With the release of her new album, Stripped, and the raunchy video for its first single, “Dirrty,” second-tier pop princess Cristina Aguilera seems to have re-confirmed her status as the poor man’s Britney Spears — all image, no talent. She’s like Britney’s Id run amok.
I’m the last guy who would complain about seeing Cristina suggestively pump and gyrate about in barely-there attire (with Redman apparently being the second-to-last), but “Dirrty” has about as much integrity as a Hall and Oates reunion. The song and video eventually become one and the same idea (Cristina working her mojo), but in doing so lay bare what has long been an entertainment industry truism: Image is secondary to talent.
While this is, of course, no revelation, be careful not to ignore its importance. Keanu Reeves, Shannon Elizabeth and Anna Nicole Smith have all fashioned successful careers on this credo. It is the lifeblood of boy bands, girl groups and their perpetually perplexed publicists. And admit it, ladies, eight out of 10 of you didn’t give a hoot who John Mayer was until you saw him flash a smile on MTV.
Our generation has been able to tolerate Hollywood’s proclivity for pretty faces because, to a certain extent, it has always been tempered with talent. In the early ’90s, Vanilla Ice’s absurd posturing landed him just as many magazine covers as Kurt Cobain’s revolutionary angst. A little later on, every time some flavor-of-the-week boy band caught our eye, Eminem and his whiteboy braggadocio were right there to steal it back.
Cristina Aguilera represents one of many steps to the recent apex of this troubling trend — this time around, however, there is a conspicuous absence of saving graces. The mind in our mindless entertainment is gradually going AWOL, and the American public is blissfully, ignorantly eating it up.
One need only chart the downward slope of any given entertainment staple to see this phenomenon in action. When MTV’s “The Real World” debuted in 1992, it was lauded as a nexus of mature discussion for culture clashes, culture shocks and everything in between. It satisfied the voyeur, the bigot, the idealist and the good old fan of entertaining television.
In its umpteen incarnations since then, it has devolved into a live action Abercrombie and Fitch advertisement. And in the unlikely event that one of the cast actually stumbles into a situation that could provide some semblance of a redeeming message, MTV quickly glosses over it for another confessional segment on that hot threesome in the jacuzzi.
A similar situation has recently hit another (once) reputable source for honest musical, political and social commentary, Rolling Stone. Yes, the godfather of music magazines saw a change in management, abandoned its hippie roots and decided that the reading public needed more Avril Lavigne and less Joni Mitchell. Its recent “Women in Rock” issue was more T&A than it was NOW.
Look at the magazine rack next to Rolling Stone and you’ll see why. Pop publishing is plagued with the glossy graphics and pseudo-porn of Maxim, FHM, Stun and Blender. And those are only the male-oriented mags.
The unifying factor in these descents into disrespectability seems to be that they’re all youth-oriented. But why didn’t entertainment and advertisement execs go for the jugular in the late ’90s, when teen culture was on its perpetual sugar rush?
The answer, quite simply, is money. Four years ago, everybody had it, and everybody, regardless of age, was looking to spend it. For every Britney CD bought by the pre-teen, there were two BMWs bought by her baby-boomer father. For every Pixie Stik downed by the pre-pubescent, his mom grilled a couple of filet mignons.
The present economic outlook isn’t quite so good. I don’t know about you, but when my parents take me out to eat today, it’s for McNuggets, not mignons, and we sure as hell don’t get there in a European car.
Economic recession hits the working class (our parents) harder than it hits the part-time crowd (us), and advertisers know this. There isn’t any shortage in the need for grocery baggers and, consequently, there isn’t any shortage in our expendable income. Those who know what Americans want to buy have simply started focusing much more on those with the ability to buy it.
Think about it. Four years ago, Coors Light was drunk by Rocky mountain rednecks; now it’s the drink of choice of Kid Rock and fashionable youth. Dockers khakis used to be for guys with mortgages and minivans; now, they’re the perfect attire for an all-night bachelor party in Las Vegas.
Hollywood and its ilk are appealing to our basest desires simply as a matter of survival. It’s the same reason Cristina’s getting so damned “Dirrty.”
Not that I’m complaining.
