I Love Bad Music: Idol Worship
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he’s an adroit wordsmith, and he’s gonna try to convince us that the bad is really good.
Even if you’re rooting for Sanjaya Malakar to throw the media mammoth that is American Idol, not everyone involved with the gargantuan show should be equally condemned. Sure, Idol has become an honest-to-god factory in mainstream music, churning out vocalists like Britney Spears does fully developed fetuses.
But aside from salvaging what is left of an industry that possesses a shriveling set of balls resting lightly below the digital-downloading guillotine, there have been a couple of considerable Idol offspring in its seven seasons. Kelly Clarkson’s Since U Been Gone is a certifiable pop classic, Jennifer Hudson gave life to an otherwise mediocre movie, and the adorable Jordin Sparks is poised to be both a tween sensation and perhaps this season’s sleeper.
Make no mistake, the judges’ favorite winner throughout the show’s history is Fantasia Barrino, a powerhouse saaanger whose emotional aptitude and tragic backstory (”Illiterate single mom chases dreams, ends on ‘high note!’”) have earned her adoring fans and critics alike. No, her music isn’t particularly stellar, but her most recent self-titled sophomore attempt was well-received for its march into a less-tread territory in the field of contemporary R&B.
Read on for more of Eliot’s claim that what’s perceived as bad is really good…
The album is packed with quite a few anthemic ditties that rely heavily on thrashing percussion and sonic earthquakes. But worst/best/worst of all, as far as I’m concerned, is what could likely be considered a follow-up to Baby Mama, a cut off her debut album, Free Yourself.
On Baby Makin’ Hips, the theme remains the same, but instead of applauding babies having babies, Fantastia rewards the voluptuous curves that so finely housed the initial seed. “Damn, that’s a shame what you’re doing to that hula hoop!” drawls the voice of a drooling passerby played at half speed over the opening fade-in of jarring horns blasting at the start of each measure.
Piling on the cheese is Fantasia, sounding familiarly furious, spewing out lyrics so passionately that I actually can’t make out what she’s saying, except to know she means business. Really, she means business.
The anthem illustrates the weakness men harbor for a “wobble wobble shaped…like a cola bottle,” a lyric as bizarre as it is awesome, but it’s no matter. Fantasia’s no poet, but with the horns sounding off throughout (albeit not as fittingly as with the Chi-Lites sample in Beyonce’s Crazy In Love), it’s hard not to love hearing anyone — although, it’s especially bittersweet when coming from a former illiterate — praise an “itty bitty waist [with] hip-hips all in they face.”
[...] Original post by Google Inc. [...]