Cheryl Cole: 3 Words
Michael Jackson. Cheryl Cole is obsessed with Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson. King of Pop. Michael Jackson. But her album’s no thriller.
She’s probably seen This Is It a thousand times in two weeks. Probably went to the 20.30 showing at South Woodford Odeon last night. And the Leicester Square showing earlier the same day. While listening to Off the Wall on the Central line.
Cheryl, a white girl who thinks she’s black and can’t wait to leave her useless five-piece band to concentrate on her solo material, hasn’t got anything in common with Michael Jackson whatsoever.
But she sure has tried her damned hardest to emulate the man with debut album, 3 Words.
If I had to describe the record in three words, I’d say: “Michael Jackson rip-off”. And, yes, that hyphen should be there.
Moreover, if I had to compare 3 Words to a piece of fruit, it would be a big, fat melon. Looks tasty, lots of juicy bits and great for smashing on people’s heads, but ultimately, no flavour.
Oh, and everyone knows that melons were Michael’s favourite fruit.
So for all her outrageous outfits, black footballer husbands and street-dancing routines, Cheryl Cole is still the whitest member of Girls Aloud. Yes, even whiter than Nicola.
But watching X Factor on repeat least night after getting back from the cinema, where I checked out Saw VI, Cheryl at least proved that she can cook a mean curry. Oh, wait, that was me.
In any case, 3 Words is a noble effort at emulating a musical god. And a god of everything else, for that matter.
Where it fails is in its delivery. I ordered it on Amazon on Monday and the fucking thing didn’t arrive until Friday. Must do better, Cheryl. Much, much better.
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