Dear Ms. Trellis
I would like to postulate that, perhaps, you have become immune to, or perhaps attuned to, or even consumed by the insidious evil present in Mr. Smalls "work". As an example, I'd like to present "Now That's What I Call Music", which appeared to absolutely no fanfare apart from its own chaotic and atonal aural assault 2 months ago. Note how carefully it was placed between almost normal offerings in order to inveigle its way into the minds and hearts of reasonable God-Fearing folk - this is where the slippery slope begins, and in order to halt the slide into an enjoyment of the sort of "music" that frightens small animals and ensures no repeat visitors to one's house, I would recommend a diet of Syrup of Figs and Burt Baccarach or failing that, a competent exorcist.
In trepidation
Anne Robinson