I've always secretly enjoyed Pink. But not until she appeared as a guest vocalist on an Indigo Girls album (singing with Amy Ray on "Rock N' Roll Heaven's Gate") did I feel it was safe to come out and say so. So imagine how validated I felt when my Nov. 24 issue of The New Yorker arrived with a review of Pink's new album. This appeared in the back with all the pop culture fluff, mind you, but even The New Yorker's back-of-the-book content naturally has some pretty high brow stuff. For example, the Pink review was alongside reviews of Catherine Deneuve's new film and the New Orleans biennial. The article calls Pink "a female version of Aerosmith's Steven Tyler" which they meant as a comment on her appealing showmanship and lack of artistry, but think it's also apt as reference to each performer's evident aptitude for drag.
