Okay, Go: Scissor Sisters

Could I love them even more? Now they've chosen my favorite song from their second album, Ta-Dah, as their third single. Here's the video for "Kiss You Off," complete with snappy choreography, saran-wrap trenchcoats and amputated, dancing mannequins. Plus, Ana Matronic takes the lead on this one - what more convincing do you need? Granted, this song is best when blasted at top volume so you can lip-sync while dancing on your bed, but watching the video on a computer is a close second.

(P.S. Are you there, Maroon 5? Hi. It's me, Donny B. This is how you do disco and rock together. Not your lame new single, which manages to be both catchy and kind of crappy at the same time. I can appreciate you guys trying to branch out, but alas, I think you fell out of the tree altogether. Next time, just get Jake Shears and Babydaddy to write your stuff for you, since that's who you're ripping off anyway.)

Tell me what you think!



Also check out: Okay, Go: Mika.
And: Scissor Sisters: Filthy and Gorgeous.

WWED?

So today is Earth Day. Happy Birthday, Earth! No, wait, that's not what today is about.

Happy Anniversary, ol' buddy! No? That's not it, either?

Um...

Here's to another year of sobriety? What? Oh, okay...

Um...

Happy 161st blog post, Earth! Wait, that's me.

Anyway, today is Earth Day, so apparently we're supposed to celebrate this by eating. Or, that's what it seemed like at the Green Expo in Chicago this weekend. Organic lavender chocolate, vegan "ice cream," hemp oil tastings, organic cherry cabernet jam, vegan BBQ soy nuggets with vegan BBQ sauce, etc.

There were other booths, of course, all celebrating everything and anything "green." Housed in the huge McCormick Place, there were so many products that some vendors had to share the same booth. Paint, clothes, soap, razors, tiles, rugs, new magazines, books, office supplies, baskets made out of recycled chopsticks and more. It was like a street fair but with more flax and less drugs.

Maybe it could be called the "Whole Foods Effect," or maybe it's because of An Inconvenient Truth, but, based on those attending the Expo, the green movement and environmentalism seem to be getting more and more mainstream, which in turn attracts diversity. Families with SUV strollers paraded through middle-aged couples in hemp shirts. Buff pretty boys lead their girlfriends past skinny, dread-locked hippies on cell phones. Maybe it was the cause, maybe it was the great weather, but everyone seemed pretty pleasant in the loud, packed exhibit.

One of my favorite highlights was the Steaz booth. They created a line of organic green tea sodas with only organic Ceylon green tea, natural flavors and organic cane juice (not high fructose corn syrup!). In flavors like orange, root beer and lemon dew, they are slightly fizzy and not too sweet. Even better news was the Steaz Energy drink, the self-proclaimed "world's first certified USDA Organic and Fair Trade energy drink." Combining guayaki yerba mate ("nature's most balanced stimulant") and guarana ("high in naturally occurring caffeine") with natural flavors and organic green tea, one can has 80mg of caffeine without that awful, chemically sweet taste of most energy drinks.

While recharging with an organic energy drink, why not charge your cell phone the natural way? Noon Solar has created a line of handbags with a solar panel on one side and inside is a small charger. After sun exposure for a minimum of three hours, you can remove the charger, plug in your cell phone or iPod and recharge it wherever you want. Not only is it a practical way to start thinking about sustainable, renewable energy, the bags are rugged and, well, stylish. I mean, why shouldn't it be environmentally friendly and cool-looking?

Even conscientious crowds can be overwhelming so we left after a few hours. As we walked down to dinner, the wind had blown garbage from overstuffed dumpsters across a few, normally well-maintained streets.

"Ugh," I frowned. "Isn't this supposed to be Earth Day?"

So we picked up what we could. And when picking up the bf's eye contact solution at Walgreens, the cashier put the single box into a plastic bag.

"No, thanks," he told her, carrying it home in hand.

Just what Earth would want us to do.

Also check out: LOL @ NPR.
And: That Pretty Much Sums It Up.

Copyright Royalty Board Killed the Internet Radio Star

Yeah, so that's obviously not a very clever title, but it is accurate. Speaking of not clever, in case you haven't heard, the U.S. Copyright Royalty Board hiked royalty rates for Internet radio stations so high they will render the medium unsustainable. So now, many artists who only get coverage online (don't expect Clear Channel to pick up the slack here) won't get any coverage at all. This isn't about the stations not wanting to pay royalties or copyright fees-they have been this whole time anyway. It's basically about greed.

