Jacobi had been recording since the 1970's, and from this album, it's obvious why this guy never got a record deal. It's not that he sings badly about his shitty life, he's really weird. Not good weird like Iggy Pop and David Bowie, but bad weird like, well, himself and himself.

The album sounds like garage punk band, which is to say that it has the sound only (it's the only reason it got a 1 rating), not the content matter. My love for The Clash (initially a garage band) should indicate that I like the genre. Jacobi used this album to show his messed up life and how unfair the world was to him all the while trying so hard to be funny. He's not funny nor should he try to be. He betrayed what a punk rocker is supposed to do: to be anti-establishment; he bitched instead.

His lyrics are complete crap, but I'll at least give him credit for having the confidence, or should I say arrogance, to sing them out badly, that is, if you can call his croaking singing in the first place.