What is there to talk about? These things happen, especially if the original performer of the song is dead and unable to walk into a room where the younger singer is relaxing before her show and sipping some egomaniacle Fiji Water and turn to her and say, “you’ve built your career by shooting music videos where you kick up Texan dust with your cowboy boots and remark how everybody looks so famous when you come to L.A. and how it makes your tummy turn, and so you can’t perform my song that represents a time in history where your biggest task was willing your umbilical chord stump to fall off. SORRY!” Then, after diffusing the situation, the original performer would get to go crawl back into the Hocus Pocus grave. But since those kinds of things don’t happen, there’s nobody around who can stop the girls who feel like all they need to do to be able to sing a song from a time in history they did not experience is to dig through their parents’ closets while they’re high on Salvia. So I blame death for this. You don’t have to join me right now, but these seats are going to fill up fast.