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If the basic objective of pop music is to either reflect our desires or reaffirm our ideas about our own experiences, what does it mean that so many current pop stars are acting out in ways that deliberately run contrary to popular notions of good taste—and why are virtually all of these artists women under the age of 25? The easy answer is to suggest that the record industry is merely attempting to satisfy the public's apparently unending hunger for increasingly debased and/or sexualized representations of young women. But even the most crass examples of this trend, such as Tila Tequila's raunchy, belligerent single "I Love U," seem to be on some level an honest, albeit skewed, form of self-expression.

Tequila, a model best known for her massive MySpace following, has the dubious distinction of being the social networking site's most popular person. Her single is an angry, staggeringly self-absorbed missive directed at a young man who has not shown her a satisfactory level of sexual interest and has had the gall to place a rival for his affection in the "top 8" friends on his MySpace profile. The music aims for the accessible girl-rap sensibility of the Black Eyed Peas' enormous hit "My Humps," but spikes that sound with a heavier edge that recalls Jay-Z's rock-rap hybrid "99 Problems."

Tequila's song is not nearly as good or memorable as those comparisons suggest, but it clearly taps into a familiar archetype well-documented by trashy reality TV—that of the vain, materialistic, hostile protagonist, who mistakes putting up an aggressive front for acting as an agent of her own desires. Tequila's song is petulant to a degree matched only by the worst emo tunes, but that's exactly what hints at the humanity buried beneath the calculated titillation of her lyrics and hyper-sexualized music video.

Though Tila Tequila belongs to a long tradition of models capitalizing on their fame with novelty singles, she may point to a future in which we collectively bypass the "good girl" stages of Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan's careers and jump straight to the point when they become hysterical icons who can only think to rebel against the public's obsession with their image by indulging in self-destructive exhibitionism. In fairness, much of the fascination with Spears and Lohan comes from the extreme contrast of their current behavior with their roots in family entertainment, but it could be that younger audiences—raised against a backdrop of profuse internet pornography—have less interest in that sort of seduction-of-the-innocent narrative, and just want to cut to the part when the Girls Go Wild.

Even the overbearingly saccharine and family-friendly Disney corporation seems resigned to this zeitgeist. Though they have kept a tight leash on their latest batch of teen pop acts (many of whom have been spun off from the hugely successful High School Musical franchise), many of the songs produced for these artists emulate the sound and general concerns of the raciest pop hits, albeit with sanitized lyrics and relatively modest imagery. Ashley Tisdale's hit single "He Said She Said" is clearly intended to ape the sound of sexed-up club music, as if to offer parents of young children a "safe" alternative to the music of Fergie, Ciara, and Christina Aguilera.

On the opposite side of the Atlantic, a new crop of brash young pop singers are passing over the intentional self-objectification of their American peers in favor of a caustic attitude that has one foot planted in assertive feminism, and the other in the conspicuous sense of entitlement that informs all too many contemporary hits. Lily Allen's effervescent tunes speak to an admirable level of self-respect and confidence, but nearly all of the cuts on her debut album betray a bitter misanthropy that rings true emotionally while also signaling a lack of empathy for anyone but herself.

Girl group revivalists the Pipettes venture into similar territory, but they make a point of including at least a few genuinely sweet, self-effacing songs on their new album. Unlike the confessional Allen, the Pipettes benefit from a distance imposed by their high concept—it's easy to separate the singers from the songs, especially when it's so obvious that the intention of their project is to subvert the subservient lyrical themes of classic girl group singles.

UK artist Amy Winehouse does more or less the same thing, though her subversion of old-school R&B is far less academic and mannered. Instead, she imposes her larger-than-life persona on familiar song forms, and in a roundabout way connects with the wounded spirit of her musical forebears rather than simply offering a facile comment on the gender roles played out in those songs.

Winehouse's music stands in an ever sharper contrast with that of fellow R&B vocalist Joss Stone, who bucks all prevailing trends only to come off like a total goodie-two-shoes even when she's making an effort to express a "grown-up" sexuality on her new album. Stone's music is frequently exuberant and fun, but she often sounds like she's too busy proving her vocal virtuosity to get at the lived-in emotions so effortlessly communicated on Winehouse's Back to Black.

In her songs, Winehouse is surly and extremely frank about her very public problems with alcoholism (the lead single from her new album is called "Rehab"), and though her bad behavior often seems like a ploy for attention, she comes off like a genuine badass in a time when rappers are appropriating the style of genteel, WASPish wealth, and rock stars too often resemble whiny teenage boys. Could it be that these preening, nasty, hostile female pop stars are simply filling a cultural void vacated by bad-boy rockers and thuggish hip-hop stars?

- Matthew Perpetua
03.14.07