Haha, what the hell is with Helen Wiggin’s drumming? She never stops tapping away for even a second. It’s like someone sat her down at the kit and flipped a switch on her back to the “on” position and walked away. Obviously, no one in The Shaggs is known for their musicianship—quite the opposite, which garnered Philosophy of the World its “so bad it’s good” reputation. At the very least, it’s “so bad it’s funny” for most people.

But you know what? Fuck it—I genuinely enjoy this album. I’m not sure if I’d go as far as to call it accidental genius, but there’s definitely some accidental discovery here, even though The Shaggs were too musically ignorant to realize it. The carefree, jangling pop twinkle of Betty and Dorothy Wiggin’s guitars, as well as Dorothy’s light, innocent vocals and innocuous lyrics forge the earliest genesis for twee pop, which I’ve always been a fan of.

Philosophy of the World possesses the endearingly amateurish ideals that make up twee pop in its most primitive state. It’s one giant mistake, but it’s an adorable one, like watching your infant child trying to pour himself a glass of milk for the first time and failing, spilling it all over himself. But the laughs and heartwarming nature of the scene then show themselves to be worth more than the glass of milk would’ve been, no?

This is lesser than the best twee pop albums because it lacks the basic songwriting self-consciousness that better bands of the genre were able to cleverly incorporate into songs that are only amateurish on the surface. But it does gain a very fundamental thing of any great album by sticking to the far-left side of the field: personality. Philosophy of the World makes me feel happy and content, and if that’s good enough for twee, it’s good enough for me.