Wednesday 22 July 2009

Madonna


Altight, if I’m going to write this article about Madonna, there are a couple of base points that should be made first, so no one is disappointed.

1) I absolutely detest the woman.

2) There will in no way be any compromising twist at the end of this rant.

3) I hate her

4) I hate her

5) I hate her

Before I start descending into gibberish, with dribble oozing from my mouth to puddle into the hair matted on my chin that I call a beard, I guess I should explain why. This isn’t the rambling of some jealous critic-wannabe, just the voice of someone who really dislikes the smug-cow.

I can admit openly, freely, and not under pain of interrogation that maybe, once, Madonna was a talented figure head that lead the pop-world zeitgeist. She was a trend setter. Someone who other people imitated. She was successful, both musically and in an entrepreneurial sense.

However, something changed. Either Father Time, and Mother Nature took a dislike to the queen of pop, or she just couldn’t keep up with the trends.

Madonna has gone from being the one of the most copy-paste-able music pin-ups to a wicked witch of the west, clawing at new fads and ideas to stay above water. For starters, the on stage lesbo-action with fellow pop harlot, Britney “ooh look at me” Spears, was a tragic tabloid headline ploy. Then, at the apex of the world’s attention towards Parkour and urban freeflow, Madonna jumps aboard the bandwagon, following everyone else, hiring Sebastian Belle to work with her on the video for her predictably named “Jump” and then also for the stage performances for her “Confessions” tour.

From being the world’s golden girl, to raping sub-culture for attention, in the span of one very long career.

Nowadays, she looks less like the queen of the popular genres, and more like an ageing aunty at a wedding after one too many sherries.

Madonna has come a long way from the chirpy fun era that saw a younger, more innocent version of her capture our hearts with “Like a Virgin” back in’84. Now, at age 51, Madonna’s recent singles seem like a soundtrack to her midlife crisis, and her live shows, even more so. Watching someone old enough to be your mother (or grandmother for those reading from Chatham) prance around on stage in a skin-tight cat suit or silky leotard is gut wrenching. The day she realises her age, and that very few people in the world find her attractive in this day and age, the sooner she can stop shoving her scantily hidden piss whistle in our faces.

Now, this isn’t to say her music isn’t listenable, it’s just kind of like the plastic, processed cheese you get on a burger in a pub. You can take it or leave it, but we’d all rather have the more filling and quality cheddar, or even the more worldly brie.

But, you can’t spell prima-donna, with out Madonna. And like the age old Opera stars this term was coined after, It seems Madonna just can’t let go, and will carry on chasing the dream she lived as a youthfull pop-star, until the day she dies.

Personally, I think the “zeit” has come for Madonna to give up the “geist” altogether.

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