Christina Aguilera and YOUR NEW NIGHTMARE perform at the AMAs (YouTube)

- Of course, the real super-insanity of the AMAs came courtesy of Christina Aguilera's Lady Gaga/Harmony Korine-inspired nightmare medley.
http://youtu.be/vh7s6RssfS0

- Lindsay Lohan is furious that her dad fathered a secret half-sister that she never knew about. Of course, she wants nothing to do with her new sibling, because she already has to deal with that usurper Ali trying to make a claim to the Iron Throne.

- How much does Robert Pattinson hate Twilight? So much. (But probably not as much as he hates the fact that Kristen Stewart signed up for a sequel to Snow White and the Huntsman.)

Simpler times: Madonna in 1984.

Even as Madonna brings her world tour to Yankee Stadium for shows on September 6 and 8, longtime fans will have a sneaking suspicion that she’s already sung her swan song.

It happened in 2001, at the opening of the Grammy Awards. Performing a recent single, the unimaginatively named “Music,” the long-reigning Queen of Pop writhed on top of a car while a screen behind her projected legitimately iconic images from her career thus far—more writhing, in a wedding gown at the Video Music Awards; aping Marilyn in the “Material Girl” video; that whole Sex period. By the time she stripped off her black leather jacket to reveal a T-shirt printed with “Material Girl,” the game was up. It was the end of history for Madonna. Having stolen from New York’s drag queens, the nation of Argentina, Björk and the infinitely patient Camille Paglia, there was no one left to rob but herself. The snake had found its own tail and wasn’t letting go. “Music” was her last number-one single in America.

The subsequent 11 years have been no kinder to a pop singer who made untold profits by scandalizing the entire population all at once. In 2003, for instance, Madonna restaged the notorious VMAs “Like a Virgin” performance in which she’d mimed masturbation; it was such a sensational act back in 1984 that a worthy callback required the additional services of Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, both of whom planted kisses on Mama. The stunt got ink, but felt a little derivative, unworthy.

We haven’t even gotten to the Super Bowl performance, this year, during which the chanteuse came out in a gilded barge, like Cleopatra, to intone “Vogue,” then almost fell off a set of bleachers while performing, once again, “Music.” Madonna duetted with of-the-moment hip-hop act LMFAO, gave airtime to Nicki Minaj and M.I.A. (who stole the show with a raised middle finger—proving she had learned from the best), and ceded the entire finale to reality-show judge Cee Lo Green, who belted out “Like a Prayer” while the ostensible star sang backup. Nothing here was new—not the reliance on the energy of younger pop stars (Madonna has, in the past 10 years, collaborated with everyone from Missy Elliott to Justin Timberlake and Kanye West), not the ostensibly new song she debuted (a retread of flimsy early material like “Burning Up”), and not the dopey “political” edge (her song ended with a plea for #Worldpeace).

Madonna’s ongoing world tour, following the halftime show that most of us were inclined to view charitably, has been marred by endless grabs for attention; the well-chronicled political mishmash has featured the comparison of a French politician to Hitler, the onstage brandishing of pistols, a merited-or-not mockery of Lady Gaga, and Madonna’s own fans booing her. And then there was Elton John, who declared, “Her career is over, I can tell you that” and compared her to “a fairground stripper.”

Which isn’t to say that Mr. John is the most relevant pop star of the moment, either, but he has a point.

Past Madonna tours were controversial; recall how natural she seemed in her 1991 tour documentary Truth or Dare, still discovering her power to provoke. Back in the day, the attention felt somehow earned, if often strenuously so—the Jean Paul Gaultier cone bra said a mouthful, for instance; “Papa Don’t Preach” still carries a frisson; and the apostasy of the Catholic-baiting “Like a Prayer” made up for the relative thinness of the music. It was an equal exchange—she gave us something to talk about, we bought her albums and got up to dance (for inspiration), whenever she commanded.

By comparison, Madonna’s bids for controversy these days come off as desperate, the Newsweek cover stories of Top 40 radio.

