Wait... shouldn't I hate you?

Sometimes I get DVDs from Netflix and then keep them for months. Literally months. There's all kinds of reasons for this, like how I tend to work during the day and see plays at night, leaving me little time to watch a movie. There's also the fact that I can't handle starting a movie without finishing it. Andrew can watch something over a period of days, but my heart is not built that way. I need to see the completion of an arc, dammit!

Recently, I had "Harold and Maude" for ages, and I finally returned it without watching it. Pleae refrain from sending letters. I know it's supposed to be great, memorable, etc. But you know what? It had its chance. Just like "Apocalypse Now" did for my entire second semester of my third year in grad school.

In "Harold and Maude's" place came "American Dreamz." Now it just so happens that I've been on a bit of a movie-watching kick, since I don't have to go to the theater until Friday. That means I actually sat down and watched "American Dreamz" today, and it led me to a question of enormous weight:

What the hell is up with Mandy Moore?

Like, how did she sneak up on us and become this respectable star? Because if you ask me to free associate with her name, this is what happens:

You: "Mandy Moore"

Me: "Ugh. Disposable."

You: "Stephen Moore."

Me: "Cool! I went to grad school with him!"

You: "Roger Moore"

Me: "Umm... wasn't he a Bond?"

You: "Mandy Moore."

Me: "Wait. She's still around?"

Exactly.

But if you look harder at the evidence, Mandy Moore is not only still around, but kind of around in a serious way. It may not be brilliant, but "American Dreamz" is a decent movie--a satire of American politics and "American Idol" from Paul "About a Boy" Weitz that stars such totally credible actors as Marcia Gay Harden, Willem Dafoe, Dennis Quaid, Jennifer Coolidge, and the super cute Hugh Grant. ("Music and Lyrics?" If you insist!)

Then you have to think about "Saved!", a movie that rules and in which Mandy Moore is the bomb. Hilary Faye, y'all! She is filled with Christ's love!

But that's just one movie. Is that enough to justify my grudging respect? Or Hollywood's? How is it that Mandy Moore's obvious crap movies can still star Diane Keaton, while Kate Winslet, queen of all that's awesome, gets stuck next to the soul-crushing horror of Cameron Diaz while trying to pretend she finds Jack Black attractive?

My disbelief mostly springs from the fact that Mandy Moore was first presented as a pop starlet along the lines Britney, Xtina, Jessica Simpson, Jennifer "Who?" Paige, and Willa "What?" Ford. But even though she has an album called "Greatest Hits," Moore never actually had a hit. I mean, there were songs like "Candy" and "I Wanna Be With You," which were on the radio enough to make her annoyingly memorable, but do you know how many Mandy Moore songs have been in the top 40? One. The top twenty? Less than that.

Yet even Moore's barely-there music career isn't ridiculous. She released a fairly respectable album of covers on which she tackled Joni Mitchell and XTC. XTC! When Jessica Simpson covered Patty Griffin last year, I almost vomited. But if Mandy Moore did it, I'd probably listen to a sample before judging.

And Mandy Moore's new album features songs that she has co-written with Lori McKenna (an exceptional singer-songwriter), plus a cover of "Give in to Me," one of the best forgotten Michael Jackson songs of all time.

So... could it be that I'm actually excited for Mandy Moore's new album? Is it all thanks to an appearance in one really good movie and a general ability not to become a fame whore while her peers appear on Maxim covers and in mug shots?

I don't know. Really, the whole thing makes my mind reel.

Head for the shelter, Ma. The Apocalypse is here.

Some things are absolutes.

(*) No matter how many times I read over them, my posts on "I Totally Hear That" always will have typos.

(*) No matter when I call her, my friend Stephanie always will be at, driving to, or just returning from Target.

(*) No matter what time of day I get on the A train, I always will be riding with those kids that sell candy. If you live in New York, you know which kids I mean. Their pitch goes something like, "Ladies and gentlemen, excuse me for my interruption. I'm not here selling candy for no basketball team. I'm here trying to stay out of trouble, stay off the streets, and put a little money in my pocket. Each candy is a dollar, and all I have is M&M peanuts."

