"Neon Lights" Is Only a Ten Watt Source of Energy

Had enough of those party in a box, sounds like a organ grinder machine getting ready to bite your face off with the sheer power of its glory types of pop hits? I'm sorry, then. This post will have you saying all of those wash your mouth out with soap words both your mom and grandma don't want you uttering in their wizened presence. The perpetrator? Demi Lovato. The song? "Neon Lights". A neon light by its nature can be quite rough on the eye sockets. It's associated with tackiness. What I'm struck by, not flatteringly I might add, is the way Demi's voice kind of stays languishing in this husky range that's meant to be femme fatale but is more like an uncomfortable attempt on her part, the AutoTune's part, or bad timing's part, to settle into a workable groove. Maybe the party in a box bombast I referred to earlier is only a way to distract us from the fact that her Disney followers are going to be the sole source of wind beneath her wings keeping the song on the charts for an appreciable length of time. What is it about the record industry that makes it practically obsessed with those processed drums on speed? Should I listen or avert my gaze in case the menacing adrenaline buzz becomes so lethal that something in the room blows up at the sonic crescendo? Label heads everywhere must think, "I know. Let's try a number with one of those irresistible drums that intensifies with every elapsing second, one of those percussion doohickeys that makes you feel like an earthquake is going to uncork any second now. Frankly, I'm not doing cartwheels over the "falling through time and space" sound effects preceding the last round of the chorus. Been there. Heard that. Am beyond any believable parameters of bored already. Did I forget to tell you that both Demi's vocal intensity and the oomph behind party in a box ratchet up a bit? I may now cross that off the to-do list. For all I know (which, in this case, you could likely fit inside the keratin fiber of my thumb)Demi's a perfectly charming young woman. She'd better be. Her net worth is 15 million dollars. I don't suppose she could fit a few filet mignon dinners with a certain blogger/music journalist wannabe into her next barnstorming tour, hmm? But back to this very formulaic drawing board. The audience isn't told to expect much, ergo Demi's under no pressure to deliver it. As they say, you get what you pay for. Decide for yourself whether you've been gouged or not. Many's the teen who's going to dance her little tush off. I'm not as easily smitten. The lyrics are PG-rated affirmation of self. There's nothing objectionable about that. Didn't Katy Perry trumpet individuality with "Firework" though? Demi's world also has shooting stars. The innocuous "can't wait to get you back to my bedroom" come hither intimations are there. "We'll be burning up like neon lights"? The promise attached to that imagery would certainly have me stripping down to my BVDs. All I wanna do is glow like some ostentatious tube of light I caught a giant eyeful of blazing off of the greasy spoon sign on the corner. I realize this song, like pretty much any song in Demi's bag of tricks has not been recorded with me in mind. I'm but an insignificant piece of dust. Much the same can be said about "Neon Lights". You can work up a baby sweat to it, but that's as far as the potential ecstasy goes. After that guilt could set in about having wasted cosmic energy for no really satisfying reason. Regrettably "Neon Lights" burns its wattage out too quickly.