Here at MuuMuse, we like certain things: Stilettos, sexy boys, high fashion, shadow play, things that are Russian, and dramatic shoulder pads. Luckily enough, the boys of Kazaky happen to come pre-packaged with all of these things.

Meet Kazaky, an up-and-coming Ukrainian boy band. Or, as their Facebook proudly decries in mangled English: “Shocking, sexy guys, showing an incredible combination of masculine beauty, plastics and choreography create a show that turns the mind.” Yes, exactly that.

The boys first caught notice back in October with “In The Middle,” a sweat-soaked show of hard-hitting B-boy choreography, Auto-Tuned squeals, and yes, men in high heels.

After conjuring a great deal of attention across the web for the song’s testosterone-fueled clip (over a million views!), the boys released their much anticipated follow-up yesterday: “Love.” (The video was initially meant to be released on Valentine’s Day, but held back due to technical difficulties. Broken heel, perhaps?)

Shot by Yevgeniy Timokhin (and not by Lady Gaga‘s director du jour Nick Knight as one might assume) and styled by Anna Osmekhina (and not Lady Gaga’s stylist Nicola Formichetti, as one might assume), the black-and-white video features even more dancing, more muscles, and more cheek bones. In summary: Think “Single Ladies,” but with more Soviet undertones.

“You want me, you love me, you hate me…I don’t care,” the boys whisper above the stinging, electro beat of “Love.” While the song itself remains staunchly so-so (not a reality show star’s one-off disco track, not yet a full-fledged pop single), the video is as undeniably fresh and fierce as their first.

In time, sociologists and other scholars may go on to credit this burgeoning group for re-conceptualizing the very spheres of masculine and feminine identity in modern society. But for now, I’m just going to opt for the Paris Hilton seal of approval and simply conclude: “That’s hot.”

For more on Kazaky, check out their official website.

STOP YOUR WHOLE LIFE.

Paris Hilton is officially releasing a second album!

According to a news item posted on Billboard.com, the most famous-for-being-famous person in the world revealed to The Hollywood Reporter that the follow-up to her 2006 debut will be released “in the next few months.”

From the article:

Paris Hilton says her new album will be released “in the next few months.”

The reality star, who also has a show for Oxygen debuting in the spring, spoke to The Hollywood Reporter over the weekend at Usher’s pre-Grammy party at Avalon in Hollywood. She is keeping mum on the details of the album, telling THR that she wants to keep her collaborators and producers “a surprise.”

The album will likely drop around the same time as the premiere of her upcoming reality show, The World According to Paris, which will premiere on the Oxygen Network in the spring.

Paris Hilton’s 2006 debut is, objectively speaking, an amazing pop album.

So while we wait to hear the new tunes, let us now remember true greatness with “Nothing In This World”:

STILL THE BEST YEAR OF POP EVARRRR.

As if this wasn’t already written in the stars, Kim Kardashian, known for having a giant ass and literally no other discernible talent, is now venturing into the world of music.

According to Rap-Up and TMZ, the reality show princess is currently cooking up some phat beatz with the otherwise amazing The-Dream, who has been responsible for such jamz as Mimi Carey‘s “Touch My Body,” RiRi‘s “Hard,” and Beyoncé‘s “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It).”

Now I know what you’re thinking: BLAH BLAH BLAH the music industry’s dying and these awful talentless reality trash-bags are busy sucking up studio time and spending their undeserved millions on producers to lay down tracks that no one will even hear rather than donating it to charity or something BLAH BLAH BLAH auto-tune rabble rabble can she even sing a note and what the fuck is a Kim Kardashian anyway, etc. etc. etc.

But now, consider the very compelling argument presented in Rap-Up’s article:

“Kim’s got a really good voice,” says one person who’s heard the material.

I’m already sold.

AND NOW, MORE COMPELLING EVIDENCE…COURTESY OF ME:

AMAZING.

AMAZING.

A-MAZING.

Thank you for your time.

We as a society owe so much to Auto-Tune.

The audio processing equipment responsible for jump-starting the careers of such acts as the already irrelevant T-Pain and smelly pop sensation Ke$ha has granted us countless musical triumphs, including Cher‘s legendary comeback (“Believe”), Paris Hilton‘s shamefully good debut record, and of course, Heidi Montag‘s legendary feat in commercial floppery, Superficial.

It has also granted us a barrage of singles from blink-and-you’ll-miss-’em reality stars, especially from the truly delectable Real Housewives series on Bravo.

Following the success of her cautionary debut, “Tardy for the Party,” professional hit-maker Kim Zolciak has returned from the recording studio with another classic: “Google Me.”

Brave. Different. Iconic. All of these words fail to accurately describe the potential impact of Zolciak’s soon-to-be smash single.

“Click them keys and Google me,” the be-wigged mother of two implores of us in her electro-pop laced examination of the human condition as seen through the lens of a post-modern, post-prostitution whooah society.

