Five albums people wouldn’t expect Dwarves’ Blag Dahlia to like

Naked ladies, animal carcasses, hard drugs, pedophilia, STDs, and, of course, a little person: Dwarves’ Sub Pop-released breakthrough, 1990’s Blood Guts & Pussy, had it all. Since then, frontman Blag Dahlia has led his notorious, dick-flashing, prank-happy punk gang through numerous albums and incarnations. (The most current lineup includes Mondo Generator leader and former Queens Of The Stone Age member Nick Oliveri.) The band’s new album, The Dwarves Are Born Again, is one of its strongest, nastiest releases in years—but despite Dahlia’s crude lyrics and antics, he’s occasionally dabbled in everything from bluegrass to writing novels to contributing a song to Spongebob Squarepants. To set the record straight, Dahlia put on his music-critic pants and gave The A.V. Club a list of five albums that no one would expect a three-chord miscreant like him to enjoy. (Well, except maybe for that last one.)
Lily Allen, Alright, Still
Call it Vexed In The City. Not since “I Will Survive” has anyone so audaciously summed up the agonies of the single female as Lily Allen does on Alright, Still. Allen’s lyrics are at once rude, poignant, truthful, ridiculous, and sublime, as is the cover picture of her on something like a moped. Producer Mark Ronson singlehandedly saves both dancehall and ska from irrelevance by devolving ever backward into the same bag of tricks he used to elevate Amy Winehouse from a great singer to a great artiste and, eventually, a great hairstyle. “Friday Night” defines going out for the current era much like Saturday Night Fever did for the Me Generation. Recommended for girls trying to convince themselves they haven’t just made the biggest mistake of their lives.
William Shatner, Has Been
If all he had done here was resurrect Pulp’s annoying “Common People,” that would have been plenty. Instead, what Captain Kirk does on his album Has Been is lay his soul bare and lend his singular voice to the task of defining his legacy. With visionary producer and collaborator Ben Folds guiding the way, Shatner takes turns at every style—moving deftly from country to pop to beatnik rants and duets culled from a life lived at the extremes. What emerges is the word portrait of a mythologized man throwing glorious globs of colored prose at Folds' handcrafted sonic vignettes. This record has boldly gone where no cliché has gone before. Recommended for those who like a good cigar on a cold, windy day.