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

A few things to talk about, but let me get the biggest of them out of the way first.

This message is coming to you from my new apartment.

Five weeks ago, I was thinking everything was about to take a change for the better. The CIA Patriots lost, as the rest of the world celebrated. Drew Carey was set to tape six primetime TPIR specials, with $2,000,000 on the line in each show. Queen Madonna was just weeks away from being enshrined in the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame (the induction takes place tonight, but those idiots at VH1 won't air the ceremonies for another 12 days! Gee, what's wrong? Can't dare not give us Dr. Drew and Surreal Life bullshit?).

Then all hell broke loose.

A few days after the Super Bowl, my sister (the one whom I want nothing to do with) called me, telling me that the financial arrangement I had with my father was history. About two weeks earlier he was put on permanent disability, due to his long list of health problems, and would no longer have the money to send.

Of course, this being my sister, the conversation couldn't end there. She had to be her usual judgemental, mean-spirited, bitchy self and start a fight - because, after all, adding insult to injury is the right way to handle things. I was already quite upset and scared, and didn't need her telling me how to live my life, being a hypocrite (after all, I'm supposed to understand my father's disabilities - which I do - but she can't understand mine), and accusing me of not caring about him (anyone who knows me - which she doesn't - knows I worry myself sick about him every damned day, and have for three years now!).

After I hung up the phone on that bitch, I called my father. I was, needless to say, quite unhappy with him. The issue wasn't so much the money (though, the fact that several thousand dollars of the inheritance he was holding for me will never be seen again, between never fully paying back what he borrowed, and spending it away on his medical expenses without thinking about tomorrow, didn't thrill me). The real issue was how he handled it.

I fully understand the situation he is in, and knew it would happen at some point. My only hope, especially after his back problems became much worse, was that the shit wouldn't hit the fan until I found myself on Section 8.

However, what upset me was that:

1. He didn't tell me for 10 days, when it was a situation that involved both of us.

2. He didn't tell me himself, instead putting it in the hands of THE worst person to handle the situation he could possibly choose.

3. By doing so, he dragged The Antichrist into my business, which I've told him for years not to do.

At this point, I still don't know how well the conversation went. On one hand, I think I made it quite clear that I wasn't happy with how things were handled, and that I want my sister out of my damned business. Yet, on the other hand, I got guilt-tripped with shit like how he'll put it in his will that he doesn't want a funeral, and will have himself cremated and his ashes just dumped into the ocean, if we don't start getting along.

I honestly don't know what he expects out of me. I've tried getting along with that bitch for many years, before it became obvious to me that getting along with her was a no-win scenario. She clearly thinks very little of me, and always has. She hasn't had a conversation where she has been able to speak to me without coming across like she thinks I'm scum for over a decade. Relationships are two-way streets (just ask Illinois Fats), and there is only so much I can do without decided I'm going to be walked all over for my father's sake.

I don't think it's fair for me to do that, especially when you consider the number of scars I already have (physically and emotionally) thanks to my sister.

So, now, the shit had hit the fan. Now what?

I obviously couldn't afford to keep my apartment. And having about three weeks to figure something out didn't help.

After doing some looking around (other apartments, rooms for rent), I finally stumbled upon an idea that would fix two situations with one stone: Moving in with Michael.

At first, he was iffy on the idea. But after doing some thinking, he realized we could make it work.

Fortunately, around this time, Susan had told me that apartment #23 (the one bedroom right above her) would be available at the beginning of March. I did the math, and realized the finances would work.

So, that began a three week journey of planning, cutting through red tape, and arranging a move from San Francisco to Riverside (which was greatly aided by Alane, who was up in his neck of the woods a couple weeks ago and transported the majority of his belongings to here).

Fortunately, other surprises came along that would help matters, among them obtaining a second air conditioner because the former tenant here decided he didn't want his anymore, and just left it for us. Susan also bent over backwards to make sure we got this apartment, and did everything she could to make things work, for which I'll be forever grateful.

We made the move on the 1st, which consisted of several hours of hard work. Dismantling, moving and reassmbling a 350 pound desk is not an easy job. Also, you never realize how much shit you've accumulated until you pack it up and move it.

So, now, Michael has the bedroom, and I have the living room, which I've converted into a second bedroom (not only slightly larger than the bedroom, which is a big help having more furniture, but we also realized we couldn't get some of my things into the bedroom in the first place).

So far, things have gone pretty well. A few minor things that had to be fixed, such as Internet access (I'm still trying to get the hang of this router). I'm having to use the hall closet for my clothing, and eventually plan to take the small room (looks like a closet, but with no rod) and add a rod to it, and use it as my closet. But, considering what a complex move this was, it's gone more smoothly than even I thought it would to date.

