The Replacement Artists
In Seattle this summer, we saw an advertisement for a Cheetah Girls concert. They were playing the week immediately after we were to leave for home. My daughter was distraught, but I promised her the Cheetah Girls would undoubtedly be coming closer to home, and when they did I would take her. Sure enough, they came to Denver a few months back–but as luck would have it, I forgot to get the tickets in time. So this weekend we drove 600 miles each way to Omaha, Nebraska, where the Cheetah Girls and special guest Vanessa Anne Hudgens took the stage, along with unannounced newcomer Jordan Pruitt. What a show! My daughter loved it, and hopefully it will encourage her to keep playing her own music. But I watched a different show than she did, one led not by talented musicians, but the corporate masterminds as Disney. As the music played, I realized that the artists were unimportant. What I was seeing was nothing more than a Disney ride, like It’s A Small World in Disneyworld, but with human props instead of animatronics.
What disturbs me most about the production is that the Cheetah Girls don’t even exist. They are characters in a direct-to-Disney-Channel movie, not real people. They have no songs, except the ones they played in the movies and the soundtrack. They have no background, no personality. They have no struggles, no pain. They stand for nothing. They’re not human.
When my wife and I saw the Rolling Stones in concert, we saw an act. We know that Keith Richards isn’t really like that, nor is Mick Jagger. But the Stones does stand for something, even if it is sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll. And what it stands for is the image that the Stones wants to project. It may be simple, straightforward, but it’s also honest.
What the Cheetah Girls stand for is something called “Grrrowl Power.” The plot of the concert–yes, the concert had a plot, in keeping with its Disney roots–involved a mad scientist’s search for the key ingredients of Grrrowl Power; needless to say, finding these ingredients was necessary to save the world. The Cheetah Girls themselves were secret agents in the search for these ingredients, which were predictably found during the course of the concert: dreams, love, and friendship.
It’s hard to take a stand against any of these principles. They are considerably more attractive than the mantra of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll that is too prevalent in popular music. Sure, one can pick nits and argue that other ideals, like hard work, perseverance, and integrity should be up there as well. After all, dreams, love, and friendship will not turn you into a Cheetah Girl; hard work, perseverance, and a lot of luck can. But reality does not intrude into the carefully constructed world of the Cheetah Girls. We see them sing and dance–things any child can do with a little incentive–but we do not see instruments or musicians. Playing those requires work, dedication, practice, not happy thoughts.
But that’s not the point. The point is that these principles are so generic as to be devoid of meaning. Disney has stood for these ideals for years. Witness songs like “When you wish upon a star,” “It’s a small world, after all,” and the more recent “Kiss the girl.” What I find objectionable is not that the Cheetah Girls are peddling dreams, love, and friendship. It’s that they’re peddling Disney’s values, Disney’s goals, Disney’s brand.
In the end, the Cheetah Girls are not important. They started out as a fictional quartet in a Disney Channel special movie. For one reason or another, the quartet became a trio after shedding Raven, their erstwhile leader. But that did not stop them. The opening act has a similar tale. Vanessa Hudgens rose to fame in another Disney Channel special movie. And behind them are other girls and a few boys from other Disney Channel programming, like Hannah Montana. These fictional bands and stars are selling records and playing concerts in sold-out venues, and of course promoting Disney.
And if the artists move on, like Raven did and Hilary Duff before her, it’s alright. The Disney overlords can make a new TV show or a new musical special, and the next superstar is born. All they have to do is sing and dance reasonably well, and they can carry the Disney torch for a few rounds. The artists themselves are not important. What is important is the music, the dance, the clothes, the attitude, and the message, all carefully composed, choreographed, picked, and controlled by Disney. These unseen musicians, composers, choreographers, wardrobe specialists, and marketers are the real genius behind the Cheetah Girls. And they can stand behind another pretty face at a moment’s notice.
The corporate masters at Disney now have it all. They control the distribution, the programming, and the message. The artists themselves are interchangeable.