Joanna Wang is a great example of how record labels can make and break a creative person. Imagine a successful musician, someone with a particular style and look, who is often described in three words, two of which are the first and last name of someone more famous. Someone whose music may not be great, but is safe and agreeable enough to fill the halls of shopping malls and grocery stores. Now imagine that musician is you, astute reader of Critter Jams, who obviously has taste and wouldn’t be caught dead listening to such compromised and focus-grouped trash. This is the life Joanna Wang has been living. I don’t want to imply that she just tripped and fell into a music career, but she is in a way a victim of circumstance. She had the voice, she had the looks, she could sing in two languages, and she had a father who just so happened to be a well-known music producer, making her the fever-dream of music executives everywhere. She wound up getting roped into a long-term contract at the age of 17, unaware of exactly what her music career was about to become.