Big plops, I mean props to the filmmakery Shoreditcher who’s very lovingly compiled and edited a nine minute clip revealing what the music sheathed within the worst album sleeves of all time actually sounds like.

Those retina-scorching images of gorgonzolan tackiness that clickbait webheads have convinced us are the most ghastly LP jackets ever produced have now been exposed for their musical content. With mixed but fairly interesting results…

Amidst the alpine crooners, deluded nobodies and minging god-botherers there’s some decent stuff previewed in that clip.

It starts off well with cuddly Carlos, who’s a big, furry fun-loving lad with a nice line in jaunty EurAfricanoPop (a new genre he just this minute kickstarted).

There’s more Carlos magic here and here’s an even better video of the track featured:

Is Vincent Carpretta for real…?!? Wow. What a lovely (lady’s) singing voice he has. That Gary character really does look like he could take care of business. Intriguing sound he’s got too.

Nigel Pepper Cock is my favourite. Such fucking NERVE to release that! My friend Pete has this record- it’s actually a hardcore punk seven inch called ‘Fresh White Reeboks Kickin’ Your Ass’. I’m sure you noticed he was wearing a pair… along with a huge, stonking upright bonk-on.

My dad has this Orleans LP. Which is almost as uncomfortable to look at. 

Kevin Rowland still sounds fabulous. I’ve never heard the whole of that ‘My Beauty’ album but I kinda liked his version of Whitney’s ‘Greatest Love Of All’. Mainly because I love his voice. So unique, heartfelt and shrill. 

Brainstorm sound awesome. A proggy bunch of jazz-rock groovers from Baden-Baden whose work I will endeavour to explore further. That’s a classic cover too. ’70s hippies in  ladies’ underwear is never going to be a bad thing in my book. It’s really rather arousing actually.

There’s nothing wrong with that Herbie mann sleeve either. A kick-ass flautist with his top off (on what looks like a hot day indoors)… What’s so terrible about that? Nice typeface to go with a strong look from Herb. Photographed by sometime Dors photographer Joel Brodsky. It’s a classy album this one. Duane Allman appears, helping to cement the jazz-rock fusion. Richard Tee from the shit-hot funk band Stuff is on keyboards, soul sessioneer Donald ‘Duck’ Dunn and the great Chuck Rainey are on bass duties and legendary drummer Bernard Purdie also features.

Also, the ‘Argentina Coral-Cante Gitano’ sleeve (around 7m38s) is also a… well, it says it on the cover… belter. Great font choices and such a striking image of a lady with unconventional but very sensual features. It made me want to hear more. So i did:

She’s really quite pretty, look…

That weird Wasnatch thing (the guy blowing a french horn up a woman’s arse) is just a bunch of pisstaking ska jokers from Salt Lake City, probably taking the term ‘rude boys’ literally, for larks. It looks like it’s from the ’70s and might well be (they could’ve reused an old image from some raunchy German oompah obscurity) but, as the lyrics mentioning pioneering perverts 2-Live-Crew might suggest, they’re a fairly recent concern, only forming in 2009.

I’d include 2-Live-Crew amongst the hip-hop I’ve heard that’s tons worse than Big Bear. I liked his tone. Truly awful sleeve though… as with everything released on Master P’s No Limit label.

I was most taken by that truly sleazy ‘My Pussy Belongs To Daddy’ album. For the titles more than the tits:

This record looks amazing. Sounds pretty good too, like leery strip-joint cabaret jazz. Every track reads like a gloopy and quite surreal double entrendre:

We have: ‘Things Are Soft For Grandma, Since Grandpa’s Eighty-Four’, ‘I Tried It Everywhere’, ‘Sadie’s Still Got The Rag On’ (Eeeeuww!) and there’s a couple of classic Carry-Onners; ‘He Forgot His Rubbers’ and ‘Tony’s Got Hot Nuts’ but I’m perplexed and a little unsettled to learn ‘She Sits Among The Cabbages And Peas’.

Millie Jackson is just plain filthy. The female Chubby Brown of soul.

I’m loving the Rolls-Royce with pram wheels Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson knocked up in woodwork class. That’s not the world’s worst cover either. It’s just a funny funk fella fuckin’ around for fun. No more ludicrous than any Parliament album sleeve.

The absolute worst has got to be John Bult with ‘Julie’s Sixteenth Birthday’. Now, this sleeve could well be depicting a compassionate father reassuring his daughter over the distress caused by the complex change from adolescence to womanhood.

But viewed through Yewtree-weary 21st-century eyes, it can’t help but look, like, well dodge.