Five incredible albums hiding behind awful artwork
‘You should never judge a book by its cover’, I believe the saying goes. It’s a very valid point, but then again, plenty of book covers aren’t exactly adorned with defining features that give away what you’re getting into. While there are some books that may feature small nods to the genre you’re about to consume, there are also those that follow some sort of publishing house uniformity – though I wouldn’t change the iconic orange spines of a Penguin Classic for the world, no matter how many people might consider it bland to look at.
With album sleeves, things are a little different, as they’re usually designed to hook you into wanting to listen to the record without having any prior knowledge of what the music sounds like. Bright and colourful decoration would suggest that you’re getting a taste of psychedelia, while geometric patterns might be more typical of an electronic release, but there are, of course, exceptions to these rules. Even so, the better the packaging of a record, the more inclined you’ll be to take a chance on it and pick it up off the shelf.
So, when you’re presented with an album cover so ghastly that it makes you resent the idea of adding it to your collection, or clouds your judgement to the point that you’re reluctant to even listen, then you’ve got to start asking questions of the design team that put it together. It’s perhaps even more true that you should never judge a record by its cover, as behind some truly atrocious works of art – if you can call them that – are some sublime records that are well work your time.
The following list of five records are prime examples of where a designer, photographer or illustrator has almost managed to sabotage a record by slapping a piece of work so banal, grotesque or uninspired on the cover, but where the music itself redeems all of the album’s visual shortcomings.
Five incredible albums hiding behind awful artwork
Adrianne Lenker – ‘Bright Future’
It might be unfair to begin this list with an album cover that shows the artist’s face, but given how technicolour, intricate and absorbing the music on the record is, the cover for Bright Future deserves to be just as ornate. With Adrianne Lenker’s previous pair of solo releases, Songs and Instrumentals, the vibrant floral paintings that adorn the covers were reflective of how delicate and emotive the music and lyrics are, and while the Big Thief singer managed to capture this on her next batch of songs, she didn’t manage the same on the artwork front.
A simple, blurred close-up of Lenker’s nonplussed expression is far from reflective of the emotional heft of the record. If anything, it makes the record seem as though it’s going to be void of anything remotely passionate, only for the bittersweet sentimentality of the record to hit you like a tonne of bricks the minute ‘Real House’ comes on. Not only is the artist, who should be front and centre of the frame, out of focus, but there’s more space afforded to her massive white cowboy hat, which is bedazzlingly bright that it saps all colour from the rest of the image.
Butthole Surfers – ‘Locust Abortion Technician’
Given the artist/album title combo we’re presented with, you should probably be expecting something more profane than profound from the artwork on the Texan noise-rockers’ third studio album. In actuality, it’s neither, and we’re instead given an image that is as confounding as it is unsettling. There are plenty of people in this world who clowns and their disconcertingly forced joviality understandably perturb, and the two that grace the front of Locust Abortion Technician aren’t exactly inviting you to listen to the album.
For some reason, these two face-painted jokers are engaging in frivolities with a sad looking sausage dog who is wearing a party hat. Your guess is as good as mine as to why, but once you’re able to get past the unnerving painting on the cover, you’re treated to Gibby Haynes and co. at their most unhinged, delivering a hodge-podge of heavy psych and sludge that is just as disarming as all the other elements. Maybe it does do the trick of selling the album because it’s 1) ugly as sin, and 2) fucking mental.
The Dodos – ‘Visiter’
For those of you with young children in your lives, you’ll know you’re often obliged to feign a sense of pride in the works of art they bring home. From incomprehensible collages to the paintings that incorporate many hues of brown, you’ll still give them an encouraging smile and stick in on the door of the fridge for them to bask in the idea that they could become the next Picasso. However, when psychedelic folk duo The Dodos were invited by frontman Meric Long’s sister to perform to a bunch of children at the school she worked at, there was no requirement for them to use a piece of work that a child bequeathed them with as the cover for their second album.
A simple yellow ovoid with the word ‘visiter’ written within it was given to Long by one of the students when he arrived, and he found the illustration and its misspelling to be so endearing that he suggested that it be used as the cover and title. There’s sticking it on the fridge and then there’s forcing others to have the artwork in their own homes, and while the story behind the artwork is adorable, it’s also far removed from the freakish chaos that ensues over the course of this hour-long masterpiece.
Tortoise – ‘TNT’
There’s criticising a child’s drawing, and then there’s criticising a drawing that looks like a child could’ve done it better. The artwork for Tortoise’s post-rock opus TNT falls into the latter camp. A misshapen outline of a humanoid character smoking a cigarette with the album’s title written on its shirt (chest?) upon lined paper is far from an enticing album cover that creates a sense of intrigue about its contents, and that’s a crying shame, because the record is anything but the rushed and uninspired job the cover suggests.
The jazz and electronic inflections on their brand of instrumental rock are nothing if not perfectly calculated, and everything performed by the Chicago ensemble on this record is a masterfully measured and balanced work of engaging art. The cover, on the other hand, smacks of last-minute, and while you might think there’s an amusing inside story behind its usage, it’s simply just a doodle that an unnamed member of the band made on a blank CD-R cover. When the artist doesn’t claim it as their own, that’s when you know they’re hardly proud of their work.
Björk – ‘Homogenic’
Björk’s album covers are either works of ethereal beauty or feature hideous chimaeras that fuse her image with various gaudy elements. There’s something futuristic about Post, and there’s something tranquil and soothing about Vespertine, and in the middle of those, there’s Homogenic; a monstrous depiction of the Icelandic singer in full geisha garb. Not only is it an overcooked eyesore that you don’t want to look at for much more than a split second, but it’s horrifically culturally insensitive.
I suppose when you’ve crammed all of the artistic ambition into the musical aspects of a record, the packaging might come as something of an afterthought, but to realise that it was shot and designed in collaboration with fashion designer Alexander McQueen makes the choice even more perplexing. Speaking of her vision for the sleeve, the singer said she wanted it to portray “someone who is put into an impossible situation, so impossible that she has to become a warrior. A warrior who has to fight not with weapons, but with love. I had 10 kilos of hair on my head, and special contact lenses and a manicure that prevented me from eating with my fingers, and gaffer tape around my waist and high clogs so I couldn’t walk easily.” Sure, Björk, whatever you say.
