Posts Tagged ‘Britney Spears’

How Bad Can It Be?: Ashley Tisdale, “Guilty Pleasure”

howbadcanitbe

In a way, this was meant to be the missing half of my Hannah Montana piece from some months back. Astute readers pointed out that my take on the multi-hyphenate one-woman omnimedia engine phenomenon was incomplete, because it skipped any analysis of the teenpop music that ostensibly drives that engine. Now, obviously, Ashley Tisdale is Ashley Tisdale and Hannah Montana is, well, Miley Cyrus — but it’s Ashley Tisdale who recently dropped a new and much-hyped album, Guilty Pleasure, so it is she who goes under the lens today.

A late-inning defensive substitution? Sure. But Tisdale is something of a professional second-stringer anyway. Before her star turn in the straight-to-the-B-list Aliens in the Attic, she specialized in wacky sidekick roles, most notably on Disney Channel’s Suite Life [sic] of Zack & Cody, where she was billed below the Sprouse twins, talent-free muppets whose adorability quotient — never particularly high — has plummeted with encroaching adolescence. She’s best known as the would-be diva Sharpay Evans in the High School Musical series, playing comic foil to the earnest, dull lovebirds Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens. Notionally, she’s the Rose Marie of Disney Channel (which would make Corbin Bleu its Morey Amsterdam, I suppose).

I’ll be honest with you — the High School Musical movies are a hell of a lot more fun than they have any business being (thanks, in part, to Robbie Nevil’s songs), and Tisdale is pretty terrific in them. She’s an able comedic actress, nailing Sharpay’s essential comic paradox — she’s both vapid and scheming — with nimble timing. To the standard of The New California Beauty as laid down by the likes of Paris Hilton and Hayden Panettiere (i.e., salon blonde, orange tan, squishy nose and a general softness that renders her cute rather than actually pretty), the Tiz adds a pleasing mobility and expressiveness, along with a willingness to pull goofy faces. (more…)

Jesus of Cool: Michael Jackson’s Crossover Nightmare

I promised myself that I wouldn’t do it – that I wouldn’t dive into the already overcrowded waters of Michael Jackson obituary, hagiography and/or armchair autopsy. I managed to keep that promise for a whole month – primarily because I didn’t have a coherent “take” on Michael’s life or his death. Yet here I find myself … inevitably, inescapably, if about five weeks late.

I have declined to babble about the moments when Michael’s music provided my life’s soundtrack – how the J5’s Greatest Hits was the first album I ever owned as a 5-year-old; how my friends and I cruised my hometown debating whether the best part of “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” was the “Mama say, mama sa, mama coo sa” part or the “Yee hahs!”; how the entire world (including even my cloistered grad-school community) paused to take in the premiere of the “Black or White” video and then burned up the phone lines asking each other, “What the fuck was that last part?”

I have stifled the urge to pontificate on how the world leapt right past forgiveness to forgetfulness last month, or how the family trotted out and exploited Michael’s long-sheltered children to help ensure that his extramusical legacy wouldn’t (exclusively) involve images of surgical masks, hyperbaric chambers, court appearances, Emmanuel Lewis and Bubbles. And I’ve remained quiet as, in the weeks since the memorial service, we have so quickly and efficiently stuffed MJ into Elvis’ (metaphorical) box. To wit: Elvis was a hugely influential pop progenitor and oft-described King who died bloated, sequined and strung out on prescription medication. Michael was a hugely influential, sequined crossover-pop progenitor and self-described King who died emaciated, caucasian … and strung out on prescription medication.

But last week, as we passed the one-month mark since Michael became omnipresent once more, I finally figured out what I’d like to say to him as he passes into legend. It’s this: Thanks for destroying the record industry! (more…)

Unsolicited Career Advice for… Michael Stipe

Who knows how Uncle Donnie gets to know someone like Michael Stipe well enough to receive the gift of dishware from him?  Granted, these are strange times in which we live, so finding something like this in the memo stack was not entirely a surprise, though Mike Mills and Peter Buck might not be too happy with U.D.’s nicknames for them. —RS

TO: Michael Stipe
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

Mike, thanks so much for the Basquiat dinner plates. Nothing like getting to the bottom of one of Mitzi’s casseroles and seeing a neo-Expressionist skull staring back at me.  We’d have you over for dinner, but I know you’re a vegetarian, and she puts beef broth in everything (makes for an interesting apple pie, let me tell you).

