Very sad to learn about Foxy Brown going deaf. What a strange and unfortunate thing. I'm not a huge fan or anything, but just knowing that she was out there doing her thing somehow comforted me. Her real name is Inga Marchand, which I think is a lovely name, albeit one that may not have the power to sell billions of records. Apparently, she could have (possibly) saved her hearing if she had done something sooner. The lesson here, kids, is pay attention to your body. If something starts going weird...

The thing that really struck me about the article was when Inga said: "I believe God wants to be the only voice I hear right now." I think that's pretty profound for a woman whose website proclaims her to be "the last bitch alive." I feel for her and hope she gets her hearing back. As for myself, I plan to listen very closely to mine own body... and possibly the voice of god, too.

Go over to madonna.com if you haven't seen the video for Our Lady of the Dancefloor's new song, "Hung Up." It's pretty cool.

Madge walks into a rehearsal studio eager to prove that she can still shake her moneymaker after breaking eight bones. The result is impressive. Her body is as hot as ever and she does a couple of moves that show off her freakish limberness. As she gets in touch with her inner-travolta, we see various urban types jamming out to her ditty and getting their freak on at the bus stop, on the bus, and into an arcade. Maddie finally makes her way downtown to join them and they all disco the night away.

There is one section that is pretty racy, mostly because we all know she's married and a mom... Hey, wait- is she gonna kiss that dude? Other than that, it's just good, clean, freak-out fun with a beat. Madonna will change the way the world sees old ladies, of that I am certain.

Don't take my word for it, see for yourself.

I mean, really, come on.... I guess he is using the insanity defense.

I don't read the comics section of the newspaper because I seldom even see a newspaper anymore. (Do they still make those?) So, it is unclear to me how I first came to know Bucky Katt, Satchel and Rob, the characters of Darby Conley's absolutely brilliant comic strip Get Fuzzy.

It chronicles the life of a single guy with a dog and a cat. I know what you are thinking, but this strip is really original and weird. Bucky's "cat logic" is truly mystifying. And you can't help but love the innocense of Satchel's dogma. And Rob is pink (according to Bucky) but I don't think he's gay.

It makes me laugh out loud and I don't even own a pet. You should check it out:

How cute is Conor Oberst?

He is Bright Eyes and if you are unfamiliar with his work, the story is in the soil. I first had the honour of witnessing the genius that is Conor at the 2003 Shortlist concert. I was working for the production company who was taping the show for broadcast on MTV2. I really dig jobs like this, because backstage access is the only way to see shows. The lineup included some bands I had heard of, like Interpol and Damien Rice. But mostly, the artists were new to me. I really didn't know what to expect from Cat Power or the Black Keys. Nonetheless, I was excited to be involved.

The day of the show, all the bands come in at different times to do a soundcheck. Production-wise, there is little to do during this, so I was able to observe artists up close. I marvelled at how strange Chan Marshall (of Cat Power) was and endured the bombastic stylings of the Streets and Floetry from a distance. Then an odd assortment of young people began to set up on stage. Two drummers, a cellist, a banjo, several keyboards and guitar players...and a slew of back up singers. There must have been fifteen people in this band. That's when I spotted Conor. He wore a hoodie, was frightfully thin and looked liked he should inherit the earth. I had grown cynical about the state of rock and the seeming vacancy of youth. All that was about to change.

Bright Eyes tore through a set of songs in a way that I can only describe as awesome. Not in an Eighties, surfer dude way, but in line with the true meaning of the word: inspiring awe. Here was the messiah of music. The new Cobain. Here was the future. I was ecstatic! Finally, something worth coveting. That night at the show, Conor was even better, feeding off the energy of the crowd. He growled and snarled like a true god. At one point, he gave a politically charged speech, castigating Bush. This must have upset the young Republicans because one of them jumped up on stage during the last song and spit on Conor, who just kept singing while the boy was escorted off stage.