I've gotten most of the red tape done. I do need to get down and update everything as far as Section 8, but taking a few days to recover and try to play catch-up would do some wonders.

The two best things to come from this, however, are no longer having to worry about Michael and the crummy situation he was in until now, and no longer having to live underneath loud, obnoxious neighbors. While it's kind of funny living with someone again (it's been 11 years since I've done so), overall I'd have to say I'm quite pleased with the situation.

Onto a few other topics...

Drew Carey, Maker Of Millionaires: On February 22, we got to see Drew do his thing in prime-time for the first time, and he did not disappoint.

A new host, however, was not the only new thing for Price In Primetime, as we've also seen some rule changes, and new ways to win $1,000,000.

The first of which is a $1,000,000 pricing game, where if the contestant plays the game exceptionally well, they can win a $1,000,000 bonus along with their prize. Some of these ideas have been inspired (like a $1,000,000 bonus for getting all five numbers right on the first turn in One Away). Some of these were real head-scratchers, like hitting the $20,000 spot in Plinko three times to earn a gold chip, which could lead to $1,000,000 (sorry, but I'd like to believe the $1,000,000 in a pricing game is obtainable, and Plinko is Mission: Impossible).

The second of which is thanks to the primetime Showcase rules: Get within $1,000 of the actual retail price of your Showcase without going over, and you win both Showcases AND $1,000,000.

Drew, who gave away $1,000,000 in his first episode of Power Of 10, managed to strike twice more already. Adam Rose closed out the first primetime show with a bang, missing his Showcase by $880 to become the biggest winner in CBS history. And, last Friday, Michael Haynes (who also won over $10,000 on Press Your Luck in January of 1984) ended an 0 for 6 show with a bang, missing his Showcase by $489 to become the second biggest winner in CBS history.

Drew has not only managed to give away $1,000,000 three times in a season (something which I don't even believe Regis ever did), but has now given away a million three more times than Howie Mandel has, despite the fact Shark Or No Shark has manufactured gimmicks to try to give away big money (including a $3,000,000 case, and two games where half the cases had $1,000,000 in them).

Just goes to show that for all of Deal's hype, The Price Is ALWAYS Right.

The only regret? That we didn't see these rules back when Bob was still hosting. We had at least one contestant come within $1,000 of their Showcase during Bob's Million Dollar Spectaculars. And while I love Drew, NOBODY could reveal a Showcase's actual retail price like Bob Barker.

I would've paid real money to see how Bob would've revealed to Adam and Michael that they had just become millionaires...

We still have three more of these specials to be aired (one this Friday, and the last two after the NCAA basketball tournament), so there'll be six more chances for fireworks.

The Queen In The Hall: I'll close this post out by congratulating our lovely queen, Madonna, as tonight she will officially be enshrined in the Hall Of Fame, where she belongs.

Of course, some of the naysayers are at it, asking us if any of us pictured her going into the Hall during the Like A Virgin days (no, we didn't, but then, none of us had any idea what the next two decades would bring to one Madonna Louise Ciccone), and questioning why someone who "had nothing to do with rock" should go into the Hall (care to state your case for removing Johnny Cash, Aretha Franklin and Michael Jackson, then?).

Yes, it's a shame that Alice Cooper, Deep Purple, Styx and countless other influential rock acts are still on the outside looking in. But instead of questioning why one of the most influential artists of the last 50 years is going in, why not question why successful (but not extrordinary) acts like The Pretenders are in.

Punishing Madonna for going in while over deserving acts are overlooked would be like me punishing Tony Gwynn because he's in baseball's Hall Of Fame while Brett Butler (whom I do feel is deserving) isn't. She did her part, and earned it. The voters are the ones who fucked up by overlooking legitimate acts while inducting Blondie and The Pretenders (and, again, I love Blondie, but no, they were not worthy).

Also, while on the topic (again), I've felt for years that the Hall should broaden it's horizons some, and focus more on being a music Hall Of Fame than trying to cubbyhole themselves into "rock and roll". Induct Frank Sinatra, and ABBA and all these other hugely successful and influential artists who are being exluded because they don't sound like Zeppelin or Elvis or The Beatles. I mean, you've already inducted R&B/Motown acts. You've inducted a country artist. You've inducted pop artists. Why not?

Anyway, it's a shame I won't really be able to celebrate with My Queen tonight, thanks to VH1. Considering what Madonna did for MTV/VH1 over the years (c'mon, the M in MTV may as well have stood for Madonna for many years), I think it's a disgrace that these induction ceremonies won't be live.

