So, since so many of my Muusers (three actual requests) have been demanding that I do a weekly wrap-up of the X Factor performance night. I’ve decided to fulfill those wishes/dreams/desires. The show was boring in spots, so I’ve decided to highlight only the moments I had things to say about. Makes sense, right? Good. We’re on a roll.

Treyc Cohen. Amazing. Oh my God.

I love the jailbait that is One Direction, both for their knack for life-threatening injuries (like when one of them hurt their foot playing in the ocean during the auditions) and their ability to elicit pantie-wetting shrieks from the audience (myself included) for merely standing on the stage. They sang Kelly Clarkson‘s “My Life Would Suck Without You” which is kind of genius for them, and the results were pretty good-ish.

Then came the judging, and Cheryl just couldn’t keep it in her pants. Seriously. So much so, that she forced Simon to restrain her from pulling a Paula right in the middle of a live show. It went like this:

Cheryl: “You boys are just so cute and I–”
Simon: “Cheryl.”
Cheryl: “Everyone loves you so much, and I–”
Simon: “Cheryl.”
Cheryl: “Don’t know what it is, I just–”
Simon: “Cheryl.”
Cheryl: “–just so cute, I just want to–”
Simon: “CHERYL.”

Brilliant.

And then came the announcement that Cher Lloyd was up next, and so the seas parted and surging claps of thunder rang out across the land and all of God’s creatures nestled together to watch the Almighty Lloyd perform.

In the now usual Lloyd fashion, the young Cherylita was both simultaneously shit and amazing in the most awe-inspiring of ways with her weird-but-great performance of Jay-Z‘s “Hard Knock Life”: The chorus–AMAZING. What pipes! The rap: Spot on! But the awkward moments in between…OH, THE AWKWARD, MEDIOCRE VERSES. I just don’t understand what’s happening there, but then the pretty dancers distracted my brain and then I start remembering how amazing her audition was and then the next chorus comes and she’s really good again and my brain just sort of goes “Well, I give up. YOO AH RAHYT UP MAY STREET.”

I love you, Cheroleeza Lloyd.

And then Diva Fever happened and they ruined music for all of mankind once again.

If the British public has any sense of decency, they’ll do away forever with this tragic mess of ‘entertainment’ once and for all. But if Jedward is any indication of a camp act’s staying power on X Factor then…oh, Cheezus Christo.

Then came Rebecca Ferguson, and everything in the world was right again. The judges were on the money in their critiques (i.e. Dannii describing her as making classic feel modern, James Bond theme, etc.). Rebecca delivered a chic, smart, tight performance of Nina Simone‘s classic “Feeling Good.” Loved everything about this–the look, the sound, the drama (not too much drama!) Everything was just right.

Then came Ellie Goulding Diana Vickers Katie Waissel, who proved to have a surprisingly strong night, stripping it back a bit for a pretty amazing rendition of Etta James‘ (one of my favorite classic songstresses!) “I’d Rather Go Blind.” To be fair, all I kept thinking about was how much she looks like a cross between Martina from Dragonette and Nelly Furtado, but in the fleeting moments where I actually listened to her sing, I found it to be v, v good.

And then–OH! Belle Amie! This is HANDS DOWN my number one favorite girl group to be named after a gay porn production agency.

They sang “You Really Got Me” by The Kinks, and it was somewhere between Girls Aloud at their least amazing and The Saturdays at their most amazing…so it was sort of very good! “There aren’t many girl groups in this country that are as good as what I saw tonight,” Simon remarked while sitting next to former girl group member, Cheryl Cole. Ahem.

On a similar note, in the too real moment of the night: Cheryl Cole, on Belle Amie arguing over lead solos: “Sometimes other people just sound better on other songs, and that’s just something you have to accept.” *Awkward silence* *Nuhdeen‘s Irish Mist Burger comes flying on screen and slaps into Cheryl’s face.*

But it was Mary Byrnes, faithful Tesco worker and beloved jewel of Britain, who graced the stage and proceeded to BLOW. ME. AWAY. Seriously, performance of the night by FAR. From the very first note, she had chills running straight down my spine. Spot-on performance, classic vocals. Insanely amazing. As Cheryl Cole so eloquently stated: “I GET GOOSEBUMPS ALL OVER. I RESPECT YOU AS A WOMAN.”

