Thanks for enjoying/tolerating/encouraging my ginfused rambling. Trust me, the world would be so much better if I were running things. Taylor Swift, for reals? Is this somehow not the Debbie Gibson of the double-zeros? Is there a reason to be paying attention to her, beyond the odd album review or an interview in Cosmo? I mean, I know she, like, somehow writes her own songs, astoundingly, but did I miss the part where she’s not a spankin’ hott teenage hottie?*
Staunchly credible Oliver Wang, did you seriously write the words “surprisingly little thematic or musical range on Jepsen’s full-length album, Kiss”? Do you know what the word “surprisingly” means? Do you know what the words “one” “hit” and/or “wonder” mean? Do you know what the word “product” means?
Sasha Frere-Jones, did you for-real write a New Yorker piece on how Rihanna doesn’t seem to, you know, give much of a rat’s ass about, like, stuff, and expect me to not be GROSSED OUT and want my three pages back?
WHY ARE YOU BAFFLING ME, PRESUMABLY KNOWLEDGEABLE, INTELLIGENT AND LEGITIMATELY EMPLOYED MUSIC WRITERS?
I just—I mean, this is exhausting.
“And so on.” — Thirstin Howl III
“Anyway, onward.” — Mort Sahl
Now, where’s that boy with my mai tais?
* I know her label didn’t; I kind of thought grownups might, though. I mean, sure, Kanye West didn’t seem to notice, but that’s all part of growing up, right?