I'm behind. I'm way behind.

I'd love to sit here and blame it on the move (okay, so it did take me a bit of time to get my energy back after that, not to mention the adjustments that come with any change). I'd love to blame it on spending too much time on Second Life (okay, so that's part of it). I'd love to blame it on having nothing to say, except... That'd be a lie. I have plenty to say.

It's more like there's one thing I haven't WANTED to say.

Before I unload yet again on the corporate-controlled mainstream media, or bitch about the weather here and how it ruined my plans, I'll get the worst out of the way first...

You ever have one of those moments where you're about to say or do something you don't rather not, and think "This is going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt you"? You can file this under that category.

Twelve months ago, I was not exactly looking forward to the future, at least where a few people I admire was concerned. Arnold Palmer had retired. Bob Barker was on his way there. Sherrie Austin was closing in on four years without a new album (and three without ANY new material, with her cover of "Son Of A Preacher Man" being the last bit of new material we'd seen). And, of course, the news was trickling out concerning Queen Madonna's eleventh studio album.

As we all know, I had plenty to say last April about what we had heard about the direction of this album (which eventually was named Hard Candy). Hip hop? Justin Timberfake? Timberland? Oh, crap. It's going to suck, because hip hop sucks! It's going to sound like the rest of the crap on the radio - and I know that current crap music sucks because I used to have to deal with it every Thursday night while bowling with IF.

But, I decided to try to stay positive. This is Madonna. She wouldn't let us down. She didn't let us down with Erotica (though, it took me years to admit that). She didn't let us down with Bedtime Stories. She didn't let us down with Confessions On A Dance Floor. She didn't let us down with American Life... Whoops.

Okay, so you can't win them all.

Plus, let's say I were a betting person. Let's say that I were to put money down a year ago on which of these potential heartbreaks would work out alright in the end. Well, twelve months ago, this is how I would've ranked the chances of potential heartbreak, from best chance of working out to bigger possibility for disaster:

Madonna's new album
Sherrie Austin's hiatus ending
The Price Is Right surviving - much less thriving! - with a new host.

I'd rank Arnie, too, but I didn't expect him to come out of retirement, and of course he has not.

It's not that I would've given the album great odds, but surely it had to be better than the odds of me still being a fan of TPIR without Bob, or even the odds of Sherrie making her return.

The Price Is Right has been a blast this year, thanks to Drew Carey, and the fun and energy he has brought to the show. I'll touch on that more at the end of season 36. However, his hiring of course came out of nowhere. Last April, we were too busy hearing about Mario Lopez and George Hamilton and other uninspiring names that spelled doom. Drew wasn't even on the radar at the time. It seemed like a good bet that the show would go in the crapper when Bob walked into the sunset. However, out of nowhere we get Drew, who not only has made season 36 a very pleasant experience, he even has some of us former doomsdayers wondering how much longer the show can go on. Season 40? 50? 60? Could Drew walk off into the sunset at 84 to close out season 70?

Trust me, I was not ready to say this last April.

Okay, okay, so I blew it on TPIR - and I'm glad I did. Sherrie! I know you're coming back. Surely you have new music for us. Surely you wouldn't leave us. We miss you! Sherrie? Sherrie?! Where are you?

Okay, so sadly, the disappointment continues there. August will mark five years since her last album. She is without a record label, she is busy performing in musicals and writing for other artists. I'm beginning to wonder if we'll ever see another album from her at this point, sadly. :(

I really would've liked to have been wrong on that one.

So, that's one wrong (thankfully), and one right (sadly), coming to the situation of the three I felt had the best chance of working out. You wouldn't disappoint us, would you Madonna?

Do you know what today is? It's Madonna Day. That's the day that comes once every 2-3 years, when our almighty queen blesses us with a new album. It's more special than Christmas - partially because Christmas hasn't been the same for me for a long time, and partially becomes it's rarer than Christmas.

It's 9:26 am on Madonna Day. I should be on my way to Best Buy, or Target, or somewhere so I can run in at 10:00 am and snag my copy.

Instead, why am I sitting here with a Canadian Mist and Diet Coke, feeling like I did when I found out there is not a Santa Claus, and mommy and daddy were putting those gifts under the tree?