At times, she plays coy; at others, she attacks: “Those other girls they want to be like me / But they’re just Barbies–all body, no brains.” At once, Zolciak both asserts her own independence as a woman while casting her own scathing criticism against those who put a premium on the impossibly artificial standards of beauty exemplified in popular culture.

While “Google Me” will no doubt go down as the “Imagine” (John Lennon) of our time, perhaps the most impressive part of Zolciak’s latest classic is the fact that the chanteuse’s vocal limitations actually manage to nullify the perfecting skills of Auto-Tune.

Yes, Zolciak’s half octave range defies the very capabilities of the vocal processor that has granted so many of the Black Eyed Peas‘ Bar Mitzvah stompers to pervade the popular music charts, proving once and for all that Kim Zolciak has literally the worst voice on the entire planet. Ever.

I’m afraid you’ve lost this time, Auto-Tune. There are just some atrocities that even your warbling robot settings simply cannot correct.

Kim’s management has been snatching down links to the song like mad at the moment, but you can currently listen to “Google Me” in full at Idolator.

(BUT REALLY, THIS SONG IS AMAZING.)

In America, we pop nerds have a tendency to bitch and moan about the general makeup of the Top 40 charts: It’s nothing but the same producers, cluttering the airwaves with the same, predictable paint-by-numbers dance-tinged hip-hop. Far too much Flo-Rida and Jay Sean; not nearly enough Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

Well, my dear Muusers…when the digital singles charts are published later tonight, this song will become the number one song in France, according to Sony Music.

This is “Mignon Mignon,” sung by René La Taupe (or René the Mole).

René La Taupe is an animated mole.

“Mignon Mignon” is essentially a Hi-NRG remix of “If You’re Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands” (with a reggae beat vaguely reminiscent of Paris Hilton‘s “Stars Are Blind.” I digress.)

Having another mindless Taio Cruz tune on top of the charts doesn’t quite seem so bad now, does it?

So, this is something new and interesting.

The night before my interview with Sky Ferreira, I received a vaguely mysterious e-mail from MuuMuse reader Sam Lansky with an attachment entitled “Fame Fatale.” The e-mail suggested that the attached may assist me in preparing for my interview.

As soon as I began reading, I already knew: This had to be published immediately.

“Fame Fatale” is not only a remarkably in-depth analysis (and personal account) of Ferreira’s curious rise to fame, but a thoughtful contemplation of the manufacturing of the modern pop star and the very conventions of the music industry itself. It’s extremely well-researched, poses tough questions, and deserves your full attention.

With his permission, I’ve asked Sam to feature his article on MuuMuse. It’s an incredible piece, and I do highly recommend that all of my Muusers give it a thorough reading–even if it’s “tl;dr” territory.

I do, after all, hope to keep a literate company.

Click “Read More…” to read Sam Lansky’s “Fame Fatale: The Rise of Sky Ferreira.”

Read More…

As a pop nerd (and Britney Spears‘ number one fan), I don’t believe in the term ‘guilty pleasure.’ If a song is good, it’s good. I’m not the same, I have no shame…I’m on fire, etc. etc. (Get it? It’s a reference.)

I say this because, of all the artists and ‘artists’ I write about, Jeffree Star is probably the closest thing to being my guilty pleasure.

When I first found his album lying in my mailbox over the summer, I was briefly overcome with a wave of nostalgia. Memories flooded in from the glory days of MySpace: It was a better time–a time when the self-portrait in the bathroom mirror was just being perfected by teens worldwide, when DIY-pop stars like Lily Allen were born, and a time where Tila Tequila was not yet introduced to Twitter.

But it was also the time of Jeffree Star, the outrageous ex-makeup artist of Kelly Osbourne and Paris Hilton/drag queen who, for better or worse, kept me tickled with his bitchy cold gone sugary sweet ‘ice cream and razorblades’ persona. A queen with a king-size ego, Star was a memorable e-fixture during my awkward adolescence.

As I came to learn later last year after a few initial spins, Star’s debut album Beauty Killer is genuinely good fun: From the namedropping lunacy of “Bitch, Please!” (“Make my bottle pop like a Pussycat Doll / Smoked up Michael Phelps and won a gold medal”), to the fairly unsettling lollipop-licking instructional “Lollipop Luxury” featuring Nicki Minaj (!!!), to the dare-I-say-it actual goodness of the title track’s luscious, breathy chorus.

Now, it seems as though Star is truly rolling out the album’s promotion, having just released the video for “Get Away With Murder.”

The professional-ish look and feel of the video impressed me from the get-go, especially given that–from the looks of it–the video was shot on location at some scuzzy motel. There’s some cheerleader-inspired drag choreography, some glam shots and super-split legs, and even a glittery chainsaw! Like the starring ladyboy himself, the video is brash and sloppy in moments (though if you gather a gaggle of heaving boys atop each other, that sort of thing tends to happen), but not without its own kitschy, campy appeal.

Alright, look…let’s get it straight: Yes, this is just another addition to the continually downgrading, endlessly narcissistic trend in pop music and culture that revels in material lust, mindless trash and empty emotions, which will inevitably lead us all spiraling down to the gates of Hell. But you know what? It’s kind of fun to seat-dance to in the car.

