I had the misfortune to read the diary of Pixie Lott in today’s Guardian. I was drawn to reading it by the fact that they splashed big on this “exclusive” in their usually trustworthy Film & Music supplement with a huge picture of this young lady, and I took this to mean that she mattered in some way. Also, and I’m not playing dumb here, I had no idea who she was, or that she’d had a number one hit. (I didn’t even know she was a singer when I first saw her name, although the name itself had crossed my radar somehow. I certainly didn’t know she was British.)
So, I read her diary – and you may do the same here – which appears to cover two and a half months, from June to August, during which the Essex princess plays an industry showcase, goes to LA for an awards ceremony, makes a video, answers some stupid questions from “European journalists”, has her photo taken, goes abroad again, Tweets Little Boots, gets bronchitis and plays the V Festival: “Last year I camped there and I loved the whole experience, although it rained in the morning so I rang home because I only live 15 minutes away and I was like, ‘Dad, can you come and pick me up?'”
Except it’s not a diary at all, it’s an interview conducted by Paul Lester dishonestly presented as a diary, as if perhaps Pixie Lott wrote it or something. Anyway, it’s not Pixie Lott who offends me, yeah? (I’ve since listened to her number one hit and it could have been made by anybody – this is hardly front-page news in R&B-based pop music.) I’m offended by the fact that the Guardian thinks I should be interested in this bubbly, 18-year-old stage-school brat. If ever an artist needed some context, it’s Pixie Lott, who instead appears fully-formed in my newspaper, as if I should already know about her and care. Unless the whole thing’s an elaborate pisstake? I mean, listen to this:
“I’d love to move to London, somewhere central, near the action, where it’s busy and buzzy. I’m looking a bit 1960s today. Sometimes I dress more indie, or I might be hippieish, or classic and designery, or vintage – it depends how I feel. Nothing fazes me. That’s just my personality.”
Pixie Lott is 18. God help us if there’s a war.