Anna Minard claims to "know nothing about music." For this column, we force her to listen to random records by artists considered to be important by music nerds.

Kimono My House

Kimono My House (assigned to me gleefully by our dear David Schmader) started off on the right foot because it verbed a noun, which this copy editor thinks is funny. I could not, for the life of me, figure from the cover what era it was from.

Do you ever feel unprepared for an artistic experience, like the minute it envelops you, you need to pause it, go prepare for an hour (get dressed up, do a little research, bring a friend), and then get back to it? I used to do that with movies as a teenager—if they got really good, I'd have to go change into a better outfit. I don't know exactly what outfit this album requires, but I definitely feel the need to respect it with total adolescent commitment to the material. It's probably worth an entire costume-change montage, with at least five people, hopefully in front of velvet curtains. Tip: Have lots of wigs on hand. Kimono sounds like a clown opera, and I do not mean Pagliacci. It sounds like a circus worth of clowns on speed wrote an opera based on their dream journals. It's fantastic!

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