Except, of course, I wasn't drinking booze back then.

All my attempts to convince myself that everything would be okay with Hard Candy started crumbling with the release of the album's first single, "4 Minutes" (or, as I sadly nicknamed it, "4 Minutes Of My Life I Will Never Get Back". If songs like "Like A Virgin", "Like A Prayer", "Ray Of Light" and "Hung Up" are the kind of songs that can get fans fired up for the new album, "4 Minutes" falls a bit short for me...

In fact, I think the more accurate choice of words would be "It does the opposite."

Maybe it's how loud and noisy the song sounds. Maybe it's how flat and drowned out Madge's singing sounds. It's definitely the presence of Justin Fucking Timberlake. But, combine all of the three, and not only did I find myself listening to a song that didn't sound or feel like a Madonna song - it feels like she's a guest on her own fucking song!

Not helping matters is listening to "4 Minutes (OMLIWNGB)" does sound like everything else on the radio. You know why I don't listen to the radio anymore? Because I can't stand the music on it! I couldn't stand listening to it while bowling. I can't stand listening to it if I go into a region on Second Life where the owner is streaming contemporary music. I have about as much use for current music as I do a second asshole. This is why I loved Sherrie's entire Followin' A Feelin' album. This is why I loved Confessions. It didn't sound like the garbage that turned me away from radio.

For the first time in fifteen years, I had found myself disappointed with the debut single from the chosen artist at the time. I had found myself hearing the song that was supposed to whet my appetite, wondering if it was worth it to buy the album. The last time I did, and found the album to be disappointing.

But, this is 2008. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I was able to, uhh, preview the album this weekend. Surely it's just this song that breaks my heart. Surely it's all the fault of that goddamned Justin Timberfake. Surely it'll be alright... Surely I'll preview the album, and Tuesday morning I'll add a CD to my collection...

56 minutes and 12 seconds later, the end result is me sitting here, disappointed as hell, thinking "You know, I still have one free selection through BMG. I'll use it on Hard Candy. I'd rather pay $4.00 or so for shipping to add it for collector's purposes than pay $20, since it's not going to get much use."

For the second time in five years, I'm disappointed over an album release that should've had me estatic, and both for pretty much the same reason: The producers who were brought in took away from the artist's strengths, and created a piece that doesn't even sound or feel like the artist's work.

I've already expressed my thoughts on Streets Of Heaven, but I'll go with a brief recap: Despite seeking on Will Rambeaux, despite being romantically involved with him at the time (that may or may not be the case any longer), Sherrie Austin's fourth album wound up with a large amount of it produced by Dann Huff (who previously had produced Faith Hill's pop crossover crap, and before that worked primarily in rock/pop - including playing guitar on Madonna's True Blue album). After Sherrie's raw, real work on Followin' A Feelin', SoH wound up feeling slick and a bit popsy.

Now, here in 2008, it's Hard Candy, an album that feels way too slick and overproduced - not to mention an album that doesn't even feel like a Madonna album. Between the overly hip hop vibe, and the album sounding like they turned the volume down on Madge's vocals to 6 or 7 while the rest of it is at 11 (because 11 is louder than 10), it feels like either she is a guest on her own album (or, perhaps, felt the need to give herself a back seat to the damned hip hop beats since, after all, kiddies anymore only buy music for the beat, singing and lyrics be damned).

The difference, of course, is I still suspect to this day that Broken Bow Records was behind Dann Huff's interference with Streets Of Heaven. We know this is not the case when it comes to Madonna's career.

There is a lengthy list of issues that has kept me from embracing this album the way I embraced Confessions, and a great deal of Madge's older work.

The biggest of which, and I'll come right out and say it: I hate hip hop. I really do. I don't care for the sound, and I don't care for the image. Hip hop to me is about as useful as classic country (sans Johnny Cash, Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton), as modern country (sans Sherrie and maybe Garth Brooks), and current rock (especially so-called alternative). Giving me a hip hop-flavored album goes over about as well as it would if Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr reunited with the tape-recorded vocals of John Lennon and George Harrison and decided to record an alternative album. I worship The Beatles, but if they did that, I'd be puking my guts out.

