Tick Tock, Mr. Spector

So Phil Spector wants a new judge for his new trial, does he?

The latest figure to be blamed for everything that's wrong with Spector's wilting life is the Honorable Judge Larry Paul Fidler, who patiently presided over his trial for five long months last year.

It seems Mr. Spector doesn't think the good judge was good enough.

But Spector's complaints don't end there, nor do his efforts to dole out blame for his miserable lot, and to defame all those involved.

It wasn't good enough that his first trial ended with a hung jury.

It wasn't good enough that his own lawyers secured him that deadlock, because he's gone ahead and replaced every single one of them.

It wasn't good enough that Spector besmirched Lana Clarkson's memory while insisting during his defense that she simply shot herself in the mouth while waiting to leave his California mansion, purse slung over her shoulder.

It wasn't good enough that he cast aspersions upon five women who had their deep, dark and embarrassing secrets unearthed during the prosecution's case because they, too, had looked down the barrel of Phil Spector's various guns while trying to end a bad date with him.

It wasn't good enough that the renowned forensic scientist, Dr Henry Lee, came to Spector's defense, because Spector's own incessant legal wrangling caused Lee's credibility to be thrashed in court.

It wasn't good enough that Spector's immigrant driver offered no embellishment when recounting seeing Spector with blood on his hand, holding a gun, and saying "I think I just killed somebody." Instead, Adriano De Souza offered only the facts, and no more, even though he was so afraid for his own life he sped out of the driveway while dialing police. Spector's reaction? This military veteran who excelled in advanced English classes had his reputation reduced to that of a dumb fool who doesn't know guns, and doesn't speak English well enough to be believed.

If all that weren't enough, it's now it's the judge's fault that Spector didn't get everything he's used to having -- a room full of sycophantic people who tell him he can do (and has done) no wrong.

Bring on round two, whoever the judge may be. It only takes one person to hang a jury, and for a fleeting instant, that's exactly what Spector got. One man -- Juror Number 10 -- who for some reason bought into Spector's expensive defense.

It's unlikely the music legend will see this chorus repeated.

Even though Spector just keeps spending his way out of a giant, roiling, wake of broken people, defamed professionals, jilted lawyers, weak arguments and disappointed music lovers, the evidence is what it is.

Message to Mr. Music: Here's what's up, Pussycat. Your nine legal lives are almost over.