These certainties soothe me. However, not even the warmest blanket of habitual truths could protect me from the apoclayptic chill blowing over from the music world.

Here are three signs of Armageddon.

(*) Jessica Simpson has covered a Patty Griffin song. Her album "A Public Affair" came out a few weeks ago, but I was too busy shuddering at Clay Aiken's bangs to pay it much attention. Thankfully, my friend Jenni was kind enough to bring this horror to light in her recent comment on the cover songs post.

I listened to a sample of Jessica's take on "Let Him Fly," which happens to be the first Patty Griffin song I ever heard (and so signaled the beginning of my relationship with one of my favorite artists.) It's not terrible, really, but it's just so wrong. No matter how pretty their voices, starlets whose careers are built on reality shows and trashy films of old TV shows should not be allowed to cover songs by legends of contemporary folk. What's next? Will Richard Hatch be covering Joan Armatrading?

(*) "Weird" Al Yankovic has a top ten album. That's right. Check the seventh paragraph of this story. His new album, "Straight Outta Lynwood," is a smash. Granted, in today's depressed market, selling 77,000 copies will get you higher on the charts than in the past, but it's still a notable feat.

And again... it's so wrong.

Now, I have nothing against Weird Al. Like many boys, I spent my elementary school years thinking he was a genius. I memorized every song on "Even Worse," up to and including "Stuck in a Closet With Vanna White."

But since when did 2006 become the year for Al to have his biggest hit? Wasn't "Eat It" his peak? Has the world gone mad?

(*) Prince has recorded a song for an animated movie about penguins. Called "Happy Feet."

And that film's soundtrack will also feature a Hugh Jackman-Nicole Kidman cover of his song "Kiss."

I'm not made of stone. The penguin on that poster is cute in a way that could make me insane. Hell, that movie might even be cute. But Prince? Sex-freak-Jehovah's-Witness-
still-cool-after-all-these-years Prince? When did the most eccentric guy in pop--sorry Elton, it's true--get happy feet?

Oh... wait. Maybe the song is about penguins having sex. That would make sense.

Otherwise, the end times are nigh.

Whither the Lilith Ladies?

Don't get me wrong, I never expected Jill Sobule to have a major career. Or Heather Nova or Merril Bainbridge or Abra Moore or any of the other minor female talents who poked out their heads between 1995 and 1999. That was a time I call the "Lilith Era," when female singer-songwriters were experiencing a level of popularity not known since the mid-1970s heyday of Carole King, Carly Simon, and a newly resurgent Joni Mitchell.

I did, however, expect major things from a few of the Lilith Fair superstars.

Though its first major trek wasn't until 1997, The Lilith Fair epitomizes this period of music history. For three summers, it toured the country with a rotating line-up of nothing but female performers. Every date featured five mainstage acts and plenty more on smaller stages, and ticket sales were alway strong. Remember when all your friends were suddenly wearing sandals made out of hemp or skirts sewn from that crinkly, could-go-up-in-flames-at-any-minute fabric? They were all dressing to go to the Lilith Fair.

And though later summers featured hip-hop, jazz, and country acts, the festival was largely known as a platform for folkie pop-rockers. When I went to the Nashville show in 1997, for instance, I saw Indigo Girls (my then faves), Emmylou Harris, Lisa Loeb, Jewel, and tour founder Sarah McLachlan. The first three were already established, but the last two had risen to fame during the Lilith Era.

What seemed obvious to me at the time was that McLachlan especially had made it to the big time. Not only was this huge musical event her brainchild, but its first summer also dovetailed with her new album "Surfacing," which became her first blockbuster and yielded two top-ten hits in "Adia" and "Angel."

I figured Sarah McLachlan was going to be an evergreen superstar, much like Alanis Morrisette, who kind of kicked off this whole era with the success of "Jagged Little Pill," and Jewel, whose music I loathed but assumed would be unavoidable for the rest of time. (Honestly, is there any song worse than "Hands?" Okay, maybe "You Were Meant For Me," but you get my point.)

