I think almost everything that needs to be said about Ke$ha’s debut album, Animal, is said by its cover. (This, of course, being some twisted meta-comment about superficiality, but I’m going to set that aside for a moment and pretend that I’m not going that deep into textual analysis of an artist whose lyrics include “ain’t got a care in the world, but got plenty of beer” and ” err’body getting crunk (crunk) / boys try’na touch my junk (junk)”.)

For me, at least, the connection (visually) to Santogold’s self-titled debut is all too obvious. Whereas Santogold seems to be saying that she’s so filled with pop music that it quite literally came bursting out of her (in the form of gold glitter) and onto the record, Ke$ha looks more like she spent the hours of 3.00 to 4.00 in the morning bent over a toilet, vomiting up catchy synths and vapid lyrics. She’s done bad, and she knows it. There’s no apology for the shameless pop of this album, nor any illusions of self-styled grandeur (a la Lady GaGa) — Ke$ha’s album is a story of partying until you’re sick: nothing more, nothing less.

And you know, it’s still not half bad.