By Bob McMahon
By Allison Babka
By Kelsey McClure
By Carolina de Busto
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Steve Brennan
By Joseph Hess
By Allsion Babka
All hail Jurassic 5! They were a breath of fresh air, bringing pleasure and fun back to the type of hip-hop listened to by indie-rock fans. But they did not come alone and the group that came with them, the Black Eyed Peas, has turned from a fun bit of whimsy into the foulest sort of plastic band. We applaud those who make money with their art, but you, Black Eyed Peas, are one of the few bands to deserve the term "sell-out." You added talentless strumpet Fergie to your band in the hopes that the addition of well-displayed mammaries would boost your profile. It worked. (One day we will fatwa you all.) You created a string of horrid "tunes" cumulating in "My Humps," a song about Fergie's tits and ass that is about as sexy as an enema from Grandma. But this was not enough for group member will.i.am, who now appears in the Pussycat Dolls' "Beep," a song about the singing strip-o-grams' T&A that is as sexy as Grandma offering a finish-up reach-around. For striving to kill both art and sex, we issue a most serious fatwa.
We do not mind women of no musical, intellectual or spiritual worth succeeding owing to the flexibility of their fat-free bodies. This is, after all, the music business. But the Pussycat Dolls were destined to be one-hit wonders, and any efforts to extend their career past that is an offense. Tell us, will.i.am, have you no shame? Does your soul not feel pain anymore? Has your integrity been so marauded that it now flops, truncated and perforated, staining the insides of your jockeys?
Fatwa! Someday your half-wit novelty tunes shall fade from the public's mind, and you shall be treated as the used-car salesman of the soul that you truly are. "I used to be somebody," you will weep into your pillow at night, but that will be a lie. It is written. The Ayatollah of Rock