Beyoncé
I Am... Sasha Fierce (disc 2: Sasha Fierce)

Beyonce Knowles or free thoughts on the cosmic void:

music is made up of many genres; and genres are not all equal: some are like wheat spikes, others like weeds, which infest crops and ruin the harvests (sorry for the messianic start). The weed genre par excellence is what I stubbornly and conscientiously refuse to call pop music: it's that type of "music" masterminded by marketing experts funded by record labels and multinationals, to which MTV, the "musical" channel of appearances and content void, has largely contributed its birth, imposing tastes and dictating new trends with cold arrogance bordering on the diabolical, deciding what's cool and what is uncool, displaying in a chilling freak show the gold-and-diamond-sequined toilets of Mariah Carey's mansion and a slew of wannabe ladies willing to do anything to become Paris Hilton's "best friends" or join the Girlicious, the appointed heirs of Pussycat Dolls.

The musical expression of such low standards has produced myriads of invasive weeds that suffocate true musicians and generate generations of lobotomized teenagers; some, like the Backstreet Boys, almost become endearing; others, such as the aforementioned Pussycat Dolls or Katy Perry, are clearly circus acts, and thus laughable and almost harmless: the most insidious and sneaky expression of weed-music is made up of those who are well aware of their media power, using it conscientiously to enter the establishment's control rooms and become living money-making machines, 360-degree brands, and admired, envied icons always on everyone's lips (and in wallets).

Obviously, the dean, the undisputed master of all these amenities can only be Madonna, but I am far from wasting even a second of my time writing about her; I could tell you about Justin Timberlake, but honestly, I wouldn't know what the heck to say; I could talk to you about Jennifer Lopez, a character now in decline and so sloppy and vulgar that it defines itself, or I could talk to you about the "soul diva," Beyoncé Knowles, the voluptuous bombshell sizing us up from the cover of her latest album with that glassy, arrogant look that seems to say more or less: "eh, you see what a hottie I am, loser who just helped fatten my bank account?"   

The pretty (?) Beyonce is somewhat the living embodiment of the tacky social climber prototype so flaunted by the MTV culture: emerging from nowhere, joining a girl band (Destiny's Child, those of "Ammasurvaivar, ammnotgonnagivap, ammnotgonstop, amgonworcarder", remember them?), from which she promptly emerges with her esteemed solo career, strongly pushed by boyfriend Jay-Z, renowned pimp discoverer of, among others, Rihanna (ah, when they say true and sincere love...). Putting aside all the bile I would like to pour on arrogant displays of sycophancy and bad taste passed off as black/rn'b music like "03 Bonnie And Clyde" or "Baby Boy", I focus on "reviewing" the latest masterpiece, even a double album (I must emphasize, not a single cent has nor will ever come out of my pocket to enter those of Ms. Knowles), the ballads on one side and the R'n'B tracks on the other: precise, scientific, rigorous.

Without listening to the whole album, the first two singles are enough to understand who we're dealing with: the ballad "If I Were A Boy": a video that looks like a glossy magazine photo story, absolutely banal lyrics, self-indulgent and predictable arrangements, a mewling voice that becomes unbearable when in the chorus it resorts to screaming, and above all "Single Ladies", which competes with "Radar" by Britney Spears and "Move To The City" by Guns N' Roses for the title of the most gruesome and disturbing song of all time: I refuse even to think that intellectually honest people could consider this nauseating lament as music with that clapping and those particularly annoying choruses of which our heroine takes advantage to wriggle like an eel and showcase her marble legs and inviting little derriere, her best artistic qualities. The rest of the album, from the other ballad "Halo", if possible even more pretentious and self-indulgent than "If I Were A Boy" to the overly fancy disco music of "Sweet Dreams", always follows the same squalid and hypocritical clichés that characterize this icy and programmatically self-made entrepreneur and other people like her who have made money at the expense of music.

Prefacing that I have nothing personal against Ms. Knowles but only against what she represents, of which she is one of the brightest and most obvious examples, I close my review by quoting the credits of the album "I Am... Sasha Fierce", which speak for themselves:

Kory Aaron - assistant engineer, Christian Baker - assistant engineer, Tim Blacksmith - management, David Boyd - assistant engineer, Jim Caruana - engineer, mixing, vocal engineer, vocal recording, Fusako Chubachi - art direction, Tom Coyne - mastering, Ian Dench - guitar, producer, Mikkel S. Eriksen - engineer, instrumentation, Jens Gad - drums, Toby Gad - arranger, producer, engineer, instrumentation, Jean-Paul Gaultier - clothing design, Amanda Ghost - producer, Matt Green - mixing, mixing assistant, Kuk Harrell - engineer, Andrew Hey - producer, engineer, Ty Hunter - stylist, Quincy Jackson - marketing, Jim Jonsin - producer, engineer, mixing, Steven "Steven J." Jordan - drums, Juli Knapp - A&R, Beyoncé Knowles - producer, arranger, vocals, background vocals, executive producer, vocal producer, Harold Lilly - producer, Peter Lindbergh - photography, Rico Love - vocals, producer, vocal producer, Dave McCracken - producer, Jake McKim - artist coordination, Michael Paul Miller - assistant engineer, Thierry Mugler - clothing design, Dave Pensado - mixing, Mark "Spike" Stent - mixing, Chris "Tricky" Stewart - producer, Ryan Tedder - arranger, producer, engineer, instrumentation, Brian "B Luv" Thomas - engineer, Francesca Tolot - make-up, Marcos Tovar - engineer, Randy Urbanski - mixing assistant, Alexandra Velella - artist coordination, Miles Walker - engineer, Wayne Wilkins - producer, mixing, Dontae Winslow - trumpet, Andrew Wuepper - mixing assistant.