But you know what? I was wrong. On all counts. Not a single artist who came to prominence during the Lilith Era has maintained a high-profile career.

Sure, McLachlan and Jewel may still move copies of their new records, but after a few weeks, they tend to slip from view. Did you even know that Jewel released her latest album "Goodbye Alice in Wonderland" just a few weeks ago? Most people didn't.

Alanis Morrisette, meanwhile, has been reduced to remaking her one hit album and calling it "Jagged Little Pill Acoustic." That's a sign of desperaton, folks, not of thriving artistry.

Nor is it a good sign that Paula Cole--golden girl of 1997, wondering where all the cowboys had gone--just had an erroneously plural "Greatest Hits" album dumped quietly into stores. Or that Shawn Colvin--who rode "Sunny Came Home" to platinum status after years of releasing beloved indie folk albums--had to issue a press release saying she wasn't retired.

Despite how it may sound, I am not making value judgments against any of these artists. Being popular doesn't make you good, and I still love my copies of "This Fire," "Steady On," and "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy." I'd wager that most of the women mentioned above have made their peace with their fleeting time in the spotlight.

But isn't it weird that not one of them got to stay in the pantheon of fame? Movements in pop music tend to produce scads of temporary stars, most of whom either go on to make interesting, less commercial products or just take up, um, floral design. Usually, though, there's one or two that stick it out. Pearl Jam is still a pretty big deal after grunge. Green Day certainly made it through post-punk. Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera both survived late 90s teen pop after Britney and Jessica Simpson traded music for tabloids and the Backstreet Boys got really, really fat.

So why did no one make it out of Lilith?

Do we really have to count Sheryl Crow?

I don't guess it matters, of course. I can hear these women whenever I want, and with the exception of Cole, it doesn't seem any of them are gone for good.

I just figured, given the huge success of the Lilith Era, that it might add up to something more than a passing fad.

In Search of Disasterpieces: Rihanna vs. Janet Jackson

VS.





"I Totally Hear That" is a blog of the people, you guys! Last night, my friend Travis called and asked me to address a particular pop-music issue that concerns him, and I am happy to honor his request.

Let me paraphrase what he said:

"Mark, I hate the song 'Unfaithful' by Rihanna so much that it's almost destroying me. Could you please help me sort through my rage by writing a post titled 'Unfaithful: Bad Song or Worst Song?" Also, remember that summer before senior year when we were roommates in the sororoity lodge, and I acted like I was asleep when the university maintenance men came in to remove that desk, meaning you alone had to get up at 7:30 in the morning to deal with it? Remember how I was clearly awake because I asked you, from my bed and at the last minute, to take my floppy disks out of the drawer before the desk was whisked away for ever? Well, I apologize, and I plan to do so formally by sending you a funny greeting card."

Travis is a stand-up guy. I hope the card is Shoebox!

Anyway, far be it from me to deny Travis' anger. Having listened to "Unfaithful" (which you can do here), I certainly agree that it's no gem.

However, is it the worst song? Is it so bad that it deserves, as the title of this post suggests, to be called a "disasterpiece?" (Trademark on that word, y'all. Trademark.)

I would suggest that another track may very well be worse than "Unfaithful": "Call On Me" by Janet Jackson featuring Nelly (listen here).

You are the jury, dear readers. Below, I will present both cases for utlimate in suckiness, and then I will ask you to decide. (My arguments against Rihanna will be largely cribbed from Travis.)

Court is in session!

DEFENDANT #1 : Rihanna's "Unfaithful"

FOR: The first strike against this song is that it has the audacity to follow "S.O.S," which is one of the greatest singles of recent memory. Where that song was fresh and exciting, this one is boring and forgettable. Rihanna's reed-thin voice is well-suited to dance pop, but sounds laughably bad in this ballad.

And let's discuss the word "ballad." It should only apply to songs with melodies, right? Not songs that are simply slow? If so, this ditty doesn't count. The music is bombastic but tuneless.

