Until some impresario rounds up a troupe of working prostitutes to personally give each audience member a hand job, you're not going to get a better wet-dream marketing triumph than The Pussycat Dolls. Originally a neoburlesque dance troupe in L.A. that quickly franchised in Sin City, the whole PCD enterprise was given instant credibility through star-power blessings from Britney, Christina (the gal they're opening up for, who may insist they can't have a pole onstage), Gwen, Pink, Carmen, and Pamela, all who've happily slutted it up onstage with the PCD before a record was even in the can. And before any controversy could ensue, the PCD powers that be confirmed what anyone who watched the videos already surmised that every single vocal on every single Pussycat Dolls recording emanates from Nicole Scherzinger's mouth, and that Kimberly, Carmit, Ashley, Melody, and Jessica are basically five bumping-and-grinding Andrew Ridgeleys working harder than he ever did as a professional loiterer. Without Scherzinger's self-assured vocals, this whole beautiful dirt party would crumble in a heap, which makes us worry that soon she'll insist on top billing, and the marquee will read "NICOLE SCHERZINGER* . . ." and you'll follow that lonely asterisk to the bottom of the poster to read "*and The Pussycat Dolls" in two-point type. They're already stirring the pot by giving Scherzinger bland ballads that go against everything "Don't Cha" and "Wait a Minute" stand for. Let's just hope that the other five girls aren't relocated to the pop Siberia to which they banished "*and Miami Sound Machine."
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