Oberst is unafraid to have a point of view and that's one of the things I admire about him. I remember commenting on how "he was the only real rockstar" on the bill. He revived my faith in music and I am forever grateful. I have seen Bright Eyes live about four times in the last two years. Always a phenomenal show. The recorded material is brilliant as well. I suggest Lifted and I'm Wide Awake It's Morning to anyone who appreciates well crafted, intelligent, emotional music. Conor has been recording since he was fourteen and is one the same label as another favorite of mine, the Faint. I'm sure he will continue to produce quality tunes for many, many years to come. The future of rock looks Bright to me.

I am the first to admit that America's Next Top Model is perhaps the best thing to happen to reality TV since, like...ever. With it's lesbian tendencies, scantily clad cat-fights, and Miss Tyra repeating the words: "You are still in the running to become America's Next Top Model" over and over again, it just doesn't get any better than this.

But the Tyra Show has got to go. This is a classic daytime talk show that, at it's best, is a bad Oprah knock-off. Other times, it veers into Ricki Lake, Montel, Jenny Jones territory and just plain sucks.

Perhaps the best thing to come of this new venture is that we now have proof that Tyra's breasts are bona fida the real thing. On September 20th, Tyra had a doctor on the show to demonstrate that there are no unnatural substances in her breasts. He did this via a "touch test" (Yes, he felt her up.) Then the good doctor performed a sonogram and declared her breasts to be natural. Tyra got teary eyed when talking about her endowments, saying: "This is me!"

Pretty good television. But still...

While I'm in the music recommending mood, I might as well mention my new favorite band, Kaiser Chiefs. They absolutely rock! Funny thing is... the album, Employment, came out some time ago. I spotted it at Amoeba and gave it a cursory listen, about thirty seconds, and dismissed them as another annoying British band whose name references some dumb dictator I have never heard of. (Franz Who?) Recently I was cruising the new iTunes video store and saw clips of the Chiefs in all their new wave glory. Why didn't they put their picture on the album cover? It must not be cool. (Fiona's CD has some kind of peas or pod babies on the cover.) Call me superficial but I am a total sucker for cute boys in eyeliner. This is the exact same thing that happened when I first laid eyes on Brandon Flowers of the Killers.

I mean, who can resist this?



Brandon likes to wear pink suit jackets and plays a keyboard on stage. How nancy can you get? Not since Duran Duran have we had so many metrosexuals prowling the airwaves. Nietzsche must have been wrong, there is a God because this is what I prayed for.

I can only hope that these boys continue to make great music and wear eyeliner. Once they send Boy George off to prison, that will only leave Robert Smith and Michael Stipe as the aging poster boys of licentious rock. This new generation needs to carry on the torch of homoerotic-rock-gods. Boys, if you need help, I suggest MAC's Powerpoint Eye Pencil because it stays where you put it. If you would rather rock a look that says "I don't really care if my eyeliner is messy cuz I'm a dude..." try Wet'n'Wild as it sucks in the way you want it to.

Promise me that you will carry on with the fey antics?

*********************************************************
"Time goes by ... so slowly ..."

You can pre-order the album and download Hung Up at iTunes RIGHT NOW! So, do it already!

I admit it. I tried to sit and listen attentively to the lyrics, but I could not. I got up and danced (like the little sissy boy I am.) It's really good for dancing. My hair looked great, as did my shaking ass... verdict is still out on the clique-laden lyrics. What's it all mean? No matter, it's disco!

"Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up, I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call baby night and day
I'm fed up, I'm tired of waiting on you"

And if you feel the need to get something off your chest, Maddie has set up a "confession" hotline:



Because everybody has a little dirty secret.

Madonna is set to "conquer the world" once more with a massive promotional push for her new album Confessions on a Dancefloor. She is returning to the genre that made her famous..dance music. After the lackluster performance of her last album, which was musically uneven to say the least, she has embraced her inner disco-diva. The single, Hung Up is "officially" on the air today and I am sure that we will all have the hook laden lyrics running through our brains in no time. That's the genius of Madonna's songwriting.

