Pop Frippery.

2010-06-01T21:07:00.002+10:00

The All The Lovers clip is here, and it is very satisfying, if not the genre defining moment we had all hoped for. In a sense there's not much too it that the various 'making-of' pics hadn't already revealed - Kylie looking tarted up atop a mountain of underwear-clad LA hopefuls, making out in an appropriately sanitised manner. But in contrast to the usually wilfully ridiculous imagery of most vids these days, this one's pleasingly 'on message', with its casting of K as a modern day Aphrodite seducing the aforementioned LA actors into their sanitised orgy. This I like, particularly in the wonderfully celebratory final moments.

But haven't we seen these heaving piles (hmm, that sounds iffy) of young people before? Hasn't there been some kind of soccer ad, or Nike ad, that's done this already? Or is it this I'm thinking of? Anyway, that's an aside. My biggest criticism would be that, visually at least, it feels a bit like some kind of big budget Bravia ad. Something about the light? Some might call it soulless, but instead I'll choose to see it as 'crisp'. Otherwise I think it's pretty great, and a wonderfully non- age appropriate direction for her to be treading after the rather cautious X era imagery. Good on her for being blasted in fake tan, airbrushed to death and having the courage to shake it with a bunch of desperate 20-something actors. I think it's her best clip since Slow.

Oh my.

2010-05-20T15:47:00.003+10:00

Is this pop? Or fripper[ous]? No. But what started as garden-variety homophobia has descended into some beautiful farce. The more this man talks the funner it gets. While initially Jason Akermanis' argument as to why gay men in the AFL should stay in the closet revolved around their own well-being, the potential disruption to team morale an outing might cause, and the rather strange suggestion that the AFL need not strive to be role models. But in subsequent interviews the emphasis seems to be on one thing and one thing only. That male footballers are naked together much of the time. And that they enjoy special things like slapping each other on the arse and 'just having a bit of fun'. And if there were to be gay men in their midst, these activities might start to seem a little bit gay. Core argument: to allow football to remain homoerotic, gay men should stay in the closet. Wow.

'When you're slapping blokes on the bum and just having a bit of fun, what would that do to a man in there when you actually work out, 'Oh wait a second, wait a second. I don't know if I can handle that guy'

Jason Akermanis, The Age.

Not Myself Tonight

2010-05-19T09:48:00.005+10:00

I'm reluctant to slag this off, because a) I think Xtina has done some really good stuff (albeit mostly in the Stripped period) and b) it's too easy in the era of Lady GaGa to assume that those who've come before her are now stealing her moves. That might be partly true, but the reality is more reciprocal, and I'm sure Xtina has also in a sense paved the way for GaGa (just as Kylie has -- there I said it).

But enough moderation. Not Myself Tonight is pretty shit. It's in no way a memorable song -- certainly not a lead single -- and I find its premise a little lame. In that it fits too well with Xtina's new role as a wholesome mother who's still a little diiirtttty underneath. Not that there's anything wrong with that (and it's probably quite balanced and so forth), but for some reason I get the sense that she presses the 'conservative' button between albums, and then presses the 'skank' button to crank up the pre-release hype, which is perhaps a little cynical.

And the clip is limp. It reminds me of various Janet Jackson vids which, if you take them at face value, are hyper-sexual, but if you look at them from another angle, they're extremely cold, controlled and non-sexual. From this I get a similar sense of her going through the motions. Who knows, maybe before The Fame Monster I would have thought differently. I think GaGa has certainly pushed the boundaries in the sense that, even within her context of high artifice, there's a really raw sexuality that comes through. Anyway, tangent. And, as a final snide comment, the Express Yourself references simply reinforce that, at this point in her career [bring on grand concluding statement] Xtina's not leading, but following.

Triumph!

2010-05-15T11:48:00.006+10:00

I was hoping to get my shit together before the Aphrodite juggernaut kicked in, so I could have something nuanced to say. But Kylie beat me to the punch. And All the Lovers is so great, I need to blurt out how it’s *sob* [reaches for tissues], making me feel… which is very good indeed. Such a simple, perfect song. Lovely, delicate sentiment that feels more real than all the "freaky-mode/boombox" talk of X. Just a simple statement about how scary love is. And the spoken word bit inexplicably makes me teary. So yay for the world. And, as for the business end of things, everything seems to be building up nicely. There seems to be actual momentum this time, unlike the clunky start to the X era. Not sure if Parlophone have got their shit together, or whether it's just the power of a genuinely good song. But this certainly feels like the most effortless Kylie album since Fever.

2010-04-11T09:52:00.002+10:00

I'm excited. But also scared and afraid of disappointment.

GaGa: Verdict

2010-04-10T18:31:00.006+10:00

OK, so I didn't enjoy GaGa. This is either because my stadium pop tour expectations are high, as a function of my intelligence and evolved aesthetics, or because I am now old. Old things first: it was just too loud. So loud that a) my eyes were uncontrollably blinking to the rhythm, b) the sound horribly distorted into a deafening scream, and c) I was indeed somewhat deaf after the show, and well into the next morning. Does it make me old to want my hearing? Possibly, but not necessarily erroneously.

It wasn't just my extreme age dulling my enjoyment. Basically, it wasn't a great show. Or, rather, it wasn't a show great enough to match the truly great things GaGa is doing in every other sphere - her clips, visual imagery, appearances etc. Because the production was merely mediocre, everything seemed slightly duller than one would expect: her costumes weren't nearly as interesting or avant garde as her award show costumery, the imagery seemed timid compared to her clips and there was the distinct scent of mediocre American pop stadium tour hanging in the air - or maybe that had seeped into the walls after Britney let off her giant mediocre stink bomb a few months back.

It wasn't so much that GaGa was mediocre, but the production surrounding her was cheap and clunky. Rather than seamless costume changes, curtains were dropped between sets. The stage seemed straight out of Dracula's theatre restaurant. The dance troupe veered awfully close to Britney stumbling around the stage. There were pyrotechnics. And oh so many guitars. Annoyingly, what made this mediocrity even more obvious were the flashes of genius scattered throughout - mostly in the pre-recorded GaGa imagery - that teased you with how the show could have been. Stark (to use my favourite pop word), adventurous, and musically aligned to dance rather than Jacko's big-haired guitar drones (who seemed to have been cloned and released on stage, in a slightly dazed manner). Basically I wanted a show put together by Haus of GaGa but what I got was a show put together by (I assume) merely average touring veterans.

What I should keep in mind though is that even while the Monster Ball Tour was being put together, GaGa was evolving at a fast pace. I just don't think the scope of the show, as it was conceived at that point in time, could handle how awesome, and artistically adventurous, she's gone on to become. In future she needs to put Haus of GaGa in charge of everything, and conjure the anal perfectionism of Kylie's creative team. That would then create the perfect arena spectacular.

2010-04-05T10:45:00.002+10:00

Gabriella Cilmi has blindsided me with this. I sort of liked Sweet Like Me until it was played to death, and until I got the vaguest sense that she was just a little bit annoying. But On a Mission has really grown on me. I think musically it's a backward step, but the very fact it sounds so regressive makes it fun.

The bizarre thing is that with the first album Cilmi had instantly captured the kind of international sound that most Australian artists strive for. But with this (not having heard the album), it sounds so Australian, in the S2S vein -- polished but banal. And so trashy. I think she deserves some credit for presenting just a little bit of Chapel Street to the world...

Heidi Montag

2010-02-08T16:33:00.006+11:00

Has she had work done?

While Heidi Montag is a vacant starlet in the truest sense (see this), nonetheless her complete plastic surgery makeover is a bold move, and raises some interesting questions about, umm, the boundaries of identity. While I'm tempted to say that in becoming a completely different person, Montag is making a profound political statement, she's most likely playing out some kind of body dysmorphia to tragic effect. But whatever the motivation, her physical transformation is intense. She has actually become a different person, extracting the essence of transgender surgery to rebuild her face and body rather than tweak it.

Unfortunately her face is so bruised she's unable to promote her new album Superficial, suggesting her planning skills are somewhat underdeveloped. But seriously, ever since starlets caught wind of this Warhol(ian?) notion that even the most superficial fame has its own innate meaning, I'm really bad at picking the idiots from the canny ones.

2010-02-08T15:00:00.001+11:00

I love this so much.

Goldfrapp

2010-02-03T15:18:00.006+11:00

Seventh Tree was unfairly maligned, but nonetheless I love the new Goldfrapp direction with Rocket, particularly the brilliant but inane lyrics ('I've got a rocket/you're goin' on it'). Jaunty, smiley bass, rockety bleepy sounds, a Light Years style countdown and a final rocket blast -- these are all very good things. And the new Xanadu inspired styling is ace, if somewhat derivative these days. But if there's anyone who deserves to do Xanadu, it's Alison Goldfrapp.

2010-01-30T13:17:00.003+11:00

Sade seems to be only slightly more productive than Kate Bush, but Soldier of Love is a really promising taste of her/their first album since 2000's Lover's Rock. Whereas By Your Side, one of my all time favourite songs, carried a beautifully soft sentiment of compassion and loyalty (complemented by Sophie Muller's perfectly judged clip), Soldier of Love lays its cards on the table from the opening lyric: "I've lost the use of my heart but I'm still alive". Yikes. The arrangement has a real bite to it, and while the metaphors verge on the trite, there's at least a real honesty to their sentiment. Not sure if I'm according things with more artistry than strictly present -- it's hard not to confuse Sade's beauty and presence with the actual work. Indeed, shocking that she's now 51. Shows one can age gracefully even without giant cheek-orbs and filler.

2010-01-06T10:42:00.001+11:00

Courtesy of Tim. Not sure what I think yet.

The Circus Tour

2010-01-06T10:24:00.005+11:00

I've been meaning to properly recap 2009 (a good year in pop indeed), but recapping 2009 has meant writing up Britney's Circus tour, which is an act that I've put somewhere down around 'tax return' and 'check if I have diabetes' on my 'to-do' list. Because what is there to say really -- it was awful. Stunningly awful. But bizarrely, not at all enjoyable. If I'd spent $200 on a spectacularly entertaining debacle, that would have been fine (such as I imagine Victoria Beckham gigs would have been, if they'd happened). But this was deeply boring, which is quite an achievement -- to create a spectacular that fails to entertain. There's a long essay in why these sorts of shows often fall over (their alienating slickness for one thing), but to wrap this up quickly, and to provide an outline of the show using effort levels similar to that which Britters put in to the show, dot points are in order:

Proceedings started dubiously with a series of people with disabilities performing circus tricks. On one level empowering to see such amazing physical achievements, but then, this is the opening of the 'Circus' tour. I'm not sure Britters' fully thought through the cultural baggage attached to that...
Rather than dancing per se, Britters' tended to strut, shake her shoulders and point to the ground, all the while lazily miming. As in opening and shutting her mouth with no apparent relation to the words...
Occasionally you'd lose her on the stage, and then realise the person you thought was a slightly tipsy backup dancer was actually the star.
The show had no taste or subtlety. Even William Baker's efforts on costume design seemed tainted by tack.
Each tack sounded the same. The show was relentless. Tim fell asleep.
Many 12 year old girls were in attendence. They took over the men's toilets, leading to an unfortunate experience in which I was literally urinating in front of 12 year old girls.
She didn't bother performing 3, the single she was, like, promoting.
Britney Spears has absolutely no star quality in the flesh. The end.

The 'Spiritual' section...

A song to make me happy...

2009-12-13T09:35:00.004+11:00

I somehow got a hold of a physical copy of Shakira's new She Wolf album, even though the release has now been pulled until 2010, which suggests record company disarray and panic. Very sad. But anyway, the album is strong, although only nine tracks (if you exclude the Spanish version of She Wolf), which puts it in The Fame Monster mini-album territory. Men in this Town is by far the highlight, with its heartwarming disco yelps, soaring chorus, bizarre lyrics about Matt Damon and suicide. Shakira at her best has a pleasing obtuseness, and here it's perfectly fused into the album's electro-disco template, unlike some of the Pharrell Williams tracks which could have turned up on Hard Candy with only slight modulation. (In an album of nine tracks, how can there be filler?). But this is good, good, good.