Oh, and Matt Cardle. You did rull good too–amazing, actually. I mean…you did it. You hit the High C!

And…that’s everything that happened that you should care about, really. Thank you for your time.

Spoiler alert: I don’t like Glee.

I just don’t. I’m not trying to be ‘a hater.’ Lord knows, I’ve tried so many times to like this forsaken show. This episode now marks my fifth attempt to engage with this program, and trust me, I really wanted to like it–especially for tonight’s show.

First, let’s be clear here: I’m not that douche who turns his nose up at something merely because it’s popular. I run a fucking pop blog. Contrary to what more than a few people have accused me of, I’m not ‘just trying to be cool’ by going against the grain (which, ironically enough, is just what the show supposedly embraces.) Glee just happens to suck.

For a show that’s about ‘embracing the underdogs’, I think Glee reinforces stereotypes much more often than it empowers (having the one handicapped cast member sing “Stronger” while lifting weights and being hoisted into the air by the other football players–are you kidding me right now? Is that supposed to be funny? Or inspirational? Because it felt like a mockery to me), and–with the exception of two killer personalities (Brittany and Sue Sylvester), I can’t relate to or enjoy any of the characters in the slightest. Yes, that includes the stereotypical gay.

In any given episode, there are usually about three or four killer lines (Sue’s monologue about Hubert Humphrey and the Democratic National Convention tonight was especially amazing, for example), but the majority of the lines that aren’t killer literally destroy the entire experience. There’s a lot of mediocrity involved in the show’s dialogue. Like, BEYOND bad writing. And not in a cheesy-good-drama kind of way–I’m all for a Degrassi marathon whenever it comes on TV–but this? No, my friends…no.

I mean–what was that final line tonight from Lea Michele? “I was strangling you in my hands like a little bird. I get now that in order for this relationship to work I have to put out my hands and let you fly free”? Or from the football coach: “Don’t just stare at me like a donkey with a wooden leg.” MISERABLE! How is that not a brake-screeching WTF writing fail for so many viewers?

Sometimes the writing doesn’t even make sense: When Emma has a heart-to-heart with Will toward the end of the episode she says, and I quote: “You ever notice that Britney Spears only makes great music when she’s not chasing down paparazzi? She can’t just swallow a grenade and let her talent explode all over the wall. She’s gotta reign it in–just like you do.” I literally had no idea what the fuck it meant, and I sure as hell still don’t.

I suppose there’s a small chance that the true ‘genius’ of Glee is to delight in its own horribly embarrassing cliches and stereotypes, but I honestly believe that is to grant the show’s writers far too much credit.

…But I’ve gone on too long about Glee in general. Tonight was about Britney!

And indeed, for the first ten minutes, the show was an excellent, giggle-fest of Britney praise and silly humor. The Britney/Brittany S. Pierce bit was witty (as I just said, the Brittany character and her deadpan delivery style is an incredible asset to this program), followed by the seemingly senseless segue into the dentist’s office as a catalyst for the entire cast to experience ~Britney visions~ while under anesthesia. (I don’t know why an entire class is going to the dentist in shifts, BUT OKAY PLOT MOVING SO QUICKLY 1, 2, 3 AND GO!)

Brittany’s “Slave” performance was about as spot-on as you could get in honoring the original Britney experience: From pulling off the outfit(s) (I’m still not sure why “Oops” outfit required her to be surrounded by Gothic (?) children (?!), but whatever), to nailing the dancing, to singing the song.

She shined again in the “Me Against The Music” montage with Santana, although that initial Britney cameo was just a sloppy, awkward situation (“You’re hot,” moans Brittany. “Thanks. You’re sweet!” Britney chirps, over-enthusiastically and completely off beat.)

But from there on, things just got more and more shit.

“…Baby One More Time” was hideously over-acted thanks to Lea Michele’s gaping mouth lip-synch styling (or as my friend David so perfectly described the cover when it first leaked, “excruciatingly earnest”), while “Stronger,” as I said before, was just sort of embarrassing for everyone involved.

