Not to obsess about pop music or anything (there are way better places for that) but there are a number of songs on the radio right now that are making me want to fuckin’ puke. God knows I try to keep up with the horseshit that comes cascading from the anuses of Major Labels by listening to the Top 20 on 20 station on the XM Radio, but I often pay for my insolence with three-minute bursts of uncontrollable rage.
Allan Bloom once said that a student listening to a Walkman constituted an act of onanism so utterly self-involved that it was worthy of cultural derision. Being a big fan of my Walkman at the time, I thought he was full of shit. But Bloom never lived long enough to see the careers of Britney Spears, Ashlee Simpson and Lindsay Lohan, three women that would have made his body burst into flame with their gargantuan egos and self-obsession.
All three are so disingenuous it should be criminal. How dare Lindsay Lohan try to be the most famous teen actor on earth, star in three movies this year, fake not having a boob job, release a dreadful POP ALBUM, and then “write” a song called “Rumors,” in which she coos “I’m sick of being followed… why can’t they back up off me… can you please respect my privacy”? Is she fucking KIDDING?
We’ve come to expect anything out of Britney, but “My Prerogative” (which I’m assuming she can’t spell) is unbelievable, worse than both her marriages. I thought the original was crap, too – and Bobby Brown showed what he could do to Whitney when he was allowed to exercise his, um, prerogative.
What exactly is Britney not allowed to do that she hasn’t done already? Why is she singing a song explaining her prerogative, when she has already exhausted every nucleotide in every paparazzi trying to cover her next antic? This is a woman who gets more air time for her bullshit than anyone on earth, and now she’s giving US the finger?
And now Ashlee Simpson. Poor, poor Ashlee Simpson. In “Shadow,” she sings that she was “living in a nightmare” and “living in the shadow of someone else’s dream,” presumably, her sister Jessica (which reminds me of that line in Barcelona when Fred asks “What do you call what’s above the subtext?” and Ted answers “The text.”)
This is a 19-year-old that dared to call her album “Autobiography.” Think about that for a minute.
She also fucked up her lip-synching on SNL and then blamed her band (very smooth) and then trotted her dad out to say she had acid reflux. Now, I’ve had acid reflux. Really bad. Sean’s had it so bad that he has thrown up in the middle of the night. Yet there is no acid reflux so terrible that you can’t sing your own silly songs. That was a LIE.
And as for being “stuck inside someone else’s life and always being second best,” let me tell you, Ashlee: nobody wanted to see Picasso’s sister’s painting either. I’m not aching to hear Paul McCartney’s aunt’s album, and I’m sure Robert DeNiro’s cousin Vince is content with his car dealership. You’ve managed to get a hit album off your sister’s notoriety, but worse, you’ve got a hit song about how you never had any hit songs because of your sister. Is the irony lost on everyone?
I’m strangely drawn to her, however – maybe it’s the nose
Oh yeah, and Hoobastank is a really really stupid name for a band. I hate it. God, how I hate it. GOD I HATE THAT NAME.