Last night I found myself negotiating a spicy tuna roll with a pair of chopsticks when a friend turned to me and said, "Do you think she's had work done? She's obviously had work done." We were referring to Whitney Houston's radiant new look. And then this horrible tune by Mariah Carey came on over the speakers, so naturally we rounded out the trio by all agreeing that Madonna hadn't done anything respectable since 1998's Ray of Light. And lately, it's been nothing but a slow burn of setbacks, one after another and another. But somehow, we expect that despite three of pop's erstwhile heavyweights unleashing what should be three of the year's biggest records, it all looks set to go down with a dull thud.

As yet another friend points out, "I guess the divas have proven not to be recession-proof." Oddly, there's a shiny kernel of truth to that sentiment. Last year, music sales dipped sharply again. Although this sort of decline has been definitive of practically every industry nationwide, it still seems poignant that the consequences trickle back to our own pop stars. But at the same time, emerging talent, realizing how unreliable and wasteful major labels are, have become more adaptable. They're realizing the full potential of viral marketing and the broke bourgeoisie's willingness to try free things by virtue of their cheapness. So when the free things are brilliant, someone mails it out to his BFF who in turn tends to write a blog post, which is then reblogged, then tweeted, then retweeted, and ultimately brought to the attention of a surly Pitchfork editor who, because he's not surly on that auspicious day, decides to give it a shiny gold star. And then said act goes onto open for The Killers or Lady Gaga.

Basically this self-sustaining way of propagating pop music has outmoded overfed corporate suits. The Simon Cowells of the world are nearing extinction. Which probably isn't good news for Leona Lewis' next album, as her days are definitely numbered.

But in the case of the holy trinity, these women were once at the forefront of many pop trends, despite having corporate beasts greasing the wheels to buttress their iconic status. And because the only success they know is the type derived from this kind of corporate codependency, they're struggling to adapt to a musical climate that forgoes that mutual back-scratching. Moreover, the current climate lately favors kitsch, novelty, and imagination over tried-and-true. They're lumbering through the 21st century like the giantesses they are without looking down at the world below them to understand how trends have evolved and why very many pop singers these days try to steer clear of Diane Warren.

But basically, Madonna, Mariah, and Whitney are having a major branding crisis. They've grown up, evolved past sex symbol status and are thrashing about, not necessarily content by being condemned to the gay ghetto. Contrarily, some of pop's greener, nichey artists are making the most of their rising star power in new ways and avoiding that sort of pigeonholing. Even Christina Aguilera -- practically a pop descendant of Houston in some cases -- eyeballed the sea change and continues exacting a foolproof gameplan so as not to sound so irrelevant upon her return. In a mall of pop stars who are like a collection of downtown boutiques, the holy trinity are like the obligatory Lane Bryant, J.C. Penney, and Macy's. Sprawling, safe, and senseless.

That said, there's no doubt these three are going to sell impressive amounts of records and once in a while, even sell out an arena tour. But the flailing and flopping comes in where there are more than just numbers at stake. There are legacies, legends, and myths. It's doubtful that any of them -- especially Houston, whose comeback still almost appears surreal -- want to be remembered as sinking icons. But so sorely lacking self-awareness and a drive to try new things, they've just become cash cows who provide too-easy punchlines and little else besides a conduit back to the past for those moments when we're flush with merlot and want a reason to rant about, "The good old days when."
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