The second biggest problem seems to be Madge's obsession with the Vocoder. We've seen it here and there over the years, but it's all over the place on Hard Candy. I'm sorry, but I listened to it thinking "Is this Madonna singing? Or is this a computer programmed to SOUND like Madonna singing?" Where's the energy? Where's the passion?

You know, this is one of the reasons I still prefer 80's Madonna over the Madonna of this decade. I MISS her trying to sing out of her shoes like on "Lucky Star", or "Crazy For You", or "Open Your Heart". It's that passion, which seems to appear here and there, only to disappear again, that I'll take over the background music (or in the case of Hard Candy, foreground music).

When some of the fanboys jump all over the asses of disappointed fans like me, lecturing us about how we "can't expect another Like A Virgin", they miss the point. It's not that we expect an album that sounds just like it (though, I would gladly take one over this), it's that we miss the passion and energy.

(By the way, it's now 10:00 am. Guess who is still not at Best Buy?)

We saw that on Confessions, for the most part, which is why it is the only album she has released this decade (no, 2000 is not in this decade) that hasn't left me scratching my head.

And the third and final reason? My natural reaction, as a music purist, is to listen to an album that sounds like everyone else, one that's coming from an artist who prides herself on being an innovator and leader and risk-taker, and think... No, I can't say it. I'll let my friend Alfonzo say it for me:

"I apologize, but when I heard her new song, part of me felt like she sold out."

There. Now it's been said.

I'd like to argue with Alfonzo. I'd like to force him to apologize. I can't do it. I can't do it, because this was exactly how I felt the first time I heard "4 Minutes (OMLIWNGB)". The gutsy, take-no-prisoners bitch who dared everyone to keep up with her goes hip hop, and name-drops us with Timberfake, Timberland, Kanye West, et al.?

(And Justin Timberfake, of all people?! Why?! In the last five years, you had to help cram Bitchney Shears down our throats, and now this worthless, talentless, brainless fucking manufactured preppy tool whose 15 minutes of fame should've ended nine years ago. Please, I beg of you. No more worthless former "teen idols". No Bratney. No Timberfake. No Jessica Simpson. And, for the love of god, don't even think about calling Miley Montana!)

Stuart Price had the gall to tell us last year this may be "her most ambitious project yet"? This would be as ambitious as it would be had The Grateful Dead decided they were sick of not having hit songs, and decided to bring in The Beatles or Led Zeppelin. This is about as "risky" as it would be if Sherrie Austin decided to launch that comeback, and did so while teaming up with Carrie Underwood and Toby Keith (if she ever did the latter, I'd disown her).

I know a lot of people want to call every new album of hers "risky", because of her tendency to come out with a new sound (more on that shortly). But it isn't "risky" when the direction you pick just happens to be what's all over the goddamned radio (and I'm sorry, but I cannot shake the feeling that this album was about catering to the lowest common denominator, and nothing more). Risky would've been coming out with a country album, or a folk album, or an album full of ballads (You know, like the ones she used to sing, like "Take A Bow" and "Love Don't Live Here Anymore"). As a wise person once said, "when you try to satisfy everyone, you please no one."

This is not Like A Prayer. This is not even Confessions or Ray Of Light. There's nothing innovative here. There's nothing here that distinguishes this album from everyone else's stuff. I honestly can't tell the difference between this album, or Gwen Stefani, or That Dumb Crazy Head-Shaving Bitch Who Will Not Be Named. And much like with Streets Of Heaven, that is a large part of my heartbreak over this "ambitious" project.

Michael: "Why does Madonna need street cred?"

You know, there was a point where she had street cred, just from being Madonna. It was like Johnny Cash - he was fucking cool because he was Johnny Cash. Period.

In her case, a lot of that came from passion, energy and charisma. It came from a woman who did her own thing and said "Go fuck yourself if you don't like it" - whether it be bras as outerwear, whether it be taking her clothes off whenever she felt like it, or whether it be taking some real risks with her music (see: Like A Prayer).

I haven't seen that energy too much in the decade. Perhaps it's the result of being Mommy Madonna. And perhaps it's...

