Tuesday, March 07, 2006
The 93rd Actual Worst Record, Ever
Even going to confession won't save your soul from eternal damnation if you've bought this singleSo, you're Usher. And, despite having the face of a 12 year old boy combined with the body of someone who goes to the gym every night and believes that this over the top commitment to the body beautiful somehow means that they have a life, you're a bit popular with the ladies. You may have a regular girlfriend, but hey, you're on the road a lot and a man has needs - although if you are Usher these needs mainly seem to revolve around being unable to keep your shirt on for longer than the intro of which ever lame piece of pseudo-street R&B you're forcing us to endure this time - and, with all the temptations of groupies and whatnot, you may slip-up and do something you regret. It's not big, it's not clever, but it is, perhaps, understandable and, with a bit of counseling and honesty, it's likely you can sort things out with your true love and get on with the making of - as Usher undoubtedly calls it - the Jiggy Jiggy.
Of course, if you actually are Usher, it seems quite likely that you have the brain of a pea and such thoughts won't occur to you. Instead you'll decide that, having got what you endearingly refer to as "your chick on the side" pregnant, you decide to 'fess up to your girlfriend not by having a private conversation about the whole sorry affair, not by writing her a letter, pouring out your heart and soul to her, apologising for your mistake and generally throwing yourself on her mercy, and not even by getting horrendously drunk, buying her a cheap bunch of flowers and a box of Matchmakers from your local garage and standing outside her flat at two in the morning slurring plaintive declarations of love mixed with occasional demands for her to unlock the door as it's freezing out here. No, instead you decide to write a desperately poor confessional song about the whole affair which has all the passion and emotion of an uncooked box of microchips and release it as a single so that as many people in the world can find out what went on, just to make sure that a) you get an image as some sort of vague bad boy in the music world, b) her humiliation is complete and total, and that no amount of foundation will be able to cover the red flush of embarrassment and anger which will form on her features and c) sell a few records in the process, making yourself a few more pennies, which should at least mean you'll be able to support the poor kid you've sired thanks to an inability to either keep it in your pants or keep it out of your pants long enough to put a condom on it. And! And! As if that wasn't enough, just to hammer home the point that the only person Usher truely cares about is Usher, you have the cheek to include the lyric "This ain't about my career" in a song clearly designed to boost it.
What a twat! What an absolute self-obsessed, horrible, idiotic and inconsiderate twat!
music usher