So I saw this on Something Glorious and thought I'd pass it along...

Hi, it's Tim from Pandora,

I'm writing today to ask for your help. The survival of Pandora and all of Internet radio is in jeopardy because of a recent decision by the Copyright Royalty Board in Washington, DC to almost triple the licensing fees for Internet radio sites like Pandora. The new royalty rates are irrationally high, more than four times what satellite radio pays, and broadcast radio doesn't pay these at all. Left unchanged, these new royalties will kill every Internet radio site, including Pandora.

In response to these new and unfair fees, we have formed the SaveNetRadio Coalition, a group that includes listeners, artists, labels and webcasters. I hope that you will consider joining us.

Please sign our petition urging your Congressional representative to act to save Internet radio.

Understand that we are fully supportive of paying royalties to the artists whose music we play, and have done so since our inception. As a former touring musician myself, I'm no stranger to the challenges facing working musicians. The issue we have with the recent ruling is that it puts the cost of streaming far out of the range of ANY webcaster's business potential.

I hope you'll take just a few minutes to sign our petition - it WILL make a difference. As a young industry, we do not have the lobbying power of the RIAA. You, our listeners, are by far our biggest and most influential allies.

As always, and now more than ever, thank you for your support.

-Tim Westergren
(Pandora founder)

Also check out: Yawn or Grrr.
And: Random Thoughts: The Devil and Miss Stone, 300-Pack Abs, and Akon's Vibe.

Top Project Runway Rip-Off

With Top Chef, Top Design and last night's debut of Shear Genius, it seems that Bravo is committed to landscaping their entire schedule with the creative-arts-reality-contest "brand" they created with Project Runway. Take twelve campy, dramatic creative people, stuff them in a pressure cooker situation with multiple challenges per episode and then offer them up to awkward hosts and bitchy judges. The diminished returns are obvious. As evidence of how much Bravo has diluted their own brand: Heidi Klum begat Padma Lakshmi who begat Todd Oldham who begat...Jaclyn Smith?

The differences become especially obvious during the best part of each show - the judging process. Top Design is as much about a visual art form as PR. Sure, you might not get to walk in the space and really analyze the details, but for the most part you're experiencing what the judges experience. The vital difference from PR's judging process, however, is that rooms don't move. Those ugly, cavernous booths the contestants paint windows on just sit there. Each designer awkwardly stands at the entrance while the judges silently walk around their creation before moving on to the next one. The whole process is strangely quiet and restrained.

At first I was underwhelmed by TD. Even after a couple episodes, not one contestant had produced a room provoking a response beyond "eh, it's fine." Luckily, Bravo snagged at least 6 genuinely talented designers that began to produce much work as the show went on. And I was happy to see the sophisticated Matt walk away with the contest. He was always professional and produced consistently chic rooms.

(As a side note, since the show is called Top Design and not Top Designer, shouldn't that mean Matt's collection of chairs and sofas walk away with the prize money? And when did Todd Oldham get so orange and sing-songy? He's like a flirty carrot. Even with his exhaustive quick fixes for the contestants, he was much more charming on his own HGTV show.)

What frustrates me about Top Chef is that you can't participate in the judging process the way you can with PR. You hear about the ingredients the contestants are throwing together, you watch them sweat over a stove with a blow torch or massive chef's knife, and you can admire, or mock, the presentation. But you can't actually taste the final product. You have to take the judges' word on whether or not they achieve culinary perfection.

As for Shear Genius...well, let's just say that so far, the best part about it is that it's theme song is nowhere nearly as ear-bleedingly bad as Top Design's. It's as if the composer of TD's wants everyone to hate music as much as they do.

It's not the other show's fault. They just don't fit the medium of television contests the way PR does. Dinner plates and 12'x12' rooms aren't revealed by sexy models hopping and spinning and baring ass. I'm not saying they should, but it would be fun to see a starving model hungrily salivating over the hunk of beef she's parading around, and I don't just mean tall, scruffy TC contestant Sam Talbot (pictured above right). And I have a feeling SG's models might regret appearing on the show once they realize they have to stand around with treasure chest "hair art" on their heads.

Whether it's a plate of dehydrated veal cheeks, plywood walls smothered in Tuscan Sunrise paint, or a mannequin head sporting yet another set of asymetrical bangs, not one of these shows produces the same kinetic sexiness of PR's runway shows. And considering PR just started auditions for Season Four, it's going to be a while before the original returns.