KylieNY2009

2009-10-29T14:03:00.004+11:00

For me Kylie is imbued with all kinds of transformative meanings, which made my extravagant jaunt to New York feel like a pilgrimage of sorts. Partly offsetting the cost of 42 hours of flying, it ended up being my greatest Kylie experience yet, not only because of the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing (for both me and her), but also because of the novelty of seeing ‘our Kylie’ among a foreign crowd with a completely different take on who she is and what she represents. This crowd did *not* include tipsy secretaries, or families having their once-yearly night out. This crowd was hip, and 90 per cent male.

With nothing in particular to promote, the tour was framed as a composite of the best Parlophone-era live moments, stitched together into something new for an American audience previously denied access to her shows. Accordingly, projection artwork and compositions were borrowed from KylieFever, Showgirl, Showgirl Homecoming and KylieX. Occasionally this led to some odd sequencing, and also the slightly eerie sight of a 2001-era Kylie towering above the 2009 model, who seemed slightly, umm, older. But it basically worked well, and for the uninitiated would presumably have seemed relatively cohesive.

Proceedings kicked off with Light Years, with K descending from the rafters on the famed glitter skull, donning a very GaGa costume, including a new take on the Showgirl Homecoming pink feathers, fused with the American flag. The new choreography was some of the best since Fever, and thankfully moved past the tired robo-moves that were heading steadily towards farce. Her voice was in fine form, she looked suitably refreshed, and she was having a ball. As was the crowd – at random intervals well-dressed men started pashing each other suggesting some kind of overflow of pop pleasure.

The unfortunate return of Red Blooded Woman...

Subsequent sections saw the welcome return of the towering SmileyKylie medley, a fantastic rendition of White Diamond in ballad form (which went beyond show tune to evoke actual emotion), Confide in Me from the first Showgirl tour, Burning Up/Vogue (which seemed to confuse the crowd) and, of course, The One.

There’s not much more to say really. Kylie in New York, and all the wonderful connotations that brings. And also the end of my own bizarre Kylie odyssey -- London, Sydney, Melbourne, New York. I am now truly an obsessive. It has to stop.

Update

2009-09-09T11:23:00.007+10:00

I haven’t blogged for a while. I think it’s because I’ve been processing the shock that I actually very much like the new Sarah Blasko album. As much as I’ve always thought (assumed?) that she’s annoying and affected, my god I relate to her lyrics and her sentiment. Am I affected? Is this why I’ve loathed her so? Who knows, but the Peter Bjorn and John production works, and I think albums about tortured separations from long-term creative/romantic partners are generally creatively fertile (not that I expect such self-sacrifice from my artists).

So what else has been going on musically? Had the pleasure of watching the amazing Aimee Mann at the Palais (but pointedly missed her support, Ben Lee). And she was brilliant. So in control, her voice in fine form, funny, jumping from request to request, ignoring her set-list for the last 2/3 of the show. I find her music quite unique in how it skips between dark humour to (once again) desolation from line to line, yet somehow still makes sense as a whole. Although only 28, 31 Today is, once again, devastating.

What else? The new Natalie Imbruglia album shows promise, although not sure about her strategy of releasing a single but releasing a clip for a song which is not the single. Why do mainstream artists go independent then do stupid decadent things like this? For example, Darren Hayes' 2-disc opus which I'm sure even Savage Garden royalties are struggling to pay for. And I’m also increasingly respecting Tina Arena, which I will blog about soon. This is a confronting topic, but Just Me, aside form it’s awful first two singles, is really a very fine album. I'm sure there's more thing's I've missed (the implosion of Mariah Carey, Heidi Montag's 'live' performance debut, Madonna's sleazy Celebration clip), but I will attend to these in time.

Sophie, I love you.

2009-08-17T21:22:00.005+10:00

Sophie B. Hawkins is one intense lady, and I love her. But she is also a sort of living testament to the fact that a life lived in full adherence to emotional truth inevitably heads towards living with lots of pets, and writing songs about them -- for her, it's all about shadows of life and death, the merging of body and soul, drumming and Virginia Woolf. But for me this is of course an entirely good thing, as I prefer my emotion to be *bluntly* expressed through music.

It's ironic that someone who consistently channels such a sexual energy is probably most well known for the TTfm (as it was then) staple As I Lay Me Down and the Dawson's Creek soundtrack, as well as, of course, the classic Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover, with its famous sleeveless flannel shirt. But running through most of her work is a theme of destructive sexuality -- an evocation of a sexual/spiritual force (of the elemental variety) that can never be fully expressed, and would most likely tear you apart if it could be. Thus the pets. Thus the drums. I don't really have a point here, except that I like my music overblown, and I think Sophie B. is often overlooked. Looking back, her unrestrained and forceful music is quite refreshing. She also had a fight with Sony Music over a banjo, which I think is pretty cool. Try that Delta, Tina and the rest...

Your Madgesty is dead... long live Shakira!

2009-08-08T14:38:00.004+10:00

If one needs any more evidence of Madonna's increasing musical irrelevance, here it is. Celebration is a dud. While theoretically I support her return to dance, this is a track with zero originality -- it could be anyone's track. She doesn't even seem herself in the spoken word sections, normally a Madonna strength. And despite it's celebratory intent, there is no soul. Once again she sounds like she's phoning it in. She makes all the right noises about being yourself, chasing pleasure etc., but she may as well have been recording it from the treadmill, slave to her insatiable work ethic. A sad day this is. I was hoping that after such a setback as Hard Candy, she would be reborn.

Shakira on the other hand has snuck out of hibernation to produce a killer track with a fantastic clip (which echoes Madge's Sorry, as if to emphasise some kind of changing of the guard). She Wolf is disco fun at its best. My hips shake even writing about it. And I love the clip's bizarre concoction of contrary scenes: Shakira gyrating in some kind of glitter womb; her recreation of MJ's Smooth Criminal 'lean forward' move; the bit where she basically detaches her hips in some kind of cage; and her climactic dance solo which evokes early 2000 J.Lo 'house' dance in a thoroughly satisfying way. This is adventurous, progressive and full of soul. Shakira is the new pop innovator.

Delta called on it...

2009-07-12T08:29:00.006+10:00

A very spot on article about Delta Goodrem's addiction to advertising dollars (do Age journalists trawl pop fan sites for stories? What is going on...). I was already slightly overwhelmed with the Sunsilk ads, Nintendo ads, soy milk... but now Proactiv?? Surely this is a bit low rent? The article speculates that she's trying to cash in on her fame while it lasts, and this seems like a sensible hypothesis considering Sony's decreasing interest in her quest for global domination (after the lukewarm local success of Delta, and her dumping in the US). I'm generally ambivalent about celebrity cash-in endorsements, but I think the extent of the cash-in has to be in proportion to the extent of one's fame. If the ratio is off then a festering 'career decline' stench can set in... Delta's ratio is certainly off.

But about that Proactiv ad. Because, you see, it is HILARIOUS. Not only because Delta has the cheek to say that 'she wants to make a difference to people's lives in a positive way... and this [her Proactiv endorsement] is part of it.' But she's also clearly turning into some parodic Ja'mie King type -- all those shots of her purring at the camera, flicking her extensions about, signing autographs etc... 'the most important part of what I do is connecting with people.' Oh dear.

This is a trivial aside, but I notice that her NZ Sunsilk TV ad was projected behind her during the opening act of her creatively awful Believe Again tour. This makes sense as I remember thinking at the time that the footage of her parading down a fashion show runway looked a bit expense... so the commercial world is now fully integrated into her art (but not in a cool Madonna Pepsi ad type way). I miss old-school Delta. I blame Brian McFadden

2009-07-11T10:57:00.004+10:00

Apologies for ripping this straight off Pop Justice, and indeed, ripping off the gist of their commentary too, but this is quite fascinating. While making Madonna comparisons risks accusations of hysteria, I think it's true to say that the sense of shock and surprise attached to a GaGa press conference evokes Blonde Ambition era Madonna. Or maybe it's just her referencing of a 1970s gay porn aesthetic.

It's interesting this face-concealing thing she's wearing, as it's still playing around with themes of suffocation and fragility (like her tea-cup bearing Alice in Wonderland creations). There's something fascinating about watching someone who's obviously wielding such power choose to emphasise aspects of powerlessness, and also gain a kind of power through the strangeness of the look they're creating. What unsettles demands attention.

2009-07-09T21:27:00.004+10:00

The clip's a mish-mash of ideas, but I think this is the strongest song yet from I am... Sasha Fierce. Perhaps this is the album of increasing returns, considering the trajectory from the limp If I Were a Boy, which seemed to be splicing If God Was One of Us with some essentialising gender assumptions. (Single Ladies never completely grabbed me.) But I remain opposed to the basic concept -- that Beyonce's 'true' self and 'Sasha Fierce' self aren't able to be reconciled. AND PS I don't want to mention her by name, but I also want to acknowledge how horrible this is. It pleases me that she's fast becoming a caricature of herself, even though she was going for pastiche all along -- I'm sick of her wide-eyed I'm innocent but not look. And seriously, the song (which I will not name) appears to be a RomCom synopsis sung (badly) over MOR rock. I give it 2 years before she's got a Rita style sitcom.

Up! revisited

2009-07-08T20:41:00.005+10:00

I saw you flinch! Shania Twain, you say? Well, yes, I acknowledge the cringe factor, but let’s not forget that around 1997 Shania Twain was an unstoppable force, bringing country to the masses, and From This Moment On to TTfm and wedding chapels the world over. Come on Over sold 34 million, and established Twain as one of the world’s top artists, and a byword for dependable, no-nonsense country spirit (even though she was, umm, Canadian). But what happened next? By the time Come on Over was stomping over the globe, Shania was living a very un-country vegan life holed up in her Swiss chateau, with her hubby/producer John ‘Mutt’ Lange. We didn’t hear much for a while, but in 2002 the Shania machine was back in gear with Up! which was, arguably, music’s first ‘world album' and, arguably, a complete disaster.

Country Shania...

This wasn't a world album in the sense of later-years Peter Gabriel oddity, or Readings 'world' section, but in the production line sense of population-specific tinkering of the same product to suit distinct markets. This was the plan: each population would receive the same ‘Pop’ disc, but in the US this would also come with a ‘Country’ disc in which the same songs were recorded according to US country tradition. In the ‘International’ markets (defined in classic US imperialist terms as everywhere not in the US), the album would come with a ‘World' disc, in which the same songs were recorded with, wait for it, a Pop-Bollywood style. I cannot convey how hideous this disc was, which, unfortunately was lumped on the Australian market (by this point I must confess that I bought the thing back in ’02.) Just imagine the country sass of I’m Gonna Get You Good recorded with a Bollywood beat… So impossibly awful, you must listen here. Apparently this Pop-Bollywood travesty was intended to ‘crack’ the Indian market.

Not surprisingly the album did not fare well (although Wikipedia tells me it was huge in Germany). As with any lofty album strategy, people got confused: why was a country-pop artist releasing Bollywood tracks? And for a country market already suspicious of Twain’s country cred, a token trad-country disc was not enough to appease concerns triggered by her dabbling in threatening ‘World’ music (was this… ANTI-AMERICAN?? Even though she's Canadian). While Shania had big plans of conquering the globe with a little bit of what everyone wanted (as seems so inevitable in retrospect) the results were spread too thin, and only produced one hit single (I’m Gonna Getcha Good). And Shania hasn’t really done much since, apart from a lazy Greatest Hits album.

World music goddess...

But what of the music itself? While for the most part it’s catchy in a kitchen-sink kind of way, and produced from the same comforting formula as Come on Over, it remains very hard to connect its sketches of average-Joe American life with the Shania Twain vegan living in a Swiss chateau. Which means it all seems a bit mannered. Note the too-eager use of exclamation marks: Nah!; (Wanna Get to Know You) That Good!; Ka-Ching!; Waiter! Bring Me Water!; What a Way to Wanna Be!; Thank You Baby!; I’m Not in the Mood (to Say No!)...