And let’s not forget the grand finale: The ~salacious~ near-acoustic rendition of “Toxic,” performed by the Glee cast. So sexy! So very sexy that the show’s writers thought they needed to have the horny dork screaming “SO SEXY!” at the performers while thrusting his hips, rubbing himself, and basically just losing his shit for the entire sequence.

As with this entire series, IT JUST DIDN’T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE. Why was he behaving like that?! It was so excessive and uncomfortable. And that wasn’t even slightly a sexy performance–there were jazz hands involved! It was like they took a sequence from Chicago and glossed it over with extra clothing and less moaning to be aired on the Disney Channel. Are you kidding me with this marshmallow fluff?

But alright, let’s get on with it: My main point of contention comes in the last few minutes of the episode, in which everyone returns to order following the shock and horror of the “Britney Spears sex riot” (which, by the way, isn’t exactly a knee-slapper of a phrase. Stop quoting it.)

So they all group back together in the rehearsal room and Will comes in to announce that, while Britney’s music “and celebrity” (?) indeed inspired the entire troupe to find themselves, it was ultimately time to say goodbye to Brit Brit and return to adult contemporary music. Moreover, the overall message seemed to be that one needed to be under the influence of drugs, sexually repressed, or both just to enjoy Britney’s music, and now it was time to return to ‘real music.’

After an entire episode that seemingly celebrated her music over the past ten years, we were left with the ultimate hypocrisy: Britney’s music simply ‘isn’t for us.’

And that’s what bothered me the most. The fact that this ‘groundbreaking’ series about society’s cast-offs and underdogs was essentially spewing the same moralistic, squeaky clean, cookie-cutter, social conservative BULLSHIT that I’ve battled as a fan since the very beginning: That Britney Spears is ultimately nothing more than a slut. That Britney Spears doesn’t equate to real music. But this Paramore track? Now that is real emotion.

As a fan, I took the ending as a complete and utter slap in the face.

Now, let us all watch Leah Michelle dedicate this touching little ditty to her on-again, off-again boyfriend and cry at the realization that she was limiting him from the one thing he loves most…football. Perrrrfect.

I hereby knight this episode with a most heartfelt “BITCH PLZ.”

That’s right. You heard me: “Control Myself” was a goddamn jam. Are you familiar? Yes/no? Let’s discuss.

Let me take you back a little–four years ago, to be exact. The year was 2006. It was a fine year: The Timbaland takeover was just at its glorious peak with Nelly Furtado‘s Loose and Justin Timberlake‘s FutureSex/LoveSounds (prior to total market over-saturation), Suri Cruise survived a crash landing from space, and this little Muuser was preparing to graduate from high school and flee his hometown (where he ironically now finds himself once again upon graduating college in 2010). Fuck.

But before all that, another thing happened in 2006, and that was the February release of professional licker of lips LL Cool J‘s twelfth studio album, Todd Smith. From that album came a certain single: “Control Myself,” featuring Jennifer ‘Jello’ Lopez and Jermaine Dupri (not credited on actual song, therefore irrelevant).

While I’m always quick to call a song “underrated,” it turns out that “Control Myself” actually pulled some impressive chart numbers (and even broke a record!) upon its release–something I didn’t realize until a quick perusal through the track’s Wikipedia page. And so the Lord proclaimed:

It was released as the album’s lead single in February 2006 and remained on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 chart for three weeks, peaking at number eighty-nine. After being released as a digital download in April 2006, the song debuted at number two on the Billboard Hot Digital Songs chart and made a strong Hot 100 re-entry at number four. This broke a record previously held by Jay-Z’s 1998 song “Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem)”, which had re-entered the chart in March 1999 at number twenty.

Fascinating.

But back to the song: It is very good. There are many reasons why it is so good, but perhaps one of the most important is that delicious beat.

…Not that it’s an original beat. Oh lord, no. It’s actually a sample of an incredible ‘before its time’ number, the 1983 Afrika Bambaataa song, “Looking For The Perfect Beat.”

There’s also the song lyrics, which are unstoppably fantastic. While Mr. Cool J’s lyrical lusciousness makes my panties moist throughout, my all-time favorite moment comes in right around the two minute mark: “She licked awf huh lip glaws / Huh hips tawsed, back and fawth.” (At least, that’s how it sounds to me.) MMPH.