Mike, I know you and the boys got a bit of a bump in popularity last year, with the Accelerate album and the return to rocking out and such and so forth. You’re at your best when you and the nerdy one let the schlubby one turn up his amps and blow a hole through whatever wall happens to be nearby. Don’t get me wrong—I actually liked Around the Sun (leaving New York is never easy, but there’s so much more of the country to see) and Up. To my ears, Reveal is the only truly crap record you guys have made. Man, did that stink. I mean, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, aside from maybe—maybe—“Imitation of Life,” but that got old pretty quickly. You guys dropped a turd on that one. Most bands don’t recover from something that rank.

Which is why you should look out for yourself more, for your own career, your own life apart from the nerdy one and the schlubby one. I’ve got some ideas you might want to consider:

  • Go nuts. You’re a dignified, middle aged man with intellectual, political, and artistic pursuits beyond the music you are best known for. You appreciate privacy and go to some lengths to protect it. You support worthy people and worthier causes. Mike, it’s a wonder anyone knows who the hell you are. You need to pull a Britney. Or an Amy Winehouse. Go out for a night on the town without any underwear … or pants. Or put on the underwear, smoke five or six pounds of crack, and go wandering down the street on a crying jag. Better yet, get fat, take steroids, get plastic surgery to the point where you’re barely recognizable, take in a bunch of stray dogs, and do a lot of interviews about how you’ve hit rock bottom and are now bouncing back. It worked for Mickey Rourke—he even got an Oscar nomination. Speaking of which …
  • Become an actor. They’re actually making a remake of The Three Stooges, with Jim-friggin’-Carey as Curly. Michael, you were born for that role. It’s totally playing against type (unless Curly was really a shy, mumbling alternative type and we just didn’t know it), which is why you’ll blow everyone away with your “Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk-nyuks” and your “Whoop-whoop-whoops” and you “Oh, wiseguys.” Forget that whole movie producer thing, Mike. You were born to be in front of the camera. Acting like Curly Stooge.
  • Two words: Food Network. You and Mario Batali were so awesome together on that Sundance show. The two of you need to do a cooking show together—Mike and Mario’s Vegetarian Kitchen or some such thing. It’ll knock that conniving bitch Paula Deen right off the network.
  • Fake your death. There’d be a state funeral in Georgia. Flags at half-staff at the next Lollapalooza show. Courtney Love might write a song for you (or get Billy Corgan to do it and say she wrote it). Rolling Stone would put you on the cover and give every album five stars in the next Record Guide (including Reveal, which really was a turd, Mike). Warners might actually earn back some of your advance from the last REM contract. And you—you get to disappear, find a little place on the beach somewhere and live out your days listening to Patti Smith bootlegs and reading Rene Ricard collections to your heart’s content. Sound good? I knew it would.

All the best,
Don

SXSW 2009 – The Recap

This was not only my first trip to SXSW, it was my first trip to Austin. I’ve been to Houston a couple of times, but the two cities could not be more different. Austin is known as a blue city in the middle of a red state, and is one of the great music towns in the world. Though I’ve obviously never been to Austin when SXSW wasn’t going on, the sheer number of venues indicates that the music goes on non-stop, even after the tourists have left town.

The festival itself is simply extraordinary. No one seems to know how the organizers do it. They’ve had 22 years now to practice their craft, but it’s still an astonishing accomplishment. There are something like 1,900 bands, hundreds of venues, panels, speeches, parties, the Flatstock Poster Show, the Texas Guitar and Record Show, and other special events to coordinate, and somehow it all looks seamless. I’m sure it’s not, but in my mind the mark of a great event is that you don’t see it working, it just does. At no time did I see any indication of the tremendous amount of work that goes into making this festival work. And don’t forget, though the largest by far, the music festival is only one of the three festivals, together with film, and interactive, that make up SXSW. One key factor is the hundreds of volunteers, who are polite, knowledgeable, and informative.

