Josh Tyler brings his verdict on the Miley Movement.
So it turns out Kanye West’s proclamation that Beyonce had “the greatest video of all time” was as premature as the time he blew his beans up Kim Kardashian.
For my money (-£739 to be exact) there’s only one person in pop worth writing about and EVERYBODY wants to write about her: pop’s perky twerky Princess Miley.
It must be a butt fucker for the wealthy art school girls of America’s cosmopolitan cities that some rich redneck chick has muscled in on their NYC art house cinema screenings, completely grabbed pop-culture by the wrecking balls and drained it of all its shallow spunk. Gaga overestimates and overrates pop culture, Cyrus gets that it’s simple. Gaga wears meat, Miley makes people beat theirs. She’s hot, and she wants to get naked. You don’t ask Terry Richardson to direct your video and expect to keep your clothes on. I’m pretty sure he could take your primary school yearbook photo and you’d leave with just your tie on.
But apart from creating the two best pop singles of the year so far, what I really like about Miley 2.0 is that she literally does not give two fucks. Nerds smarter than me have attempted to classify her creation as racist and anti-feminist but what most seem to fall short on is that it’s awesome. Breakdown queen Sinead O’Connor has had a pop, Miley responded by mocking her mental health problems. No fucks. She’s wearing 12 hole Dr. Martin’s in her video and she’s backing it up with 12 round comebacks to people who literally couldn’t be further from relevance from right now. What makes Miley different from Sinead, Britney, Li-Lo and co. is that she’s doing drugs the right way. Whilst the PR machine is carefully hiding such mischief, there’s no doubt that at some hipster LA party Cyrus is sniffing harder than the builders brought in to take away THAT wrecking ball.
The party will undoubtedly stop, but not for a while yet. And if it does she’s got Billy Ray’s money to fall back on, as well as country music’s ever welcoming embrace. There’s no chance of a Cyrus breakdown in my mind, unless it’s a carefully thought out re-birth a couple of albums down the line.
Any arguments that it’s the countless agents, management and PR guru’s that are running the Miley Movement right are probably rooted in fact, but Cyrus is using them like she’s using us, sticking a foam middle finger right up our arses. Even on MTV’s attempt at getting a slice of the pro-Cyrus propaganda pie “The Miley Movement” she managed to distort and fuck it up by coming across as a bit of a bratty twat. Perfect.
That’s how we want our rockstars, moaning about the tiniest thing going wrong backstage and then stepping out into the camera’s glare all teeth, tits and tongue. I haven’t gotten round to buying Bangerz yet, but I sure as hell will and so will you, probably. One of my best friends did his dissertation on Miley Cyrus two years ago. He was well ahead of the game and the fact that he could get 10,000 words plus out of the old Cyrus gives the clearest indication yet that there’s serious depth to this pop-parade that delves deeper than just soft-core porn. She looks like a little boy made to do PE in his pants in the “Wrecking Ball” video; she gets kicked in the head in the “We Can’t Stop” video and she continually appears to be bollocked by her parents.
This is angst, this is youth, and this is quite frankly the best thing to happen to pop culture in forever. I also can’t thank her enough personally for choosing to jump onto rap culture and, unlike Cara Delalasagna and those stupid fucking models, stay away from punk.
No, we don’t want our daughters or sisters copying her, but what we do want is a sledgehammer sucking, tantrum chucking, finger fucking superstar.
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