Popstars (2009)

Lately, those seeking to swim in the chicken soup of the adolescent soul know that the place to plunge is Popstars, where on any given week you can hear philosophical insights on the order of ''As an individual, I've grown inside learning to be on my own.'' I ask you: Could Oscar winner Bob Dylan have phrased it better? ''Popstars,'' ''reality'' TV about the making of a female vocal group, concluded a successful first season last week.

''Popstars'' is a more depressing enterprise than its genre brother, ''Making the Band.'' In its premiere, we saw a promising mix of girls of every shape, size, and ethnicity. But subsequent episodes showed us the pop music version of fast food chain marketing: the chosen five made over into interchangeably skinny, skimpily dressed, stiletto heeled vamps. They ape Destiny's Child's harmonies; they crawl, catlike, across male models in their video, tongues occasionally flicking to simulate passion. Eden's Crush? They should've called themselves Hell's Lolitas.

The show is dismally edited. The series' narrator breaks for a commercial with the limp promise ''Choosing a promotional photo proves to be more difficult than the girls ever imagined!'' ''Popstars'' tries to convince us that a guest shot on ''Live With Regis & Kelly'' is a tense, make or break event; instead, it proves a pleasant promotional appearance.

All of which is not to say the exec producers, David G. Stanley and Scott A. Stone, haven't done their job: My 11 year old wants me to buy her the single. And I'm thinking about it.

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