Not Myself Tonight

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.

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

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.

The Circus Tour

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...

Your Madgesty is dead... long live Shakira!

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...

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

Up! revisited

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.

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.

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...

World's most extreme disasters...

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.

Eurovision 2009

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.

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. 

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.

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...

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:  

1. '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.'
   
2. '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.'
   

Ronan Keating

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. 

Lady Gaga

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.

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...

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.

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".