It’s arraignment day, so some comic relief is in order. The other day, I stumbled into a piece about the worst jazz album covers and history was made.

I passed on the rotten covers that are over-sexualized relics of a bygone era. Shorter Adrastos: They’re sexist and dated neither of which is my jam.

We begin with the cover that inspired this post. I wonder if the band stored their instruments in Kangaroo pouches. A clarinet would fit, drums would not.

Next up is the lone cover from a well-known artist. It’s clever in a sick way but flaming flutes shouldn’t be Herbie Mann’s thing. It looks like the cover for an NRA tribute band. Is there such a thing? Let’s hope not.

A beached cellist in his jammies? Who thinks of this shit? One could say, however, that it’s the Katz pajamas.

This cover is dedicated to the folks at the coroner’s office. They’re a bunch of cutups but I don’t think they use mallets. The cover is nearly redeemed by the punny title. You say mallet, I say malice. Let’s call the whole thing off.

Note that the artist’s name isn’t on the next cover. Was the Harry Robinson Crew embarrased by the cover? They should have been. Is she supposed to be a mime drummer? All I have are questions.

That is all.