(Thanks to Chicagoist and New York for the pics.)

Also check out: Pack Your Breasts and Leave.
And: Project Runway Sashays Into My Heart.
And: Todd Oldham: Everyone's New Best Friend.

What Hath Hilary Swank Wrought?

The Reaping isn’t the zero-star catastrophe that some critics have claimed, nor is it as good as it could have been. But somewhere before producers and editors slashed the movie into tiny incoherent pieces is a movie that could have been both a topical commentary on current events and a throwback to when horror movies were actually respected (and respectable).

Hilary Swank plays Katherine, a former Christian missionary whose husband and daughter were ruthlessly sacrificed by local savages while on a humanitarian mission in Sudan. Now a faithless professor who specializes in using science to debunk religious “miracles,” she’s asked to investigate a small town plagued by, well, plagues.

In Haven (get it? Oh, the subtlety), Louisiana, the river runs red, frogs rain from above, and victims of boils beg for Dr. 90210 to save them. Instead, they get Katherine and Ben (Idris Elba), her hunky, faithful and faith-full assistant who believes the plagues have a Biblical explanation after all.

The screenplay practically screams “Current Events!” as soon as our independent, scientist heroine is greeted by the God-fearing, breeding, family-centric Christians. Katherine hangs on to her scientific theories as long as possible, even delivering a fantastic monologue scientifically explaining the origins of the original Egyptian plagues, before things just get too weird.

This sets up a story brimming with religious-thriller potential, and the fact that the writers are smart enough to create a character as three-dimensional as Ben – a teacher who can devote his career to science yet still wear a crucifix around his neck, a scarred beefcake with a rough past who can cradle Katherine in his arms after a nightmare – makes me believe they started with an interesting screenplay. But then the filmmakers drown the story in overly long flashbacks and unnecessary special effects.

[Warning: spoilers ahead] Worse, the writers overly complicate their own logic as soon as we learn that the Bible-thumpers are actually Satan-worshippers. The townspeople originally want to "stop" the little girl, Loren (the impressively creepy AnnaSophia Robb), they blame for the plagues. But when their true Satan-worshipping is revealed, they want sacrifice her to…appease their Dark Lord…or something (all the special effects kind of distracted from that plot point).

But it seems like the writers were on to something there, even something as provocative as this: is religious fanaticism dangerous, no matter the denomination? Are God-fearing fundamentalists just as (potentially) destructive as Satan worshippers? Is it really so easy to equate them as two sides to the same coin?

Back in the early to mid-70’s, horror flicks were both respected cinema and cheap-thrills exploitation, sometimes in the same movie. Films like The Omen and The Exorcist used religious, specifically Biblical, references and scared up big business at the box-office and garnered critical raves. The latter was even nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.

Then, in 1978, came Halloween’s Michael Meyers, a silent, faceless antagonist onto which we could project our own fears, however secular they may be. The 80’s brought us Freddy Kreuger of the The Nightmare on Elm Street fanchise – a snarky villain who stood in for the audience by mocking the horny teenagers he terrorized.

From Scream to Saw, recent mainstream horror films have excluded religion entirely. Even 2005’s The Amityville Horror remake significantly reduced the role religion played in the original book and film from the late 70’s (this prompted the Chicago Reader to headline its review of the remake “Secular’s Not As Scary”).

The Reaping comes at a perfect time to return religion to the cinematic spotlight. With evolutionists fighting creationists, marriage and civil rights being tied to the Bible and a president that has repeatedly used God to justify his occupation of the Oval Office, a thriller could tap into the national tension created by these issues. Instead, we get bad direction, lazy references to those Biblical thrillers from the 70’s, plus a ridiculous Rosemary’s Baby twist thrown in at the end for no good reason.

The film never answers its own questions about religious extremism. I’m not even sure they knew their screenplay was asking those questions in the first place. An even bigger question might be what Swank is going to do now that she’s too old to play the tomboyish underdog. Because if she wants her third Oscar by the time she’s 35, she’ll have to wring something better than The Reaping.

Also check out: Spoilers!
And: Boo.

Okay, Go: Mika

I go through month-long droughts where I could not be less interested in the current music scene, but I'm kind of loving the music of 2007 so far. James Morrison, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Amy Winehouse, Joss Stone and Lily Allen have all released good, and in some cases great, albums. I haven't even gotten around to the new Arcade Fire or Bloc Party, and I'm still enjoying 2006 holdovers like Regina Spektor, Cazwell and Cat Power's re-released The Greatest.

