Kelly Clarkson has become a robot.

I understand that the way people make records has changed. Everything is over-processed, auto-tuned and, once unleashed on radio, compressed into submission. What I don’t understand is why someone somewhere thought that Kelly Clarkson needed her voice to be processed beyond all recognition. On “I Do Not Hook Up,” she’s someone else. She’s Miley Cyrus. It is unsettling and unbecoming, as the world barely even needed the first draft of Miley, much less a clone. Kelly Clarkson is not a pop princess. When The Machine tried to turn her into a pre-fab Pseudo Britney, she fired The Machine. Why, then, is she now doing such a realistic impression of a product of The Machine?

My music business degree is now hopelessly obsolete, as I graduated years before MySpace. One thing that still applies is this: when real talent steps into a studio, it’s a bad idea to put effort toward making it look like fake talent. The Jurassic Park rule:

Just because you CAN do it, doesn’t necessarily mean that you SHOULD.

“Yes, but not like that.”

So, what does inspire booty shaking? Recently, Keri Hilson’s “Turnin Me On.” This little bit of sassy, minimalist pop isn’t being played on most pop stations yet, but the R&B and hip-hip stations have caught on. Hilson comes off as a proto-Beyonce, telling the guys in the club exactly how it’s gonna be.

As much guesting that Hilson does on hip-hop songs, you’d think she’d be able to land a bad ass for this single. She does, being artist number 2,749 have a guest spot by Lil Wayne. His short rap is more clever than all of Kanye’s discography combined.

Is it high art? I don’t know, but it’s definitely fun.

Today, I’d like to discuss the recent mini-trend of songs in praise of independent women. Usually, when someone writes a song about being a strong woman, said song is being sung by lesbian…or Beyonce. I’ve got nothing against lesbians or Beyonce, but what about the guys? Are they all just looking for unchallenging blow-up dolls? Silicone trophy wives? Dick cozies? Is there a market for someone with a job, a brain, and a life of her own? Actually, yes.

101 The Beat Jamz is slowly becoming my new radio station of choice for when I don’t feel like digging my iPod out of my purse just to run to the store. I just can’t take regular pop radio anymore. Yeah, you get Katy Perry (I’m neutral to her music, but interviews suggest that she and I would get along really well) but you also have to sit through the odd Buckcherry power ballad. In the interest of not taking a machete to my car stereo, I decide to listen to Beyonce and Lil Wayne.

At any rate, Lil Webbie and Ne-Yo have both come up with strangely similar songs in praise of independent women. I appreciate them for this, and it makes me happy that somebody somewhere is avoiding the “I’m In Love With A Stripper” song template.

Exhibit A: Lil’ Webbie + Lil Boosie – “Independent” (I apologize in advance for the 15 seconds of annoying Dance Dance Revolution music in front of this, but the youTube pickin’s were a little slim.)

Exhibit B: Ne-Yo – “Miss Independent”

Oldie but goodie: Kelly Clarkson – “Miss Independent” Charming ditty about the feeling one gets when one knows one is totally screwed (aka in love). Did you see the article where Clarkson was talking about dudes being afraid to date her because she might write a mean song about them? Excellent.

Album: The Repulsion Box (2005)
Am I forgetting about 2003′s Love The Cup? No…just avoiding it because S&D hadn’t really hit their stride yet and “Broken Bones” is the only song that holds my interest. The Repulsion Box, though, is full of non-stop goodness. “Medicine” is a good “nice to meet you” of S&D’s sound: Scotch polka, with strong female vocals. “Scotch polka” doesn’t sound very alluring, now that I type it, but I promise it’s good. “Hunt” has made it onto a couple of compilations, for good reason; singer Adele Bethel sounds Scottish as five hells, but it’s awesome. She can sing, yell, and do the punk chick shriek. “Taste The Last Girl” sounds a bit like The Smiths, if Morrissey were a ballsy lady. There’s a snarky little breakdown at 1:50 that paves the way for a marching, drum-filled build up. “Gone” is a showcase for Bethel’s chesty growl, made even more fun by her very Groundskeeper Willian pronunciation of “go.” Before the song is over, there will be banshee screaming and finger snapping, and men everywhere being scared to death of Bethel.

I’m not talking about every single track here because I’d like to keep this at a length you might actually read, but every song on the album is good. Speaking of every song being good….

Album: This Gift (2008)
If the point of The Repulsion Box was fire and marching, the point of This Gift is strong songwriting. This album is a little less punk than the other, but the sheer orneriness has been traded in for really strong melodies. “Iodine” is the best illustration of this, with guitars and vocals that conspire to break your heart. If you prefer the fire, consult “Gilt Complex,” “This Gift,” and “The Bell.” On “Rebel With the Ghost,” Bethel’s voice is so sweet that you’d think she’d be a wussy singer if you didn’t already know better. Down in that girlish voice, there’s always the threat of a shriek, a growl, or spontaneous combustion. It’s this power and energy that set S&D apart from other quasi-new-wave bands. At any rate, there’s something (or a lot of things) to love. Jrob will tell you that Bethel has lost her Scotchness and become just like everybody else, but I disagree. Her signature accent lives on, and one can still pick S&D’s sound out of a lineup. New-new wave bands are kind of a dime a dozen, but Sons And Daughters stand out from the crowd.

