Pitchfork

"You may notice some technical inadequacies in some of my performances-- a hesitant beat here, a dodgy note there-- these are of course entirely deliberate and reproduced as evidence of my almost painful sincerity." So scribbles one Robert Wyatt in the liner notes of this, his third solo album, released in 1982. As a way of introduction to this slice of early '80s lefty idealism, it's a mostly fitting statement of purpose. It's also a perfect way to describe why this album sucks like so many new born babes.

Over the course of Wyatt's two previous records, Rock Bottom and Ruth is Stranger than Richard, Wyatt proved himself capable of mustering some genuinely intriguing musical moments. And if consistency was a problem with the first two albums, it isn't here-- Nothing Can Stop Us is consistently bad. From the lame keyboard synth-pop that populates songs like "Born Again Cretin" to the lame, soulless rendering of Chilean and Indian socialist fight songs ("Arauco" and "Trade Union"), Wyatt proves himself capable of producing shitty music of all genres.

Throughout runs the undercurrent of lefty polemic, as highlighted in the final piece, where poet Peter Blackman reads his poem "Stalingrad." A stirring and wrong- headed ode to the virtues of the old Soviet republic, this poem is a firm slap in the face to all those who suffered from the brutality the Soviet regime inflicted upon the working people. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm as lefty as the next mutha, but I see no reason to toast a government that brought so much pain upon its people and its environment.

All in all, this album is one brutally dull attempt at sticking it to somebody. That it's philosophically naive is one thing, but to be no fun to listen to? That's nearly unforgiveable.