As a teeth man, I've never been completely simpatico with those who find Jewel attractive. It'd be worse if she had a gray, dead tooth -- for me, the rickets of the face -- but the dental situation is still pretty bleak. There are those who might say, "But her breasts are so large -- seemingly swollen with erotic potential!" To them, my response is this: if we're to stoop to the bad-teethed big-titted blonde caste, Patricia Arquette is a much more attractive, more pleasantly voluptuous choice.

And that is why, when offered up the womanhoods of Jewel and Patricia Arquette, I choose the latter. Every time.

That's all to say that I'm not a Jewel fan, and I'm not swayed by her breasts. Someone must be, though. There's evidence of it everywhere.

Liz Phair's latest record is disastrous, obviously. It's awful even when considered within the context of her oeuvre -- notable for the rapid increase in awfulness with each release following Exile in Guyville. The new record has got to be one of the most overtly pandering shots at commercial success ever attempted by a musician with some modicum of "indie cred," and I haven't even heard it. I don't care, of course, because, as I've already mentioned, I disliked everything she did following Exile. In retrospect, I probably only liked that record because she's hot, naked in the liner notes, and talks about blowjobs in more than one song.

But I can forgive Liz Phair, and I'm sure she's relieved to hear it. Living on the periphery of real fuck off rock star wealth must take its toll, especially when Michelle Branch and Avril Lavigne are amassing ungodly fortunes for feats seemingly so well-within Liz's repertoire. She isn't as young as she used to be, and if she's going to pose nude and sell, she'd better get it done. It won't be long before they can't airbrush her back to 15 anymore.

It's more difficult to forgive Jewel's latest foray, and not only because she's not as attractive as Liz Phair. The problem is that Jewel kicked her career off saccharine, trite, and amazingly successful. Still an adolescent girl at the time, she was no doubt deeply dismorphic and in need of validation. Eight million records later, she believed herself to be intelligent, insightful, or talented. Tragic, really. Self-esteem is great, but so is realism. Regardless, her initial impact and subsequent self-importance was great enough to generate backlash, thank Jesus. Tastes changed between Pieces of You and whatever her next record was. No doubt crippled by the rejection, the already wealthy and quickly aging songstress transformed herself into whatever it is she is now. For her, it's not about the money, and that's why it's more difficult to forgive. Why sell-out if not for the money?

But none of this keeps me up at night. What does are the flea bites I received all over my feet while staying at Las Vegas shithole Texas Station Hotel and Casino. The real inspiration for this whole rant was the name of Jewel's movie production company -- Gravitas Entertainment. It's absurd beyond the point of being a punchline. I doubt there's anyone working in entertainment today that's more widely mocked for taking herself so seriously and thinking herself so talented than Jewel. Naming her company Gravitas is evidence that either she's completely unaware of the joke that she has fantastic sense of humor.

In the 15 or 20 seconds I spent considering the topic before I started writing, I was reminded of what's probably the best review of anything I've ever read:
the SF Weekly review of Jewel's book of poetry by Kevin McAlester. I love it because it's funny, he focuses on her breasts, and it ultimately becomes an indictment of poetry as a form.

Analogcabin @ 11:47 AM
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