Send "Katy Perry " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Sputnikmusic |
 I thought you were different. I used to think your sprightly personality, subtle sarcasm and jabs at more established musicians, and defined sense of style suggested a deeper dimension than your average pre-fab pop star. Despite admittedly simple, straightforward pop like “I Kissed A Girl” and “Waking Up In Vegas” along with lyrics and photos meant to stir up controversy and firmly place you into the bracket of commercial whore, I always thought there was more to you than your run-of-the-mill Ke$ha or Pussycat Dolls. You even sort of look like my future wife Zooey, and that’s always a plus. I really wanted to like “California Gurls” when I first heard it, although there hasn’t been a more mechanical formula to Billboard success all year – semi-anthemic qualities, high-priced “cool” guest spot, vapid lyrics and a brainless melody aimed straight at adolescents desperate for the sing-a-long of the summer. I dared to think Teenage Dream could be one of the better pop albums of the year. And for the first four minutes the title track actually led me on for a bit, a lovely slice of synth pop made even better by Kaskade’s remix tacked on at the end of the album. Then what did you do, Katy? You throw out a song like “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.),” a song so repulsively crass and soulless that it makes “Dirrty”-era Aguilera look like Mandy Moore. I used to think I partied pretty hard, but you’ve truly upped the ante on me. Maxing out your credit cards, streaking in the park Frank-the-Tank style, and threesomes (nothing screams rebellion like an Eiffel tower)? I know you’re all for giving the finger to middle American sensibilities and expressing yourself, but when the song itself is about as musically progressive as “Hot Cross Buns,” the focus is squarely on those wretched lyrics. Tell Dr. Luke and Max Martin that that faux-saxophone solo might be the low point of their careers. I can forgive a couple of transgressions if Teenage Dream redeemed itself with songs that were more than trashy, one-dimensional pop, but, alas, the rest of the album is just as predictable as the VMAs and only marginally more entertaining. I would bet money on “Firework,” with its inoffensive electro beat and massive chorus, on being the next single. I would also place money on “Peacock” never seeing the light of day, primarily because it’s a terrible song with a double entendre so blunt it would make Ke$ha blush but also because it doesn’t exactly flatter Ms. Perry the lyricist (I’m almost 100% certain “cock” cannot rhyme with “biotch” or “payoff,” ever). I get that “E.T.” is supposed to be “space-themed,” what with its cheesy synths and cool sound effects, but lyrically it seems more Alien Sex Files 3 than Solaris. I do like your attempt to be more of a serious artist with songs that just reek of edginess and dark, heavy emotion, songs like “Who Am I Living For?” and “Pearl,” but these are songs that nevertheless would work better in the hands of a more versatile vocalist. Plus, front-loading your record with terrible tracks makes it even harder to get to the (relatively) enjoyable tunes that close out Teenage Dream....full text |
| Guardian |
| Just one album ago, Californian singer Katy Perry was another wannabe starlet, albeit one trying to make her mark by dressing up her bi-curious noughties pop in cutesy 50s retro clothes. She kissed a girl, but she did it in turquoise peep-toes, which might have made it easier for her Christian parents to come to terms with. Buy it from Buy the CD Katy Perry Teenage Dream [2CD] EMI Music 2010 Certainly, Perry charmed both charts and cognoscenti as a result. And, at a critical juncture, – the 2009 MTV Awards – she also caught the eye of Russell Brand, the UK's cuddliest sex-addict-cum-comedic export. As they became a fixture, Perry's nudge-wink smarts took on the added lustre of Brand's brand. Somehow, Perry's vapid kitsch pop seemed wiser, funnier and more knowingly calibrated than before. Teenage Dream, then, arrives as something of a rude shock after what might, in retrospect, have been a wilful suspension of disbelief. It's painful to report, then, that Perry's second album is a hard-nosed pop product with little of the humour or wit expressed so fluently by her wardrobe and choice of beau. As an experiment in west coast genetic engineering, in which Brian Wilson's vanilla fantasies synch up with Snoop Dogg's tongue-in-cheek gangsta shtick, lead single "California Gurls" is hilarious. As a song, it is actually pretty lame. The remainder of Teenage Dream blows hot and cold, alternating Perry's kiss-me-quick sensibility with the commercial raunch required of all hit-machine cannon fodder. The trouble is that neither variant fully satisfies. There are songs here that sound like they got lost on their way to Rihanna's management team. How else to explain the steely, urban-lite "ET", in which Perry ditches her primary-coloured minx persona entirely, to be penetrated by an extra-terrestrial? Producer of the moment Dr Luke's dark digitals aren't at all bad, but they don't fit the programme here. Perry clearly intends songs such as "Who Am I Living For?" to be thought-provoking. They are, instead, strings of platitudes ("Heavy is the head that wears the crown") held together by the edgy atmospheres of producer Tricky Stewart....full text |
| Bbc |
| Love or hate Katy Perry, she knows how to play the game. Coquettish expressions, polarising wardrobe choices and salacious quotes about her high-profile relationship certainly haven’t harmed her status. But vitally, there’s a cut-off point, leaving the music to do the rest. Exhibit A: Perry’s second major-label album Teenage Dream, which employs her knack of turning heads before following through with the substance. So where the tawdry, attention-seeking I Kissed a Girl was fully absolved by the instantaneous pop majesty of Hot n Cold, there are similarly ample examples of distinction on Teenage Dream to apologise for the cataclysmic airplay beast that is California Gurls. Firework displays a breezy maturity and serious set of pipes, a true demonstration of Perry’s musicianship without contradicting the kittenish mischief of the bigger picture. The title-track, meanwhile, further attests Perry is at her best when naturally playful. But, disappointingly, Teenage Dream morphs into grotesque parody far too regularly. Perry’s in no hurry to grow up, as this album’s title implies, but habitually its theme is akin to a group of Year 7 boys giggling at their biology textbooks. Peacock carries so much awkward, shoehorned innuendo it’s difficult not to visualise Joan Sims being chased round a campsite by Kenneth Williams. Even Ke$ha would struggle to pull this off. But on the evidence of Circle the Drain’s menacing undertones or the rave-influenced quasi-ballad E.T., there’s a resolute aptitude for sober, dark deliberations which introduce a very different Katy Perry to the one with the unsolicited residency in many a showbiz column....full text |
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