There are many different effects that music can have on an individual. The blind flail of the pit-dweller, the euphoric spasm of the club-goer, the shuddering jerk of the no-wave hipster. Now, those who wear sunglasses at night and fist-pump valiantly at your local Wetherspoons have a new totem to cloud around, a new beacon to flock to.

The man, also known as Armando Cristian Pérez, has appeared on a staggering number of releases over the last 10 years, so he must be good right? He is excellent. Pitbull is a conduit, the voice of the modern age, where women are nameless, work is the retention of currency, and the necessity sexual liaison is exponentially increased. Knowing the full extent of his considerable ability, the actor/rapper/producer has used the platform of Global Warming to break down barriers, to challenge our ways of thinking.

In fact, this is a great record. Purpose built to increase STD transmission and decrease intelligence, it can easily soundtrack “Club Rep” foam parties and provide cutscene music for TOWIE. It is, also, great because Pitbull speaks out on many important issues like single motherhood, his origins on the street, communism (“I’m off that”-phew, that was close), correct bitch-acquisition technique and the best way to bring your new year’s wife-swap party to a climax (see 11:59 for details!). Being instructed to raise my glass without jumping would have made me look quite the fool.

Not only that but the quota of magnificence increases with the injection of a truly shimmering lexicon of stars. Shakira, Enrique Iglesias, Christina Aguilera, Usher, Afrojack, domestic boxing champion Chris Brown, Jennifer Lopez, The Wanted, Akon, David Rush, Danny Mercer, Sensato, TJR, Papayo, Havana Brown and the amusingly named Vein. Only two tracks, Back In Time and I’m Off That have Mr. Bull acting alone, both of which are excrutiating. A special mention must go to the truly bone-folding duet between Pitbull and Iglesias, Tchu Tchu Tcha, which caused a lot of my house to break out in thrown chair marks.

Lyrically, Global Warming is shocking. Here is the second verse of Have Some Fun:

You know I love an open mind (mind)

So I can see what you thinking (thinking)

That way I could give you exactly what you want

Matter of fact what you drinking

Some call it pimping, I call it leverage

I call it slipṗing, they call it marriage

She got me up like the Eiffel tower

No Paris, momma you can f*ck like the rabbits

But no diamonds, no karates

She asked if I was single, I said of course not

And she loved it

Next thing you know, we were both having fun in public

It must be noted that the bashful chauvinist angle is by no means shocking, but the clumsiness with which it is delivered is downright insulting. For shame.

Certainly there is nothing musical to celebrate on this album, so there must be a greater purpose. Bit of dubstep, a throwaway spanish number from the 90’s, toothless safe-techno presets, tied together with some of the weakest rapping ever committed to record. There is not a single moment of creative ingenuity on this entire record. Does Pitbull bring us off our high horses with his endless pursuit of intercourse and money? Does he thrust our base desires into our faces to shake up our pretence? Does he need to? No.

Global Warming is an album for human beings to have on loud in the background while they prowl for sex; see The Lonely Island’s ‘Creep’ for visual aids. As a record-the alchemical and ancient distillation of hundreds of man hours into a few minutes worth of orchestration and expression-this is worthless, almost jocular in its existence. To approach this academically, or with the notion that anything written about it will make any impact on its sales, is just ridiculous, and I must confess that during the listening process (especially Everybody Fucks, Party Ain’t Over and Last Night) I had to stop the record and be talked out of suicide. The 00’s cheapo synth port of Take On Me in Feel This Moment on was the highest point on this album.

It’s genuinely, honestly, life-changingly, world-endingly, bad.