(Lil Maddy: Don't you dare fucking play the age card!)

Oh, c'mon. You should know me better than that. This is the high priestess of the Church Of Bob Barker, for crying out loud!

There are times (and this is one of them) where I wonder if Madonna has been on top too long for her own good. Where the gum-cracking, bratty kid who wanted to take over the world has, and now has nothing left to accomplish. Where the one-time gunslinger who wanted to shoot everyone down ran out of bullets and is now so busy trying to keep themselves from getting shot that they're playing it safe, instead of doing the very thing that made them untouchable in the first place.

And that's why this album disappoints. It's not risky. It's safe. It's stepping in line with everyone else, and keeping up with the Joneses - instead of trying to forces the Joneses to keep up with the Ciccone, as she had done for nearly 25 years. The album feels like a person at the top desperately trying to stay there, instead of doing the very things that put them there in the first place. Maybe American Life had the same effect on her as Buster Douglas knocking out Tyson did - maybe the swagger left after that knockdown. I don't know.

The thing with Madonna is it isn't just about the music, but a persona. And, at least on this album, that persona isn't there. It's been replaced by some white hip hop singer named M-Dolla (real interesting name. I can only hope this isn't what this was all about) who wants to be sweet and kick our asses at the same time. A woman who wants to look like a 50's female wrestler yet doesn't seem to have the same toughness as her twin Madonna does - the woman who takes risks and damn the consequences.

And, no, all of this does not make me a former fan - it makes me a disappointed current fan. I still love Madonna. I still love most of the music she's given us over 25 years. This is not 1993 all over again. She hasn't lost me, just as Sherrie didn't lose me over my disappointment over Streets Of Heaven. Anyone thinking I'm not a real fan, or assume that I'm leaving must also think I don't love my parents because sometimes they disappointed me, too. I value honesty above all else, which is why I can honestly say I still love Madonna. It's also why I can honestly say I can't stand Hard Candy.

So, yes. Today, I sit before you, one heartbroken and disappointed fan. Once again, a big day has become a royal letdown. Instead of unwrapping my first new Madonna studio album in nearly 2 1/2 years, I'm sitting on Second Life, washing my ears out with 80's Madonna. I also sit here, taking a page from the Bill Simmons book on handling things. How so, you ask?

I'm going to sit here and pretend Hard Candy never happened. It's just some debut album from some singer named M-Dolla, whoever the hell she is. Soon, I know, Madonna will follow up Confessions with a great album to kick off her career with Live Nation.

Hard Candy never happened!

I was also going to go off on the mainstream media and all the crap we are forced to endure, but I don't feel like going off on a lengthy rant about it now. I'm worn out enough from this post already. It never feels good to say things like this. It does really hurt me more than the other person - even when the other person isn't famous and will likely never read this.

So, let me sum up my feelings on the mainstream media right now, in a few brief sentences...

We're in the midst of an election. We're still in that great crime known as Iraq. Bush and his warmongering masturbating buddies are chomping at the bit to charge into Iran. And we're in the midst of a major global economic crisis. And yet, all we ever get, over and over again is Britney, Britney, Britney, Paris, Hannah, Jessica, Lindsay, Amy, Britney, Britne, Hannah!

Fuck you, CNN. Fuck you, Faux News. Fuck Britney and her trips to the hospital. Fuck Britney and her TV appearances. Fuck Britney and her manager. Fuck Britney's divorce and custody battle. Fuck Jessica and Tony's trip to Mexico. Fuck Amy Winehouse and her drugs and her husband and her tattoos. Fuck Paris Hilton and her entire fucking family. And fuck Hannah Montana's goddamned Vanity Fair shoot. In fact, while you're at it, fuck the entire Cyrus family! Fifteen years ago, Billy Ray has to torture us with "Achy Breaky Heart", and now we must be tortured again by another worthless, talentless Cyrus? God help us!

Report some real fucking news, you goddamned puppets.

Labels: Barker Worship, Corporate Assholes, Hard Candy Never Happened, Madge Worship, Sinead O'Britney, Stone Cold Sherrie Austin, The Drew Is Right, Timberfake