But before I get to my newest obsession, I'm going to do it a little differently this time. My last couple of reviews have been a little long and provoked zero comments, so I'm going to give you a bit of background, discuss a couple music videos and then let you tell me what you think.

But let's get around to Mika, shall we? This Lebanese Londoner's debut CD, Life in Cartoon Motion, hit big in Britain and is building some buzz in the States. It would not be hyperbolic to say it's quite unlike anything on the pop landscape right now. Sure, he might be compared to Elton John, Scissor Sisters and Queen, but none of that does him justice.

A classically trained pianist with (according to his Wikipedia page) a five-octave vocal range, this 24-year-old phenom combines kinetic camp with full, lush instrumentation, deceptively rich lyrics and - this is where he gets me - insanely catchy hooks. Love him or leave him, I think you'll find that you don't hear anything like this on the radio or TV right now.

His first U.S. single, "Grace Kelly," was written as a kiss-off to all the record companies that originally rejected him, only to be chosen as the best song to introduce him to people. I didn't know what to make of this the first time I heard it, but now when his voice scales the skyscraper melody of the chorus, I can't help but sing along.



His newest single, "Love Today," wraps itself around a slinky disco beat but the anthemic chorus is cheesy, inspirational and self-absorbingly cheeky all in one. If you're not dancing in your cubicle/office/prison cell (I don't want to make any assumptions about my audience), then you might want to get your pulse checked.



I don't know how to upload MP3s, but if you want to hear more Mika, check out the spacey "Relax (Take It Easy)" and ridiculously infectious "Lollipop" (thank you, YouTubers who make amateur music videos). You can also check out this intriguing interview where he explains why he won't answer questions about his sexuality. It's a PR choice that makes people all the more eager to speculate about him, but hey, you have to admire the guy's gumption to defy the usual celebrity gawking that has become a juggernaut in our media.

Anyway, the first and best word I thought of to describe his music is "celebration." He just seems so happy to be doing what he's doing, and he actually has the talent to back it up. So check him out and this time, you can tell me what you think of him.

Okay, go!

Also check out: Okay, Go: Scissor Sisters.
And: Rock the Cazwell.

Random Thoughts: The Devil and Miss Stone, 300-Pack Abs, and Akon's Vibe

Some pop-culture-related nuggets that have been floating around in my head:

- Last summer I posted my positive review of The Devil Wears Prada to Blogcritics and got some feisty comments. “It’s not as good as the book!” “It glamorizes unhealthy female body image!” “There’s no conflict!” To which I say: no, yes and kind of. Now that I’ve rewatched it on DVD and also read the book, I still want to praise Meryl Streep, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci. What Lauren Weisberger, the book’s young author, couldn’t understand was that her boss could be both a bitch and a brilliant woman who is incredibly good at her job. It is too bad that the heroine deems slimming down to a size 4 (from an elephantine size 6) as a major accomplishment, and yes, the boyfriend is lame (he’s an aspiring chef and he’s complaining about her schedule?), but overall, the film is still entertaining fluff.

- In the spirit of re-thinking, or amending past reviews: my love, or should I say my really like, for Janet Jackson’s 20 Y.O. has sufficiently waned to wonder what exactly is wrong with it. I know it’s underwhelming, and I know I’m tired of her obsession with sex, but what else is there? It didn’t hit me until I listened to the chorus of “Show Me” for the 800th time: “Show me, ‘cause actions speak louder than words.” No shit? I mean, she’s forty, and this is what she’s learned? A cliché that’s older than she is? Since the whole album is based on how she’s a forty-year-old woman who still looks/feels/acts like a twenty-year-old, I had to ask: should a forty-year-old want to think like a twenty-year-old? How is that a good thing? If it means trite “insights” like that, then guess what? It’s not.

- Why are songs that are about how inspiring music is so uninspiring themselves? I was reminded of this when listening to Joss Stone’s new CD and her song “Music.” It’s so laid-back it’s practically asleep. I mean, the song is fine, I guess, but if music is really so awesome then why is its tribute so comparatively boring? It reminded me of Leela James' "Music" (even these titles are boring) which I found equally odd – all about how amazing music is, yet so underwhelming itself. Which made me think about Lauryn Hill’s “Superstar” which at least had good lyrics but was still a mid-tempo chill-out that embodied her own accusations: “everything you drop is so tired.” Ironically, Hill guest-raps on Stone’s “Music.” It doesn’t help.

