Guilty Pleasure

Masquerading as a Disney channel power pop princess in bold blond hair coloring, Ashely Tisdale lets it all down in black and brown in her second album. I admit: it's my guilty pleasure to listen to this post-high school/post-teen tune slam-fest on my way to work, back home, to Wal-mart and every place in-between; it's the perfect pleasure to roll into the parking lot with the windows down on a crisp pre-dawn morning without the guilt of looking like a fool. The slick production and danceable beats showcase adequate vocals heavily layered in teen pop gloss and promos, while the worldly songwriting and sad confessions/inner ruminations written by older and more mature (aka broken and shame-laced) professional songwriters douse my conscience with guilt (and there's plenty of it here). Tisdale's feeling broken, dirty, embarrassed, ditched, unbalanced, conciliatory, desperate, unappreciated, unwanted and unloved, and she caps off the image by parading like a self-possessed schoolgirl acting out - in short, she's a little bit of a hot mess. Down this bitter concoction with an upbeat chaser and you have the typical irony of pop music.

Tisdale's best moments come when the whole mad carousel slows down; we see a gentler, softer and more innocent and sincere person for a brief two songs before the pop machine goes raging into high gear again and the high notes of love, relationships, desire and passion come hurling down. It's obvious this is no Amish paradise; tainted love and broken relationships sit on raised pitchforks flying the banner of teen confusion and a moral-less vision. But I'll make excuses for it, defend its sweet shine, slide it into the CD device when alone and abashedly operate my motor vehicle only to arrive at my destination feeling empty and a bit conscience-laden having repeatedly flipped this guilty pleasure.