Well, CougTek, I guess the only way to answer that is to tell you a little bedtime story. Every word of it true, I assure you.
Once upon a time - we must start thus, you know, for all good stories start with a "once upon a time" - there was a young man who was an only moderately talented singer. His name was John Melloncamp. By the time he had been a moderately talented out of work singer for ten years or so, he thought that life was passing him by. So one day he got a nice new manager and they decided that he needed a nice flashy new name which would make all the teeny-boppers wet their panties. And, according to the manager's plans at least, provide Mr Melloncamp with some large amounts of that thing which he prized above all other things: money.
So John Melloncamp became Johhny Cougar and the teenie-boppers became duly damp in the appropriate places and the record company put Johnny's face on the cover of his nice new album, and the nice men down at the bank crossed out all the red writing in Mr Melloncamp's little book and wrote in some beautiful big black numbers instead.
Alas, teeny-boppers grow up all too fast these days, and before too long they were all too wise and too mature to go all damp and goey over someone called Johhny. And the nice men down at the bank said they would have to start writing little red numbers in Johnny's little book soon, and what was he going to do about it?
So Johhny and his manager had a think about things and decided that, seeing as he was over 30 already and getting rather wrinkly, they better start calling him something that sounded a bit more mature. Showing an astonishing and unexpected gift for creative imagination, Johhny Cougar became John Cougar. Or possibly Jon Cougar. I forget. Now most of the teeny boppers were not fooled by this, but a few were, and they bought Jon Cougar's latest album and the nice men at the bank were, well, not exactly happy, but at least not too upset.
By this time, the teeny boppers were all completely grown up and the last thing on their minds was the damp patches that they used to get when they looked at Jon's picture on the cover of his record. They were all sophisticates now, and listened to grown-up, sophisticated music, with words you could hear and understand and meanings behind them and all kinds of stuff like that. They were into things like character and subtlety and experience and commitment, and when they were not too busy picking out wedding dresses and starting careers, they were buying CD discs by Sting and listening to old Bob Dylan cuts.
Jon was out of work again and the nice little men down at the bank were growing quite grumpy.
But no-one who has made his way into the big-time with nothing more than a manager, a handsome face, a good photographer, and a couple of timely name changes can be completely stupid, and our Jon proved to be made of sterner stuff. He discovered, after all these years of faking it, that he could actually sing after all, and write sensitive, thoughtful tunes, and play them with not a little subtlety and finesse and commitment. Anyway, he was tired of being Jon Cougar, retired rock star, and waiting round just in case someone offered him a bit part in a movie. So he dusted off his old original name from back before he was on radio, and Jon Cougar became John Cougar-Melloncamp. And the rasp of his tired old voice and the lines on his tired old face made all the 30-something teeny boppers get wet between the legs again, and the nice old men at the bank brought out the black ink for Johnny's book again, and everybody lived happily ever after.