In a systematic fashion, all the average Joe boxes were ticked. There was a song about a brave young mum deciding to keep her baby (‘I had a baby at 15, Daddy never did forgive me, never heard from the guy again…’), an everyday gal havin’ a bad day (‘even my skin is acting weird, I wish that I could grow a beard, then I could cover up my spots…’), and a stab at the hypocrisy of the beauty industry (‘Why be perfect, no, it’s not worth it… don’t be so obsessed'). As was pointed out in a particularly prickly interview, Shania as of course modelling for Revlon at the time.

The problem’s not so much that Shania was sketching characters – if I knew anything about the country tradition I'd assume that was part of it – but rather that the characters being sketched were a bit two dimensional. In contrast, Taylor Swift, for example, manages to put together a concept album about the schoolyard that, through its wit, detail and humour seems much fuller (although, to be fair, Taylor was barely out of school when she wrote it). But this two-dimensionality wasn’t new for Twain – Come on Over’s similarly full of faux-down-home vignettes. The difference, perhaps, is that during the Come on Over period Twain was maintaining the fiction that she was a country artist. When it came to Up! however, she was holed up in her Chateau with her eyes on India. Here's another hideous 'World' version. And another. Got the point? This needs to be remembered.

Kylie X revisited

2009-07-04T15:02:00.012+10:00

Some people have lumped X into the Body Language clearance bin, framing it as yet another failed attempted to recapture the voodoo-magic of Fever. But I disagree. While like many other K fans, I’m sad it didn’t represent the hallowed fusion of Impossible Princess lyrical openness and Fever pop smarts that's been anticipated for so long, it’s still a quality pop album that holds some of the best songs of K’s Parlophone era. Unfortunately X, as a set of songs, is obscured by two things. Firstly, cancer, or its absence: for some the album was immediately written-off because it didn’t deliver the confessional that was expected of Kylie after her two year ordeal, dramatic cancellation and spectacular comeback (a pretty arrogant assumption, I’d say). And secondly, the disastrous promotion the album received from a beleaguered Parlophone, which was at the time caught up in the near-disintegration of EMI. As we start gearing up for the next album, I think it’s time to look back at what went wrong, but also at what actually went right.

The comeback

While 2 Hearts signalled an appropriately oddball new direction, one of the first reactions X met with was a bewilderment that someone who’d just been through cancer could sing about Speakerphones and ‘lookin’ hot’ before a big date. Against that enormous emotional backdrop, I guess it was inevitable that X would seem shallow in comparison. But its lack of reference to the last few years (with the exception of No More Rain, Stars and Cosmic) did seem particularly pointed. There was no White Diamond-style melding of life-affirming sentiment with pop sparkle. For the most part, she was singing about cheap nightclub thrills, just like she did in Light Years and Fever.

This is criticism that seemed to grate: whenever it was put to K, she would visibly bristle, and seem almost defiant when she made the very logical point that part of what she wanted to embrace with X was a new kind of normality. Her experience had made her value the normal and the trivial even more – a sentiment most people who’ve been through a health crisis, big or small, would share. But this is also a criticism that pre-dates ‘the cancer stuff.’ It’s been a perennial complaint of K fans that we rarely get to see beyond her pop façade. She rarely reveals anything. Which would be fine, except that after the dark, revealing and lyrically brilliant Impossible Princess, we know there’s a lot going on.

Love me, I’m…. The One

But as with most K albums, the odd moments of brittle vulnerability end up channelling something much more personal than the words themselves, and seem all the more powerful because we really don’t know anything else of her (while harbouring a deep suspicion that, like us, she’s fragile and slightly messed up). For me, the most personal moment in the album is also its most formulaic track – The One. Yes it’s about circling someone in a club (probably The Peel or its international equivalent,) but when she sings ‘I’m the one… love me, love me, love me, I’m the one’ the effect is so potent she may as well be singing about that basic human need for connection that’s never quite possible, but haunts you nonetheless (or, umm, something). Because of this emotional punch, as well as its elegant production, The One is by far X’s standout track. Which makes its commercial failure all the more dispiriting, and infuriating.

Parlophone screwed it all up…

X’s promotion started out alright. We already knew the script after William Baker was photographed walking out of a hairdressing salon clumsily/cannily displaying an A4 sheet of paper with the X campaign strategy sketched out in biro: internet marketing, TV special, tour etc… In the beginning all the cogs were turning as they should, apart from a series of damaging internet leaks. The buzz was there, The Kylie Show, while a little hokey in parts, showed off the songs to good effect, the reviews were mostly positive and 2 Hearts did alright, while not setting the world on fire. But with the choice of Wow as single no.2 in the UK/Aus, and In My arms as single no.2 in continental Europe (do they not realise we use the internet?) it all started to go pear-shaped.

Not only was Wow a retrogressive choice (in parts it sounded like Aunty Christine singing a Karaoke version of Love at First Sight after a big night on the piss), but the decision to release different singles in different jurisdictions signalled that Parlophone was nervous about the album. It also meant two very bodgy clips for the price of one: in Wow she looks like a frigid Star Trek creature, and In My Arms, while clever visually, seemed like it was filmed for pennies. But it gets worse. There was a half-hearted crack at the US market, with the decision to release the Janet Jackson-lite All I See. While K gamely went on the promo trail (albeit with a few shaky performances), Parlophone decided that the US could be cracked sans clip. Eventually K suffered the indignity of filming, and funding, her own promo vid (canoodling with dancer Marco de Silva against a white screen) as a ‘gift’ to her fans. Not a good look for a superstar. And when finally there was talk of releasing The One, first it was on, then it was off, then it was digital only, then it was canned. Once again K stepped in and filmed her own clip (which wasn’t bad at all), but to anyone looking closely, it seemed like the Kylie machine was in chaos. Apparently there had been a rift between K and Parlophone after the decision to release Wow/In My Arms (although this rumour doesn’t quite make sense as she seems to love both of those songs, although it would certainly explain a lot).

By this point it didn’t really matter that Parlophone was fucking her ‘round, since the KylieX2008 tour was kicking off and there was finally a chance to present the songs as she wanted to. I’ve obsessed over the tour here, so I won’t go over it again. Although, the fact that the tour rolls on with no rhyme or reason (Morocco, some ski resort, Poland, Madrid, US) suggests that the normally slick K machine is still in a state of partial chaos. But what of X? What would we make of it if things hadn’t turned out the way they did? It’s not a great album, but there are moments of greatness. It’s biggest weakness is perhaps its lack of adventure – while tracks like Speakerphone and Nu-di-ty are interesting, and quite oddball, they disappoint by sticking firmly to the Bloodshy & Avant mold, channelling the generic Sleazy-Britney sound pioneered by Gimme More. And for the record, hearing a 40-year old Australian singing about ‘dropping socks with your mini boom box’ is less than convincing.

But a further light is shed on X by the tracks that never made the album. Lose Control for example, another Kish Mauve track, perfectly fuses themes of claustrophobia and escape (in its talk of ‘wheels turning’ and ‘ropes tightening’) with modern, anthemic dance. Why K chose not to include it, and other similarly revealing tracks, is food for thought. Whether it was record company medelling or her own fear of personal revelation, we’ll never know. But as the forums heat up with talk of album no.11, the same debate will no doubt rage on – will this finally be the confessional watershed we’ve been waiting for? Or maybe what we actually want from K is that she has the self-possession to not reveal herself, realising, as I think she does, that what we all invest in her is meaningful in itself.

MJ

2009-07-04T15:00:00.000+10:00

Umm, so Michael Jackson died. And I feel strangely unmoved. Obviously I feel terrible for his kids who will no doubt be launched into an even more intensely surreal circus, and I feel sad that a man has died, but in terms of Michael Jackson the icon dying, I don’t really feel much at all. And I think it’s because for a while now Michael Jackson, the legend, had ceased to need Michael Jackson, the person, to tend to make it real. So when I hear Billie Jean I won’t feel sad that Michael Jackson has died, but will just think it’s a really awesome song.

American Life revisited

2009-06-30T10:24:00.011+10:00

American Life is a reminder of the Madonna that existed before she decided to stay young forever, and in a sense its failure sent her on the path she's still treading now, with increasing cringe-factor. Whereas Confessions on a Dance Floor was a reclamation of dance, the body and youth (and for which Madge seemed suitably refreshed), American Life was framed as a meditation on her life at a juncture between past and uncertain future, in the broader context of conservative America and celebrity culture.

"I prefer my South American dictators to be played by Madonna"

But this is where the intent of the album became somewhat unstuck. As its Patty Hearst-inspired, faux-photocopied cover art signalled, Madonna was at war against... something. What exactly it was was never specified. The fame-machine she helped build? Her own excess? American foreign policy? Madonna's strength has always been picking a range of different reference-points and then stitching them into something new, but not necessarily logical... and then defending any lack of coherence by labelling it art. But for an album with an apparent political intent, this was not convincing. While American Life's infamous rap took a stab at teasing out her own complicity in the world she was trying to critique, it didn't cut it. Instead the effect of a global superstar famed for her capitalist instinct and self-focus vaguely critiquing America, fame, and the superficial seemed, at the very least, a little limp.

Black hair=serious artistic period.

But if you subtract the half-hearted politics, there remain some beautiful songs that provide a bittersweet reminder of what Madge has left behind on her way to the Candy Shop. The album's emotional core sits in a trio of songs, Nothing Fails, Intervention and Xstatic Process -- all melodic, delicate, vulnerable, and unfortunately probably also about Guy Ritchie. There's still the odd dud lyric (Madge's lyrical quality control being generally quite appalling), but as songs they engage you on a level other than 'superstar album.' I'm So Stupid and Nobody Knows Me are the most overt critiques of celebrity culture, but don't really work musically (albeit because of a presumably intentional abrasiveness). And while I think Mother Father is channeling some kind of therapeutic free association, it comes across as year 8-diary-confession detritus. While not always successful, the thought that's gone into the songs is certainly a revelation in the context of Hard Candy's laughable attempts at meaning (e.g. Devil Wouldn't Recognise You).

But perhaps the main reason American Life seems a bit hollow is actually to do with history. Because what happened next seemed to fully undermine the album's sentiment. After it failed commercially and (mostly) critically, Madonna, like the Terminator, returned to the forge. She re-built herself, re-grouped and came out with the dance album to beat all dance albums. While this was magical to watch, it nonetheless suggested that she maybe couldn't handle a life without the success she was apparently so ambivalent about. As impressive as Confessions ultimately was, as Madge continues to strut from stadium to stadium, more ghoulish by the day, I wonder what form she'd be in today if she'd stuck to the artistic direction mapped out (occasionally bodgily) by American Life?

2009-06-23T10:30:00.003+10:00

I'd prefer not to link to Perez, but oh my, this is like theatre. What a strange character he is (and perhaps, hopefully, this is a character he's enacting.) He comes across as some kind of horrid grown up Valley girl-pure Id creature that you can imagine screaming 'I want it NOW' to hapless sales staff and then smashing things. And so unaware of the vitriol he spurts out every day -- e.g. I am a human being and should never be a victim of violence [true]. Ps Fergie's a "fugly bitch" and Will.I.am's a Fa****. And way to fight your war on homophobia by deploying fa**** as your ultimate insult... Progressive reclamation? Doubt it.

2009-06-21T19:37:00.007+10:00

No need to write about music, as this week I'm doing it over here. So instead I will write about my Alcopops party.

But first I need to talk about Steve Fielding, who I find annoying on a number of levels. For one thing, I find it insulting that he would put Families First ('Family grows out of heterosexual relationships between men and women'). But that's not all. He rejects harm minimisation, rejects a woman's right to choose, doesn't believe in climate change, and suggests that 'stronger families' are the solution to everything from addressing indigenous disadvantage to fixing the health system. Where did he get it into his head that the family is marginalised? This guy is a *nut*.

