Madonna
Oh, this is not good. My heart's so not in it.
I have two feature articles to turn in by Monday, 5,000 words of novel to have in a publishable state by Friday and a tax return to finish. And, I think I'm starting with flu.
But, fuck all that really. My heart's not in it because I wanted to do Elvis. I even voted twice when the poll was neck and neck - but Bart changed his vote to Madonna, putting her back ahead. Thanks Bart.
It's not that Madonna doesn't give me plenty to work with. I mean, in some ways she epitomises the ugliest of America. She's intellectually vacuous but ignorantly vociferous. She has that "can do" spirit - but most of the time she can't (see, for example, every acting role she's ever had, every record she's made since "Ray of Light").
If American taste has a defining trait though, it's fakeness - and Madonna has it oozing out of her arse like old person's mucus.
Madonna's entire career has been one desperate round of mask wearing after another. One long Christmas afternoon where she's the exuberant, gap toothed six year old fresh from her first six weeks of dance school, doing her whole routine for the Aunties and Uncles. And they applaud politely at first - but after the ballet demonstration and a rendition of that song from "Annie", you just want the child to get out of the way so you can watch the telly for a bit. That's when they come back in wearing tap shoes and do "Me and My Shadow".
Madge's version of that is "Here's me in a video and I'M KISSING JESUS" and "Here are some pictures of me WITH MY FADGE OUT". And so on. It's never "Here's me making a really great album that stands on its own musical merits".
No - the reason my heart's not in is that I think Madonna these days and I think "so what?". How much more of a joke can you make of a woman who spent the first part of her career fucking herself with a crucifix on MTV, yet now bounces aimlessly from one New Age teat to the next in search of fulfillment-milk? How much exaggerated snark can you fling at a person who, while married to her English husband, spent five years pretending to be English? She adopted a mockney accent, drank "pints" down the local and - God fuck me with his big Jewish cock - went pheasant hunting. Her off-duty uniform in these unpleasant years appeared to be a tweed jacket and cloth cap.
What. A. Cunt.
So, I'm curtailing this entry so that I can do some real work - and not have to spend the rest of my morning seeing Madonna's wirey face, her big chin and shark eyes in my mind. And next time, fuck the polls. The King is dead.
twain
I have two feature articles to turn in by Monday, 5,000 words of novel to have in a publishable state by Friday and a tax return to finish. And, I think I'm starting with flu.
But, fuck all that really. My heart's not in it because I wanted to do Elvis. I even voted twice when the poll was neck and neck - but Bart changed his vote to Madonna, putting her back ahead. Thanks Bart.
It's not that Madonna doesn't give me plenty to work with. I mean, in some ways she epitomises the ugliest of America. She's intellectually vacuous but ignorantly vociferous. She has that "can do" spirit - but most of the time she can't (see, for example, every acting role she's ever had, every record she's made since "Ray of Light").
If American taste has a defining trait though, it's fakeness - and Madonna has it oozing out of her arse like old person's mucus.
Madonna's entire career has been one desperate round of mask wearing after another. One long Christmas afternoon where she's the exuberant, gap toothed six year old fresh from her first six weeks of dance school, doing her whole routine for the Aunties and Uncles. And they applaud politely at first - but after the ballet demonstration and a rendition of that song from "Annie", you just want the child to get out of the way so you can watch the telly for a bit. That's when they come back in wearing tap shoes and do "Me and My Shadow".
Madge's version of that is "Here's me in a video and I'M KISSING JESUS" and "Here are some pictures of me WITH MY FADGE OUT". And so on. It's never "Here's me making a really great album that stands on its own musical merits".
No - the reason my heart's not in is that I think Madonna these days and I think "so what?". How much more of a joke can you make of a woman who spent the first part of her career fucking herself with a crucifix on MTV, yet now bounces aimlessly from one New Age teat to the next in search of fulfillment-milk? How much exaggerated snark can you fling at a person who, while married to her English husband, spent five years pretending to be English? She adopted a mockney accent, drank "pints" down the local and - God fuck me with his big Jewish cock - went pheasant hunting. Her off-duty uniform in these unpleasant years appeared to be a tweed jacket and cloth cap.
What. A. Cunt.
So, I'm curtailing this entry so that I can do some real work - and not have to spend the rest of my morning seeing Madonna's wirey face, her big chin and shark eyes in my mind. And next time, fuck the polls. The King is dead.
twain