It’s exhausting. While the majority of the venues are on Sixth Avenue, or nearby, some important venues are not. Many are long walks, but not long enough to spring for a cab. So you end up doing an awful lot of hoofing. Plus, you ending up standing up in most of the venues. So you’re on your feet constantly. It’s like working retail. I think a person my age needs to train for this event like an athlete. Add to it that the days and nights are long and consecutive. You know how you feel after a late night of music and partying? Well try doing that for four consecutive days, and nights. One suggestion that I’d make to the organizers is that they consider some sort of shuttle to take people around to the various areas where the venues are. I don’t know if this is practical, but it’s worth thinking about. This year a shuttle bringing people downtown from their hotels on the city’s outskirts was instituted for the first time, and it seemed to work very well.

A little bit of bitching, having nothing to do with the festival itself. As I’ve mentioned before, AT&T’s internet access for smartphones was a joke. It was spotty at best, and often non-existent. How could they not be prepared?

I always pay attention to my fellow journalists at events. Maybe I just want to see how I should behave to look professional. If what I saw is any indication, I’d rather not. There they stand with their little notebooks, and THEY DON’T APPLAUD FOR THE ARTISTS. It’s as if they have to prove their objectivity by not showing any appreciation for what they’re seeing. This is music, not rocket science. If you can’t enjoy it, and be will to demonstrate your enjoyment, find another job. I have a notebook too, but I still make an effort to show my appreciation to the artists who are performing. It’s the least we can do. It’s not as if we paid to get in.

Photographers. I am the first to admit that I am not a professional photographer. I have a pretty good camera, a Nikon D60, but it’s nothing compared to what the real professionals have. But I was all Popdose had a SXSW this year, so if I didn’t take the photos, there wouldn’t be any. That required me to take up residence in the photo pit at Stubb’s for two nights for two of the biggest shows at the festival. The behavior of the “professionals” in that pit was deplorable. You’d think they were taking photos of Britney Spears going out to get a pack of cigarettes, or the Octomom the way they acted. I’m a big guy, but I was pushed more than once, and hit in the head with a swinging camera. It’s a rock an roll show, get over yourselves. If you can’t get your shot within the three songs alloted, without making it unpleasant for other people, find another business.

Minor quibbles all, but it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t whine a little. Overall it was a simply astonishing experience. Inspiring music by the Hold Steady, and the Uglysuit. Inspiring words from Quincy Jones, and Steve Van Zandt. Tex-Mex food that made me realize what I’ve been missing in N.J. all these years. Friendly people who were genuinely interested in being helpful. It was all part of the SXSW ‘09 experience for me.

Thanks Austin. See you next year.

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Dw. Dunphy On… Pay-to-Play, the 21st-Century Way

Get out your wallet — or, better yet, don’t: The music subsidiary industries of live venue ticket sales and satellite radio are here to give you a lesson in economics. It was news recently when ticket agent monolith Ticketmaster shuttled consumers seeking Bruce Springsteen tour tickets immediately to a “secondary arm,” which in this case means aftermarket, or, to be more blunt, scalping. The turnaround from viable public sale to resale was an estimated 15 seconds, an impossible speed for the average concertgoer to have broken through to obtain tickets. The whiff of stink indicates that Ticketmaster concocted this scam to get the tickets immediately to the secondary market, where they could charge whatever the market would bear. 100 percent markup? 500 percent markup?

Springsteen wasn’t at all happy about it and made his displeasure public. Afterward, a whole raft of complaints came in, not just for the Springsteen incident but for Britney Spears tickets, summer festival tickets, and a whole host of gouged events. Wouldn’t any other company out there compete head-to-head with Ticketmaster to bring tickets back down to the common strata? Well, maybe LiveNation would be our savior! Well, sure, until it was announced that LiveNation was seeking to merge with Ticketmaster, forming what could only be described as a monopoly on the ticket agency market. Pre-merger, we have seen even modest summer events ticketed at a starting rate of $100 for nosebleed seating. What the post-merger business holds in store is just about unthinkable, and in a poor economy where such entertainment distractions would be welcomed, this seems like a suicidal business practice.

