Ashley Tisdale - Guilty Pleasure Review

Posted by Paul Schofield on 08.12.2009

Can the Disney princess break free from Michael Eisner's evil clutches?

I was somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold, and I thought it would be a good idea to review the new Ashley Tisdale album. Drugs are a very bad decision maker, says the man wearing a sun visor backwards, who happens to be sitting on my shoulder smoking a banana skin. I shrug it off. Maintain. What would Alger do? Wait, Alger’s dead, he wouldn’t do anything. There was no turning back now.

Ulterior motives for this, there were many.









However, no amount of crude pictures could stop me from admiring the shape of her skull.



The ether had taken a bad turn. Nightmares, distant memories. My cousins’ 5th birthday, endurance torture, being made – forced – to sit through High School Musical 23: So Very Tired. And if that wasn’t enough, there was the board game, the DS game, the sing-along karaoke game, the toys, the lunchbox, the clothes, the pomposity of it all. My childhood had never been like this. Alone, in a darkened room, gripping my joystick tightly as ghosts and monsters made their asexual advances with pills the only way to destroy them. I wonder which experience had left the most lasting impression on my fragile psyche.

The acid had dried up. Moments of sparkling clarity. Was that really her in Donnie Darko: The Director’s Cut? Was The Suite Life Of Zack and Cody criminally underrated? Was she hairier than Vanessa Hudgens? Will there be an X-rated version of Aliens In The Attic where they take turns impregnating her with probes and deformed alien penii? Further investigation was needed.

The album, its cover star gazing into my nasal passage, undressing me with her eyebrows.

1. Acting Out
2. It’s Alright, It’s OK
3. Masquerade
4. Overrated
5. Hot Mess
6. How Do You Love Someone
7. Tell Me Lies
8. What If
9. Erase And Rewind
10. Hair
11. Delete You
12. Me Without You
13. Crank It Up
14. Switch

The opening seconds were like the introduction to an epic fantasy film that I had yet to see or imagine, yet it was fleeting, as the guitar and the siren began their attempts to lure me to a fathomable doom. “Acting Out”, a rock anthem that could unite the free world, that could have Pantera fans swaying along, crying into their bandanas. I could feel the sharp, pointed rocks cracking into the hull of my ship already. An air of Kelly Clarkson hung in the air like the stench of the dead, the countless others who would be lured in, but the senses had been alerted nonetheless, and the rudder had a new direction. Second star on the right, and straight on ‘til morning, even if it takes you to the sunny shores of Wales.

Suddenly, a stiff breeze shot out of nowhere, and the sails were rejuvenated. “It’s Alright, It’s OK” was like a sugar laced dagger to the heart that sharpened my senses. What was I thinking? I was dangerously close to an application to the Mickey Mouse Club, but this was a realisation of what I would be signing up for. A chocolate fondant covered in offal. Rows of shiny white teeth showing my grotesque reflection.



But then there was “Masquerade” and the ship had turned once more, speeding towards the rocks at breakneck speed. Verses that felt so dirty I had to check for leakage. A chorus so syrupy I felt bloated already. The dentist’s chair beckoned. I could feel the vulture’s pecking at my innards already. Would they squabble over my intestines, or settle for an eyeball each?

Fortunately they would have to settle for each other. Thank you “Overrated” for being so awful, and steering me clear of the isle of certain doom. I offered to sacrifice a goat in its honour, but the goat offered a sturdy argument which was hard to turn down. The contrite lyrics, the faux-rock endeavour, they would not find anchor here. But all the while Mickey lurked in the clouds, a haunting figure, offering me trinkets. Goofy’s head on a stick. Jasmine vs Belle vs Aurora inside a steel cage, with myself as the special guest referee. Finally, “Hot Mess,” so nearly the ace up his sleeve. Once more I had to check for any other hot mess that had escaped my person. Stop looking at the pictures at the top of the page; I don’t care how shiny her head is. Stop listening to the song, no matter how addictive it may try to be. Fingers in ears, close eyes.

Think of your parents. “How Do You Love Someone” resonates like Aguilera’s “Fighter” only with a darker undertone. I could feel the winds shifting, the tide turning. Poseidon himself had abandoned me, and signed up for The Little Mermaid vs Predator. Was it only a matter of time? Even if I escaped, the ride told me that it’s a small world. Mickey would find me eventually. Michael Eisner looks like he could lead a crack squad of Disney SS goons. What chance would I have?