So, I thought the best way to honour Fielding would be to celebrate his famously contradictory stance on an 'Alcopops' tax increase, in which he claimed to have won the war against the alcohol lobby by voting down a rise. This was against a mountain of evidence suggesting that taxation is the best way to fight problem drinking. Perhaps families function better if little Sally and Tommy are sucking down a Breezer or two before moving on to various other rites of passage like STIs and teen pregnancy.

But anyway, I digress. My point is that to celebrate Fielding I threw an 'Alcopops' party (with the emphasis on POP), and here is what I learned:

1. Once you go Alcopop, you can never go back -- no need to endure the taste of alcohol ever again, with the added bonus of SUGAR. Cheers to that!

2. Alcopops should not be consumed while also trying to create Martha Stewart style lighting vistas. By which I mean, tea candles are very dangerous and can lead to serious burns (and perhaps an honourable mention in 'Stuff White People Like.')

3. And music-wise: Lady GaGa remains highly devisive on the dancefloor, Kylie's The One remains the most satisfying playlist peak, along with anything Freemasons, and why bother with emo when you can enjoy The Veronica's Untouched.

4. Flash photography does not flatter alcopop-fuelled trash dancing.

2009-06-15T19:18:00.004+10:00

This is so fun! It sounds like The Peel. And the clip is like a time capsule back to 2000, with the boy-boy dancing shots borrowing from the era of bodgy N*Sync and Britters clips (but for some reason what comes to mind most is Bardot's ASAP.) I am however unsettled by the singer, who seems to share the same smoothed-out features as Bold's Hunter Tylo...

2009-06-15T14:50:00.004+10:00

Wait, this is too much. The Veronicas wrote/performed t.A.T.u's All About Us? If random people on youtube do not lie, then this is taking the whole sexy sisters thing a step further... Which reminds me, I'm very excited that 4ever is being released in the UK. I really hope it takes off, because this is one of the greatest songs in the history of the world, particularly for any 19-year olds who might be weighing up the pros/cons of bad drunken sex (the song's key message being "we're all going to die one day, so let's hook up".) I also enjoy The Veronicas' recurring refrain of "because we just don't care." Because, the thing is, they do care. I might have said this before, but I love careerist pop stars feigning that they just don't care.

World's most extreme disasters...

2009-06-14T14:56:00.011+10:00

It's been a while since I've sat through Madison Avenue's infamous "water glass" incident, but I think this needs to be remembered. Not only as a stark "note-to-self" about the probable outcome if my occasional dreams of pop stardom were ever achieved (tuneless singing, general sense of catastrophe), but also as a reminder of a time when nappies and boots were "the look". It's also quite shocking to see an award ceremony from the time before Big Brother-style digital displays and general visual overload became de rigeur.

Oh, I couldn't resist. I was just going to mention the water-glass incident (which came to mind while putting together an envelope-pushing pop-trash playlist), but how can one mention pop disasters without mentioning Britters' disasterous VMA meltdown. This has been analysed to death, so I won't add much. Except to say that it's fascinating to watch pop stars revert to their default moves in the face of catastrophe. For example, when Britters realises she's out of time with her dancers, she does a bit of shimmying, and then deploys my favourite Britney move, the "point hands outward at hip-level, thumbs up, and strut". Also amusing watching her cleverly cover her "mic" with her hand when she's supposed to laugh on the backup track. Why would we ever think you don't sing live? (Actually does Britters even deny?) Another painful reality-check that the globe-dominating pop juggernaut that I could, in my head, one day become should best be left in the box. Because when boys wanna become Madonna, they don't. They become Darren Hayes.

AND ONE FINAL ADDITION: Oh God. Try to watch to the end. It just keeps getting worse.

2009-06-13T14:24:00.009+10:00

This blog will not die like all the others. Rather, I've been momentarily pre-occupied. And in the interim there have been some significant shifts in the landscape of pop. Mostly, I no longer hate Lady Gaga. As much. And I'm late to the party here: it's not just me. I don't quite know what it is, but something has shifted, as if she's now got some meat (as in, substance, not c***) to back up her constant references to Warhol and pop as art which have always irritated me, mostly because they implied this concept was something new. As if she was not aware of KylieFever2002.

For me and many others, the tipping point has been her amazing Jonas Akerland-directed clip to Paparazzi which is the most exciting piece of pop imagery I've seen in a long time. It makes me as excited as I used to feel waiting for Frozen to arrive on Video Hits when I was a young thing, and sadly, makes me realise how unadventurous everyone else is being. Come on Madge -- this ghoulish look you're working up could really be used in an interesting way, if you had the courage.

I'm increasingly liking GaGa's look too, now that she's removed those irritating lightning bolt things. What I particularly like is the sense of fragility she seems to be evoking in each outfit -- glasses you can't see out of, umbrella to keep the sun away, tea cup etc. Very decadent, as in the bit where the over-ripe grape starts to rot. And she's always being clasped and propped up by big beefy guys, looking slightly dazed and confused. This is so different to the normal stardom protocol which is to appear even more strong and in control as your star ascends, papering over the inevitable breakdowns and benzo addictions. Intentional or not, it's as if she's acknowledging how chaotic it is inside the whirlwind she's created. I like this a lot.

Blind, clasped.

Breakable.

Of course, I still understand the rage that she seems to tap into -- all that Haus of GaGa stuff is a bit twee. And I still maintain she's not as in on the joke as she insists she is, somewhat like the 19-year old Arts undergrad who's not quite the socialist they think they are. And there are some duds on her album which, interestingly, reveal the various other artists she could just have easily been (Xtina, Pink). But annoying as she is, she is doing such interesting stuff that I can no longer call myself a hater.

Other things I'll get around to, in no particular order:

Make a case for the transformative power of B*Witched's Blame it on the Weatherman and The Corrs' Breathless
Reassess Madonna's American Life.
And finally, I'll do a bit of Kylie housecleaning, to keep track of her completely *bonkers* touring schedule (do you really care about Poland, Ms. Minogue?)

2009-05-29T11:52:00.004+10:00

I'm sick again (not swine), which is making pop less enjoyable. I am however sampling bad morning TV (how sweetly Sunrise dovetails into The Morning Show). Only today I had the pleasure of watching the delightful Samantha Brett (aka Sam and the City) and Melissa Hoyer (fashion gatekeeper) in the one program. Sam Brett was helpfully talking about dating strategies for "desperate 35-year olds". Isn't she, like, 23? These strategies include dating with wine. As part of this expansive examination, she also helpfully referred, straight-faced, to the "Bridget Jones syndrome" in which 35-year-old women become, like, desperate. Her column is bad enough, but seeing her delusions of Sex and the City-style-glamour being lived out visually is so much more painful.

Almost time for Ellen, but I should note that despite my grumpiness, this has made me happy (although it might be one of those viral things that everyone has seen except me):

10 Years Younger...

2009-05-20T19:20:00.010+10:00

One of us. One of us. One of us.

10 Years Younger in 10 Days is surprisingly hardcore, as if a team of aliens had descended from planet Botox to mold us in their image. For one, it sprinkles low-key cosmetic surgery procedures into an average makeover show (this somehow seems more sinister than Extreme Makeover, which is a bit more up-front about things.) But more bizarrely, it deposits its participants in large perspex boxes, smack-bang in the centre of Circular Quay... to be judged. And then there's Sonia Kruger who emanates a hardcore, gym-buffed, tanned, no-nonsense Sydney socialite vibe.

But there's also a naff element to things. The advisory teams seem a bit... clunky. Lots of awkward silences and uncomfortable laughter. Like they're trying to be either Carson or the horrid Trinny and Sussanah. And the "looks" they create are somewhat kitchen-sink... Whiter teeth, less weight, more tan... pink for the girls, blue for the guys. "Let's bring out your feminine side", and so forth.

And most shockingly, last night the "lack of hair" problem "suffered" by the male participant was solved by shaving off the top plate of his head, and then glueing on a "semi-permanent" hair solution. This reminded me of the unconvincing room makeovers delivered by Changing Rooms -- you always got the sense that the "nautical themed" kids room wouldn't survive a week of real-life living, and nor do you get the sense that a "semi-permanent" hair solution is gonna look quite as permanent in a few weeks time. But seriously, the evil subtext is that it's making botox, eye-lifts and tummy tucks seem as everyday as dye-jobs and a new fringe. Maybe it is a bit of an arbitrary boundary, but stretching the scope of conformist self-recreation to include the body is a bit frightening.

2009-05-18T19:11:00.002+10:00

I have officially become one of those crazy-obsessive fans willing to waste resources, endure severe jetlag and compromise career aspirations to follow a star who flogs bed-sheets. KylieNY, here I come!

Eurovision 2009

2009-05-18T18:06:00.005+10:00

To be honest, I didn't watch all of it because it does *go on* a bit, and the voting component seems to channel the worst of cumbersome EU bureaucracy. However, the following things seem significant, and, channeling my inner bureaucrat, I will list them using dot points:

The UK sucked. SUCKED. Not only did they actually bring the ghoulish Andrew Lloyd Webber on stage, but the Diane Warren-penned lyrics lazily repeated 'It's My Time' ad nauseam. Eurovision is your time? Because if it was, you sucked! Neither elegant or pleasingly tacky.
Greece seemed to thrust a lot in white pants, which was unsettling. But the giant stapler thing was pretty cool.
The German had shiny pants that made him seem like he was floating. The sexual tension with Dita Von Teese seemed unconvincing.

But enough with the foreplay, because 2009 was all about the Ukraine! Seriously, this performance seemed to answer some deep, long hidden longing for a certain kind of pop magic that I never knew could feel so good. Let's break it down. Industrial props, homoerotic centurions -- the best of William Baker, Ukraine style! A suspiciously plastic and utterly disposable singer -- amazing! Upside down singing (at 2.14) -- transcendent! But the bit where it truly soared was when the singer, of doubtful musical ability, started banging the drums, while being wheeled on a platform by the aforementioned homoerotic centurions, surrounded by Ukrainian flags and flames. I almost jumped off the couch. Amazing.

This is very, very special.

2009-05-16T10:09:00.003+10:00

A pleasing evening of trash-dance at Tim's last night. Highlights included the dance remix of Don't Cry For Me Argentina ("this is the gayest song ever", cried a bystander), Xtina's jaunty Come on Over, and Mariah's Heartbreaker. The highlight was of course the epic, 9 minute Freemasons' mix of The One. Sustained pleasure.

2009-05-13T19:29:00.002+10:00

I know I'm fuelling the fire here, but oh how she irritates... I'm not sure why, but her creative flourishes just come across as brattish. Perhaps underneath it all I'm just angry that I'm not Lady GaGa... could it be? No.

2009-05-13T14:35:00.006+10:00

A weekend of intense Love My Way viewing was perhaps not the wisest of moves. Now all roads seem to lead towards loss and painful self-evaluation. Although on the up-side, this is to apparently occur in beautiful Sydney cliff-top real estate, at great rental rates, in the perpetual summer that is Australian TV with designs on the export market.

It was strange, Love My Way. It made me *feel* things. So much so that, at key moments, I had to embark on little mini-projects, such as reading The Guardian auto section, until these uncomfortable sensations subsided. While it is obviously very uncomfortable to feel feelings (shudder... push.... down), it is even more uncomfortable to write about them, so, for this reason, I thought it appropriate to re-examine one of the most meaningless, yet pleasing, pieces of recent pop.

Dannii Minogue, Love Fight.

Love Fight is notable for two things. Firstly, its welcome revival of naughty-patient, dirty-doctor themes, and secondly, its deft excavation of the fraught intersection between eroticism and violent physicality. Never quite answering the question of what a "Love Fight" actually is, Dannii instead trawls through a serious of erotic vignettes: "teacher teacher, I'm the student now"; "heavy petting always makes me feel/ like I'm Lois with the Man of Steel"; "Doctor, doctor..." etc. This is very much in the Minogue tradition of Carry-On sexuality ("nod, nod, wink, wink"). But it's the epic chorus that lifts this flimsy concept higher. One can almost feel the moment at which Dannii would ascend to the tabletop at QBH for some bump'n'grind, as the chorus peaks and everything veers upwards. Very much of the "throw it all in", "more is more" production philosophy that also seems to have steered Dannii's facial feng shui. And what wonderful results all round. I miss the summer of Love Fight...

