivery of such strumpet loaded lyrics makes you wonder, what is the point? There is the briefest period of amusement on first listen given the ridiculousness of the content, but the shock value and humour dissipates well before the end of this five-track EP. I could let a Brazilian wandering spider bite me directly on the dick and I still wouldn’t get hard for Regina here, honestly, I think we’ve found a cure for priapism. This is one of the single worst things I’ve heard in my entire life. Sure, I’ll call you Kim, but I’m calling my ass an Uber because having listened to that, I’m off to the GUM clinic. [0]
There are records by the likes of say, COREY FELDMAN or, BIG DUMB FACE that I’ve tried to be fair with, despite me needing to clean grey matter from under my fingernails, having scratched my head so hard out of confusion. But neither of these were necessarily offensive to my eardrums, despite the low scores, just, stylistically quirky in their own right; unique in many aspects, and unashamedly indulgent in the particular artistic avenues they chose to travel down.
There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s funny when they get upset. Corey, I accept if I got it wrong when I thought you were in one of the “Sharknado” films... HOWEVER, you proudly correcting me that you were instead in an indie-flick about periods that nobody has heard of is no better. That isn’t cult status, that’s a typo. Wes Borland? I gave your Big Dumb sequel a 5 out of 10, because I was honestly on the fence. I didn’t hate it, I just explained that it’s been a long time since the first big dumb album...people tend to forget. People were going to listen to the new one and think, what in the ever-loving fuck is this?! It’s like, you expect some LIMP BIZKIT, but when you open the tin its Nan’s sewing kit. I digress.
However, there are then those records that exist in spite of common decency...the kind of art that would wipe the smile off of even Bob Ross’ face. The kind of content that, if spoken of in a confession booth, would find the priest asking for forgiveness while hiding your body. Such records include that WILLIAM SHATNER blues album...that “Ram Ranch” album which is less yee-haw and more hell-naw, and we can’t forget KIM PETRAS. That last one ties us into today’s review...let me explain.
If you recall, Kim’s “Slut Pop” EP was quite simply filth. I mean it delivered on its promise, being one of the sluttiest selections of sexualised dance-pop anyone has ever heard outside of a Brazzers shoot. But it has a challenger. Let me, try to introduce you to REGINA HARDON. Little is known about Regina; to the point where we don’t particularly know if she’s even actually real, with some suggesting it’s some sort of AI project. Allegedly UK based, the only biography I can find on her is riddled with nonsense and there is nothing but mystique surrounding her. This year found her releasing her debut EP; “Bucket Pussy”, as she implores the listener to “grab a raincoat and explore her anatomy”. I implore you to grab your toaster and run a bath...let’s get this over with.
The EP opens up (I mean it’s practically gaping to be honest) with “Call Me Kim”. While contextually you could believe this to be a direct nod to Miss Petras, for opening the floodgates for such content, it’s more than likely an out-of-date reference to Kim Kardashian given some of the lyrics, and once again it’s the lyrics that grab your attention harder than Donald Trump can grab a pussy.
It’s for the best part a track about getting dicked and making a sex tape essentially, and some of this lyricism is simply poetic. “Come in my room lets have some fun, see how many dicks you can fit in my bum” ...you going for a Guinness world record love? How many do you need up there like? “Rub my clit let's make a porno, make sure you strum it just like a banjo” ...ah yes, the banjo, the most seductive of instruments. Nothing says passionate love making like the sound of being sodomised by hillbillies. “Swallow your kids – call it child neglect” and “Murder this bussy like you’re Jeffrey Dahmer” ...make you double-take, but the following lines legitimately made me laugh out loud. “Think I queefed when you went down on me, blasted you away like Hurricane Sandy” and last but by no means least, “Find my clitoris, make me wet, pussy talk French oui oui baguette”. Words evade me I swear...we’re only one track in and I’m at a loss. We haven’t even touched on the music. It's slow, low and synth-driven with minimal clapped percussion with light high-hat dustings...it’s frankly irrelevant. Seriously, it’s ONLY background noise as she spoken-word raps away in a very flat, lifeless manner; this is awful.
We follow up with “In The Air” and we’ve got more of a pulsing electronic aesthetic kicking things off, before the first line “Took a shit in the shower”. Marvellous. She didn’t even waffle stomp it down the plug hole, dirty bitch. The vocal delivery here is more regimented, almost bullet pointed and cold, very synthetic in presentation, and it remains this way for the track's duration in more of that spoken word style. She’s on about, doing yoga on the pole, paying for drinks with her hole, all the while at the bar with her dad? More absurd lyrics about sex and it’s really quite one-dimensional already. In the air? In the bin with this one.
Halfway there now and we have her first single I believe; “Never Been To Mexico”. Now, I myself have never been to Mexico, but I promise you this instant, you’ll never see me writing and recording songs about riding dick because of it. I don’t care how good the tacos are. Apparently, it’s about giving sexual favours in return for being spoiled with exotic holidays and such, sort of unashamedly sugar-daddy-ish. The instrumentation again is minimal at best, some synth-effects giving off an echoed sound, with more basic high-hat tickling. More lines like “My bum is soft like an uncooked chicken breast” continue to ensure this is utterly ridiculous and it’s already not funny by this point. You’ve probably never been to Mexico because they won’t allow you into the country, on account of you likely being so incredibly infectious with a catalogue of STD’s. North America wouldn’t have seen such devastation to its populations health since Columbus landed!
There’s nothing subtle about our next track; “Sitting On His Face”. It’s got this almost icy hip-hop / trap style beat which gives it more of an urban vibe, which does admittedly accompany Regina’s vocal delivery better, but that’s about as much of a compliment you’ll get out of me for this entire EP. Her spoken style and presentation here honestly reminds me of that LOUIS THEROUX money jiggle-jiggle rap, that’s how toneless we’re talking. Some of the lyrics here are outright nasty, like, seriously I want to jet wash my ear drums with a flamethrower. “I start to cream but its green cause I’m clapped” and “His tongue is in my sandwich; he’s having a picnic” nearly put me off my kebab. NEARLY.
Finally, then we finish on (No I won't say that I won't give it the satisfaction), we conclude this EP with the title track, “Bucket Pussy” and we’d have been naïve to expect anything different here really, wouldn’t we? It’s another subdued, lightly synth layered, percussive piece of background noise for more eloquently delivered smut, as she proudly describes the sheer enormity of her massive apocalyptic minge. There is a slight key change to her vocals on the chorus, if you can call it that...so there IS progression...but it’s far, far too little too late for redemption at this point.
Given the lack of variety in Regina’s monotone vocal delivery it’s easy to see where the AI accusations come from, as well as the lack of information and photos, but regardless of if she is some computer-generated project or not, this EP is about as entertaining as chemotherapy and about as welcome as Jimmy Saville hosting BBC's Children In Need. The music is an afterthought and contributes next to nothing of merit, while the flat delivery of such strumpet loaded lyrics makes you wonder, what is the point? There is the briefest period of amusement on first listen given the ridiculousness of the content, but the shock value and humour dissipates well before the end of this five-track EP. I could let a Brazilian wandering spider bite me directly on the dick and I still wouldn’t get hard for Regina here, honestly, I think we’ve found a cure for priapism. This is one of the single worst things I’ve heard in my entire life. Sure, I’ll call you Kim, but I’m calling my ass an Uber because having listened to that, I’m off to the GUM clinic. [0]
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