Miley Cyrus, who you’ll remember for being the more musically gifted daughter of Billy Ray, has always been a bit of a tough nut for hecklerspray to crack. Sometimes she’ll be caterwauling her way through some mawkish pop gumph about being in love at the age of eleven and others she’ll be smoking a bong and telling people to stick things up their private parts.

She’s a testing one.

Regardless, the young Miss Cyrus’ version of Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit has been named the worst cover ever in a new magazine poll.

In a quite frankly unnecessary poll, Rolling Stone readers voted the teenager’s rendition of the grunge anthem the worst of the crap, the bottom of the bottom, the arse-pit of arse-pits. It even managed to come off worse than Madonna’s hilariously woeful reimagining American Pie and Limp Bizkit’s cover of The Who’s Behind Blue Eyes in which Fred Durst spends the opening bars laughing into the eyes of a dying child.

It’s a real bum-note for Cyrus who recently introduced Smells Like Teen Spirit to her live set, telling her screaming legion of Mousekateers, “I want to play a song by one of the artists that inspired me. Without them [Nirvana] I wouldn’t be here. They are the ones who gave me the strength and courage to do this.”

The surviving members of Nirvana are said to be considering legal action for the implication that her career is somehow their fault.

Limp Bizkit came in second and Madonna third, while Sweet Child O’ Mine by Sheryl Crow (covering an already dreadful song) and Britney Spears’ suicide-inducing rendition of the Rolling Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction finished off the top five with a glacé cherry made of human faeces.

But let’s face it. You didn’t come here to find out what songs made it into that particular top five. You only clicked the link to see that hideous rendition all over again.

Feel the burn.

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Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of upcoming major label releases.

This week, your Mango has something for everybody.

Are your life goals summed up by the phrase “All I wanna do is have some fun“? We’ve got Sheryl Crow.

Are you disturbed by rock music, but find it kind of enticing when performed on a violin? Check out the new release by David Garrett. You weirdo.

Are you, or do you wish to be, a black man? Well, there’s Rick Ross for you, sunshine.

Are you a 7-year old, or the state-assigned carer thereof? Why, we have just what you need, from the Kidz Bop Kids.

See? That covers everybody. You hear us? EVERYBODY.

Firstly, 100 Miles From Memphis, Sheryl Crow. It seems that albums about the sweaty, smelly city of Memphis are just like hiccups: when you hear one, you know that more are one their way pretty soon.

So, a couple of weeks ago we had Memphis Blues by Cyndi Lauper. And now we have Sheryl Crow’s latest album, a collection of songs allegedly inspired by her upbringing in proximity to that city (actually, 100 miles away: remember, this is America, where in some of the flyover states folk think that a drive 250 miles to get to their neighbour’s and back is a kind of luxury).

‘How about the music?‘ we can hear you cry. Well, we can only suggest you go and check it out. See, we are not fans of Sheryl Crow’s distinctive voice. To be more specific, we are not fans of Sheryl Crow’s whiny, nasal, I’m-trying-to-pass-a-briefcase-out-through-my-sphincter-and-it’s-kind-of-painful, voice.

The songs are good. Great melodies, lyrics with some meaning, and well-arranged with nice, tastefully used horns and whatnot. But over it all is the voice of Sheryl Crow. Think of it this way: Carl Orff‘s Carmina Burana is a wonderful, stirring piece of choral music. Now imagine it being sung by a choir consisting of Janet Street-Porter, Yoko Ono, and Gilbert Gottfried. Yes? You with us?

Here’s the album’s thought:

Okay, Sheryl Crow has an album out themed around Memphis. That means blues and such, right? Let’s stick it on and…Hey, hang on a moment. Have I bought one of her old albums just repackaged as a new one?

I dislike change. What worked once will always work again. Where is 100 Miles From Memphis, please.

Secondly, Rock Symphonies, David Garrett. Oh, it would be so easy to mock David Garrett and his latest album of rock-with-some-violins nonsense.

