Heidi Montag draws polarizing reactions. It seems like half of the world hates her, and the other half really hates her. If you’re unaware (lucky you), Montag is one of the “stars” of “reality soap” The Hills on MTV. Montag and her detestable boyfriend Spencer Pratt (ably dismantled here by David Letterman) are the ostensible villains of the program. Strangely, Montag is trying to use her “fame” from the show to launch a singing career.

At this point, Montag’s already had two singles stiff. Frankly, she has little to offer popular music but a decent ass, and that doesn’t even count when our National Remarkable Ass reserves are already filled by Beyonce (international imports from Shakira round it out). Her new single is called “Fashion”. When my 18-month-old son heard it, he clapped; then again, he claps when one of my cats throws up on the carpet, so I’m not sure that his opinion can be trusted.

If you want to subject yourself to the aural assault that is this tune, click here.

As for what qualifies the song for “Senseless Lyrics” . . . Jesus, what about it doesn’t?

First, there’s the opening shout of “HEIDI!” She begins the song shouting her own name. It’s not like people haven’t name-checked themselves before, but there’s a big difference between “My name is KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID ROCK!” or Chuck D.’s “Once again back is the incredible, the rhyme animal, the incredible D!” and her vacuous brand of self-promotion. There’s a possiblity that’s she’s used to shouting her own name because, as Pratt’s girl, she’s become accustomed to satisfying herself.

At any rate, the first verse . . .

I am, I’m too fabulous
I’m so fierce that it’s so nuts
I live, to be model thin
Dress me, I’m your mannequin

Hang on . . . I had to get a tissue for the pinprick hermorrages that are developing in my brain. Let’s look at the chorus.

Fashion put it all on me
Don’t you want to see these clothes on me
Fashion put it all on me
I am anyone you want me to be

If you listen closely, you can hear the corpse of John Lennon weeping. I mean DAMN, kids. This makes disco look like Beethoven by comparison. Seriously. “I Love the Night Life” and “Turn the Beat Around” are like the last five Cormac McCarthy novels next to this.

There’s always going to be a place for sugary pop bubblegum. But the only confection that this equates to is the box of candy from that Monty Python sketch. Lark’s vomit indeed.

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 17th, 2008 at 3:11 pm and is filed under Music, Senseless Lyrics, Shotgun Reviews (The Column), Television, Troy Brownfield. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site. Your comments will be moderated but will appear as soon as humanly possible.