Sam Smith – The Thrill of It All
It’s pretty easy to become famous these days, it seems. Actual talent or style don’t necessarily need to be present. Sam Smith is the perfect example of this. He’s this weak, clichéd, fake, karaoke soul of the worst supermarket variety; music for people who don’t actually like music. He looks like a film student working in a call center who got lucky on some kind of reality TV talent show, but who will disappear within a year or so into obscurity – these talentless, tuneless warblers always do. Some compare Sam Smith to a male version of Adele. Others say he’s like George Michael. I say he’ll never measure up to, say, a Rick Astley.
Sam Smith, he’s gay, right? Just making sure, ’cause I haven’t had that shoved down my throat enough or anything yet. He’s so over-hyped for being this gay guy who feels like a woman that you forget that he’s also a singer. Is he a musical artist or is he just this marketing platform for other stuff? Because it’s really hard to tell sometimes. Something about it just feels so contrived and phony, maybe that’s ’cause his music does.
On Smith’s sophomore effort, The Thrill Of It All, which ironically contains zero thrills, the listener is expected to believe that Sam is all emotionally torn up ’cause he just got out of a very serious five-month-long relationship. REALLY? Five whole months? Are we still in middle school, Sam? Will your third release be about how your goldfish just died? There’s a reason why people call you a fake and a phony, Sam. It’s because you, at 25 years old, have not experienced any real tragedy or suffering in your life to pour your heart and soul out on the floor like your fake soul music suggests. That’s why you make plastic soul for plastic people.
I woke up on a ventilator in a hospital. I had been in a coma for a month. Most of my vital organs had shut down and surgeons had to remove most of my small intestine – I only have enough to live on now. I spent 64 days in the ICU. I couldn’t walk or talk, I had to learn to walk all over again. Six months later, the hospital messed up, we found gauze pads left inside of me, I got MRSA staph infection, and I had to learn to walk all over again, AGAIN. This led to a hernia repair, which lead to more MRSA staph infections, all and all eight MRSA staph infections total. I still can’t walk completely, I’m in a wheelchair most of the time, I live in chronic pain, and have serious depression. All of this in a two-year timespan. This is major, something to write an album about. A five month break up, that’s minor. You suck, Sam.
The Thrill Of It All