I hate reality shows with the passionate intensity of a thousand imploding suns. When your carefully screened and selected cast are giving mind-numbingly inane tests in which their every slightest thought is provided by members of the WGA, and everything they eat, wear or touch just 'happens' to be smothered with the logo of a product-placement client, the resulting show's connection to reality is slim-to-none at best.
So it is no small surprise to read that the career and ego of one recent product of these abysmal freakshows are currently on opposing trajectories, and destined for imminent oblivion.
Kelly Clarkson was discovered by American Idol less than two years ago. Her album, "Breakaway," garnered 10-million copies and two Grammys. Now she's refusing to work with the Producers who made that possible. And ticket sales for her recent tour were so abysmal the whole thing was cancelled. Despite this, she harbors the baseless delusion that a few months of heavily assisted notoriety gives her the right and wisdom to argue with one of the preeminent forces in the history of contemporary music. Clive Davis.
One promoter of the aborted tour is quoted as saying, ''The day when she will play in sold-out arenas is, no doubt, coming, but for now her fans should look forward to seeing her in a more intimate concert environment.''...Like, perhaps, a phone booth.
So, for the benefit of Miss. Clarkson let's use nice, short words...
1. You have all the innate, charismatic star-power of navel fluff
2. Your tickets didn't sell because you can't sing
3. You're now at 14m:58s. And the clock is running...
If this pernicious, egocentric self-indulgence continues unchecked her precious career will soon be so hopelessly damaged, she'll be reduced to climbing out of cars without her underwear.
We can only hope she has more self-respect.
So it is no small surprise to read that the career and ego of one recent product of these abysmal freakshows are currently on opposing trajectories, and destined for imminent oblivion.
Kelly Clarkson was discovered by American Idol less than two years ago. Her album, "Breakaway," garnered 10-million copies and two Grammys. Now she's refusing to work with the Producers who made that possible. And ticket sales for her recent tour were so abysmal the whole thing was cancelled. Despite this, she harbors the baseless delusion that a few months of heavily assisted notoriety gives her the right and wisdom to argue with one of the preeminent forces in the history of contemporary music. Clive Davis.
One promoter of the aborted tour is quoted as saying, ''The day when she will play in sold-out arenas is, no doubt, coming, but for now her fans should look forward to seeing her in a more intimate concert environment.''...Like, perhaps, a phone booth.
So, for the benefit of Miss. Clarkson let's use nice, short words...
1. You have all the innate, charismatic star-power of navel fluff
2. Your tickets didn't sell because you can't sing
3. You're now at 14m:58s. And the clock is running...
If this pernicious, egocentric self-indulgence continues unchecked her precious career will soon be so hopelessly damaged, she'll be reduced to climbing out of cars without her underwear.
We can only hope she has more self-respect.
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