Entertainment Music

2016's worst albums: Chris Brown, Steven Tyler, Kiefer Sutherland and more

By Darryl Sterdan, Special to Postmedia Network

Kiefer Sutherland's debut album "Down in a Hole." (Supplied)

Kiefer Sutherland's debut album "Down in a Hole." (Supplied)

Warning some videos contain coarse language!

Isaac Newton’s third law of motion states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. To convert that into musical terms: For every truly great album, there is an equally wretched album.

And since I’ve already listed my favourite albums of 2016, it’s only right that I also present an alphabetical list of my least-favourite discs. Here’s to the dull and the derivative, the brutal and the banal, the pointless and the just plain putrid. If you paid for any of these, you have my sympathies. If you’re thinking about it, don’t say you haven’t been warned.

Susan Boyle

A Wonderful World

Wonderful for whom? Not for anyone who’s fond of Madonna’s Like a Prayer, Abba’s I Have a Dream, Paul McCartney’s Mull of Kintyre or the title standard — all of which the Boyle blandifies on her seventh needless offering, in addition to a so-called “virtual duet” with Nat King Cole on When I Fall in Love. At least she left Lennon and Lou Reed alone this time.

Chris Brown

Royalty

Fatherhood changes a man. Unless that man is Chris Brown. The seventh solo disc from R&B’s crassest clown prince is named for his baby girl (who also adorns the cover). But fear not, fans: The usual litany of X-rated fantasies, blatant misogyny and pathetic boasting make it clear Brown won’t be earning that World’s Greatest Dad mug anytime soon.

Michael Chiklis

Influence

The Thing sings? Yep. Chrome-domed behemoth Chiklis — who got his start aping John Belushi in Wired — plays rock star again on his first album. And to be fair, displays more vocal and musical range than you’d expect, capably handling everything from modern rock and prog to funk and Latin. But even Vic Mackey could write more original songs. Pass.

Daughtry

It’s Not Over … The Hits So Far

Don’t kid yourself, dude. It’s over. So over. And adding two generic new tracks — one arena anthem and one dance-rocker — to this who-cares collection of power-ballad bellowing isn’t going to make anybody care about your chrome-domed reality-TV butt any more than they ever did. Now go find yourself a respectable job and lose our contact info, OK?

Aaron Lewis

Sinner

Some guys are never happy. Lewis is clearly one of them. We learned that from his eternally miserable post-grunge band Staind. But apparently making unlistenably wretched rock was not enough to satisfy him — so now he wants to ruin country music with his constant whining and despair. On the plus side, seems he’s lost the eyebrow ring. Just go, dude.

The Lonely Island

Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping

Brevity really is the soul of wit. That’s partly why TLI’s shorts are a hoot, while their albums — including this soundtrack — fall flat. Sure, their well-crafted teen-pop and hip-hop parodies about mansions, the Mona Lisa, homophobia and crack raise a chuckle. But at 49 minutes, the disc has too many duds to earn an encore. Really, they can stop anytime.

Rae Sremmurd

SremmLife 2

The bad news: Mississippi siblings Swae Lee and Slim Jxmmi are back with another unlistenble platter of offensive rap misogyny and drug-fuelled hedonism for halfwit teenagers. The good news: According to one report, this might be their last disc together. The worst news: That probably just means they’ll release twice as many albums of this crud-blort.

Kiefer Sutherland

Down in a Hole

Listen carefully! Lives are at stake and I don’t have time to explain, so I’m only going to say this once and you’re just going to have to trust me: Nobody needs to hear the guy who played Jack Bauer growl amateur, depressing country-rock laments about booze, heartache and death. Now, you have five seconds to tell me who built this bomb before I kill you.

3OH!3

Night Sports

The party-rock party’s over. But these Boulder bozos won’t drink up and go home. Instead, like overstaying guests everywhere, they crack open a fifth one, crank up a mix of synth-rock jams that nobody listens to anymore and yell lowbrow raps about their groin while trying to pick up your girl. All you can do is roll your eyes and hope they pass out soon.

Steven Tyler

We’re All Somebody From Somewhere

Indeed we are, Steven. You, for instance, are a skinny-assed, big-lipped rock ’n’ roll belter from Boston who’s been the frontman of Aerosmith for nearly half a century. But to the best of everyone’s recollection, you have never been a hillbilly, honky-tonk man or hayseed. And your long-gestating Nashville country album is nothing but carpetbagging cowpies.

dsterdan@postmedia.com

Twitter: @darryl_sterdan