On paper, yes, she’s a top drawer pop artist.
On paper, yes, she’s a top drawer pop artist. This is ever better than the three Number One singles that preceded it (Teenage Dream, Californian Gurls and Firework); the bass booms through the track like the shockwave of a torpedo. But god, what a tedious little spazz-tard she is, with her coquettish glances and her deeply confused idea of feminism. And while we’re on the subject, how about that Firework film clip?
Which evil genius was brought it to craft that manipulative, two-dimensional ode to Hallmark-sanctioned emotional catharsis? The little kid with cancer in the hospital, what is she embracing exactly, her imminent death? Maybe Katy Perry thinks that love cures cancer. Or maybe she has absolutely no idea what the film clip is about because she is a brainless automaton with the hands of a thousand producers up her perfectly sculpted arse.
