The Pussycat Dolls
PCD

I ask you for a moment of your attention. Just a moment. Then, you can go back to your life. "Once upon a time, many years ago, there was rock. Among Elvis, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Doors, and the Beach Boys, there was something for all tastes and all races. And we lived quite well. Then someone, it is not known who, it is not known how, got out of bed and said: ‘this music has broken my balls. It's time for something more violent’ and there it was, hard rock appeared in all its forms, shapes, and similar. Led Zeppelin, Queen, Pink Floyd, and bands of the sort were born. Well, this was truly good music. In the '80s and '90s, metal movements (with heavy, thrash, and prog offshoots) and grunge developed. This too was excellent music. In the following years, these categories reduced more and more until they almost disappeared entirely: to hell with Nirvana, but who are Slayer, just a bunch of drug addicts, and that group that pretentiously calls themselves Metallica should shoot themselves in the mouth. So, get rid of this old stuff and make room for rap, hip-hop, extra super mega commercial pop, and girl-crisis-like punk (everything except the Ramones and the Clash) and all these beauties of the modern age. Occasionally, new bands emerged, and then, on we go, gag in the mouth, plug in the ass, and as in the fascist era, confinement, away from a society that has no time to listen to such crap. If you want, make your pathetic instruments fart on Flux. Year 2006: music is floundering and sending tiny, almost inaudible systolic signals to indicate a trace of life, buried under a ton of shit. Promising bands pop up, only to disappear as frequently as Vieri's girlfriends or to screw all the hopes aroused with their first albums, adding to the crap on the almost cadaver of music. Undoubtedly, one of the groups producing the most amount of dung on this once-noble scene is the Pussycat Dolls, ‘cute dolls’ in English. All six of them are almost-playmates who can’t compose six verses alone because they spend more time in grand style shagging, and so they get help from various rappers and the like: a rhyme, a verse more, a quick thank you before the well-deserved shag. But it seems that these fucking idiots of these damn music producers think that the failed equation is beauty=talent. Go to hell, you degenerates that are nothing more than that. With all the poor people dying of hunger, these queers are paid billions, no, but what do I say BILLIONS, to offer us the usual whores who shake their asses, show their pussy, dance strictly nude, and blow kisses to the audience. But what the hell does all this have to do with music? What the hell does it have to do? Eighty years ago, a maniac named Hugh Hefner set his filthy feet on Earth. Eighty years later, he is still there, with a fortune equivalent to that of the entire Africa behind him, sluts with plastic tits protruding from their dresses running from every corner to plant a big kiss on his cheek while he masturbates. Ask him if he wants the Pussycat Dolls! Because these six women belong to that world, not the musical one. When I set foot on DeBaser, three weeks and six reviews ago, I was amazed to find so many friendly, cordial reviewers but especially lovers of good music, lovers of true artists, so passionate they churn out masterpieces under their keyboard. I refer to people like Ocram, Vellutogrigio, Odradek, DanteCruciani, Pibroch, Walterstarman, and the like. And even here, there was the flip side of the coin, useless reviews on useless artists, and anonymous people who insulted me at every comment. It doesn't matter. There's no resentment. As long as people like those mentioned above exist, I will gladly continue to visit this site. If this community too becomes extinct and DeBaser is invaded by reviews on whores like the Pussycat Dolls, there will be nothing left but to turn your back, greet everyone, and say a laconic 'Goodbye.' Please tell me that moment is still far away. This is not a review but a reflection I would like to share with all of you. And thank you for the patience you will have in reading my umpteenth pixels. Peace and love Bisius"