Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Google+ Share on Reddit Share on Pinterest Share on Linkedin Share on Tumblr Have you ever met that guy who could have been cool but one thing held him back? You know the type: funny, charming and quick with a joke but has too many questionable vibes emanating off of him. Just when you think you can chill with him, he makes an off-color comment. You want him to be cool, but he just can’t be. This is Darwin Deez—A catchy, poppy New York songwriter who seems to have an unhealthy interest in random political issues. Deez’s last record Songs for Imaginative People was a disappointing grab-bag with a couple of amazing tunes (“(800) Human” and “You Can’t Be My Girl”) hidden among the third-rate Prince knockoffs Deez has been shelling since his first album. Still, coupled with a few great music videos, Song for Imaginative People hinted at a growing songwriter who was a few edits away from breaking out. Deez has apparently fired or distanced himself from anyone who made him sane during Songs for Imaginative People as Double Down is a cesspool of pure nastiness. In a year where Drake made a chart topping hit that basically lambasts an ex for not staying inside and being a “good” girl, Deez might find success. After all, each song on Deez’s album boils down to a Drake mansplaining monologue with wimpy guitars instead of hazy beats. Opener “Last Cigarette” has Deez grossly comparing the titular cancer-stick to his ex (whom he’s also hooking up with). “The Mess She Made” opens with Deez claiming “some of my best friends are girls!” which seems laughable or sad depending on your view. “You only care about your hair/ To you a mirror is a miracle,” he sings on “Lover,” only for the following “Time Machine” to beg “Do you mind if we just skip to when we’re friends again?” “What do I have to say?” He sings. Maybe don’t claim that she’s a stuck up brat and then crawl back for pity sex? Just a shot in the dark. Deez really is the obnoxious white knight, thinking that women are slot machines where “friendship” is put in and sex comes out. And when sex doesn’t come out, he devolves into a four-year old. “I’m concerned about your health/ the way you prostitute yourself,” he sings on “Bag of Tricks,” one of the album’s creepiest songs. In it, Deez is unhappy that his ex is going on (GASP) dates! “When your bag of tricks run out will they still love you when they doubt?/ Remember, readymade gags come with a price tag.” All of this could be solved if Deez seemed to have an inch of empathy in him, or if he ever portrayed himself as something other than a scorned lover. Instead it’s a gross, disgusting and sexist album that elevates Deez to the high honor of most punchable indie-hack.