The ruthless stare she affects for the cover – part acid-tongued cheerleader, part Catherine Tate's not-bovvered Lauren - accurately signals Ke$ha's no-nonsense assault on celebrity.
She recently admitted that she had previously tried her hand at country, rock and electropop with little success, until she added to the latter style the ersatz rap-sung delivery that makes her sound like the American equivalent of Kate Nash. The result has been the first US chart-topper of the new decade, its numbskull promotion of hedonism, ignorance and blithe selfishness surely a treat for those who can't get enough of Celebrity Big Brother's alleged "Lady" Sovereign. Set to the stompy electro beats of producer Dr Luke, her songs are pure attitude, whether slagging off rivals in "Backstabber" and "Kiss N Tell", boasting about "pissing in the Dom Perignon" at a "Party At A Rich Dude's House", or celebrating the dubious charms of a club where "they go hardcore, and there's glitter on the floor". But there's no real character behind the bogus attitude and not even any coherence to her vapid babblings: at one point she's cutting guys dead because they don't look like Mick Jagger; then a little later, "Dinosaur" finds her complaining about being hit on by older guys. Like, older than Mick? Is that actually possible?
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