So go on Jeffree, and wave your freak flag high–I salute you.

Beauty Killer is now on iTunes.

It’s difficult to appreciate Heidi Montag as a human being.

At first glance, she isn’t much more than your typical blonde bimbo socialite; a plastic Barbie making bank from a talentless role on a “reality” show gallivanting around L.A. to fill the narcissistic need for attention like a spray-tanned crack addict with a flesh-color beard creeper of a husband.

But there’s another side to her–a weird one: Her personality is fragmented and strange, bouncing from the hyperbolic fame whore staging fake, elaborate photo-ops for the paparazzi and claiming her album to be on par with Michael Jackson‘s Thriller, to the self-effacing, D-List embracing character portrayed in “Overdosin’,” to a pseudo born-again conservative Christian spouting off 140-characters-or-less bible verses on Twitter with one hand and signing off on photo stills for her Playboy spread with the other.

Not unlike Sarah Palin, Heidi Montag is either a comedic genius or an air-headed blowhole. It is possible that she may be a combination of both. For a while, I thought she could be the Antichrist.

And now, after endless unnecessary EP releases and a doofy, worm-like performance at the 2009 Miss Universe Pageant that seemed like a PG reinterpretation of Britney‘s 2000 VMA performance, we have Superficial, a gift that truly keeps on giving.

One couldn’t stand to write a review of Superficial without first exploring the “vocals”: The work done on Heidi’s voice is, if nothing else, astounding. While many rich, socialite brats and mega pop stars–yes, even my beloved Britney!–are no strangers to Auto-Tune (I’ve been told that the pitch correction for Paris Hilton‘s debut took over eight months alone), Heidi’s digital reconstruction is downright impressive.

It seems that not only can Heidi not sing (at all), but that the engineers couldn’t even stand to allow an instance of her true voice on the album without first melting it down with pitch-assisting, machine sound for a single second. At least Paris Hilton could command a lazy, if not a slightly sultry whisper: Heidi doesn’t even get the option of breathing on this mess.

That being said, Heidi spent a reported cool $2 million on this album to get the finest in the industry, and that she did: With songwriting credits from Cathy Dennis, Steve Morales and Chris Rojas, Superficial has a slew of songs that are well-written and, in theory, are quite good.

“Look How I’m Doing” and “Turn Ya Head” are delicious guilty pleasures, providing thick, dance-worthy synths piled atop Montag’s verses to the point where the lyrics are barely intelligable. Further on, “More is More” is about as close to a genuine hit as Heidi comes on the album, meshing a naughty chorus (“More is more on the dancefloor, it’s fucking chaos in here”) with a vaguely addictive synthesized beat.

“Twisted” is another delight, reveling in Montag’s toilet paper-thin delivery and manic, computer-controlled pitch changes. It’s actually a pretty well-written song–its only downfall being that it wasn’t released by a real artist first.

In her riskiest move (can I really call it that?), Heidi takes the already hypocrisy-ridden ‘Christian’ side of her persona and drives her values even deeper into the ground with “I’ll Do It.” The song, a slinkier reaction to the album’s mostly hasty offerings, features a handful of awkward come-ons meant to sound enticing (a failed attempt), while simultaneously presenting the album’s greatest lyrics: “I brought some treats / I know that you gon love em /Come eat my panties off of me.”

There are some hilarious, just-plain-bad numbers as well, including “My Parade,” which includes a farty marching band stomp and a truly hellacious set of lyrics about being defiant and young. Picture a balloon slowly deflating while being held by a sad, crying clown–that’s “My Parade” in visual form.

Heidi’s oft-published delusions of grandeur help to solidify this album’s non-genius genius, as in this morsel from EW:

“Most artists, it’s not their own money, but I’ve actually gone broke putting every dollar I’ve ever made and my heart and soul into this music. For me, I have a different appreciation, a different understanding, and a different love of my music and for my album than any other artist possibly could.”

If that’s the case–if we are to believe that Heidi’s heart and soul are found here in these songs (none of which having been penned or even co-penned by herself), you’ll learn nothing that you haven’t already on the cover of Star Magazine, aside from the fact that she wears edible undies from time to time.

To be blunt, I don’t think Heidi knows who Heidi is. Fake and real seem to be distinctions that serve no purpose in Heidi’s blurred perception of the world. How she actually wishes to be perceived is an even deeper mystery. She is superficial, and superficiality may be her only reality. So really, the album is actually quite personal and deep when you think about it.

Just kidding.

For tongue-in-cheek pop flop enthusiasts like myself, Superficial is truly a goldmine: In all honesty, it’s a fun album. She’s a terrible singer, but there’s a certain cheeky, camp appeal to the whole ordeal.

Surprisingly hooky, hilariously bad and devoid of vocal talent, Superficial is not, as most would expect, an utter train-wreck…it’s just a good ol’ shit show.