- What is up with AfterElton.com’s horrible book section? They feature only four items right now – scratch that, make it three, as they actually repeat the same link twice. And the big feature is an interview with Augusten Burroughs from May 2006! Their other sections like movies and especially TV are chock-full of articles, columns and recaps. Granted, if the site is about how gays are portrayed in the media, then I guess TV probably has a bigger impact than literature, but when Bookslut features new interviews with Edmund White and Andrew Holleran in the last two months, you have to wonder who’s asleep behind the wheel at AfterElton.

- In his gorgeous new Italian cookbook, Jamie's Italy, Jamie Oliver recommends a local treat: drizzle really good olive oil over really good vanilla ice cream and sprinkle with sea salt. I tried it. I think I need better olive oil.



- I love how, in his new interview in Vibe, Akon basically admits over and over again that he lies whenever he feels like it, leading one to believe that you probably shouldn't believe anything he says. And yet, somehow, I don't think that will affect his career at all.



- And finally...I finally saw 300. There’s a minor hubbub in the gay community over its portrayal of the villains in the movie. I was doubtful going in, but now I kind of agree. Frank Miller, who’s historically inaccurate graphic novel the movie is based on, clearly has some (probably unconscious) prejudices that he needs to work out. His heroes apparently have to be white and very heterosexual, virile, macho and hirsute who live to sleep with only women (again, historically misleading) and kill people. His villains, on the other hand, are be-jeweled, manicured, effeminate RuPaul clones who stage massive orgies with lesbians, trannies and hunchbacks. It’s not just offensive for the stereotypes and negative associations he’s passing on to young straight men everywhere (as if an R rating is keeping out the teens), it’s lazy, outdated shorthand to contrast the “other” from the straight, white, male protagonist.

I wonder if it would bother me less if I really enjoyed the movie, but I hope not. As it was, the special effects were cool, the Abercrombie & Fitch models - I mean, the cast - looked good in leather briefs and capes, but I didn’t care about any of the characters.

(Thanks to AfterElton for the pic.)

Also check out: If She's the Devil, Then Hell Must Be Fabulous.
And: What Do I Call Her If I'm Not Nasty?
And: Soul Sisters: Amy Winehouse and Joss Stone.

Deep Thoughts with Amy Sedaris

When an unexpected guest doesn't know when to leave, and he happens to be gay:

You can always lie. Make up a story, such as: "Don't mind me. The doctors said the best thing for my yeast infection was to expose my vagina to the air."

OR

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here. You can help me pick out the best photos of my vagina from these contact sheets."

OR

"You can't stay. It's March Madness."

Thanks, Amy.

Check out other deep thoughts here!

Soul Sisters: Amy Winehouse and Joss Stone

When I was young, I wanted to sing like a big, black gospel singer. Is that stereotype offensive? Maybe, but I was, like, nine, so I didn’t know any better. But now that there’s a British neo-soul invasion storming the U.S., I might have to amend that to also wanting to sing like a young, white British woman.

For instance, if I want to sing like Amy Winehouse, which I so desperately do, I’d also need to get my drink on. Four of the ten tracks on her American debut, Back to Black, reference alcohol in some way. The torchy title track, with its cinematic strings and echo-chamber bridge, is the gut-wrenching kiss-off of a woman who chooses her drinking-and-drugged-out blackouts while her lover chooses another woman (“You go back to her/And I go back to…”). And even the songs that don’t reference her vices directly are drenched in self-destructive heartbreak.

Thank God for Phil Spector. The legendary producer’s iconic “Wall of Sound” influence is all over Winehouse’s album (her debut, Frank, was allegedly more jazzy R&B and was not released in the States). Strings, chimes, hand claps, harp and horns perfectly complement Winehouse’s lyrics without letting them weigh down a song. Winehouse’s powerfully deep, sprawling voice is often compared to the likes of Shirley Bassey and Sarah Vaughn and all the more impressive because she doesn’t rely on the melismatic faux-passion of so many of her peers. Combined with her inspiration from Motown’s 50’s and 60’s soul and a lifetime’s worth of heartache and Back to Black adds up to a sound well beyond her 24 years.