2009-05-07T21:54:00.005+10:00

OMG. WTF. Kylie is touring the US!! I never thought it would happen. Shockingly, her hardcore American gay fan-base will finally be able to see their queen. Finally sub-standard US pop tarts will get a glimpse of true pop art (take that GaGa). Somehow, no matter what, I'm seeing her in NYC. In honour:

UPDATE: Cute US Today show appearance. Surprisingly candid about not being financially sensible to tour the States.

2009-05-06T14:15:00.001+10:00

I likee. And Madge is looking pleasingly refreshed too... feels like the world is back on its proper orbit.

2009-05-04T19:45:00.005+10:00

The Logies are always tragic, but I watched, and I feel I must comment. Briefly. I love you Gretel, and it was great to have you back on TV. Your hair looked great too. But unfortunately you didn't do well -- this truly is the curse of the Logies. Perhaps it's the stilted pre-scripted humour? Where was your bite? You certainly seemed bitter, but not in a pleasing way...

In summary: the fashion was shiny; Annie Lennox was scary; Rove was annoying; Rebecca Gibney looked refreshed; Sigrid Thornton looked frightening; Rachel Griffiths seems difficult; Crown is an inevitably trashy venue; too much Underbelly; NatBass looked OK but Joan Collinsesque in her stage gear; lots of overly earnest Home and Away starlets... BUT, this was amusing:

Kylie does not stop...

2009-05-03T13:54:00.006+10:00

Kylie does "predatory leather"...

For some reason Kylie can't stop touring. Perhaps, as some would speculate, she's deferring the inevitable post-tour void that awaits self-obsessed, control-freak superstars (not my words or theory, I should add). Speaking of, Madonna's also sending Sticky & Sweet out on the road again, which means that a bad album (Hard Candy) is getting not one, but two tours in its honour, possibly because Madge doesn't quite know what to do with herself.

Watching stadium artists play at festivals (K's playing at the "Ischgl Festival," whatever the hell that is. It seems to be in a ski resort. On a mountain) is a bit like seeing peacocks plucked of their beautiful, shiny feathers. The lighting's always a bit unflattering, the stage a bit low-rent, and there's generally no floating video-screens and descending glitter skulls. Which explains K's somewhat bodgy "big reveal" (I see you dancers!) But I love the new costume, sleazy sunglasses and all. And she looks great, and seems in good voice. So yay to more touring. And after the build up to Homecoming, and the question of whether she could tour at all, it is quite heartening that she's travelled the world with KylieX2008 and still doesn't feel like stopping.

UPDATE: Here's a clip with all her new outfits...

2009-05-02T15:50:00.003+10:00

I just read the EG piece on GaGa properly, and eh, she is irritating. I feel like she doesn't quite understand the concepts she's playing with, but you can never pin her down on it because, according to the logic she claims to be using, so what if she understands it or not -- whatever *it* is becomes meaningful once we start viewing it as meaningful, etc. Key points:

'All music is inspired by sex. It's the primal rush and instinct and the insatiable need for orgasm and procreation. Isn't that why we're all here? Love and sex are the only reason to make art.'
'I want to transform the ideas into something simple that everybody can understand. I don't want to shock to the point of confusion or molest the audience. I want them to feel free and that they are a part of my exhibition, not at its mercy.'

2009-05-02T09:09:00.005+10:00

Even though The Age might have stepped into line and started fawning over Lady Gaga as the 'First Lady of Pop', something good is nonetheless happening to music right now. And the locus of this rebirth has to be Taylor Swift. Seriously. I was so skeptical at first, but now I really do believe... in her talents as a lyricist, her high-concept revisitations to the schoolyard, her stage charisma, as well as her high quality twittering, which is much more evolved than, for example, Miley Cyrus' constant preaching ('Jesus Christ loves YOU'). Does this not break your heart? My only gripe is with her slightly unhealthy idealisation of marriage, but this is perhaps a mandatory aspect of being a country artist.

Also very much enjoying the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs, which is almost pornographically melodic, and with a lovely melancholic bent. A bit late to the party with this one, but also liking Lykke Li, who provides another link within the pleasing Scandinavian musical nexus (Lykke Li>Royksopp>Robyn>The Knife>Jenny Wilson). And speaking of, I hear that Robyn has begun working on her new album with a tentative Snap and Technotronic influence. This is, of course, amazing, but I was actually hoping for more of a Colette influence... And as if I needed more evidence that the musical stars are aligned, now they're playing Babooshka on Rage.

2009-04-29T15:15:00.003+10:00

The bureaucracy has left me feeling cold and un-fripperous, with little to say except this: What is the point of mortal pursuits when, no matter how worthy the intent, they will never come close to this?

2009-04-27T23:25:00.005+10:00

But on a positive note -- because I am sometimes positive -- here is a good and proper perfume ad. While not involving celebrities, it is directed by Chris Cunningham. And it does indirectly involve Donna Summer, who, as it turns out, does not seem to hate 'the gays' after all.

More celebrity scent

2009-04-27T23:17:00.003+10:00

I don't get this. There's an alluring ball. She's entranced. So people should buy her scent.

Ronan Keating

2009-04-27T22:28:00.005+10:00

This is artistically and commercially awful. But I must share. Yes he's sucked the life out of Time After Time (karaoke instrumentation, limp delivery, a sense he's just singing a series of words), but even worse it's part of a 'tribute compilation' for his late mother (lovely intent I'm sure) which is being tactically released to coincide with Mother's Day. This seems an unsettling mix of sentiment and $$. Everyone knows Mother's Day is pop commerce gold -- probably the most important day of the year for the thoughtless purchase of music for people who don't really like music. The kind of day Sony Music likes best. The kind of day that keeps Human Nature alive. But come to think of it there's another thing fueling my distaste. While, yes, through Boyzone Ronan has contributed much to the realm of homoerotic pop, he is however responsible for Westlife, and therefore responsible for Brian McFadden, and therefore responsible for the Brian-Delta union. This will not be forgotten.

The best moment of cinema ever.

2009-04-24T21:58:00.003+10:00

I'm currently watching and loving The United States of Tara. It had a Sondheim number. Which reminded me of this.

2009-04-24T20:00:00.002+10:00

This is what happens when celebrities have nothing to promote.

The scent of celebrity

2009-04-21T21:04:00.006+10:00

I would prefer not to obsess over celebrity perfumes, but walking through Myer yesterday I was a little bemused by the effort they've gone to spruiking Sarah Jessica Parker's new The Lovely Collection. As expected there was a big stand with massive SJP images everywhere and flowers in rustic baskets. So far so Gwyneth. But they significantly upped the ante by deploying a phalanx of girls in massive, frilly flower dresses (and incidentally, layers of fake tan, Lancome-lady style) who were tasked with handing out flowers to passers by. I felt this was a little over the top, particularly in the context of Myer's crumbling Lonsdale street store with its everpresent scent of baked cookies. While they were trying to evoke 'loveliness', they were being very aggressive about it.

This brutal marketing strategy makes it extra amusing hearing SJP talk about the 'inspiration' behind her range -- somehow I can't reconcile the whimsy of it with the cut-throat world of celebrity perfumery. Yes, she might be inspired by 'dawn', but somewhere along the line there's a laboratory, chemical synthesis, factories and cut-throat marketing strategies. Whereas the image celebrities prefer to cast over their perfumes is much more organic, as if 'I really loved this idea and I seemed to have accidentally excreted this perfume. Wow.'

2009-04-19T22:57:00.004+10:00

Thank you to Tim for this tip. For some reason something about Zero had made me lose interest in the new album -- Karen O was verging towards self-parody in the clip, for one thing -- but Skeletons is amazing. Its emotion seems so, for want of a better descriptor, superpowered. Potentially, as I was discussing with Tim, the kind of highly powered synthesised emotion, devastating in it in its ability to paralyse through enforced reflection and melancholy, that would have been deployed in Kate Bush's Experiment IV. Which is, come to think of it, a very emotionless description.

Lady Gaga

2009-04-18T21:13:00.009+10:00

I've ignored Lady Gaga up until now, having filed her away hoping she somehow just disappears (along with Katy Perry). But now I can't deny her ascent anymore, particularly with her somewhat surprising US success (Poker Face at no.1, etc.) Whatever my opinion of her, getting dance-pop to the top of the US charts is, at the very least, notable. I should be happy about this, but I feel *nothing*. Nothing at all. Why?

For one thing I'm suspicious of her talent. But that's not necessarily relevant. History suggests I'm more than happy supporting those without talent. No, there's something bigger going on, and I think it's to do with her act of self-creation. Everyone seems so thrilled that she's channeled this Warhol aesthetic as some kind of commentary on pop culture, and valorisation of pop. The US market particularly (well, Perez Hilton at least) seems to thinks this is cutting-edge and novel.

But it's just not! Hello?? Kylie... Has this not been her driving (touring) aesthetic for a very long time? What about Roisin Murphy's avant garde wonders? What about Robyn? What about an entire continent that has acknowledged that pop can be cutting-edge for a very long time. What about Sweden for god's sake.

Not to generalise about an entire country... but... it's like the US car industry. After decades of churning out giant, clunky junk with live rear axles, orange-peel paint and panel gaps you can stick a fist through, suddenly it's all about svelte, premium small cars. What a good idea. Just like in Europe. So there you go. Lady Gaga is crap because of the American car industry's years of systematic mis-management, strategic mis-steps and desperate flight to Europe for commercial salvation.

Lady Gaga.

Quality European original.

2009-04-17T09:21:00.004+10:00

Back on a negative note, I think this has to be the worst celebrity perfume image I've ever seen. I feel I'm supposed to see a nubile river goddess, exultant in her perfumed powers, but instead I see a twisted and damp swamp creature, possibly signaling the end of the world. This is how I prefer to think of Mariah.

2009-04-17T09:19:00.003+10:00

But on a more positive note, I think this is my favourite album cover of all time.

2009-04-16T22:07:00.003+10:00

This reminds me of something that I can't quite put my finger on...

I think this was the intent...

But what I see is Jane Seymour...

With a pinch of Dynasty...

2009-04-16T10:53:00.003+10:00

This reminds me of something that I can't quite put my finger on...

A little bit of this...

A touch of pant-suit...

A dash of corporate excess...

And power shoulders?

And Girlfriend?

2009-04-15T21:28:00.003+10:00

This is not fun anymore. Approaching a week on the sick-couch, and I think I'm now at risk of becoming a shut-in. I'm also apparently beginning to display a suite of worrying behaviours, such as an increasingly Mr. Burnsesque gait and the occasional "goblin" aspect. I've also had computer games delivered to the door, having seemingly exhausted all other culture in my house. Forgetting how to engage with the world...

2009-04-15T08:33:00.006+10:00

This is great. I think. Or worrying? Perhaps worrying and great, as well as pleasingly self-reflexive for a starlet. I've always liked Lindsay for this very reason -- she's got a sense of humour about herself and a brain. But is this perhaps a bit too early for self-parody?

BUT ACTUALLY, this was equally, and possibly more impressive, and I don't think I respect Paris Hilton, although I've never been quite sure about that. Best bit: "Oh... Maui... *loves* it...".

2009-04-13T18:00:00.005+10:00

Another product of my sickbed haze is that I joined Twitter. No, that's a lie. I actually rejoined, after joining a few weeks ago to see what the fuss was about, and then un-joining after feeling dirty somehow, as if my synapses were going to re-wire themselves to think in 140 characters or less. OK, so, yes I've re-joined, but I still don't quite get it. There's nothing that compelling, although admittedly, because I follow Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore the bulk of my updates are their mini-declarations of love to each other (often with the Kabbalah "love and light" sign off.) Mildly interesting, yes, but I still don't understand how this is zeitgeist. Although if Demi Moore can talk someone out of killing themselves via Twitter, I guess it is. I think the only compelling rationale for staying is the early updates it may provide as to imminent celebrity meltdowns, which is why I'm now following Ms. Mariah Carey.