Well, if we can’t rely on businesses to be responsible, or at the very least realistic, we can expect the US government to intercede and not allow such shifty unions to take place, if only for the sake of the public trust, right? Think back to the days when our governance said things like, “We cannot allow XM Satellite Radio to merge with Sirius. They’re the only game in town. To wed them is to subject their customers to all manner of pricing abuses.” Not long thereafter, the two joined forces anyway because, in matters such as these, the merger almost always goes through. And now it looks like XM/Sirius is on the brink of bankruptcy. Are these events related?

Back in the infancy of satellite radio, there was a cry of disdain — how can you expect the public to buy into paying for radio after having free access for years? Signal quality is a selling point and, undeniably, digital radio sounds a lot better than standard airwave broadcasting. Censorship is another point, in that because you pay for the usage, you assume the liability of offense, so the codes of “morality and decency” are waived, much like cable television. This was a big plus for Howard Stern, one of the first truly big stars to gravitate to satellite. He famously berated the fans who refused to follow him over, calling them all manner of slurs now that the station he was on (being his very own) would never muzzle him. (more…)

Mix Six: “Annoying (But Popular)”

DOWNLOAD THE FULL MIX HERE

Every now and then there are songs that come down the pike that people just love, love, love. But you know what? The songs are actually kind of stupid and annoying. For every power house song by a group like say U2 on the charts, there’s a “Karma Chameleon” right up there, too. Why these songs are so popular is one of those mysteries that I don’t think we’ll ever solve.

Don’t get me wrong, just because I mentioned U2 or a Culture Club song doesn’t mean I’m going to focus on the ’80s — I’ll leave that to Dave Steed and John Hughes.  Rather, I thought I would feature popular, but ultimately annoying songs that aren’t that old.

First up?

“Wind It Up,” Gwen Stefani (download)

Oh for Christ’s sake, this is just embarrassingly bad. Wait! Is there such a thing as “embarrassingly good?” Probably not. You know, it’s not just the yodeling, but the whole production. First off, did Gwen lose her way and give in to producers telling her that she needed another “Hollaback Girl?” And secondly…oh, just forget it. I don’t have the energy for this. (more…)

Dw. Dunphy On… Jessica Simpson

I did a double take when I read my own headline, and for good reason. I have no interest in Jessica Simpson, whether as sexpot, celebrity, singer, or actress. As I’ve said many times before on Popdose, I have a low regard for the thinly veiled peepshow that modern pop music has become. I do ask myself dumb questions like, “Why is Britney Spears’s Circus album doing so much better than her Blackout album? Is there a musical quality involved with the newer that is not on the older?”

I can only speculate on the answer. Both are annoying slabs of electropop that find Spears throttling an almost barbaric sexuality around like the #C chord. Both will probably be relegated to the pop culture scrap heap in a couple years, but the latter disc finds Spears more skinny and less crazy, purportedly. It is, apparently, okay to like Britney again now that she’s physically hot. That’s a broad brush I’m painting with, but as year passes into year, I am shocked again and again by the complete lack of nuance out there. I paint with the broad brush because the pop-music buyer of late only appreciates the broad canvas, pun intended.

Jessica Simpson may have been the broadest of all. Was she bright, feigning dumb because that was endearingly comical? Was she simple, handled by an ace staff of “people” starting with her father Joe, who has garnered a reputation for being a cold-blooded manipulator, machinist and in the eyes of some no more than a pimp turning his daughters out to the streets? Could she sing or not? Could she act or not? The answer, at least up until a few weeks ago, was that it did not matter. So long as she popped open her top and took the twins on tour, what she did came in a distant third.