That sonic crisis pales, however, compared to the atrocity of the lyrics, in which teenaged Rihanna likens her cheating on her boyfriend to murdering him. ("I don't want to hurt him anymore. I don't want to take away his life. I don't want to be [dramatic pause] a murderer.") How arrogant! What kind of ludicrous crap is that?

As supplementary support for the claim that this song is a disasterpiece, please read the following review of the track from "Entertainment Weekly" (while noting that EW agrees with Mark about the awesomeness of Christina Aguilera's "Ain't No Other Man.")

Against: Yes, the song is bad, but it's mostly Rihanna's vocal that's the problem. The music is at least interesting if not revolutionary. Plus, it's rare to hear a love song in which a woman sings about the pain she's inflicting on a man instead of the pain she's enduring because of him. That change in perspective give us the refreshing chance to hear about a man who is vulnerable and emotional and a woman who has some degree of power--a regular scenario in real life, but not so much on the radio. That alone keeps the song from being a disasterpiece.


Defendant #2: Janet Jackson and Nelly's "Call on Me"

For: Ever since she flashed her nipple at the Super Bowl, Janet Jackson has been spiralling out of control. From the obvious plastic surgery (do you see that picture over there?) to the fluctuating weight, her public image is taking a beating.

Worse, her music is, too. Albums like "Control," "Rhythm Nation," and "janet." were towering achievements of dance-pop that still sound great today. Even lesser efforts like "All for You" and "The Velvet Rope" had undeniable moments of booty-shaking brilliance.

Post-Nipplegate, however, Janet had her first flop album, "Damita Jo." How many top 40 singles? Zero. Ouch.

And so like Nelly Furtado, Janet is aiming for a boost in sales by heading straight for the least common denominator of current R&B. Unlike Nelly Furtado, however, she's not maintaining any of the personality she brought to her more idiosyncratic records. Instead, she's releasing "Call on Me," a song so generic that it could be sung by anyone.

Oh, wait! It has been sung by anyone! Twice before! That's right: Janet's duet partner Nelly (the rapper, not Furtado) has already released two sound-alike singles in which he sing-raps over a repetitive sample while an established singer croons a hook. The first was "Dilemma" featuring Kelly Rowland of Destiny's Child, and the second was "Over and Over" featuring Tim McGraw. Both those tracks were big hits, so Janet and her people clearly thought the formula would strike gold a third time and rescue her from an obscurity darker than Vanessa Williams'.

That decision is a major step toward making the song a disasterpiece. A star as established as Janet Jackson should not be releasing material this faceless. I mean, it may as well be Rihanna or Tweet or Monica or Jessica damn Simpson on this song. When Mariah Carey struggled back from the brink, she returned with the distinctive-sounding "We Belong Together," and Madonna has crafted catchy comebacks about thirty times. Janet in certainly in the same league as those women, and she and her producer/husband Jermaine Dupri owe it to her legacy to do better than this.

Nor does it help that Janet is a weak singer. (It's true.) Listening to "Dilemma, part 2" only reminds us that Kelly Rowland sounded better.

Finally, "Call on Me" just sounds like a third-generation idea. That's not surprising, since Jermaine Dupri hasn't been connected to an original-sounding song since Kriss Kross' "Jump." He's always been a knock-off of P. Diddy, who in turn is a knock-off of everyone and everything available. For "Call on Me," though, Dupri's choice of sample is particularly bland. And you think "Unfaithful's" lyrics are ass? Try these: "Call on me when you need someone who cares / Say the words and I'll be there / I can meet you anywhere."

Against: A true disasterpiece should be spectacularly, ingeniously bad. So bad that the mind can barely fathom it. (See: "Mambo No. 5"). "Call on Me" is just bad in a familiar way. It may sound the death knell for Ms. Jackson-if-You're-Nasty, but it won't make us want to gouge out our eardrums as we topple before its sublime hideousness.

DECISION: You decide! Which is the true disasterpiece?