Once every generation or so, an artist comes along whose musical talent is undeniable. Who sets the world on fire with his wonderful songs. Whose voice is a ray of light in the darkness.

John Soeder is not that guy.

He begged me to write these liner notes, though, and I really need the money. So here goes:

EARBUD SYMPHONICA is Soeder’s sixth full-length release. (What a pretentious title, right?) It’s a double album at that, with 18 all-new, all-original compositions. Well, not counting the parts nicked from “Frere Jacques.”

Why a double album? Isn’t there enough awful homemade music clogging up the Internet already?

Turns out Soeder found himself swept up in the hype surrounding the “Exile on Main Street” reissue and got the harebrained idea that it might be fun to create a double album of his own. The aforementioned Rolling Stones opus had 18 tracks in its original incarnation, so our would-be jukebox hero responded in kind. The similarities end there, I’m afraid; EARBUD SYMPHONICA was most certainly NOT recorded in the midst of a drug-fueled orgy in the South of France.

The pulsating “Check Check” sets the stage for the whole affair. I detect trace elements of David Bowie, which is an insult not only to David Bowie, but to trace elements everywhere.

“John the Revelator” (originally released as a single in May 2010) amateurishly combines apocalyptic lyrics and a blues progression that Soeder heard played by late greats like Robert Lockwood Jr. and Charles Brown. As far as acoustic ballads are concerned, “Evensong” could be worse, I guess. “Rocking Chair” has its moments; the whistling is OK. “Chlorine Eyes” is a lame attempt at a Beach Boys pastiche, although I suppose the poor bastard’s heart is in the right place.

If virtual albums had sides, Side Two would commence with the retro-flavored “The Last Crumb,” yet another example of Soeder’s well-documented nostalgic streak. It was the first single released from the album, way back in April 2010. “Diorama Box” is a jazz instrumental; Soeder recorded it after his son Sean made a diorama box for school. “Love Is Plagiarism” is a ditty that She & Him will never get around to covering, but Soeder thinks they should. (Dream on, dude.) “Who Do You Think You Are to Keep Waltzing In and Out of My Life” has a very long title.

Side Three, if there were a Side Three, opens with the horn-emblazoned “Shine”; when we discussed it, Soeder mumbled something about a Dave Matthews Band vibe. The techno-pseudo-classical “Earbud Symphonica (Third Movement)” is another instrumental. I do not know, nor do I care, what happened to the other movements. Set against a sparse backdrop of drums, bass, piano and organ, “The Downsized Clown” milks a certain pathos. “Gots the Itch” is completely forgettable. According to Soeder, the kinda-haunting-but-not-really “There Goes the Moon” was conceived as a flip side of sorts to the vastly superior “Here Comes the Sun.” Whatever.

Like most cockamamie schemes by unchecked egomaniacs whose grandiose ambitions exceed their meager capabilities, EARBUD SYMPHONICA runs out of steam long before we arrive at the theoretical Side Four. “Happy Accidents,” a vaguely rootsy toe-tapper, is way too sappy for my tastes, even if the last verse supposedly was inspired by a conversation with David Johansen. “Talkin’ April 6 2010 Blues” isn’t a proper talkin’ blues, because there is too much singin’ and not enough talkin’. “Cutlery (A Love Story)” is probably the dumbest tune ever. And the piano ballad “Round the Block” attempts to wrap up everything on a poignant note, although by then, it’s far too late.

So there you have it: EARBUD SYMPHONICA. Sixty minutes of your life that you will NEVER get back. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

-- NATHANIEL JONES

Nathaniel Jones is the editor of CACOPHONY OF DUNCES, a music blog that nobody has ever heard of, much less read.