What a smug, preening, self-satisfied, complete and utter jerk! Whatever joys I once derived from his many songs are now officially down the drain.
Turns out David Foster is a selfish, egotistical, gaseous windbag and glory hound in love with himself first, foremost, and always.
He single-handedly takes the credit for nearly every artist HE has had the great fortune to work with. To wit:
Michael Bublé: "I made him. His lane was wide open."
Whitney Houston: "I thought she sang my song pretty well."
Chicago: "They've been living off the backs of those songs I wrote for three decades now."
Celine Dion: "My songs will live forever."
Uh, okay. I guess that's one way to look at it.
This vanity project was very nearly unwatchable and unbearable, but I stuck around hoping there'd be some sort of apology or redemptive close in Act III, but nope.
Sucker (er, um, wife) #5 is Katharine McPhee. She can have him.