Luckily, she also has a sense of humor, as should any young, sassy soul singer. It’s hilarious when, in the old-fashioned standout “Me & Mr. Jones,” she blares out “What kind of fuckery are we?/Nowadays you don’t mean dick to me” and her girl-group harmonies echo “dick to me-e-e-e” in the background. But she sums up her reluctance to end the relationship by addressing the title character with “’side from Sammy you’re my best black Jew.” Yeah, I kind of love her.

So it’s all the more stunning when she hits you with the poetry of her words. I can’t help but quote the entire chorus of “Wake Up Alone”:

He gets fierce in my dreams, seizing my guts,
He floors me with dread,
Soaked to soul he swims in my eyes by the bed,
Pour myself over him,
Moon spilling in,
And I wake up alone

Reading about Winehouse’s penchant canceling sold-out shows for booze-soaked escapades in the tabloids, you hope she gets her shit together. Hell, even her management company staged an intervention, but as she documented in the riveting opening track, “Rehab,” she just said “No, no, no.”

However, her fellow Brit, Joss Stone, seems to be gushing “Yes, yes, yes!” all over her new CD, “Introducing Joss Stone.” From her new, funky, wild-child hair to her naked, graffiti’d body all over the album covers to an undeniable liberation in her actual songs, Stone seems to be having her own “Control” á la Janet Jackson moment. Her name ain’t baby…unless you’re under the covers with her.

Damn, girl done all grown up! How else to explain how, in “Put Your Hands on Me,” the lyrics “Bring me your sugar/And pour it all over me, baby” are followed by what can only be described as an all-out aural ejaculation? During the bridge she blares out a breathless rave of her man, ending with “I love him/I feel him/Oh, I’m loving those hands!” Easy, girl. Breathe.

Stone has described her third album as the first time she’s able to truly express herself (which is strange, as she received co-writing credits on most of her sophomore effort, Mind, Body & Soul), hence the title. She actually seems to be drawing from similar musical, if not lyrical, influences as Winehouse, employing girl-group harmonies and neo-Motown instrumentation. In interviews, Stone can’t help but gush about her producer and co-writer, Raphael Saadiq, which is appropriate as, according to his Wiki page, they’re dating.

Whatever is going on behind the scenes, “Introducing…” is a huge improvement over her previous albums. 2003’s The Soul Sessions was a fine introduction to the then-16-year-old prodigy, but, with a few exceptions, the album felt like generic Soul 101. 2004’s Mind, Body and Soul was even worse. It’s overly long and overly constricting, tightening its young star in a noose of forgettable R&B to the point where she can barely breathe.

So I can forgive Stone for going a little overboard now that she feels emancipated from record label influences. She’s not just breathing here - she’s belting, blaring and blasting all over the fourteen tracks. Some work, some don’t. The pumping bass, horns and sing-along back-up girls make the lead single, “Tell Me ‘About It,” a funky, appropriately brief blast of fresh air. The lush soundscape of “Proper Nice,” complete with twinkling harp and flirty back-and-forth harmonies, evokes a blissful descent into love. And if you’re inside while listening to the drum-‘n-bass propulsion of the opener “Girl They Won’t Believe It,” you’ll want to jump in the nearest convertible and bob your head back and forth in the wind.

Sometimes Stone and her loveryboy producer just seem to have too many ideas per song, but sometimes it comes down to Stone herself. She camped out in Barbados to pour all her energy into her lyrics, but the results rarely reach beyond easy clichés. “These are my words, and this is who I am as an artist,” she has stated in press releases. Fine, but who is she? Most of the songs are either about her love of love or her love of music. Both are perfectly fine, albeit unoriginal, themes, especially for a 19-year-old (what does anyone know about at 19?). But when she has fourteen entire songs all to herself to say whatever she’s bottled up for so long, I hoped she would sing about more than…singing.

Still, for what Stone considers to be her real debut album, she displays an awful lot of potential. Maybe within five years, Saadiq will dump her and she’ll be hitting the bottle and the blues with Winehouse’s gusto, but I’m hoping this bohemian, bare-footed soul singer finds her own way.

Both talented artists are welcome on my radio anytime. I’ll be the guy in his apartment, blaring at the top of his lungs, starting his own Chicago neo-soul (mini-)invasion.

Also check out: In Defense of Amy Winehouse.
And: What Do I Call Her If I'm Not Nasty?

If You Buy Chiquita Bananas...

...you support terrorism. Seriously.