This Roundtable Might Give Your Computer Herpes

Maybe that whole 6-6-06 thing got to me this week, because apparently I’m so cruel as to introduce to you two new songs by two ladies most people would rather not hear about anymore. Evil, indeed.

But I couldn’t bring up one without the other, and I’ll explain why in minute.

First, returning to the scene after taking a break from being both “Beautiful” and “Dirrty,” Christina Aguilera is back with a new single, “Ain’t No Other Man Like You.” It’s retro, big-band horns meets hip-hop drum track, and for the first half of the song that’s all there is to back up Christina’s strong, only-barely-overblown vocals. It’s refreshing to hear a pop song that actually scales back the production instead of smothering it with so many layers of sonic fat, compensating for what’s usually a weak voice in the foreground (not that I’m referring to anyone specifically, of course). Maybe the producers learned something from Kelis’ “Milkshake,” a catchy model of pop minimalism that also became a huge hit.

Christina gets down with her funky self through the first verse, and I couldn’t help but be charmed by the high-school lyrics of “You’ve got soul/You’ve got class/You’ve got style/You’re bad-ass.” I love those classy bad-asses, too, Miss X-tina.

But then it seems like they didn’t know how to deliver with the chorus. It’s rushed and anti-climatic. Strangely, this is the exact opposite of the problem with her notorious single, “Dirrty.” Forget the ass-less leather chaps she wore in the video, I found it odd that no one blamed that song’s lack of success on the fact that it was oddly slow for what was shamelessly trying to be a club anthem. They seemed to have over-compensated with “Ain’t No Other Man,” as the chorus rushes by in a clipped, auctioneer-style speed, making it that much less likely to be chosen at karaoke bars.

As the producers carefully add more layers throughout, the song grows on you, and not like the STD’s that were crawling over my TV screen during her “Dirrty” video, but grows on you in a good way. If I was drunk in a bar and this song came on, I would even love it.

But what I really like about the song is that it’s a creative departure, and, therefore, a risk, by someone with actual musical talent. Unlike the second song that started floating around the internet recently.

If there are any small children in the room, if you have a sensitive gag reflex, or if you have to operate heavy machinery within an hour, you should probably not listen to or watch what I’m about to show you.

Ladies and gentlemen of the roundtable, speaking of STD’s, Paris Hilton has finally released her first song.

Oh, where to start? The thin, breathy vocals? The reggae-tinged backdrop? The poetic, downright philosophical lyrics? Paris is so generous to give us so much to work with. I’m overwhelmed, really.

First of all, can anyone confirm that Paris is actually singing? Those vocals are so manipulated, who knows if she actually showed up in a studio or if they just asked some hooker on the street to whisper into a microphone. The background vocals are whipped up to such creamy frothiness (or is it frothy creaminess?) that I wanted to compare them to Cool Whip, but then I remembered that I love Cool Whip and would never insult it by comparing it to anything that comes out of Paris Hilton’s mouth.

And let’s not forget those lyrics: “even if the gods are crazy/even if the stars are blind.” If the gods are crazy? Shouldn’t the advent of Paris Hilton’s record contract – nay, her record label – prove that there is no god at all? And if the stars are blind, are they also deaf? And if so, can I join them, so I don’t have to listen to this song one more time?

The best part is “If you show me real love, baby/I’ll show you mine.” You heard it from her directly, gentlemen. If you show her some love, she’ll show you her burning, cavernous...love. Thank God I’m gay.

Oh, and don’t forget the video. Just be sure to wash your eyes out with bleach afterwards, so that you never again have to watch this moist, shiny skeleton hump a palm tree. The least convincing part? Where she drives away at the end. Yeah, as if Paris Hilton drives. Or even knows how to drive a car. Or even knows how to spell "car."


Leave it to the hotel heiress to make Christina Aguilera look all classy and stuff. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go spoon out my eyes and ears so I won’t know when Paris Hilton wins a Grammy.