Then again, as I've said more than once, Madonna has become overshadowed in recent years, sadly. Not because of what she does, but because of what she DOESN'T do. She doesn't drive while drunk, get arrested, go into rehab, get hauled off to mental hospitals, doesn't lose custody of her kids, doesn't shave her head, and has committed the crime of not being under the age of 30, like Britney Hilton, or Linsday Simpson, or Miley Montana, or Amy Rehabhouse or the rest of these crops of young, ignorant puppets that the mainstream media has crammed down our throats.

It's one of the reasons I'm not holding my breath, expecting this album to be the biggest thing of her career, regardless of how it sounds, and regardless of rumors about videos where she plays a dominatrix in killer heels (Mmmm... Killer heels). The album could be the greatest thing ever recorded, and unless it comes with a head-shaving, beaver-flashing-in-public, coke-fueled trip to jail/rehab publicity stunt, nobody is going to care. The problem isn't Madonna, it's a media too interested in Pat O'Brienesque scandals (both the ones he reports, and the one he lived himself) to give a shit about the biggest artist of the last 25 years.

And, yes, I do think that is part of the reason there seems to be a ho-hum attitude about tonight's ceremonies (or the out-and-out griping I've seen). However, if Bri... Br... Buuurrrr.... THAT THING from Kentwood was the one being inducted tonight, fucking BNN (All You-Know-Who, All The Time) would carry it live.

Sad.

However, just because the ceremony happens tonight but nobody airs it for twelve days doesn't mean it didn't happen. So, congratulations Queen Madonna! Here's hoping for another amazing 25 years. Sure, you'd be 75, but hey... If Bob Barker can keep on ticking until he's 83, 75 is a drop in the bucket, no?

Just please don't spend the next 25 years (or even 25 minutes) with Justin Timberlake... Please.

Labels: Barker Worship, Hard Candy Never Happened, Madge Worship, Mi Vida Loca, Osama bin Amy, Shoe Worship, Sinead O'Britney, That's What Friends Are For, The Drew Is Right

Before I ramble on about the latest bit of news to put me in a sour mood, let me at least share a little good news.

First off, we did receive the tickets for Tuesday's taping. Mike will be down Sunday (possibly after taking a brief detour to check out Camp Barker for Monday's MDS taping, depending on how long his layover in LA is). We'll head to LA Monday afternoon, spend another night homeless in LA, then attend what appears to be Bob's final prime time taping.

The prime time special (which should air on May 18) apparently will consist of three pricing games, and plenty of clips and reminiscing galore. Should be a lot of fun, though.

We also received our tickets today for the May 17th taping. That was one of the three dates we've requested tickets for (along with June 5 and June 6, as we were not sure at the time which might be Bob's last show).

If all goes well, we should get the June tickets in 2-3 weeks. Here's hoping so.

I'll keep everyone posted.

With that said, let me rant a bit about something leaving a sour taste in my stomach: Namely, the direction that Esther Madge's new album appears to be heading in...

I think it goes without saying that I'm not exactly a hip hop fan (in fact, I'm what you can call the opposite of a hip hop fan). A great deal of it is the garbage lyrics (you know, the kind of lyrics that are perfectly okay for Snoop Dogg and 50 Cent to sing, but get Don Imus fired). But it isn't just that. It's the annoying beats, the lack of feeling, and the fact that when you come right down to it, hip hop is not music.

Or, as I've been saying for years: Rap and hip hop have taken the rhythm out of rhythm and blues. (Not to mention they do a fine job of giving me the blues by putting me in a foul mood.)

So, as you can imagine, it does not warm my heart to hear the list of people collaberating on Madge's new album: Pharrell Williams, Timberland, Swizz Beatz, Felix Da Housecat.

And now news she's working with Justin Timberlake? Justin Motherfucking Timberlake?!

Joy.

And then we get quotes like this, from "a source": "The last album was a credible disco record and Madonna wants to give hip-hop the same treatment this time."

Let me state right off the bat: Hip hop and credible do not belong in the same sentence. Hell, fuck that: They don't even belong in the same paragraph! A credible hip hop album? John Lennon couldn't do a credible hip hop album if he was still alive, and we're talking about a man who could make just about anything credible (and incredible)!

Not to mention I'm now having nightmares. We've heard Madge try to rap. I love the woman, but that was painful. Does this mean we get to look forward to more of it?

Some of the fans are trying to be optimistic. They're looking at this with the hopes of this album feeling like Bedtime Stories, which was co-produced by the likes of Dallas Austin and Babyface. There was a big difference, though: Both had done credible R&B work, and the album had a definite R&B feel to it, which worked very well. Nowhere were quotes being thrown around about taking the album in a hip hop direction.

And, I repeat (for emphasis): Rap and hip hop have taken the rhythm out of rhythm and blues.