I discussed this last night with some kids I met at an art opening. On command, they were able to sing the chorus from Madge's new song based on the ringtone. The thirty second preview is all you need to hear, in order to sing-along when you hear the actual song. Madonna tunes have that about them. She keeps the melodies simple and the lyrics precise so, even in the first listen, you can sing with her by the end. Pure pop genius, sugary and simple.

It is already predicted that Madonna's use of the ABBA sample (from Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!) will garner the group it's biggest hit ever. And there is also the tour documentary I'm Going To Tell You a Secret, directed by Jonas Akerland, which will play on MTV later this month. Of course, there will be a video and who knows what else in terms of promotion. Another Oprah appearance...

I am down with the return of Madonna. After all, someone has to show Ashlee, Lindsey, and the rest, how it is done.

With those words, Fiona Apple, explains what she hasn't been doing for the last six years and thusly begins her brilliant new album, Extraordinary Machine.

This new disc was well worth the wait. Mostly because Fiona isn't the type to sell out or even mellow out, like so many of her contemporaries. (See Liz Phair, Alanis Morissette, etc.) I have loved Fiona since her days as a "Shadowboxer." Even when she was hanging out in dirty bathtubs in the brilliant video for "Criminal," directed by Mark Romanek. In the Director's Series, Fiona talks about the grief she got as a result of that video and how it was supposed to be "tongue-in cheek" but she was just so sullen. Mark Romanek asked her if she could "not be so sad." In retrospect, Fiona admits to liking the video and comments that her sadness adds a layer of creepiness to the whole affair.

Then there was the MTV Awards speech in which she declared: This world is bullshit. Which was a decidedly Frances Farmer-esque thing to say. I was hooked. This girl is as f*cked up as I am, I thought and I was right. But in the years that followed, she had an affair with PT Anderson and then basically disappeared. I was upset to learn, via the "Free Fiona" internet campaign that her Extraordinary Machine was being held captive by her record company because they thought it had no commercial value. As it turns out, the delay was mostly Fiona, as she was sitting around watching Columbo reruns and probably regretting having shown her panties on TV. Finally, she enlisted Mike Elizondo (who has worked with Dr. Dre) to finish producing the album. Half expecting a hip-hop hybrid mess, I was pleased to hear Fiona at her best. The album is good, really good. And I suggest you get it immediately.

Or you can just sit around watching Columbo reruns, lamenting the fact that this world is bullshit.

It's official. Celebrities are stupider than you. The evidence just keeps evolving.

For instance, Freddie Prinze Jr. recently reported that he had mysteriously cracked a rib while asleep. Maybe Sarah Michelle was having Buffy dreams and kicked him. As it turns out, this was not the case. Freddie says, "(My rib) is not cracked. It's officially torn muscles between two ribs. I ate a lot and my stomach was a little upset and I went to bed and I woke up the next day and I felt like I broke a rib. (I ate) a lot of Chinese food. My favorite little place in New York is a place called Chun Lee and they have a lot of food and I ate all of it. It hurts really bad."

Umm...Exactly how much Chinese food does one have to eat to tear the muscles between one's ribs? Next time, look for a place that doesn't use MSG.

Then of course, there is this:


It's just so easy to tear this girl apart. She is so out of touch. Obviously, Ashlee would not be "famous" were it not for her relation to Jessica, who I suppose encourages her little sister, knowing damn well it makes herself appear more attractive and talented everytime Ash is seen or heard. The song she "sang" on SNL last week was apparently co-written by a walrus, as much of the verses were performed in a tone only sea cows could appreciate.