My long weekend

2009-04-13T08:49:00.009+10:00

Yes, computer games are involved, but this is not the whole story. Consumed by visions of carefree weekend activities, like a night on the town, lingering coffees, going to markets blah blah blah, on Thursday arvo I started to feel sick. This rapidly turned into one of those nastier colds where you can't really do anything except laze on the couch, your joints and muscles aching, your skin tingling, feverish, crap.

On Saturday night the gods of mild illness decided I needed something more (perhaps I am not celebrating Easter the proper, religious way?) so I was given horrible chest pains which prevented me from sleeping. Whatever lesson I was supposed to learn, I obviously didn't, because on Sunday night it turned out that a takeaway pastry I ate had spent too long in the bain marie, which led to unpleasant results that I need not name (having so powerfully evoked). This also made sleep difficult.

And the one, single time I poked my head out the front door (to take out the trash, literally), I was greeted with the most idyllic of scenes -- beautiful blue sky, people cycling past, walkers, cats frolicking etc. BUT this has not all been bad. Because, of course, the benefit of being confined to the couch is you really can't do anything except watch TV or play computer games. And I have, I have, I have. In brief:

I'm back playing Transport Tycoon, a game I was addicted to in the mid-1990s. Perfect for anyone with obsessive tendencies, all one's perfectionist zeal can be channeled into making sure the trains run on time (with 80% passenger loads), naming trains ("Interline Monarch"), and planning intricate Bus-Plane-Train connections. I just launched my first Concorde. My heaven.

In between transport planning, I also finished off the BBC adaptation of The Line of Beauty. I actually thought it was pretty faithful to the book, although it suffered a bit for not having Alan Hollinghurst's writing to flesh out the characters a bit more. It certainly looked the part, though. I also wrapped up Damages, Season 2 and Kathy Griffin, My Life on the D-List. This then led to some Youtube investigating into the feud between Barbara Walters and the *wonderful* Rosie O'Donnell. I was amused that only the day after the infamous fight, this was Kathy's response. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm still shocked when I see how hated Rosie is (at least among youtube comment-leaving types). I LOVE Rosie -- I really do, and I hate her haters. But anyway.

So, when I was interspersing Damages with Kathy Griffin, I made a decision to adopt either an Ellen Parsons or a Kathy Griffin persona at work to "get things done", and tear through the inertia of government. I can't decide if I'd prefer to have Ellen's "fuck-off" vibes permeating from a humourless face, or begin every sentence with "here's the thing..." In my Damages-watching/cold haze, I also decided that it would be cool to have private investigators with which to acquire "information" and power, so be careful.

My new work image?

Bridezillas, Season 1

2009-04-08T08:06:00.005+10:00

It's been a while since I lost my life for a brief period to Bridezillas. However after Lauren managed to watch the thing in under twenty four hours I've been reminded of its hypnotic powers. Not the slightly cheap second season onwards, but the terrifying first season -- the one where they filmed actual Manhattan brides.

I'd always wondered how they managed to rope them in, as presumably the brides wouldn't have signed up to be demonised, but apparently the project was originally titled "Manhattan Brides", and framed as a documentary about the highly competitive Manhattan wedding circuit... the perfect way to attract perfectionist brides dreaming of spreads in InStyle. The key moments:

"Wall street trader" Vanessa looking longingly at a diamond ring, batting her lashes at her fiance Dan and whispering, "but I love it so"... Equally gold was the interspersing of her walk down the aisle with shots of her pre-wedding training, and motto "pain is weakness leaving the body, pain is weakness leaving the body".
Cynthia's attempts to maintain an image of struggling actress living while discussing her $100,000 wedding.
Miho's palpable hatred for fiance Joe, which actually seemed quite justified considering how irritating he was, particularly when riding his mid-life crisis scooter which for some reason he thought was rad. Actually, watching her various strategies to avoid kissing him crossed the line from hilarious to slightly devastating...
The ridiculous $250,000 island wedding, where the bride was marrying a friend of her father's, who bore an uncanny resemblance to her father except with an unfortunate sweat problem. Also notable: The fact they flew in a "Videographer" from Paris to capture the wedding, and the wedding planners' walky talkies, e.g. "the cake has arrived, over".
Karen's OCD tendencies revealing themselves at every stage of the wedding preparations, but particularly during the dress fittings, as well as her bizarre freak-out when her hair stylist covered her ear with hair, which for some reason touched a nerve.
The dress shop lady who forgot to conceal her hatred for rich brides.
Julia's delusions of being a Princess and incessant self-talk. Would have been more amusing if her entire life's savings weren't being thrown into the wedding, which once again crossed the line to be really quite devastating.

More Kylie product...

2009-04-07T07:53:00.004+10:00

More off-season Kylie merch, this time from Spanish jeweller Tous. Directed by Ellen von Unwerth, it seems to have been filmed on tour and features some of the dancers as well as her glamorous-glamorous-gl-glamourous (flossy flossy) musical director Sarah DeCourcy (I think), who looks exactly as one would imagine musical directors look in 70s Bond films. Very much poaches the Justify my Love concept (also filmed mid-tour) of saucy maid in Euro-hotel peering through 'peep-hole' to catch god knows what going on inside, except in contrast to Madge's sinful festival of erotica, all that seems to be happening here is K skipping around drinking champagne, spinning around to feel dizzy (like we did in primary school), and then passing out on top of a giant fur rug. For reference, here's Justify my Love, although unfortunately the only version I could get has a very different song overlaid, which makes for a very different effect....

Even today, I don't think you'd get someone of Madonna's (celebrity) stature making a clip like this. I think we've become accustomed to seeing bodies, but nothing this darkly erotic.

2009-04-04T10:13:00.007+11:00

Thank you Rage. I did indeed want Madonna's Burning Up to greet me this morning. Because this has to be one of the best lyrics ever, particularly when you know who uttered it.

Do you wanna see me down on my knees?
Or bending over backwards now would you be pleased?
Unlike the others I'd do anything
I'm not the same, I have no shame
I'm on fire.

I like the 'on fire' bit. It's both flip and elemental. Cool. And you know she means 'I'd do anything', unlike Don't pretend you're not hungry/ I've seen it before/ I've got Turkish Delight baby and so much more.... Gross... In the realm of sexual metaphor, what exactly is turkish delight?

PS Note Christopher Ciccone as backup dancer in The Tube clip...

2009-04-03T18:39:00.006+11:00

Kylie admits to Botox, and various other miscellaneous procedures. Good on her. I admire her delicate wording around plastic surgery "issues". Traditionally she's said she makes the best of what's available to look her best, and then quite rightly points out that when she looks good we say she's had work done, and when she doesn't we say she's old, and probably should get work done. Fair point. Because I think on some level we want her to remain ageless.

I've also enjoyed Courtney Love's (initial) response to plastic surgery rumours -- wearing a smirk, and with a twinkle in her eye, she simply proclaimed the transformative powers of yoga. Then there's Cher's choice quote: "they are my tits and if I wanna have them put on my back that is my own damn business". Another fair point. And speaking of such bold procedures, Joan Rivers has now written a guide to plastic surgery, which I'm not entirely sure is a joke.

But still no word from Madge:

As a rule I find plastic surgery much more creepy when it's not spoken about. For example, every time I see a photo of Madge's face now I can't help but picture two silicone orbs stuffed under her cheeks. Cheeks are huge right now.

2009-04-02T20:20:00.006+11:00

I'm finding this ever so sweet, because I find Kerry Armstrong's 'smug self-actualisation' hard to stomach. So many magazine profiles talking about how centred she is, her journey blah blah blah, usually with a soft-focus image of her sitting cross-legged on a rustic wooden floor drinking herbal tea, with beads. But then you see what she's saying and it's just nuts.

Anyway, I think I've been anti-Kerry since happening upon (I think) a 7.30 Report segment years ago talking about the work she was doing with a charity encouraging indigenous kids to get into acting. After much footage of her talking about how important it was, what she was doing, for the kids, it then cut to the actual proceedings. This consisted of her emoting on stage, with the aforementioned kids plonked beside her in front of giant projection screens of her face. I've found this hard to forget.

So I had a hearty chuckle when I saw that her extreme selling-out has so publicly backfired. The mums of Australia will just never forgive her. For more evidence of how nauseating pop psychology can be, have a look at Kerry here:

The secret... of circles.

ACTUALLY watching this again has made me realise what it is that bugs me... when she talks about all this self help stuff, you get this sense that she's more focused on the performance of her talking about it than the stuff itself. A ha!!

2009-04-01T08:40:00.006+11:00

This is bad pop. And just when I was starting to like Natalie Bassingthwaighte too, or at least her cheery big sister SYTYCD persona (as in, not her terrible music). But this has a plodding dirge-like quality, with the following lyrical centrepiece: "And the world is like a mirror ball/ I'm spinning in the after-glow of Love". Hee hee hee, that's funny.

Speaking of careerist Australians, Dannii has a blog. And interestingly, she makes what I take to be a reference to working with the Freemasons. She's also looking great at the moment. Oh K, how you have fallen.

2009-03-30T22:45:00.000+11:00

This is amazing!

Emiliana Torrini

2009-03-28T22:34:00.006+11:00

This is really cute, although it probably reinforces the base cultural stereotype that all Icelandic women are like Bjork, albeit at 80% strength. It also reminds me of this:

I've taken a while to get into Me and Armini, probably because it's a bit too subtle for my more brutal musical tastes, and I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that a colourful clip has reignited my interest. Which reminds me of a sobering moment over Christmas, when I was watching KylieX2008 with my 20 month old niece.

I noticed that she was dancing along with intensity, but only, apparently, because the line of 8 men dressed in colourful space suits reminded her of the Wiggles, except for the amyl I imagine. This was of course a zeitgeist moment, because only a few months later K was hooking up with the Wiggles for the masterful Monkey Man (see below).

2009-03-26T22:38:00.002+11:00

Skip to 2:57 for the most exhilarating bit of pop I've heard this year. This makes me happy.

2009-03-26T21:56:00.002+11:00

I had a very vivid dream this morning that Britney Spears was in some Lord of the Rings-style landscape, where she had 155 babies. It then unfolded that Lynne Spears was somehow capturing these babies in strange holding-camps. Unsettling. Thoughts?

So, so cute!!!!

2009-03-25T18:15:00.004+11:00

Is this perhaps Kylie's sans William Baker vision?

2009-03-25T09:10:00.004+11:00

Ha! How those smooth opening sounds and Ricky Martin long-sleeved man-tops take me back. Also amusing how the two other band-mates are systematically hidden behind the slightly more hot one. But I'm mostly struck by the marginally-too-aggressive lyrics. As in, there seems to be a lot of talk about subverting someone's autonomy. Lots of talk about "getting something".

2009-03-25T09:01:00.004+11:00

I do occasionally watch the Today show in my zombie-wake-up window between around 7.10-7.40. It provides a safe "nothing" space, akin to those lost minutes in the shower when you're not quite ready to admit it's over and the trudge to work begins. I can't say I *enjoy* it though. In fact it's quite painful to watch, mostly because, since the days of Jessica Rowe, Today has been acting like the more serious aunt unsuccessfully trying to crack wacky jokes 'cause her zestful sister (Sunrise) was getting all the attention.

It's also painfully conservative, with Lisa Wilkinson and Karl Stefanovic playing the Mum and Dad role, as in the awful 9am with David and Kim, and Sunrise -- like the classic older guy newsreader, younger girl reader couple, which makes us feel more comfortable because its, like, nuclear. BUT, the most interesting thing is that Karl, it seems, has been "Koched". As in, at some point over the last few years, someone evidently decided Karl was too boring and serious, and asked him to act like David Koch. And now he's acting all alpha male, making wobbly sports commentary, vaguely sexist comments, acting all Dad-like when interviewing younger women, and making bad jokes. Very unpleasant. And I still haven't forgiven Lisa Wilkinson for her days on Beauty and the Beast, in which she apparently represented some kind of "new" feminism that even at the time seemed a bit shaky. I do sound full of bile.