There was outrage from some country music fans when she tried to wedge into the market. Who could blame her? First, of all the genres, country is notorious for the fierce loyalty of its fans. Unlike fickle pop and downright cutthroat hip-hop where you can be cast aside in the span of hours, not days, country fans will continue through the good and the bad times with equal fervor. Second, it’s a common refuge for artists on the waning edge of music careers in other styles. The only ploy more commonly utilized is the headlong rush to the Great American Songbook. The country gatekeepers saw Simpson as a carpetbagger, as someone who failed to hit the mark in her originally chosen arena, and decided to scratch off someone else’s lottery ticket. (more…)

How Bad Can It Be?: Britney Spears, “Circus”

What’s weird about the discourse surrounding popular culture is how quickly it becomes self-reflexive. That is, it becomes possible to engage in the discussion as an end in itself, without any reference to the work. I’ve read thousands of words about both Bitches Brew and Metal Machine Music, for instance — absorbing and synthesizing the competing points of view — and yet I’ve never heard a note of either record.  (We can help you with the latter, Jack, whenever you’re ready — Ed.)

That’s because I’m a big ol’ music nerd, of course. But the same thing happens, on an even bigger scale, with huge overground pop success; you can’t avoid the press, but you can avoid the product — usually without even trying. I’ve probably read tens of thousands of words about Britney Spears, and I’ve never intentionally listened to a Britney Spears song. Oh, I’ve been near a radio when her hits were playing, I’m sure, and I once sat through the video for “Toxic.” But simply by being an American media consumer, I’ve been exposed to a ridiculous amount of gossip, criticism, and analysis of this woman and her career, all while having only the vaguest idea of how her music sounds. (more…)

Dw. Dunphy On… Madonna

too badI said something that sent a jolt of disbelief through the ranks of Popdose. I have been known to take my opinions to the far side, but this one threatened to betray an ignorance I didn’t know I harbored. Let me spell it out and see if I’m as far off base as some have claimed me to be:

Madonna will not be remembered for her music as much as her controversies. In fact, the latter is likely to shadow the former so much that her output as an artist will become an afterthought. And while Mariah Carey’s vocal acrobatics have become the standard pop style (thereby irreparably screwing everything up), Maddy’s antics have become the standard conduct by which all young up-and-comers must match or else not be noticed at all.

Your first salient question would be, “Dunphy, do you even like Madonna’s music?” Honestly, it’s not that I dislike her music at all. No, I’m not a fan and no, I don’t own any of her albums, but I can say unequivocally that she’s made three truly great songs in her career, a lot that I like in passing, and some that are total crap for the sake of spiking the media. The three great songs are, in no particular order, “Live To Tell,” “Oh Father,” and “Frozen.” All three indicated to me that she could radically depart from her patterns and deliver. There is nothing on her latest, Hard Candy, that comes close to the style and sentiment of the aforementioned tunes, even though that album is being hailed as a return to form.

Ideally, that’s what we should be talking about, right? That album? The music? Sure, Maddy’s a PR animal and seeks attention the way sharks seek chum, but she’s a singer and that ought to be the first thing that comes to mind, no? (more…)

Hey, You Kids Get Out of My Yard!: Holdin’ Out for a Hero

When I was a kid, my heroes were, at the very least, deserving of adoration. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Cheap Trick, Dan Pastorini (the one non-musician of the bunch) — the one thing they had in common was that they were immensely talented at what they did. Some would say that they were among the very best, and thus, they seemed bigger than life to me and the millions who adored them. I was inspired by them and what I perceived to be their dedication to the craft. I also admired their shrewd understanding that a fair bit of marketing went a long way, too.

Of course, the music world is not just full of legendary artists such as those named above. For as long as there have been artistes, there have been those whose marketing overshadowed their artistic endeavors. I’m thinking along the lines of C.W. McCall, Taco, and — oh, what the heck — Sigue Sigue Sputnik.

Such one-hit wonders would invariably come out of nowhere, dominate the airwaves for every last second of their fifteen minutes of fame and then, thankfully, disappear into pop oblivion. The respectable artists who were temporarily swept aside to make way for this brief dalliance with the latest “here today, gone tomorrow” pop confection would then return to their rightful place on radio playlists and the ship would right itself.

I mean, acts like Tiffany, Sly Fox, After the Fire, and others had their success, but it was always understood that they’d go away. That’s what one- or two-hit wonders did. It was understood.

But then something weird happened.

(more…)