"Bubbling" with Contempt

Cállate, Colbie Caillat! When my cousin received your album for Christmas, I almost barfed in my stocking. Your music is not even fit for the muzak in the lobby of a roach motel. Yes, we can all tell you’re happy. But you’re happy in the nausea-inducing manner that is best confined to the diary entries of junior-high girls. Like a diabetic, your sugary sweetness has me on the verge of insulin shock.

Let me shake my magic 8-ball on this one: My sources say your next album will be all about how Mr. Hearts and Roses is actually a complete jackass/ is not sensitive enough to your needs/ has “mommy” issues. But since you have the emotional intensity of a Gerbera daisy, your black nail polish and punky attitude will fool no one. Your album will be relegated to the bargain bin at the back of a Sam Goody.

I must confess part of the reason for my anger. I had a theory that it was impossible for me NOT to like a song that contained any configuration of the following: ladeeda, lalala, shalalala, dodeedodeedo, etc. I must also confess that I am unable to listen to “Bubbly” in its entirety, so I cannot confirm or deny the presence of these nonsensical sounds. But I know they’re there somewhere. They have to be. And that means my theory has gone the way of the Blue-Footed Booby. (No Brad, no Maxim featurette on this one)

What do you do when your prized hypothesis, once grounded in surety somewhere between Gravity and Newton’s First Law of Motion, is destroyed?

Happiness-for-happiness’ sake in music is not always a popular concept. In this sense, Caillat is somewhat of a rebel, a la John Denver (minus the plane crash). I, for example, am more of a fan of melancholy happiness, wistful happiness, relieved happiness, 70’s morning radio happiness, unhappiness that for some reason makes me happy, etc. I can even be a fan of the “Gettin’ boozy in the club” happiness that is Top 40.

But Caillat? This is just going too far. Putting a guitar in front of a sorority girl and having her pen tunes about how she’s afraid her hair is not blond enough would be more topical. Like her Myspace pal Tila Tequila, who supposedly questions her sexual orientation, Caillat’s orientation toward music should be questioned. Perhaps her skills would be better adapted toward a ceramics class or Watercolor 101 ($75 supply fee), with the added benefit of keeping her hands busy.

Stay cheesy, Colbie. Even better, stay far away from my radio.