A ray of sunshine. “Tell Me Lies.” Respite! I gripped the wheel, and turned it as far as I could. Anything to get away from the noise. The lyrics. Make-up and stupid stories? I wanted no part of this. I did not belong here. I cast my eyes to the horizon. Terra Firma. In my mind’s eye, I could see the beach, lined with guitars, drums, lines of coke, chicken and mushroom pies, Sky Sports. Damnit, a pop ballad! My Achilles heel. “What If.” I clenched my fists, my teeth, my buttocks, and anything else with a clenching ability. Don’t listen to her telling you that she needs you. Don’t listen to the tinkling piano. She’s had several chances, and she keeps blowing it. She’s Jimmy White at the snooker World Championships. She’s Britney Spears performing at the MTV Awards. But damnit, she’s classier than that! She has talent! She can sing! She can ACT! My fingers twitched on the wheel.

“Erase And Rewind.” If only I could. Why did I choose this album? Fuck, I could have been reviewing Modest Mouse, or even Blur, even if it is a greatest hits. Further twitchings. It’s inescapable that at the right moments, Tisdale knows when to strike, like a venomous cobra with hair extensions, but she can’t maintain it. Ride out this storm. This solid pop induced coma. No morphine for me thanks doc, this is uplifting enough. Girls will be singing it into hairbrushes, guys will be secretly making up dance moves in their bedrooms while slathered in butter. A fatal mistake – I looked back. Never look back. Think of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Deep breaths. Yes, that’s it, another song for the Disney crowd. “Hair.” Tripe like this makes it much easier. Eyes back to the horizon. A slight gust in the sails. Its times like this I wonder why I didn’t take the speedboat. Flying would have been much easier, even if there is a chance of getting Icarus splattered over the windows. God, there’s still four songs to go! I’m headed in the right direction, but the world and its uncle seems to be against me. “Delete You.” A break up song. She’s got an evil side to her. She will slash tyres. Burn pictures. She knows how to delete, so she’s obviously computer literate. Further twitchings, this time south of the border. She could be the perfect woman. Beautiful with a dark side that Darth Vader would appreciate. If she could dirty talk whilst wearing his voice modificator, I would be in Jedi heaven. But wait – the end of the song is poor, with disjointed tempos and a lack of flow. Maybe she’s not perfect. Maybe she has a horrid mole in a bad place. Maybe she has huge nipples. There’s still hope.

Another ballad. “Me Without You.” Curse her emotive delivery. So what if the lyrics are sappy, gushy? She makes me believe it, and I don’t believe in anything except chaos. She’s not very good at the higher notes though. God bless you Ian Malcolm, chaos theorist extraordinaire. Help me out here. Make the next song like the spit of a Dilophosaurus right to the face. “Crank It Up.” Sanctuary. I can taste the chicken and mushroom pie already. It’s like a bad Britney song from her new dancier sound. Don’t imagine what the video would be like. Throw Tisdale in a catsuit with a laser gun and you can feed me to the cockroaches. Ignore that nagging feeling that if you heard this in a club whilst severely intoxicated you would go nuts and dance like a freak on a leash. Try not to think about how likewise drunken girls would try and do their sexiest moves to this, which if you were sober, you would laugh uncontrollably at. Try not to see the Kraken’s tentacles wrapped around your feet.

“Switch.” Shoot down that albatross with a catapult, I’m headed home. There’s a hammock with my name on it on that beach. An attempt at anthemic pop that doesn’t really work. The sea is still. The wind has died. It’s smooth sailing from here on in. I can taste the coke at the back of my throat already, can feel the guitar strings on my fingers. I can even hear the beginning of “Enter Sandman.” Smile while you still can. Hours later you will become Lady Macbeth, scrubbing at the blood spot in your brain that is the more enjoyable parts of this album, trying to wash them away fully, never to return.

The 411: Overall, this isn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be. Yes there are songs on here for Ashley’s core audience of Disney kids, but there’s more than that as well. There’s some dance, some pop-rock, and ballads that Tisdale is really quite good at, and these parts are mostly enjoyable. If she continues with her solo career and can cut out the tracks aimed at the youngsters, she could be the Kelly Clarkson of the next generation. If she wants to do Playboy too, that would only help. As far as album names go, this one is pretty damn accurate.

Final Score:  6.0   [ Average ]