Or was it always a little troll-y? It’s possible that no public act has ever been more calculated than Madonna’s repeated cursing on Letterman—rewatching the 1994 segment today, you can see there is no spontaneity whatsoever. Madonna dropped the f-bomb because she had determined it was time to prove that she could be naughtier than we even believed possible. Her Erotica album doesn’t really sound like the work of someone who’s actually ever had sex (much less cruised the Lower East Side in a limo, hunting for hookups, or partnered with Warren Beatty, Sean Penn, JFK Jr., et al.). The Vanity Fair spread with her newborn daughter invented the current tabloid vogue for baby photos, but the earth-mother shtick felt like as much of a pose as the Hindi-inflected look she threw on at awards ceremonies around the period, or the British accent she would soon pick up. In retrospect, the British accent was when the pose overwhelmed the artist. Until then, it was easy enough to go along with Madonna’s act. Certainly it was more interesting on a semiotic level than just marveling, yet again, at the dully marvelous vocal power of contemporaries like Mariah Carey and Toni Braxton.

And yet Madonna seemed to grow rageful at the limits of the concord she’d struck with her audience. Her mid-career albums Ray of Light (1998) and Music (2000) got the first legitimately respectful reviews of her oeuvre—and the first Grammy wins aside from a 1992 music-video prize. Having proven herself as an artist and not merely a provocateur, Madonna released, in 2003, a musically interesting, politically moronic album called American Life. A video depicted her tossing a bomb at George W. Bush. This was the album on which she rapped about how dissatisfied she was with her household staff and her “soy latte” with a “double shot-té.” Rightly or wrongly, her discovery of Jewish mysticism—remember “Esther”?—came off as yet another pose, if an expensive one.

Her 2005 album Confessions on a Dance Floor marked a retrenchment; the music was well-regarded precisely because it so closely mimed the spirit of the disco tunes that had initially made Madonna famous (with a bit of international house music mixed in). On tour in support of the album, Madonna ascended a glittering disco cross and wore a crown of thorns, to which the world replied with a mass eye-roll. What, precisely, was she even trying to say about the Catholic Church, 15 years after Like a Prayer? What was there left to communicate? The confessions weren’t forthcoming on Dance Floor, an album about having fun and waiting for boys to call and vaguely pushing oneself toward some undefined goal. (It’s worth noting that Confessions on a Dance Floor sold well, and that Madonna will always be able to count on an avid, if graying, fan base—in particular among gay men between 25 and 55 who grew up with her act.)

After a warmed-over hip-hop-ish album in 2008 came this year’s MDNA—a not-so-clever mash-up of her own name and the active ingredient in Ecstasy. One song features a rap bashing ex-husband Guy Ritchie; another bashes “some girls” who don’t have Madonna’s particular je ne sais quoi. There’s “Masterpiece,” a weak ballad from the Wallis Simpson bio-pic she directed. There’s a tune called “Gang Bang,” and a remix of the leadoff single “Give Me All Your Luvin’” produced by LMFAO. None of this has aged well, and the album came out in the spring.

Given Madonna’s undisciplined message, her buckshot approach to baiting controversy—if you throw every signifier out into the world, one is bound to hit—it’s perhaps no surprise that her lunch has been eaten by a crop of pop stars who absorbed her best moves and subtracted the air of breathless doggedness. Katy Perry has nailed the faux-naïf “Why are you paying attention to me?” quality. Rihanna captures the air of the profane. Nicki Minaj does the whole rapid-cycling-through-personae thing, albeit in fast-motion. And Lady Gaga, whose own popularity waxes and wanes in a Madonnavian manner, has adopted the sense of unashamed artifice, mixing in a bit more humor and perhaps a bit more heart, daring us, as Madonna once did, not to talk about her.

While Madonna performs old material and prematurely stale material and waves guns and twirls batons and invokes Godwin’s Law at Yankee Stadium, the world’s top pop acts will be in Los Angeles, at the MTV Video Music Awards. While the deal-makers who paid Madonna a reported $120 million over 10 years can count on strong attendance this one last go-round—she’s still Madonna, after all—the Madge business isn’t a growth industry. The last time Madonna performed at the VMAs was to reprise her past material and kiss Britney.

