Last time I checked, teenagers were horny, hormone-filled, self-centered little smartasses. And teenage dreams... well, they're dirty little perverts, so you don't want to go there, do you? But for close to half the songs on this album, it's aptly titled.
You've probably already heard 'California Gurls' on the radio - a song for the spray-tanned and superficial. It's catchy, but after hearing the chorus sung one syllable at a time for about the two hundredth time, you'll rip your car stereo out in a violent rage. It doesn't get too much better from there - the title track 'Teenage Dream' is about feeling Katy up in her skin-tight jeans, and it's followed by 'Last Friday Night' which sounds pretty much the same, except this time you're not just feeling Katy up but rather having a "menage-a-trois" whilst getting drunk and skinny dipping. The pubescent piece-de-resistance though is 'Peacock', which is the most pathetic excuse for a song about penises ever. "Let me see your peacock cock cock" - seriously?! And not even the music is redeeming - each song is repetitive, which then carries over in to the whole album.
There are a few decent tracks however - the not so teenage-dreamy part. The remixes of 'Teenage Dream' and 'California Gurls' take sugary pop and add a shot of vodka to make them more adult-ear-friendly, while 'Who Am I Living For' is an introspective look at Katy's religious upbringing. By far the best tracks on this album though are the ones inspired by her dickhead ex-boyfriend Travie McCoy. 'Circle The Drain' is a bit of an angry rock song about what a loser drug-abuser he is, while 'Not Like The Movies' is a sweet slow ballad about what true romance should be, with just enough of a tinge of sadness to make you feel slightly mushy inside.
My recommendation? Kiddies, close your ears, because it's too dirty for you. Mummies and Daddies, don't let your kids hear this crap. Everyone else: if you like repetitive pop, it's great, if not, it's average. Oh, and Katy? Maybe you should let Russell Brand hit you in the face with his peacock cock cock, so that he can slap some song-writing sophistication in to you.
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