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Black love is the only solid A. Whigs album, and it's very solid.
Other than that, I think Dulli's a twit, more interested in being cool, and, maybe, shocking people (but I don't know who his tired schtick could shock; maybe grandmothers from Valentine, NE?), than in playing decently orchestrated music. I still remember, around the time BL was released -- Feb. '96, then? -- that Rolling stone did a profile and short interview, and Dulli was dishing on growing up in the Nasty 'Natti and running up to Dayton (I think) to play street-ball with the brothers, then smoke weed and watch blaxploitation with them at their mas's houses, maybe hit on the brothers's sisters too.
I can see where the time that could have been spent composing a decent metal song went, then -- it went to weed, and pussy. Which, mind you, are wonderful. But doesn't brah know that he can get even better weed, and tighter pussy, if puts out a couple of gold or platinum records? Hell, look at Duff McKagan -- he still slays more gash in one year than even the most pimpest man-on-the-the-street shall slay in his life. And, why? Because Duff was in Guns n' Roses, twelve years ago, and Guns n' Roses made one record that sold more copy than Jesus, and a spotty two-disc follow-up.
For serious.
... Basically, then, Greggy Poo is what my anti-boy Larry McKee (kid in my second thru fifth grade classes, a gangly, but also fat, flunky who thought he could ball) would have been had he lucked into a coupla hot guitar licks and St. Stephen's Elementary had been rocked by an explosion like the opening vocal on "Crime Scene, Pt. 1".
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