2009-03-23T21:56:00.003+11:00

And while briefly sidetracked on the topic of news, this is really cute. I have an odd respect for CNN guy Anderson Cooper -- even though he is kind of ridiculous (e.g. reporting from war-torn provinces in buff-chest revealing t-shirts, daredevil reporting etc.), I think he's actually pretty darn funny, and has a keen pop culture appreciation. As evidenced here. And how cute is Ellen when she loses, awwww.

2009-03-23T21:25:00.006+11:00

I am completely gob-smacked by tonight's Four Corners interview with Marcus Einfeld, the $77 parking fine former federal court judge. Watching it reminds me of the lie-spirals I occasionally found myself caught in back in primary school, but on a terrifying scale. Most compelling, however, was watching Four Corners' reporter Sarah Ferguson ruthlessly pound him with straight-to-the-jugular questions... mostly, "do you regret not paying the parking fine?" Anyway, this reminds me of how much I love hardline ("fierce") ABC journalists, which I will now rate in order of admiration:

1. Leigh Sales

2. Liz Jackson

3. Sarah Ferguson

4. Ali Moore

5. Emma Alberici

2009-03-23T18:25:00.009+11:00

Aside from being greeted by bumblebee#2 on the 96 ("buzzing along", with luxurious seating, a touch of French flair, and none of that Siemens teeth-grinding shudder), what also made me happy today was my wealth of new music. Particularly:

I'm loving Yes so far, but particularly this... No one does sentimentality like the PSB, and this definitely feels like a return to form. Even with some cutely naff PSB rhyming ("pain", "rain"), its polished yearning for the past gives me goosebumps. And I think working with Xenomania has been a really good move -- they haven't thrown away their sound, and it feels nicely fresh.

If I was working for Kylie's team, I would be very worried that I've decided not to buy her new remix album. I AM her core audience, and if I turn my back it's a very bad sign, unless she can win over some of the more vapid drones on her forums. But I did download this... I initially loved Boombox because I thought the lyric was "give me OCD", which would have been *wicked*, but I think it's actually "give me your CD". Oh well. But hearing K mouth the words "Let it drop, make it rock", as improbable as that is, has a certain magic to it. I really, really want her to be hardcore. The lyric also formed one of the best bits of KylieX2008, in the first section of the following, before Can't Get You Out of My Head:

Then there's Jenny Wilson which I'm still getting my head around, Animal Collective and Fever Ray, courtesy of Elanor, but that's not for here. All of which provides a pleasant buffer from boring things like divisional restructures, standard deviations and plumbing.

More Roisin Murphy...

2009-03-22T16:20:00.003+11:00

The Sarah Ferguson look...

Mia Farrow meets doillie...

Dynasty...

Bowie...

Air France v. Shirley Temple...

2009-03-21T19:12:00.006+11:00

NEWSFLASH: Miley Cyrus' real name is Destiny. Destiny Hope to be exact. Which adds a new twist to the best lyric of 2008: My best friend Leslie said/ Oh, she's just being Miley...

Actually, See You Again needs to be acknowledged as one of the watershed moments of 2008, announcing as it did that tweenpop was where musical excitement was *happening*. Although the greatness of See You Again stems from the way in which it seems so very inappropriate for tweenpop, namely the slightly been-around-the-block lyrics, such as:

I've got my heart set on you and I'm ready to wait/ I have a heart that will never be tamed...

I've got a way of knowing when something is right/ I feel like I must've known you in another life/ Cuz I felt this deep connection when you looked in my eyes...

Does that sound like 15-year old speak? To be fair the chorus does ("the last time I freaked out, I just kept looking down... the next time we hang out, I will redeem myself..."). But the effect of this alternating old-young-old-young verse-chorus pattern is to set up an uncomfortably predatory vignette (to steal your dancefloor observations, Catherine). Here it is one more time...

New Jenny Wilson!

2009-03-18T21:10:00.005+11:00

What a pleasant surprise. Love and Youth was the soundtrack to my restless 2008, and a very fitting soundscape to accompany protracted crises about getting older, lack of direction, indecision, deadening of the soul etc. Its talk of 'crazy summers' led me toward my bizarre and slightly ill-conceived European adventures, and brief parting from The Government. But what seductive lyrics for anyone of a romantic disposition:

Anyhow, I know the truth. It's what they call Love and Youth.

Sold my bed, no need to sleep these nights/ Walking round in search for stars these nights/ The sky is perfectly brown instead of black/ Let my shoes lead me forward, please bring me some luck.

Crazy summer/ Hot breeze/ Don't care about what people said.

Then the summer comes/ Hey, ain't that the roughest time the roughest of times/ Sun bleached hair/ No matter what you've just got to have fun...

See how easy it is to stitch these into a narrative leading all the way to Stockholm? (strategically ignoring any irony) Very easy. I love L&Y's breeziness, humour, but also its edge of melancholy -- anyone who has the time to write a concept album idealising love and youth is presumably writing about it from some distance. And it's just so romantic! As in romance in the unformed, unfocused way -- the romance of what might happen next. In Sweden.

Let my shoes lead me forward...

So back to my pleasant surprise that there's something new out. Have to pick it up tomorrow, but I have to say I'm actually a bit weirded out by the single, The Wooden Chair. At this point it's hard to separate the music from the imagery, but as a package its pretty full-on. For one thing, the clip's very Judy Garland TV-special (as in severe and draggy), with none of the lightness of Let my shoes lead me forward. The song's growing on me very, very quickly, but it's also quite severe, particularly the dramatic chorus (which for some reason reminds me of mid 90s Des'ree crossed with Jenny Morris. Don't ask why). But how very, very exciting!

More Kylie produce!

2009-03-16T18:45:00.004+11:00

But seriously, where except G-A-Y would men actually be wearing Kylie's new fragrance for men? Unless it becomes a sort of scent-based code (thinking of The Swimming Pool Library's "Trouble for Men").

Nice to see her with her latin lover, although something about her slightly Marks & Sparks hair extensions, cod-coy looks and lace "bingo-wings" (to quote her) concealing top veers a bit close to the "tipsy aunt at family function cracking onto teenager" look she launched here:

I know it seems I'm coming down a bit hard on K at the moment, but my absolute respect for her is entirely critical. I still think Spinning Around is a bit crass, I don't like her album filler, and even though I claimed to like Red Blooded Woman for a period, that was after lots and lots of effort, and I've since thoroughly renounced it.

2009-03-15T14:30:00.001+11:00

I feel an obligation to post this. Hmmm.

2009-03-15T13:26:00.003+11:00

My god I've had so much coffee I feel like my insides are floating on a cloud above my head. So anyway, Kathy Griffin. I've always written her off as screechy and annoying, but My Life on the D List is inspiring some newfound admiration. Here's her infamous Anderson Cooper "outing" during their new year's coverage on CNN. I'm not actually convinced she's referring to him, but the fact alone that she's uttered "knock the dicks out of your mouth" on CNN is special enough.

2009-03-15T09:49:00.006+11:00

I've been going through a bit of a Roisin Murphy phase at the moment, finally getting into Ruby Blue, and reigniting my love for Overpowered, which seems very close to the perfect fusion of complex emotion and beats. But there's also something amazing going on in the fashion department that needs to be acknowledged:

Rollergirl?

1970s Cher meets Edina Monsoon...

Knitting with Bjork?

Omen of death descends in London?

Foreboding spider creature chic?

But this I love. Alot of her best work seems to be about long-term relationship entanglement, presumably working through her breakup from, you know, the Moloko guy. And this clip just gets me -- all the shots of her alone in empty domestic scenes, with that thinly concealed madness that she does so well (apparently she is a little loopy). Particularly like the bit at 2.08 where she's eating her cereal, but then slides the plate away because what's the point?

2009-03-15T08:51:00.004+11:00

Wow, I didn't think this would actually happen, but now they're doing ads together? They do seem like a dangerously co-dependent couple, considering they're unable to do anything career-related without their "other halves". Also v. amusing that Delta felt the need to whack her gold record front and centre...

An alternate Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony?

2009-03-14T10:10:00.001+11:00

Wow. This was just on Rage, and I'm speechless. There's something about horseriding in a clip that seems of another age... as does smiling uncontrollably throughout.

2009-03-14T09:16:00.009+11:00

Glitter tears! Awesome!

Apparently the new Freemasons' single featuring Sophie Ellis Bextor was debuted at the Mardi Gras afterparty, although I was either in bed, eating Maccas on the way home, or having a moment outside to regain my sense of personal space. I worry that SEB's heading for a more Dannii trajectory of guest vocals on random tracks followed by long periods of hibernation. Although, to be fair, SEB's been doing baby stuff, and a Rimmel ad is something Dannii could only dream of. I just feel that Sophie's a wasted talent...

But on the plus side she pulls off the London career girl look quite well...

And speaking of, how have I never seen this...

History suggests that K will endorse anything for enough $$ but the thought of her driving herself around in a sub-$30,000 car strikes a somewhat false note, at least without her PA Leanne lurking somewhere nearby. Actually, K would have to be one of the most advert friendly stars around. Off the top of my head, she's done stuff for British Airways, H&M, her "Parfum", her bedding apparel, Agent Provocateur, LoveKylie, Tous, Pepsi, Evian, and Audi (she's got a contract stipulating she can only be driven in their cars). And lets not forget the $4 million to perform at the opening of that Marcosesque end-of-the-world-and-we're-sipping-champagne casino monstrosity in Dubai. Still, thankfully she's never sunk to the lows of Destiny's Child with their McDonald's sponsored Destiny Fulfilled... And Lovin' It tour.

More $$ for the coffers...

If U Seek Amy...

2009-03-13T18:29:00.003+11:00

The new vid is here... and I kinda like it. The first section's standard Britney post-My Perogative sleaze, but I quite like the 50s house wife ending. Not that it's particularly complex, but any sign of depth in Britters' work carries extra weight because of its usual absence. And here's to all those, myself included, who found the "hidden" meaning of If You Seek Amy surprisingly hard to decode...

Britney Spears If U Seek Amy [Official Musiq Video]
by lilwayneTV

Taylor Swift @ Billboards

2009-03-11T20:35:00.005+11:00

I've only actually heard two of her songs, and didn't really know what to expect, but Taylor Swift's arrival in Melbourne brought with it an Obamaesque air of change. Despite the unfortunate Billboards setting, and despite the fact that she really does look like a fox (as in the animal, rather than a "foxy" fox), she has completely won me over: such energy, such showmanship, such unfiltered glee, such poise. For a moment I felt that this millennium could indeed bring hope. Highlights included:

The crowd: Judging by the high-pitched squeals and the fact that even I was ID'd, this was a young crowd, hilariously composed of teenage princesses, Tamworth blow-ins in cowboy shirts and gay men in cowboy shirts.
Her big reveal: See the youtube link below for an example, but her big costume "reveal" was priceless, as was the look on her face of "yep, I really did that!!".
The tap dogs influence: Yep, percussion on garbage bins.
Her messages of hope: I was feeling kind of glum about the future, but now that an 18 year old's told me change is on the way, I believe it.

Costume reveal...

And Billboards bin banging!

2009-03-10T23:15:00.003+11:00

Hee hee hee...

"Happy Mardi Gras, F***ers!"

2009-03-09T09:54:00.007+11:00

Oxford St. Chemist: Lube, Water & Berocca.

I've just returned from my first Mardi Gras, whch for a generally bookish, retiring type is quite an achivement. I've always found Sydney to have a kind of frontier town vibe, with street brawls and wenches potentially spilling out of of ale houses. The former is quite accurate, of course. On our first stroll down picturesque Oxford St we walked past a pub, only to walk back two minutes later to find police tape, litres of blood and a broken bottle on the pavement. A few blocks down, a "police response unit" was attending to something unspecified but sinister. At this point a young girl walked past and screamed "Happy Mardi Gras FUCKERS!!", which I think handily sums up Mardi Gras' mix of aggression and festivity.

