Next, The Next Episode

Sometimes you just know an album is going to suck, long before you ever play it. There are certain warning signs that trigger a red flag for the prospective listener/consumer. If the group consists of three-to-six guys who sing but do not play any instruments or spin wax, it could suck. If the name of the group or artist is in some way contained in the name of the album (and the album is not self-titled), it might suck. If each member of the group goes by a nickname that sounds contrived (like “RL,” “Tweet,” and “T-Low,” for example), don’t be surprised if it sucks. If the guys in the group have matching earrings and goatees, and one of them has the name of the group tattooed on his arm, it’s a fair bet that the album will suck. If the group is an Rïœ|B group who mentions in their first track that they come from the mean streets of Minnesota, the album will probably suck. If, in addition to all of the things mentioned above, the group’s official website is a lame-ass pun on their name (such as, it’s virtually guaranteed that the album will suck. Given that all of these things can be said about Next, they don’t suck quite as much as they could. But in the end, they still suck.

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