Congratulations on your recent success. More accurately,
congratulations on being in the right place at the right time. You’re making
exactly the kind of music that’s invading the radio right now. Although it’s
hard to tell which came first: the chicken or the egg. Were your songs so groundbreaking that they changed the face
of popular music or did you sense a new wave coming and say to yourself, “Hey! I
can do that!”
Somehow I doubt that you, Ke$ha, were writing drafts of “Tik
Tok” in your childhood bedroom, waiting for your big break so you could share
your wisdom with the world. As much as today’s youth could benefit from a
proper dental demonstration (“So do we pour the Jack Daniel’s right on the toothbrush?”), let’s call a spade
a spade. You’re not talented. You were born at the right time, making you a 20-something
today. A 20-something smart enough to see where pop music was about to go and
jumping on the train just as it was pulling out of the station.
Now I know I don’t have much room to talk. I’ve never
released a top 10 hit on iTunes or been signed to a major record label. But you
know why? Because I’m not a singer. And if we’re still being honest here,
neither are you. If your tactic was to distract everyone with glitter bombs and
unkempt hair while you Auto-Tune your speaking voice, job well done. And the dollar sign in your name! Nice touch.
As for you, Katy Perry, while you’re an improvement in stage
presence, you negate all of that by being a sexpot. Your average
fan has to be ... what, ten? All the provocative lyrics and outfits are
pointless except for attention, sensationalism, and compensation for an average
singing voice. Your album cover is literally you lying on a cotton candy cloud
in your birthday suit. You even corrupted toddlers everywhere when you showed
up all boobalicious on Sesame Street. To quote the awesome Amy Poehler:
“Today’s show is brought to you by the number 36 and the letters Double D.” 
And while I’m all for creative expression, it’s a fine line
to walk. There’s making a bold statement or a creative fashion choice, and then
there’s .... gluing a cube of cheese to your head. Are you listening, Nicki Minaj?
‘Cause it seems like both of you ladies are trying to take a page from Lady Gaga’s
book. (Remember that train you jumped on last minute? Gaga was the conductor.)
The reason why I’m not commenting on Lady Gaga’s obvious insanity is because she’s got
the talent to back it up. The woman sang and danced her way through 200 of what
I’m sure were flawless, sold-out tour dates last year. She’s earned the right
to wear orbiting rings around her head or encase herself in Kermit the Frog
puppets or don a meat dress. On second thought, the meat dress and matching
purse might have been a bit much.
Okay, confession time. There’s a reason behind some of my
frustration. With all this mediocre, Auto-Tuned talent corrupting today’s youth
one iPod at a time, it should be fairly easy for me to dislike or dismiss you
altogether. And maybe I would if your songs weren’t so damn catchy. You’re making it awfully hard
for me to ignore you. Your beats are amazing and your hooks are tattooed
on my brain. So while I’m still a supporter of organic, quality musicianship, I
surrender to the “Superbass”. You do it, ladies.
Resentfully yours,
Jill
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