I hate to say it, but my early impressions are that this album will sound like a blatant attempt to capture America's 16 to 25 crowd by sounding like the rest of the crap America tries to pass off as mainstream music anymore. Music that, quite frankly, makes me feel like I'm going to lose my lunch and gives me the desire to puncture my eardrums.

Madge's fans love her for doing something unique and different. Madonna is a leader, not a follower. Madonna has gotten to where she is by doing her own thing, not taking Gwen Stefani's and Nelly Furtado's sloppy seconds.

I know, we're still several months away from the release of Whatever Her New Album Will Be Called. But so far, I am not impressed.

Disappointed might be a better choice of words.

You know, this marks the second time in four years I've faced an upcoming release from one of my favorite artists not with joy and anticipation, but with apprehension and the expectations of disappointment.

There was of course the summer of ***3, when a friend obtained a copy of Sherrie Austin's Streets Of Heaven. He gave a less than glowing review of the album (and even arranged for me to listen to the album before it was released).

Needless to say, after the high that was Followin' A Feelin', Streets Of Heaven (sans the title track and a few other promising songs) was a disappointment.

After going with a more traditional sound, and a more "raw" feeling with the production, SOH had a much more slick, pop feel to it - no doubt in large part to Dann Huff (who also works with Faith Hill, and previously had worked with pop artists like - ironically - Madonna). Many of the tracks sounded and felt the same, Sherrie's vocals were unnecessarily slicked up and subjected to digital enhancing (I've heard her live. Trust me, the woman doesn't need it!), and a great deal of the album seemed way too bass-heavy. Instead of feeling like a Sherrie Austin album, it felt like a Sherrie does Faith album.

I loved Sherrie's first three albums (especially Words and FAF). SOH was a disappointment compared to her previous work. Not only was I disappointed with the sound, but it didn't feel like her own work. It may have been Sherrie's vocals, but it didn't feel like it was truly her music.

So, it's understandable to have serious apprehension about Madge's upcoming album with all this news. In the last four years, I've had three big album releases by my two favorite artists. One disappointed me (Streets Of Heaven), one thrilled the hell out of me (Confessions On A Dance Floor), and one has me worried thanks to all the news coming out.

I know she's Madonna, and once she decides to do something she'll do it, and damn the consequences. But I can't help but to worry that come November(?), she's going to release an album that doesn't feel at all like a Madonna album. For what she has lacked as far as vocal range and songwriting depth over the years, she has made up with creativity, passion, and recording an album that even if it seemed radically different (like Bedtime Stories), it always sounded and FELT like a Madonna album.

Instead, is she about to release an album that leaves us wondering if the truly one of a kind Madonna has decided that she doesn't want to be "Madonna" or "Esther", but "Nelly Furtado" instead?

Maybe it's true. Maybe she really has decided she's too busy to be creative. And if so, that's a shame. Because I don't give two shits about Nelly Furtado or Fergie or any of today's current artists who just release the same old crap. And I'm not going to be overjoyed about the same old crap, even if it's Madonna singing it.

To put it bluntly, there is a reason I don't care for today's music: Because it sucks ass.

Just as Dann Huff took away some of Sherrie's soul on Streets Of Heaven, I fear this Timberland/Williams/Swizz/Felix/Timberfuckinglake syndicate is going to do the same with this new album.

If this is about appealing to American tastes: WHY?! America's tastes suck ass, Madge. This is a nation that considers crap like Snoop Dogg to be art, that considers American Idle to be must see TV. So you're not selling here? Consider that a badge of honor! People here wouldn't know art if it had the common courtesy to give them a reacharound while screwing them up the ass (which our so-called entertainment DOES do, sans the reacharound).

I guess I'm puzzled, and wondering what happened to risk-taking Madonna - the one that dared to give us Erotica, and even American Life (which despite being a disappointment, was still damned gutsy of her). Same shit, different voice isn't gutsy.

Maybe I'm disappointed over nothing.

Maybe Madge - who in the past has treated album projects like nuclear secrets - is feeding us bullshit to keep us on our toes.

Maybe this album will wind up as widely distributed as her shelved 1994 rock album (a shame, because I am sure that would've kicked some ass).

Maybe despite this damned syndicate, the album may turn out to be truly good (though, that's debatable, as everything else Justin Timberlake has ever touched has sucked total ass).

It's a little hard not to be skeptical and worried, though. After Streets Of Heaven. With the fact Sherrie's career may be over. After Arnie's retirement. With Bob's retirement looming.

Maybe I'll be surprised. Or maybe it's time for me to face the fact that music just sucks anymore, and that if John Lennon was still around and recording, his magic would have faded away.

I'll give the album a shot. I just hope this isn't my second letdown in four years.

Labels: Barker Worship, Camp Barker, Hard Candy Never Happened, Madge Worship