It’s not them, it’s me.

I used to like Portishead. I used to listen to “Glory Box” and think “damn, they totally nailed this,” but now I just feel nothing. It’s like one day I just woke up and thought “I can’t stand that chick’s whining anymore.” As I was explaining this to Jrob, I realized the problem…

“I like my women ballsy…”

I like women that will scream at me, sing in husky voices, or at least be really, unapologetically “fuck you.” Juliette Lewis, Dinah Cancer, Amanda Palmer. Even Patty Griffin (have you heard “Change?” hello?) Even Tori and Fiona have their ornery moments, when they’re not balled up in a fetal position somewhere. I like my women wearing tattered dresses and dancing angrily at their former pimps (see below). I can’t wrap my head around a woman who seems content to sigh under her breath, I can’t wrap my head around women who exist to wear hooker boots and hot pants (ask me about the Pussycat Dolls, I dare you). Something in my just wants to set those women on fire. Yes, music is big enough for all types, and some people really enjoy a good “chill out” record. I’m just not one of those people. Sorry, Portishead.

Next time, I really ought to take a camera if I’m going to be crazy-front with Jen. From that distance, with the colored lights and all, it’s a kick-ass bunch of pictures waiting to happen. The Sony old-school pwns colored lights, even if you do have to press the shutter down 2 full seconds before you think you want to shutter to snap.

Openers Plain Jane Automobile did a solid performance, even if only half of their songs were really my proverbial bag. Novelift, who I remembered as being a little too “sensitive ponytail” for my taste, were really good. Oh, and that dude from Ligion did the acoustic set that he finishes with “Everybody Hurts,” but without the “don’t throw your hand…” bridge. Yeah, it’s high and hard, but my vote still goes to “play it in a lower key or pick another song.” See also “why nobody covers ‘Message In A Bottle.” Pilots Wish did a cover at the Rock The Vote show of some totally hard song and NAILED it. Somebody help me….what was it? That dude has falsetto like a mofo. Anywho, I’m now hopelessly off-topic. Show reviews: not my strong suit.

Then again, sometime an entire album really IS good, as a whole and as a collection of singles.

The Spider Hole have come forth with an entire disc of goodness. If I’d have been given it to review, I’d have given it five effing stars. If Oingo Boingo were still together and using strings instead of brass, they would have made Vainglorious. If Voltaire would stop milking the same joke he’s been milking forever, he would have made Vainglorious. If Unextraordinary Gentlemen were less Dickensian (and not busy making their own equally awesome music), they would have made Vainglorious. Thank god The Spider Hole did. Somebody needed to. It’s album full of bluesy darkness, with creeping, catlike piano and vocals that hold up equally well when being yelled or sung. They repeatedly surprise with a fun drum break or clever lyric, and the songwriting is of the caliber that doesn’t usually happen on a debut album. It’s delightful. Start with “Dames” and “The Great Dutch Reveal,” and proceed on if you like what you hear.

One caveat: listen to it with a blindfold. Don’t go to the band’s MySpace page until you’ve already made a decision about them. While the music will win your heart, the band’s image makes them look like just another over-styled, expensively-coiffed L.A. nightmare…which is odd, considering that they’re not even from L.A. Their photography makes them look like every other band, complete with “here are some black-and-white promo shots with our singer banding toward the camera” photography. All of that styling tends to make the whole affair look very contrived, and doesn’t really match the sound of the band. In an attempt to look legitimate, they end up looking like everyone else. Tune it out. Listen, but don’t look. Don’t cheat yourself out of a good album because of a little flat-ironed hair.

What makes it special? It’s an R&B song with one foot in tango, and it’s done in the minimal style that’s become so popular in the mid-Timbaland era. Sullivan’s husky, Mary J. Blige-esque voice delivers the snarly lyrics with a sort of velvet that brings to mind Gomez and Morticia doing the tango, complete with rose between teeth. She’s wasted five years of her life on a man who went and cheated on her, and it’s enough to make a gal break some windows. With her bare hands.

Mad props to bassist/guitarist/songwriter/cool dude Chris Bradley for showing this to me. Oh, and Look What I Did will have a new album out soon, which you should purchase so Chris can become a rock star and stop having to work in an office when he’s not touring. Just sayin.

The opening bands were good, especially the quasi-Vaudevillian Vermillion Lies, but Amanda Palmer’s set blew everybody else out of the water. Rising from her conceptual grave (all of the merch had a Twin Peaksian “Who Killed Amanda Palmer?” theme) draped in ivory lace and flanked by interpretive dancers, Palmer took the stage and proceeded to rock out on her keyboard. Yeah, I know. It’s exceedingly difficult to look cool while playing piano, and even harder to rock out while playing piano. Even Tori’s been known to resort to a sequined jumpsuit. You’ll have to trust me on this one, though. It rocked. A few highlights:

So, yeah. Next time Palmer plays, you should totally bring yo ass. You won’t be sorry. Promise.

Personal Sidebar: Jen totally almost got in a fight with one of the dudes from a metal band that had been playing downstairs. I believe it all started when she told him that his behavior was “douchey and disrespectful.” That’s mah girl.