It turns out that Madonna’s 1987 album Who’s That Girl is the most appropriately titled of her career (certainly more so than Music). Some 30 years on, we’re no closer to finding out what makes this girl tick, what interests her beyond the glitter and flash of a camera. At this point, it may be time for her to take her own advice from one of her number-one singles, “Take a Bow.” “The show is over,” Madonna sang, back when the future seemed bright, or at least more full of possibility. “Say goodbye.”

Robert Greenblatt and Jennifer Salke (Getty Images)

After brief remarks from NBC broadcasting chairman Ted Harbert, NBC's upfront presentation to advertisers at Radio City Music Hall kicked off with the two stars of Smash, Megan Hilty and Katharine McPhee, singing (or lip-synching--the exact notes sounded terrifically familiar) the series's signature song, "Let Me Be Your Star," while the red chairs from The Voice loomed behind them. All four chairs eventually turned around (The Voice's symbol for a song successfully executed) and Voice stars Christina Aguilera, Cee-Lo Green, and Adam Levine were seated, along with NBC entertainment chairman Robert Greenblatt.

The whole to-do was a symbol of just what significance NBC has placed upon its musical series on Monday nights, a night on which the ailing network has finally become competitive. "The number one goal," said Mr. Greenblatt, "is to attach Tuesday and Wednesday nights"--a mission, hinging upon momentum carried from night-to-night, that seemed at odds with Mr. Harbert's remarks.

"We can no longer afford to ignore time-shifting," Mr. Harbert had said, urging the audience of ad buyers to take into account a show's performance on DVR over seven days. He also implied NBC's season finish (it will either be fourth or, thanks to its broadcast of the Super Bowl, third) was the result of a broken system that takes only a season, and not the summer, into account. It may not be coincidental that Mr. Harbert's call for a year-round measure of network success comes before NBC's Olympic broadcast this summer.

"We are in a photo finish for number 3--not number 4," said Mr. Greenblatt, and noted that the network was doubling down on comedies while putting out a final 13 episodes for consistently low-rated 30 Rock. Those ten comedies on air in the fall are to include Animal Practice, about (per NBC entertainment president, recently recruited by Mr. Greenblatt, Jennifer Salke) "a sexy veterinarian and his crazy practice." It co-stars "a two-foot bundle of mischief named Dr. Zaius," a monkey who was sitting in the audience. Guys with Kids will follow Animal Practice, and was created by Jimmy Fallon. "He's no dummy," said Ms. Salke. "He knew the fastest way to a pickup was to cast four adorable babies." Another show, Go On, will return Friends star Matthew Perry to NBC

The most heavily touted new drama is Revolution, in the plum post-Voice slot on Monday nights (Smash is being saved for the winter). "We went to the man who's synonymous with 'outside the box,'" said Ms. Salke. The show is produced by J.J. Abrams, whose previous show with NBC, Undercovers, was swiftly canceled. After presenting the new comedy and drama series, the execs let the current winner of The Voice sing "I Believe I Can Fly."

"I keep harping on how long it's going to take to rebuild this network," said Mr. Greenblatt. "But we're gonna do it, I promise."

Nick Cannon (Patrick McMullan)

In today's Observer, TeenNick network chairman and comedian Nick Cannon opens up about his history of picking feuds with celebrities (calling Eminem "Enema" and Chelsea Handler "white trash"), and compares his "standing up" to other stars as equivalent to anti-bullying lessons TeenNick ought to impart. "I don’t attack people, but I stand up for what I believe in. And I think that’s what we teach our viewers."

Maybe so! Or maybe not. On his morning radio show yesterday, Mr. Cannon read off a list of reasons why Christina Aguilera might demand money for a personal appearance, including "Because Weight Watchers is expensive!" and, referencing Ms. Aguilera's hit show The Voice, "To raise money for her new show, The Stomach!"

Lessons learned, teens!

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

According to The Sean Hannity Show's website, Palin's last appearance was on November 23, 2010--months before Aguilera's performance. Us also printed some of the more ludicrous claims from the article, including the fictional Palin's desire to "deport" Aguilera. While Us Weekly's publicist was unavailable for repeated requests for comment, a source familiar with the magazine's editorial process told the Observer that while the magazine takes fact-checking seriously for its printed publication (though, as with any tabloids, errors do slip in), online stories go up too quickly for verification, a problem for a publication at which some fact-checkers do not hold writers and editors in high esteem.

