By Jose D. Duran
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
By Kat Bein
By Abel Folgar
By Laurie Charles
By Sean Levisman
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
By George Martinez
It's a hard time to be an Avril apologist, especially if you're a heterosexual male music critic. Her 2007 effort, The Best Damn Thing, isn't destined for any critical top 10 lists. Truth be told, it won't be on mine, either, but I gave it serious consideration.
The CD is a never-ending hit parade from the Canuck talent, beginning with the first single, "Girlfriend," which, come to think of it, would be in my all-time top 10 for songs of that name. (And definitely better than the crappy version done by the Rubinoos, some Seventies bandmates who claim she ripped them off.) The second single, a slow-burning power ballad called "When You're Gone," deals with some heavy issues; in the video, a girl is all broken up because her boyfriend or whoever is going to Iraq. Which I don't understand, because, Canada's not involved with the war, is it? But whatever. The latest single, "Hot," is the best of the bunch, with a hook the size of a planet.
According to my girlfriend, though, the only reason I like "Hot" is because, in the video, Avril is strutting around in some sort of burlesque outfit. My girlfriend even suggests that I like Avril for one reason and one reason only — her looks! Wha? That's preposterous. She's married to that loser from Sum 41, for one thing. And besides, when one thinks of Avril, the last thing one thinks about is how smoking-hot she is.
So she's a bit cute. Is that a crime? It doesn't detract from her legions of other winsome qualities. One could write a whole critical essay about her without once mentioning her buoyant, supple breasts, which, come to think of it, are prominently displayed in the "Hot" video. Funny, in the 80 or so times I'd seen that clip, I'd never noticed them before. I'd also never really understood what she meant by "I want to put your hand in my pocket" before now.
But forget about that. My point is that one could easily write volumes in praise of Avril's non-looks-related qualities without once mentioning her long, shapely legs; piercing eyes; porcelain skin; or streaked, shimmering hair. If you must talk about her at all, concentrate on her delicate neck, not because of its long, delicate shape or milky white color, but because it emits such beautiful sounds. Like doves crying. In conclusion, I would like to state for the record — to my girlfriend and to hating music critics around the globe — that Avril has no effect whatsoever on my ding-dong.