Boy Band: Fully Loaded

New pop posers The Click Five are like The Ataris with lyrics written by the person who writes Jessica Simpson's lyrics. Or worst yet, New Kids On the Block 2.0 — the pseudo hipster version.

Sure they look harmless enough. Just five fellows with some instruments. Their album has an odd, indie rock sounding title. "Imerie House" something or other that I'm sure has a deep and profound meaning. You're thinking, "Hey? Maybe they're like Dashboard Confessional, The Killers, The Postal Service or Franz Ferdinand or any of the old school bands that were cool just becuase they had 'the' in front of their name, like The Police."

Then you learn they're opening for Backstreet Boys. The boy band that sucked so hard Justin Timberlake, JC Chavez, an ugly dude and a fat guy totally kicked their asses all over MTV. Then Timberlake kicked his own band's ass by becoming Michael Jackson 2.0 "The White Shadow," groping MJ's sister at the Super Bowl and snogging Cameron Diaz on a regular basis.

And he dumped Britney Spears. The guy looks like a pop music genuis.



The Click Five? Pop music geniuses? Maybe ... no, I'm being nice. None of them are pop music geniuses and I don't care how many special Click Five band trading cards they put in my promo CD packets. They just suck. They suckity, suck suck. Unless you're 14. If you are 14 and you do like this tripe, God bless you. Someday you'll grow up and look back on those Click Five posters and pins and wonder who put the crack rock in your Coke Zero and Fanta.

A matter of fact these boys have a lot in common with Fanta as they're as catchy as those "Wanna Fanta" ads that come on before the movies. Sure. You can remember the song, but did you WANT to? And that's the issue I have with the Click Five. I don't want to remember these catchy little hooks written for chicks in study hall. You are lame Click Five. Lame!

Don't think they're lame? Here. Have some lyrics so simple three year old roll their eyes like aged rock critics at Rolling Stone or worse, purse their lips like the bitter little hipsters at Pitchfork Media.

"Just the Girl"


She laughs at my dreams but I dream about her laughter
Strange as it seems she's the one I'm after
Because she's bittersweet
She knocks me off of my feet
And I can't help myself
I don't want anyone else
She's a mystery
She's too much for me
But I keep coming back for more
She's just the girl I'm looking for!


This is a special brand of pop banality, pop so banal that I haven't heard since the mid-90s when Britney Spears released "Oops I Did It Again," a bastardized clone of her first hit "... Baby One More Time."

Or worse, the soundtrack to the film "Clueless" or "She's All That" only worse. I mean, this is music your mom would pick out thinking, "this is what all the kids are listening to now, right?"

C'mon kids! Do you know what's "hip?" This crappy ass CD!

On track eight "Pop Princess" (mind you, the song I actually sort of "like") is their ode to hot chicks who sing pop songs. The lead singer actually sings the word "radical" in the sentence "baby girl, I think your radical, but you're a star and I'm fanatical."

He also asks her "hold my hand, I'm a fan" and "make me smile, drive me wild."

I hadn't heard "radical" spoken without irony since "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey."

But I guess I should be happy. The Click Five aren't out advocating pimping hoes, they don't scream into their mics, they aren't "emo" and create relatively bland, inoffensive pop music and there's always room on the Billboard Top 200 for that. Hell, I liked Eden's Crush's one album proving I'm part of the problem, not the solution.

I'm a pop music victim too.

And some people have to actually make money, yo. Everyone can't be the Scissor Sisters and sing about transvestites, prostitutes, drag queens, gay boys and David Bowie and make it WORK. We're not all 80s man panties (manties) Prince.

Some folks have to write songs about Hilary Duff. In that case, never fear. The Click Five is here.

Just remember boys, in the immortal words of the stripper Diamond from the classic film "Playa's Club," make that money, boys. Don't let the money make you.