What the Hell is Wrong With Rolling Stone?

A bit of a disclaimer here – I realize that my complaint today is relatively minor. With a war, an emotional Presidential campaign, and an economy that’s sinking into the gutter, maybe this isn’t the time to whine about silly things. Yet today’s subject has pissed me off just as much as anything else that’s going on in our country.
Yesterday’s anger actually begins a couple of months ago as I was paging through the then-current edition of Maxim. The cover feature was on some twit who I had never heard of, and quite frankly wasn’t really worthy to make the cover of a softcore men’s magazine. She was attractive, sure, but nothing really memorable.
Of course, I looked at the pictures, and read the accompanying article. This was the moment I really decided I hated this person I had never heard of before opening the magazine. This bimbo, whose entire claim to fame was a scripted MTV reality show, was quoted as saying she was in the process of making an album. That’s not what bothered me, as we’ve recently seen every semi-famous no-talent given the keys to the vocal processors that turn non-singers into…well, barely-adequate singers.
No, what bothered me was in the section where she talked about moving into the music business, she had hopes to not only “make sure it’s a classic” (yeah, right), but that she wants to be considered in the same league as “Michael Jackson, Madonna, Stevie Wonder – all the greats”.
Say what? I’m not really a fan of any of those three, but all three of these artists were musicians first, and stars second. They made it through hard work, not by being a forgettable piece of eye candy on a reality show. Just because some sugar daddy/suitcase pimp promised to make her a star doesn’t make her the second coming of the Beatles.
Weeks later, a video appeared of this idiot, and even Paris Hilton can rest easy. She’s certainly no Michael Jackson; she’s not even LaToya. I still had no idea who she was, though.
Yesterday, I found out her identity when I pulled up to my mailbox after work. (Ok, I could have looked at the cover of Maxim, but I just didn’t care enough to bother.) The latest issue of Rolling Stone was wrapped around my usual pile of bills, and here was that bimbo, Heidi Montag, along with three other twits who looked just like her.
I couldn’t have been more upset. The cast of The Hills on the cover of the magazine that was once the home of Hunter S. Thompson, Cameron Crowe, and Lester Bangs? The magazine where I discovered the Sex Pistols in 1978, and the Clash a few months later? The magazine whose interviews with the likes of John Lennon, Pete Townshend, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, and Neil Young are considered some of the best rock journalism ever?
Yes, in recent years Rolling Stone has certainly been in decline. What was once the home of serious music writing now wastes plenty of space on the likes of Britney, Christina, and Maroon 5. In most of those cases, though, I can sort of justify these inclusions. But there’s absolutely no argument for even a small story on The Hills. What’s next, a feature on the rigorous tapings of Next? Or the show where parents pick potential new mates for their kids? Oops, I may be giving the editors some ideas.
In an attempt to be fair, I actually sat through an episode of this show last night trying to see if there’s something I’m missing. I still don’t get it. Four slightly above-average girls, along with one silly boy who deserves an attack by a motorcycle gang, prattled on about absolutely nothing for a half hour. I’d rather even sit though the Kim Kardashian show. I can get why the show has some popularity, but the only covers these bimbos deserve are the types you see at the grocery checkout. No, I can’t even see that. Come on, Rolling Stone, that cover appearance would be much better appreciated by an up-and-coming band who needs the exposure.