Which is a bit like if we were writing for a new-Jewish-music website and wrote “Oh, it would be so easy to mock Adolf Hitler and his slightly out-there views on certain ethnic groups“.

And that is our – perhaps religiously offensive – way of saying that David Garrett’s music is a very bad thing which requires a coalition of the willing to man-up and destroy it. Wipe it out. Make sure that our children, and our children’s children, will not grow up in a world where they can hear Walk This Way performed pretty much as the original but with a violin squawking the vocal parts.

In a world where they believe that Smells Like Teen Spirit is an attempt at writing a piece of music for the bit in an action movie where the muscular hero is jogging to a mailbox to post an almost-late tax return form.

In a world where Master Of Puppets has mutated from an emotional, metal-driven diatribe about the effects of drugs into the soundtrack to that part of an episode of The Bill where they’re chasing a shoplifter through a shopping mall.

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Ladies! Are you young, blonde, famous and determined to live out the minutiae of your personal life in the harrowing glare of the media?

You ARE? Well what are you waiting around here for? You’re exactly Lance Armstrong‘s cup of tea. And he’s single too, now, so form an orderly queue and before long you – yes you! – could be feeling Lance’s solitary testicle smacking repeatedly against your inner thigh during one of several sordid bunk-ups!

Lance Armstrong is single, by the way, because he’s split up with Kate Hudson. They were going out. They were. What do you mean you didn’t know? Don’t you understand how important any of this is? Cuh.

Celebrity interbreeding isn’t an especially common occurence, but there’s one tightly-knit little group of pan-directional celebrity shagging that’s impossible to untangle. It’s best to just describe it to you.

There’s Sheryl Crow. Sheryl used to be romantically linked with Owen Wilson, then they split up and she got together with Lance Armstrong before Lance Armstrong broke her heart and gave her cancer or something. Meanwhile Owen Wilson got over his split with Sheryl Crowe by getting all kissy kissy with Kate Hudson, who’d recently divorced rocker Chris Robinson. Then Kate Hudson left Owen and Owen tried to kill himself so they got back together and then she left him for Lance Armstrong, who’d previously been shagging an Olsen twin.

Are you keeping up? Good, because Matthew McConaughey – Kate Hudson’s regular co-star and Lance Armstrong’s nonsexual best friend – is also involved in this mess somewhere. We think he just stood on the sidelines and played the bongos.

Got all that locked down? Good. Now forget it all, because Kate Husdon and Lance Armstrong have split up. Access Hollywood reports:

Just three months after Kate Hudson and Lance Armstrong began dating, they have split. The actress and cyclist ended their short-lived relationship over the weekend. “There was no drama or ugliness – They just decided to end things,” a source close to the couple told the mag. “There is no hatred, just sadness.”

It is sad, isn’t it? Wait, no. Sadness doesn’t really cover what you’re probably feeling at the moment, does it? You’re probably feeling – oh, what’s the word? – total screaming titting ambivalence. Yes, that’s it.

But now that Lance Armstrong and Kate Hudson have split up, what happens now? We’ve whittled the options down to the following:

1) Kate Hudson gets back with Owen Wilson,

2) Lance Armstrong gets back with Sheryl Crow,

3) Kate Hudson gets together with Sheryl Crow while Lance Armstrong and Owen Wilson watch,

4) Matthew McConaghey plays the bongos to cheer everyone up, so everyone stays for a little while just to be polite but then they badmouth him bitterly behind his back as soon as they leave.

Or, of course, what could happen is somehow – between Lance Armstrong, Kate Hudson, Sheryl Crow, the Olsen woman, Owen Wilson and Matthew McConaughey – one of them manages to break free of their weird little incestuous social gnarl and meet someone who hasn’t shagged every single other person they know.

Maybe that’s too much to ask. Babysteps, hecklerspray, babysteps.