Finally, Lindsay Lohan has become a director. Fulfilling the life-long ambition of everyone in Hollywood, Lohan has directed her new music video, depicting the horror of her childhood. The video features Lindsey's 11 year old sister reliving the pain and torment Lindsey went through listening to her parents fight! The song is called "Confessions of a Broken Heart", which is also the name of her new album. Which brings us to Madonna, whose new album is called "Confessions on a Dancefloor." This is only a coincidence. We, as the listening audience, have brought this on ourselves. We have begged our red-headed divas to confess. We cried for more disco songs about kabbalah. We drove Lindsey to drive.

Frankly, the only confessions I am interested in are the kind Freddie Prinze Jr. made. Just tell us how stupid you are and all will be forgiven.

As Michael Jackson made his way into the Victoria Palace theater in London, he fell, in what media analysts say is a weak attempt to emulate the world wide sympathy (and press) garnered by his arch-nemesis, Madonna. As you remember, Madge fell from a horse (gifted to her by her husband, one-time movie director, Guy Richtie) on her 47th birthday and suffered several broken bones, but still managed to film a television commercial for the new Motorola ROKR phone, only weeks later.

Michael, however, has no such endorsement deals in the works. Though ticket sales for the stage version of the movie "Billy Elliot" (which Michael was attending at the Victoria, when he fell) will undoubtedly benefit from this most unfortunate incident. Witnesses outside the theater described the tense moment when Michael went down.

"He was there and the he wasn't," said Constance Bunbury, 56, of Manchester. "It was like he disappeared!" After the fall, witnesses say, Michael Jackson stood up and went in to see the show. He sustained no injuries and lost no endorsement deals because of the incident. The outpouring of emotional support from other celebrities has been tremendous. Tom Cruise, fresh from inseminating Katie Holmes, had this to say: "When I was jumping up and down on Oprah's couch....I almost fell. It was scary."

From her Malibu rehab facility, Courtney Love released the following press release, via a blurry fax: "I fall down twenty times a day and I'm not on the f*cking news! I'm on the f*cking ground right now!!" A spokesman for Miss Love confirmed that she is in negotiations to replace Kirstie Alley in the third season of "Fat Actress" immediately following her release from rehab. This is not a condition of her parole.

Meanwhile, outside the London Kabbalah Center, Madonna was asked for her reaction to the Michael Jackson fall.
"Michael who?" She replied, before climbing into a mini Cooper limousine, chauffeured by her husband, former film-maker, Guy Ritchie, who was overheard mumbling the words "Stupid Gifthorse!"

Spokesmen for Michael Jackson say that "the fall" in no way deters MJ from seeking out cutting edge, live entertainment, like a stage version of the movie "Billy Elliot," in the future. Jackson was in London recording a charity record for the victims of Hurricane Katrina, just as he did for the Tsunami disaster. When asked about the latest tragedy, the earthquake in Kashmir, Michael replied: "I think it's great! So inspiring... I've actually written songs for almost any natural disaster. So whatever God decides to do, I will have a single ready to go."

The video for Jackson's latest, "Can You Feel It," to benefit victims of the earthquake, is set to shoot next week in Bahrain, with Tom Cruise directing.

Alright, now that Naomi Campbell is piping in, I feel I have to address the "scandal" surrounding supermodel Kate Moss and her alleged cocaine incident. The British tabloid "Daily Mirror" published photos of Kate snorting coke and this has led to her losing many of her modeling contracts. The problem I have is this: Why would Chanel or Burberry fire her over this? She is Kate f*cking Moss, for Christ's sake! She invented "heroin chic." Personally, I have never been a fan, but I find the hypocrisy of the fashion world unbelievable.

It wasn't the fact that Kate DID cocaine, but the fact that she got caught. Paparazzi photos confirmed what anyone who has ever laid eyes on her already knew... And that is why I find it so disgusting that they should try to distance themselves. She is a supermodel and supermodels have never been good role models. If they wanted squeeky clean, then hire Cindy Crawford, not Kate Moss. That is the equivalent of Diet Coke making Courtney Love their new spokesperson...