Then there’s this genius moment as the song is coming to an end where it seems every songwriter involved with this song suddenly threw their hands in the air and proclaimed “Well, alright then! I’ve done all the rhyming I could possibly do! Let’s just–I don’t know–LET’S JUST SAY WHATEVER COMES TO MIND NEXT.”

And what sprung from that momentary lapse in creativity was the greatest string of non-English lyrics/syllables of all time: “Zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh, zuh.”

Inspiring and provocative.

And last, but certainly not least, there’s the song’s accompanying video, directed by Hype Williams.

It is also amazing, and no doubt a crucial piece of the overall amazing-ness of the song. While Mr. Ladies Love plays it Cool J rapping under a wide-brimmed baseball cap, J-Lo remains fresh to death posing in front of a mirror while donning those knee-high boots and whippin’ her hurr. The wide-screen ‘double video’ effect is both dizzying and cool.

As a member of what some media thinkers/shriveled prunes might dub as ~the instant gratification MTV generation~, I must say it’s quite nice to be bombarded with so many sexy things in my face at one time without being allowed even a second to process what the fuck is being presented in front of me.

All together, “Control Myself” is a spicy, saucy affair–one entirely worthy of both (a) pussy poppin’ and (b) booty shakin’.

And that is why “Control Myself” is an amazing song. I thank you for your time.

OMFG It’s the 2010 MTV VMA’s–the glitz! the glamour! The meat purses!

Let’s cut the shit: The show was mostly boring. Taylor Swift sung a song about Kanye West, Kanye West sung a song about Kanye West, and no one gave a shit about Ke$ha.

Read more…

I’m a big Lindsay Lohan fan. Massive, really.

I’ve got all the magazines she’s ever spread her legs for, held my own in arguments regarding her ‘acting ability,’ and even made my ex-boyfriend sit through I Know Who Killed Me. (Not the source of the break-up, though potentially.)

Obviously then, the starlet’s recent imprisonment has proven to be a deeply trying and troubling time for me. In what little free time I have between stenciling my “Free Lilo” tees for the Save Lindsay! Foundation (accreditation pending) and softly crying myself to sleep to the Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen soundtrack, I’ve also spent some time revisiting some of my favorite cuts from Lohan’s debut album from 2004, Speak.

2004 was a very strange and sexy time in my life. And by that, I mean I was just on the brink of getting my braces off.

Smack dab in the middle of my high school experience (forgive me for outing myself as a youngin’–my mother tells me I’m very mature for my age), Speak came only a few months after what would be the life-changing release of Mean Girls, a film that simultaneously secured Lohan’s status as a teen queen sensation and provided myself and a fleet of fellow young gays with a laundry list of potent quotables for the next half century. (“SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE,” “Dawn Schweitzer is a fat virgin,” etc.)

Speak is an underrated release, plump with single-worthy selections and infectious, post-Disney pop-rock stormers that cleverly mask Lilo’s single octave vocal range. Among the bunch though, there were one or two dark electro-tinged cuts that truly brought the album to the next level: “To Know Your Name” was one of them.

The song, which was penned by tween-pop production fount John Shanks (Hilary Duff, Miley Cyrus) and the annoying judge on the newer, jumped-the-shark seasons of American Idol (who sometimes also writes great songs), Kara DioGuardi, blew and continues to blow my mind (like cocaine).

Though she was still but a baby slut at the time, “To Know Your Name” is drenched in sexy. The story revolves around a mystery lover that La Lohan seeks to keep away from the prying public and those goddamn paparazzi (“Everybody wants to know our love / Everybody talks about our love”). The lyrics about privacy and love also seemed to speak to my inner gay, which was at this point in time now bursting at the seams to trip the light fantastic. Evidently, the same applied to Lindsay years later.

Apart from the somewhat obvious “rebel girl” major label tracks on Speak, the purrs and moans of “To Know Your Name” suggested much promise for Lilo to become a full-fledged electro-pop princess.

Now, as we read about the slow demise of Lindsay Lohan’s extended reign of terror–from DUI’s to questionable nail art–I thought it a good idea to reflect the better times instead: A time when the acting career was still good, and the music career was even better.

In fact, you could even call it criminally good. MUAHAHA.