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

mtaylor [at] observer.com | @mbrookstaylor

Christina Aguilera might be bringing her dubious personal style to the masses via a line for Topshop. [The Cut]

Ping-pong loving shoe designer Stuart Weitzman is hosting an online search for an "ultimate fan" to challenge him to a match at his New York showroom. [P6]

NexCan Brands sold off Bill Blass to Peacock International Holdings, a men's dress shirt and neckwear firm, for a mere $10 million (they had initially asked for $25 million).  [WWD, The Cut]

Tom Ford, Judith Leiber, and Paul & Shark will buck recent trends and open new stores on Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles this year. [WWD]

Racked chronicles the year in New York billboards. [Racked] 

Also expected to be there, according to the invitation, are Eliot Spitzer, Andrew Cuomo and John Conyers, who chairs the House Committee on the Judiciary.

How could you have possibly known that, by the time she was 10, Mommy's little angel would be strutting around like a pole dancer from Bada Bing!?

Yes! Instead of jumping rope to "Mabel, Mabel, set the table, just as fast as you are able," your precious daughter is now practicing her lap-dance butt jiggle, in perfect mimicry of her idol, Christina Aguilera.

Ms. Aguilera's performance in the scandalous new David LaChapelle–directed video for her song "Dirrty" ( sic )-from Stripped , her new CD, to be released on Oct. 29-is a world-class example of contemporary, slutty hoochie-dancing, made all the more shocking when you remember that her audience is primarily made up of 9-12 year-olds, which savvy marketers are now calling "tweens."

During the course of this sweaty, orgiastic visual onslaught, Miss Aguilera-who suggestively wears kneepads throughout-acts as if she's having some kind of frenzied, erotic apoplexy. RCA press materials laud her efforts to reach out "for something more real," but her video gives the impression that all she really wants to do is wiggle and diddle and jiggle until she out-hoochies the currently reclusive Britney Spears.

I have no idea what kind of impact these feverishly eroticized displays are having on Ms. Aguilera's young fan base. One thing I can say for sure: She really has screwed things up for the stripper community. By teaching all these nasty-girl moves to her tweeny fans, Ms. Aguilera has thrown a major butt-plug at the hard-working girls whose livelihood hinges on the erotic resonance of their body language. These "industry" professionals have had-via Ms. Aguilera and her ilk-their entire choreographic repertoire hijacked by little girls.

Now that all their routines have been appropriated by these pre-Lolitas, the pressure is on for the strippers of America to come up with a whole new vocabulary of kinky choreography. All bets are off on where they might seek inspiration: Martha Graham à go-go? Erotic Riverdancing?

Re sex and fashion: Grab your kneepads, girls, because sleaze is the big message for spring. By February-if the blinkered, terminally groovy designers in Europe have their way-you ladies will all be sporting Taliban-defying, crotch-length dresses. My advice: Load up on clothes from this season and just skip spring. Don't worry about shvitzing : This season's garments are constructed from the lightweight wools and mohairs which we in the industry call "transitional" fabrics, and all of them are great ! Yes, fall 2002 will go down in history as an unforgettable season for real clothes. Why? The merch that's currently hanging in the stores was all conceived in the shadow of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. With their feet, for once, plonked squarely on the ground, all the designers spewed out glorious classic drag-much of which is fiercely sexy in its own quiet way, especially the skirts. Prada's twill gabardine pencil-skirt ($650 at Prada) and Balenciaga's black wool mini with flounce hem ($575 at Barneys) are the best. Wear under Behnaz Sarafpour's subtly kinky, ivory muslin, belted, double-breasted trench ($1,265). Also titillatingly restrained is Alexander McQueen's black wool gabardine side-button pant ($755 at the new McQueen store in the meat-packing district, next to Jeffrey at 417 West 14th).

For more information about spring 2003 looks, check out the meat-market hos after shopping at Alexander McQueen.

P.S.: If you have any suggestions about where New York's strippers might seek inspiration as they struggle to create a new choreographic vocabulary, please e-mail them to me at sdoonan@observer.com. I will be only too happy to forward them to the individuals concerned.