THE LATEST: Stone Defends Moss!

"Whether or not a house stands with her, or not, through it says more about the house than it does about her because someone who doesn't allow someone to fail, to grow, that would say a lot about them if they left her," the 47-year-old Stone said.

I don't know about you, but when an old Stone talks trash about a House not wanting Moss, I listen.

Paris called me and asked if I wanted to hear an advance preview of the new single from her debut CD. The song is called "I Eat What I Want (and I Don't Get Fat)" and it is soooo sweeeeet! It has a fantastic hook and it sure to be a huge hit in dance clubs and Curves, everywhere. Paris said she wrote it in response to Lindsey Lohan's recent single, "I'll Eat When I'm Dead." She wanted to make it perfectly clear:

"My song is life-affirming," Paris told me. "Whereas, Lindsey is singing about anorexia. I would never want to send out that message... That's why I did the six million dollar burger commercial!"

"Paris, it's the six-dollar burger," I replied.

"No way! They told me six million!"

"It actually sells for about $3.95," I informed her.

"That's hot," she said. "Like my song." Then she played it for me again.

Hear is an excerpt of the lyrics:
I eat what I want...
And I don't get fat!
The secret to life's problems
Is in my hand, I just
BINGE!
and PURGE!
You've got to let it go!
Just BINGE
AND PURGE!
Stick it down your throat!

I think Paris is right....That is hot!

I don’t know about you, but when Gwen Stefani sings: “I ain't no Hollaback Girl!” I tend to believe her. And why shouldn't I? Mrs. Rossdale has never done anything to make me distrust her. Except maybe some of her fashion choices. And how she cruelly forces Love, Angel, Music, and Baby to play her bland backup, in a girl-gang so lame it makes "Switchblade Sisters" seem truly menacing. She gives them individual names, but no individuality. I beg of you, Gwen, set the Harajuku free!

And just what exactly is a Hollaback Girl? I have always prided myself on being “in the know” about popular culture, but I am truly mystified. After scouring the net for about 20 seconds, I found that "Hollaback” is not truly a word, slang or otherwise. Or at least it wasn’t until Gwen made it up. This news is highly upsetting. In the context of the song, we are led to believe that a cheerleader has been bad-mouthing Gwen and rather than hollering back, Stefani will kick the cheerleaders ass. Just the idea of Gwen throwing down with some other skinny bitch is enough to make me laugh. This shit is truly bananas... Which brings me to another reason not to trust dear Gwen.

Stop with the goddamn spelling lessons! Or at least mix it up a little, as in: This shit is neurosis! N-E-U-R-O-S-I-S! Try to impress, not distress. The "A is for apple" juvenilia of this song is infuriating. You are what? At least thirty! Grow up a smidge. So what, your album sucks and has disappointed every 13 year old girl and 35 year old fag I have met. Get on with it! Call No Doubt and beg them to take you back. Like Dallas, maybe we can all pretend it was just a bad dream.

Madonna fell off a horse. Eminem is in rehab. (That Vicodin tattoo was rather telling...) Liz Phair has embraced her inner VH-Oneness and now officially sucks. Courtney Love is, well....she's Courtney Love! Has the whole world gone freakin' crazy?

This is a list of things that annoy the living shit out of me:
Hollaback Gwen
Team Aniston
So You Think You Can Produce a Reality Show Out of Any Old Shit You Want
Harajuku Girls
Fashion Victims
Presidents
Commercials for Cheese
waiting
ironing
Political Correctness
fat children
heat
carnival folk
Gweneth Martin (aka Apple's Mom)

This is a list of things that aren't half bad:
80's college rock
Mahi Mahi fish tacos
being alive
changing the channel
amazon.com
salsa
anticipating uncle-hood
exotic teas
self-love (you know what I mean)
and party invites

It bites that I can't think of more...
Oh, wait-
One last thing:
making lists for no reason.

There.
I'm done.