★★★☆☆

Never before have I seen so many lewd words scribbled across my notepad as when I finished reviewing Sarah Silverman’s recently released comedy album, “We Are Miracles.” In this album, the audio track from her 2014 HBO stand-up special of the same name, Silverman is not afraid to confront the most uncomfortable subjects in our society today. From rape, to 9/11 widows, to orgasms when you poop, Sarah Silverman’s got it all. But for any comedy fans “titillated” (her word, not mine) by her bold approach to diction and society, you’d best beware: She is no Louis C.K.

Silverman’s writing often falls flat, relying on the initial shock value of a joke rather than the well-thought-out structure one has come to expect from C.K. In one of her opening bits, Silverman describes her affinity for porn, noting her different porn “search words” such as (and prepare for hefty censorship) “gang-bang” and “amateur.” She fixates on the simpler joke and rushes to say that she forgot her final word, “high-fives.” This sort of incongruous addition does make the audience laugh but, then again, so does her use of the phrase “anal warts” only minutes later.

A good comedy album keeps the listener active, always trying to stay a few beats ahead of the comedian on a path that he or she has already created. But somehow Silverman’s comedy leaves the listeners feeling empty, not having employed themselves at all. At one point, Silverman notes that women who demand that people should adopt dogs from shelters tend to have too many kids. A comedian like Jim Gaffigan (MSB ’88) would pause, letting the audience get to the obvious connection between dog shelters and orphanages, but not Silverman. She plows straight through the setup to the punch line, leaving the audience feeling somewhat hostage to her own lazy, direct delivery.

Despite her shortcomings, one thing Silverman has mastered is meta-comedy. While not done as fluidly as Bo Burnham, who builds on stand-up’s innate oddity and weirdness, Silverman does practice meta-comedy in her routine. At one point she introduces a study on 9/11 widows’ sexual habits, then waits well beyond the typical comedic pause to illustrate how strange comedy can really be. She seems to be purposefully presenting the most absurd comedic premise, then marinating in its uncomfortable nature. She proceeds to say that she made up the entire study herself, for no other purpose than to watch audience’s response.

Yet, despite all the flaws in this album, I would still purchase it. The humor in “We Are Miracles” may be cheap, and poorly executed, but its shocking nature is still worth a laughing gasp. After all, a laugh is still a laugh. And there are some nights where we don’t feel like listening actively. There are nights when we may watch old episodes of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” because “The Tonight Show” takes too much effort. There is something to be said about effortless laughter, and in some ways this is exactly what Silverman delivers. She is not providing a work of art that will cause you to rack your brain, but what she is providing is simple laughter, and perhaps a bit of unexpected contemplation.

“We Are Miracles” provides an interesting insight into the world of bizarre comedy that, whether you like it or not, is still worth examining. Think of the album like a car accident. It may not be aesthetically pleasing, but people still stop to look.

Through Silverman’s work, one is able to see where our society falls short and what issues we fail to confront. And though I believe this sort of reflection was not intentional on her behalf, it is through her distorted lens that we may discover something we have never seen before. We begin to see why shock amuses us, and why taboo leaves us hunched over in our seats, dying with laughter.