As I trudge through the final tracks of Ke$ha’s new album, “Cannibal,” I realize I can put any fears I had to rest. Would this album offer even a shred of promise for the Top 40 clubbies and middle schoolers? Will I have to start having heated discussions at parties regarding how I should “at least admit she's got drive, talent, or an awesome wardrobe?” No, those points are still safely reserved for Gaga. Ke$ha remains atop a mound of lifeless, tactless and impossibly popular garbage, and she’s digging her heels in deep.
The only mercy afforded by this listen is that “Cannibal” is short. Every track is 4/4 bass-fueled hook-groping throwdown, and every phrase Ke$ha playfully spouts over this nine track romp makes you want to smack that shit-eating grin right off her whorish face. I can’t even begin to express the hatred evoked by lines like “but I just can’t date a dude with a vag” and “ra-tat-tat-tat on your dum dum drum, the beat so fat gonna make me cum.” Hide your kids, seriously.
The saddest truth unveiled by this booze-soaked disease bag is that the airwaves will undoubtedly be overrun by a few of these tracks for the next year. Ke$ha, however evil, is a financial genius. She has a dollar sign in the middle of her name for Christ’s sake. The parties, cars, drugs and boys featured in every Ke$ha song are paid for by a culture-robbed hoard, and just in time for Christmas.
If you have any respect for yourself or your little sister, you’ll steer clear from “Cannibal.” It may have just completely ruined my day.
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