No, but really…she gets to have a TV in her cell. She’s totally fine.

It’s that time again: The Grammy Awards, a time when pop dreams are crushed by a barrage of country stars winning awards chosen by really old, really privileged record executives that haven’t been in touch with the consumer market since 1983.

Since I didn’t really feel like doing a massive write-up about the show, I’ve taken the liberty of uploading the pictures of my notes taken during the broadcast. Because, hey…it’s not like this award means anything anymore. Take heed: The scribbling began shortly AFTER Gaga. I apologize in advance.

Really, it was pathetic: The guilt-tripping plea for music lovers to fund artists (FIND A NEW BUSINESS MODEL), the occasionally embarrassing presenters ushered in as “hot topic” celebrities (Adam Sandler), and most importantly, the endless series of performances from artists that haven’t been relevant for years. A vote for Bon Jovi? WHO. CARES. HONESTLY?! No wonder little Justin Bieber Bopper mistakenly read their name as “Beyonce” on screen. He’s got no idea who the fuck they are!

To pass the time (and bear the endless barrage of industry insiders wanking itself off), a couple of friends and I took to a short-and-sweet drinking game with rules that developed as the show went on: Take a swig for each Beyonce win (a happy victory!), one each time Miley Cyrus said “y’all” in her presentation, and most importantly (and often), each award upset. But by the time Taylor Swift‘s Fearless was announced for Album of the Year, there wasn’t even an opportunity to take a sip–everyone was already filing out the door in disgust.

Say what I will about her lofty claims and exhausting efforts to remain creative, the fact remains that the beginning of this new decade will be defined by no other pop icon than Lady Gaga. Honestly, it’s laughable to suggest that Taylor Swift released the year’s finest record. Did it break sales and chart records? Certainly! It was a glowing achievement for the very young, talented artist.

But The Fame did something far greater and far more important: It completely relaunched the brand of pop music.

Yes, Lady Gaga is tiring. She’s pretentious, snotty, and occasionally insincere. But whether or not you subscribe to the Gaga, it’s all but impossible to deny her influence. From reinventing celebrity fashion, to redefining the limits and boundaries of artistic expression on a mainstream level, to the very sound of the radio itself thanks to her RedOne-produced revolution of Euro-friendly beats, Gaga has ushered in a new era of pop. No, she isn’t original per se, but she did bring the focus of pop back to the things we’ve always loved about it: Glamour, performance, and escapism.

I am of the most confident belief that Taylor Swift’s win was nothing more than a product of industry pity over Kanye West‘s interference at the VMA Awards. She’s a sweet, sweet girl, but leave it to MTV to sort out their own guilt issues–not one of the most prestigious award institutions in the world.

Lady Gaga was robbed, but she already knew that was going to happen. Or did you not ‘get’ the meaning behind her opening performance?

Photo courtesy of BeatCrave.

First, a LOLZ-worthy headline from CNN:

Kanye West’s ‘Fame Kills’
tour meets swift death

I am no longer of the mind that the T. Swift incident caused the demise of what would have been the 2 Much Ego Tour.

Laurieann “BOOMCACK!” Gibson, the choreographer to the ~stars~ (formerly of Making the Band fame, currently of choreographing Gaga for her upcoming SNL stint fame), tweeted last night that the tour ceased to be as a result of “creative differences.”

And now, I present a dramatic dialogue. I am fairly certain that things went down similarly, if not exactly, as such:

The Fame Kills Tour: Creative Differences

Gaga: Oh hey, Kanye. Hey, Amber Rose.
Amber Rose: *Sticks out ass for Kanye to rest his drink on; says nothing.*
Kanye: GA-uh GAAAAA-uh. What is UP, Gaga?
Gaga: Oh, nothing. Just got out of a great meeting with the Haus of Gaga again. We went over some set designs. It’s just beautiful. Gorgeous. I actually cried envisioning the final product. Literally, I just took off my over-sized, computer chip aviators and cried for hours and hours.
Kanye: Oh yeah? Lemme hear ‘em.
Gaga: Well, I was thinking what we should do is have a glittery rhinoceros come out and eat us alive while we’re fucking in the middle of the stage.
Kanye: Mm, that’s tight. Like a giant, blue glittery rhinoceros.
Gaga: Err, I was actually thinking the rhinoceros should be red.
Kanye: What?
Gaga: It just seems like the rhin—
Kanye: HOLD UP, GAGA. I’MMA LETCHU FINISH, BUT A BLUE GLITTERY RHINOCEROS IS CLEARLY THE BEST RHINOCEROS TO EAT US.
Gaga: …Oh, fuck this. Come on Kermie, let’s go get high with David LaChapelle and prance through the jungles naked again.
*Gratuitous make-out session with Kermit the Frog before jumping into a horse-drawn carriage and speeding away.*