The actual parade (or at least what I could see of it behind two bitchy French girls on crates) was a mix of the heartwarming and the confusing. Heartwarming: Matthew Mitchell, police, firefighters, SES, PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays), various schools (!!) that had entered floats against homophobia, humanitarian orgs etc. Confusing: State Rail, Pump Water, and various other components of "the" gay lifestyle... There's a complex mix of the commercial and the political playing out at Mardi Gras. Its got a highly political history, and its existence alone has a political effect. But on the other hand the gay lifesyle being embraced (by the sponsors more than the community orgs) is a narrowly defined one, heavily tied to consumption, drugs, drink, leisure etc. Which is fine, but interestingly, and judging only from the crowd around me (lots of families, mums, dads, etc.), alot of people were there to witness a spectacle of excess rather than to support equality per se.

At the afterparty, which admittedly was catering to a particular slice of the market, it felt like a zombie flick filled with shiny shirtless men, all gym-buffed, hair only in the right places, appropriate tan etc. Funny that in an event embracing diversity, everyone looked exactly the same. But anyway, my queer politics are horribly convoluted, and it is kinda cool that Mardi Gras can so thoroughly take over Sydney, even if the reality of it is just a little bit skanky. Oh, and the surprise guest was no other than Tina Arena, which brings me to the second part of my Sydney advernture...

Tina Arena, Live in Concert

I've never quite called myself a Tina fan, but I've followed her career from Don't Ask days through Simon, the ultimate Tina fan. The latter part of her career I've found much more interesting, not only because some of her French stuff is really good, but also because she's emerging as quite the survivor where others would have fallen quickly against the Sony sword. As in, after she lost her deal with Sony here she snagged a new one with Sony France, then went on to record Songs of Love and Loss independently and license it in Australia through EMI -- its impressive watching her navigate the industry. It's also been heart-warming watching her find her self (and career) in France, and return home re-born with a new style and confidence, which is a pretty compelling narrative (think Sabrina).

The tour's in support of Songs of Love and Loss 2, which follows on (somewhat cynically, perhaps) from the first volume which, being covers-mad Australia, sold very, very well. Accordingly half the night was covers, and then the rest was greatest hits with a bit of French stuff thrown in. First of all, she really can sing. It's rare to get her combination of technical proficiency and emotional range. Second, she has really, really, crazily obsessive fans. Thirdly, she is slightly unhinged. When she talked, she talked, going on about her "journey" from sleep overs in Dandenong to Prisian haute corture, but all in most profound way. As... in... everything... was... said... slowly... to... suggest... meaning. She also displayed a taste for Toni Childs-style earth woman dancing which was both endearing and unsettling. While my impression was positive, there was a sense that she's probably better than this tour. It felt as if she was enduring an Australia that doesn't appreciate that she really is a big star, albeit somewhere else.

But this, of course, is how I'll always remember Tina...

2009-03-05T16:14:00.005+11:00

WHAT! WHAT! WHAT? William Baker did Britters' costumes? TRAITOR. I guess. Bit confused about what his actual role was -- all I can deduce is that he was "one of" her stylists. And here's a reaction from the always toxic Kylie forums... "Britney... beware!! or before you know it, you'll end up having granny hair". Ha!

Circus opens!

2009-03-05T14:57:00.006+11:00

This snuck up on me... Had no idea opening night was upon us. Hard to gauge from photos alone, but they don't look promising. Despite Jamie King at the reigns (Confessions creative director), Britters' tours are always a bit crass, if you ask me. Aside from a sense that she's melting down throughout, they normally evoke Janet Jackson Rythm Nation era, but with a touch of the Mickey Mouse club. Very robotic and saccharine. And this is nitpicking, but she always does this ridiculous dance move where she struts forward, and points each arm out in either direction making some kind of "hey" gesture, as in the bottom part of the image below...

2009-03-04T21:25:00.005+11:00

Annoyingly I can't embed these, but are the clips to PCD's I Hate This Part and Backstreet Boys' Incomplete not eerily similar? Key moments are Backstreet Boys' cutting to images of someone alone in the ocean as they sing 'in an ocean all alone', and at 1.52 minutes in I Hate This Part where PCD seamlessly insert a dance sequence into their ballad, presumably to give the (non-singing) girls something to do.

2009-03-04T18:27:00.004+11:00

I was enduring one of those hideously awkward getting-to-know-you tutorial conversations today (incidentally with a guy studying organisational psychology who referred to mental health clinics as "nut houses") when I was asked what music I like. Normally I would make the effort to mount a firm defense for my discriminating embrace of pop, but to lessen the general awkwardness, I did a quick mental scan for appropriate music to mention -- all I could come up with was that I had "eclectic taste". "Not like Britney?", was the response. As I switched off my ipod which was, at the time, playing Britney's whimsical Unusual You, I acknowledged that I would not necessarily reject such music, but then flagged Morrissey as something on current rotation. I have no conviction.

Madonna vs Cyndi

2009-03-03T21:15:00.010+11:00

Back in January I started a lazy pop cultural wrap up of 2008 and got as far as Sticky & Sweet and KylieX2008. Yes, many other things happened last year, but these were such obviously monumental events they deserved primary consideration. But as it's, like, March, I thought I'd continue sifting through the wash-up of a quite significant year in pop...

You know something's going on if two groundbreaking female pop icons forged in the mid-8os, both recently turned 50, release albums within months of each other. And while I remember thinking when these came out that they seemed such different approaches for mid-life pop stars to take, there's actually some structural similarity between the two that makes their apparent differences even more interesting.

Most obviously, Madge's Hard Candy is a take on R&B, whereas Cyndi's thrown her lot into eurodance (which is, funnily enough, where Madge was positioning herself with Confessions on a Dance Floor). When I first heard that Madge was going to be working with Timbaland and Timberlake I was a little worried -- why would she follow up something groundbreaking by jumping on a bandwagon that had already passed? Well, there's always some method to Madge's near pathalogical fascination with the new. It turns out Confessions just didn't sell well in the US. On a business level, I guess it would make sense to claw back the American market by givin em' what they want, but artistically it seemed quite regressive that she would sell herself out to hit-makers who were already beginning to lose their sheen.

While I can say with utter certainty that the result, Hard Candy, is awful, I'm still intrigued by it for reasons unknown. I think the awfulness stems from the improbability of a 50 year old control freak singing:

See which flavor you like and I'll have it for you
Come on in to my store, I've got candy galore
Don't pretend you're not hungry, I've seen it before
I've got turkish delight baby and so much more.

This sounds creepy, but something about it keeps making me think of menopause, although I'm sure that's some sick preoccupation of my own. 4 minutes seemed similarly disingenuous, with it's half-hearted and vague eco-message (messages which always seem a bit off from Madonna and her 'nannies, assistant driver and a jet'). To boot, she sounded completely bored throughout, except, interestingly, in the excellent Give it 2 Me -- I always believe Madonna more when she's singing about getting what she wants, working hard, and screwing over whoever gets in the way. But most of it was bad R&B dross. So, so, sad, and a commercial failure, which proves once again that you don't crack America by making music you expect America wants. But still my fascination. I think it's cause I secretly want to believe that Madonna remains eternal, and if you listen to select moments and don't actually look at her, you can just for a second believe she's unstoppable.

Even though Cyndi Lauper's Bring Ya to the Brink was a no-apologies dance record, it was Max Martin who she turned to for some of its best bits, which suggests that its quirkiness was coming from her own input rather than producer smarts. It also means that, in terms of turning to the hit-makers, Lauper wasn't that different to Madge in her method. Martin's Into the Nightlife has one of the *best* choruses I've heard in a long time, and while some songs veered into anonymous disco, her personality's so winning they're saved from complete banality. But most satisfying were the more ballady moments (e.g. Echo), where she proved she's still able to project fragility and vulnerability with the same kind of authenticity she showed with Time After Time and True Colours. Considering Madge's obsession with youth, it's funny that Bring ya seems like a much younger record -- I can actually believe that Lauper would, you know, go out and stuff, whereas Madge seems like she might be taking tips from Lourdes. If Hard Candy is a steely career women botoxed to oblivion (or perhaps some Patty Hughes from Damages type creature), Bring ya is the fun and kooky art teacher who never works out but still goes clubbing on the weekends. Or something.

2009-03-03T12:06:00.007+11:00

How have I not watched this before? Why have I not wagged lectures before? The Drs seems to be a new The View-style medical issues show, covering serious medical issues through "Hot Topics" style chats, in which the doctors of dubious qualification switch from anecdotes about their 2 year old being cute at soccer practice, to "evidence-based" medical research with great dexterity. For example, "Notox", the Next Generation of Botox that uses some bodgy laser thing that seems like those similarly bodgy home use laser hair removal/ laser hair enhancement laser things. Sold! But seriously, it's as if soon our only source of information will be The View-style Hot Topic chats.

I also find it curious that all of these "Doctors" feel it is necessary to wear their operating room gear (whites? blues?) in the studio -- as if they could be called out at any second....

2009-03-02T13:41:00.009+11:00

Can frippery survive in the real world?

With flexible government working arrangements, it can.

But nonetheless, as the clock ticks towards my return to "The Bureaucracy", the need grows to document the frivolous and pointless. A few more things:

1. Natalie Bassingthwaite has debuted at no.1!! End of days? Or an extension of the unexplained popularity of Human Nature et al and their banal cover albums. Being a cover album, they at least had the luxury of choosing kind-of decent songs (although presumably cheap, cheap, cheap kind-of decent songs). But Nat's do actually sound like Rogue Traders off-cuts, which is a very confronting concept. Maybe she represents the triumph of careerism after-all... the Tracy Flick approach to stardom?

2. Ellen Degeneres is 51!? I find this hard to accept... and makes me realise how old Madonna seems through trying to seem young. I should remember this in 20 years time (and opt-out of the obvious path towards Madonna-style ageing that lies before me??)

3. I love Joy Behar from The View for bringing up the issue of gay teen suicide. She would be my ideal hip New York aunt.

4. And finally, I often forget about this, but Holly Valance's absolutely disasterous second album kick-off single really was very, very good. And I love her humourless donning of a Ramones t-shirt.

2009-03-01T20:33:00.006+11:00

Ben Cousins' fashion legacy?

Wrap up

2009-02-28T16:00:00.011+11:00

I worry this blog has become too hardcore as it descends further into the murk of bad pop. For the last week I've been pushing the line that bad pop is just as complex, inspiring and rich as more acceptable musical varieties -- I maintain that this is true. But I'm getting caught in the vortex of trash, and soon I will be without a soul, potentially feeling an emptiness similar to Whitney Houston as she craves her next fix. I need to divert my attention to other things (e.g. read that Patrick White novel, buy organic vegetables, exercise, blah blah blah blah). I promise more considered posts in the future.

BUT there remain a few final things I need to share...

Inappropriate Remixes

Trashy dance remixes of power ballads promise the world, but tend not to deliver. It's a seductive formula: combine the emotional nuance of the ballad with the driving force of house-lite, and the euphoria of peaking mid-sections. Unfortunately they're so often produced with the subtlety and artistic dexterity of So You Think You Can Dance "contemporary" numbers. But the more inappropriate the source material is to dance transformation, the more hilarious the results can be...

Suitable for gym work and prepping for VCE exams...

For that rare Commonwealth Games-dance crossover moment -- potentially Sensation New Years' at Telstra Dome?

Titanic dance...

And the mother of all dance remixes!!! Check out the snappy editing to dance-ify Evita!! I am seriously blown away by this...

And Whitney...

I was idly youtubing "Whitney Houston Crack is Whack" and found this unsettling interview with Diane Sawyer. I think seeing someone talk about how they're turning things around, how they've transcended their demons and how they're on the comeback trail when they're so obviously messed up touches a slight nerve. Something to do with the way we frame different points in our lives, and maybe that things might be more cyclical than we let ourselves believe. It's as if every celebrity interview is about something bad being transcended -- at every point, progress is being made with every stint in rehab, every comeback film etc. It's rare that an interviewee narrates things in terms of "I'm really falling apart right now". Anyway, I shouldn't glean my life lessons from Whitney...