Go to the site below and insert the band/album/singer/song of your choice, and see what happens. 
You know…I think I agree with his assessment of Enya…
Redwolf
“Dervish’s Decade, an object lesson in filth…
The sound of the dopplered euro-pap that you hear late on a Saturday night in the suburbs blaring from a jumped up Ford Fiesta is nothing compared to the dire Molly And Johnny (Live In Palma). Track 3, The Lark On The Strand (Midsummer’s Night) is beyond belief. It sounds like the crap usually hosted on geocities by colour blind web idiots. The sound of the sort of thing you’d play to a blind man to make them appreciate the lot of a deaf and blind man that the ‘Harmony Hill’ of The Hills Of Greanmore so accurately reproduces is relieved only by the fact there are no pictures to go with it.
Track 7, the ‘Playing With Fire’ of Peigin Mo Chroi sounds like the slow drip, drip, dripping of that tap you forgot to turn off in the bathroom before going to bed. An Spailpin Fanach (At The End Of The Day) is simply terrible. That’s it, no further explanation needed. People have accused my reviews of being generated by a computer. Well, of course they are. You think anyone in their right mind would listen to Dervish all day? I’m all digital baby.
In fact, a fruits of the forest yoghurt has more cultural significance.
If you still like this crap, go buy it on amazon or something.”
Not bad, but the “‘Harmony Hill’ of the Hills of Greanmore” and “‘Playing with Fire’ of Peigin Mo Chroi” bits expose the engine for what it is.
"I’ve tried to wipe Irving Berlin, Michael Carr, Phil Colclough, Hamilton Harty, Battison Haynes, James Horner, Douglas S. Moore, Pete St. John, > Irish Traditional > and Unspecified’s Heritage from my mind, but, for you, here’s what I can remember:
Luckily a glitch on the CD caused Little Brigid Flynn to skip and refuse to play. Well, at least I hope that is what was happening - for all I know that was what Hamilton Harty intended it to sound like. Fields of Athenry is simply terrible. That’s it, no further explanation needed. My Heart Will Go On is about as hip as my father’s attempts at the Lambada. It’s a vision of hell that not many people live to see, I promise you.
The chorus of track nine, The West’s Awake will haunt me for years to come, sounding as it does like a coked-up Andrew Lloyd-Webber writing a never-ending stream of musical obscenities dribbling through my ears and out onto the carpet. I had to abandon listening to Song for Ireland after my nose and ears began to bleed. Dublin Medley (Dublin Can Be Heaven/Rocky Road to Dublin)? No, no, no, no and no. Horrible. Like a cheap keyboard being played by a God-fearing christian fund raiser outside Tesco’s.
In fact, I’m scared Irving Berlin, Michael Carr, Phil Colclough, Hamilton Harty, Battison Haynes, James Horner, Douglas S. Moore, Pete St. John, > Irish Traditional > and Unspecified will reproduce and foist a new generation of crud on us.
I like cats, but I still think cat jokes are funny.
I also like Fairport Convention.
What do I think about Fairport Convention’s The Wood and the Wire? I’ll tell you what I think…
The sound of aural herpes that the opening track, The Wood And The Wire so accurately reproduces is relieved only by the fact there are no pictures to go with it. Track two, The Dancer is like a late 80s mobile phone ring, and I’m being generous there. A Year And A Day or a pre-teen violinist playing scales over and over in some desperate attempt to make music, tears running down their chubby cheeks with every screech? You decide, I’m not playing it again.
Luckily my PC at work has no sound card. I’ve been happily playing The Game Pieces all afternoon with no ill effects to myself. The lyrics of track 7, Close To You would make better sense written on a urinal wall - at least you could p*ss on them. I had to abandon listening to track 8, Still A Mystery after my nose and ears began to bleed.
In fact, there appears to be no reason why the world would miss Fairport Convention.