Thank you.

Oh, the 2009 VMA’s. We laughed, we cried…but mostly, we bitched about Kanye West.

In what was perhaps the most entertaining go-around since 2003, the 2009 Video Music Awards took to the streets of NYC at Radio City Music Hall last night. There were some excellent performances (Beysus), delightfully awkward moments, and some Eskimo-chic head gear. And yet, there were still things left to be desired. I haven’t written about it all, but here we go:

Needs More Funny
The only person capable of sucking the life out of an arena faster than Kanye West stealing an award show moment from an 18-year-old girl, Russell Brand has, once again, proven to be the most impossibly unlikable, inhumanly talentless host…ever.

I wish I could be a fly on the wall as he wrote out the “jokes” for his opening monologue–perhaps staying up late for hours, only to at last come to his “Eureka!” moment: A handful of cheap sex jokes that would elicit an eye roll from a middle-schooler and frequent allusions to date raping Megan Fox and Lady Gaga. Did we really have to deal with this pig again? BY THE WAY, IF YOU ARE SOMEHOW HOSTING AGAIN NEXT YEAR RUSSELL, YOU CAN LOWER THE VOLUME OF YOUR VOICE A LITTLE–THE MICROPHONE TENDS TO AMPLIFY IT FOR THE CROWD.

Needs More Janet
The MJ tribute was sweet and well-choreographed (and how about that Madonna introduction?!), but far too rushed. It seemed as though Janet had only just hit the stage when the production wrapped. I loved the collaboration for “Scream” (the video projection duet was especially striking)–but why not stick around for more? Then again, I’ll always need me some more Janet. Love you, bb.

Needs More…Err, Well, I Don’t Even Know, Really.
As for the GAGa? Well, what can I say? I always keeps it reals: I don’t think the performance entirely sucked. In fact, I liked it. I often enjoy the inclusion of Gothic imagery in my pop music–anything that blends a strong melody with macabre is usually an easy sale. The blood, the faux-noose…all quite up my alley.

But here’s the thing (and it’s always been the thing): Lady Gaga is a false pop prophet. I just can’t take her seriously as an artist, an entertainer, or anything in between. To me, she’s little more than a regurgitation of every element of pop culture that has value and worth in our society. She did sing incredibly, though. Let the grappling emotions continue on forever!

Needs More Relevancy
Thank you, Lil Mama, for continued bridge-burning path of self-destruction. In one majorly awkward effort to tear away from the judging panel of America’s Best Dance Crew, your stage-stealing, picture-ruining vogue at the catwalk’s end not only ruined a great moment between two titans of popular music, but caused enough cries of “WHO THE FUCK?!” from the crowd to keep us distracted from the fuckery of Kanye for a full thirty seconds. I salute you.

Needs More Britney
Another year, another hype-gone-terribly-wrong. I really need to stop doing this to myself. GRL, WHERE U AT?! Oh right–still on tour. Oh, well…Congrats on your win, B!

Needs To Quit Drinking The Haterade
Apology, scientology. The world’s most overrated douche in the industry (yeah, I get it, he’s totally a ~visionary~ and collaborates with Takashi Murakami) needs a wake-up call in the most urgent way possible. Words seem to fail me here, which is why nothing says it better than my Top 3 favorite celebrity responses of the night. They are, in order:
@Pink:

Kanye west is the biggest piece of shit on earth. Quote me.

@katyperry:

FUCK U KANYE. IT’S LIKE U STEPPED 0N A KITTEN.

And finally, Kelly Clarkson:

I’m not even mad at you for being an asshole…I just pity you because you’re a sad human being.