Spare Her or Spare Us?

Poor Ashlee Simpson…screeching all the way to the bank. It’s interesting because – and I can’t believe I’m about to write these words – when contemplating her career (yes, those words) I’m torn about whether to feel pity or disgust. On the one hand, here’s the naive girl with a creepy dad and a semi-talented, fairly famous sister who is offered like a lamb to the lions every time she goes on stage. At this point, even she has to realize that she’s not musically inclined and that describing her as a “singer” is somewhere between kind and cruelly ironic. But she trots out on stage, knowing full well that boos are in the offing.

On the other hand, she’s become obscenely wealthy while demonstrating no discernible talent. Her rebel credibility is tied to hair dye (if Joe Simpson reads this, there will probably be an endorsement deal in development before he finishes the piece), and since her hair no longer has its natural color, it’s difficult to look at any component of her being as authentic. But she’s raking it in, never waits in line like the rest of the hoi polloi, and gets free stuff from companies who want to woo her for some reason I can’t comprehend. That boils my meritocratic blood.

So I’m not quite sure how I feel, but do know that in either case, her dad turns my stomach. Check out Renee Graham’s piece in the Boston Globe; it’s way better than mine.

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