Hard Boyled

Over 30 million people have now been duped into watching the video of the frumpy middle-aged woman who can sing. Everyone is astonished. Who would have thought a frumpy middle-aged woman could sing?!

Who would have thought anyone would be surprised that a frumpy middle-aged woman can sing?

Either the average person is far more dull-witted than ever previously imagined, or we are all fooling ourselves. You’re at a talent show. You watch various attractive young people march across the stage, with varying levels of talent. Then you see a frumpy middle-aged woman. You think– obviously she has no talent.  Right.

In fact, any reasonably astute person would have likely thought, she’s certainly not here for her looks. Obviously, she must be able to sing.

Now, this is a program which introduces emerging talents and then processes them like hamburgers through the obscene rituals of fashion makeovers, stylists, image consultants, deportment experts, etc., with the goal of rendering them into mental frumps– celebrities. Why the real frumpy woman? To convince the viewers that they are not like those shallow, crass people who only appreciate art if it is packaged in sexy, youthful flesh. No no no– I don’t judge people by their appearance– only by their abilities.

And after Susan Boyle has had her meaningless moment on the stage, these same people will go back to choosing the singer with the biggest bosom, and only watching movies that star sexy young Hollywood starlets. Except for Meryl Streep movies– because she is the Susan Boyle of Hollywood films: the exception that proves we are decent, intelligent people after all. We like serious actors. My enjoyment of their films is a badge of culture and good taste. I’m glad you know that. Besides, Meryl Streep may be flat-chested but she is sort of pretty. She’s prettier than Mrs. Doubtfire.

Now, it has occurred to me that my enjoyment of obscure films by Japanese directors like Ozu might be taken for the same thing. I’ve had that reaction before: you can’t seriously like “Late Spring”– it’s excruciatingly slow moving and, it’s black and white. Or, more likely, “I watched that film you were so hot about– I couldn’t believe how boring it was!”

It’s probably true. Though I must admit, it’s not that much fun at work to casually mention, at lunch, that I watched an obscure Japanese film last night.

You just do that to make us think you’re smarter than we are.

Yeah, that’s what you get.

What I liked about my college experience is that it was one of the few times in my life when most of the people I hung out with respected elite artistry, drama, and music.

Nowadays, the elite is there to be mocked, even by the elite.


The Inevitable “Make-Over”

The latest: Susan Boyle has undergone a modest “make-over”, using a local hair stylist instead of a fancy one from the big city. The idea is to make it more digestible for the average viewer to maintain the illusion that they appreciate her for her voice and don’t care at all about the fact that she looks like a real person.


The Un-Boyle

Diana Krall seems like a perfectly fine lady. She looks very nice. She gets a lot of airplay on the CBC.

She is the opposite of Susan Boyle. Diana Krall looks absolutely ravishing– if your taste runs to big-boned blonde Visigoths– but, truthfully, is a rather average singer.

Norah Jones is in the same category: really, a mediocre singer with a pleasant voice, and, most importantly, a pretty body.

Just think– if you could combine Susan Boyle’s voice with Diana Krall’s looks, you would have the perfect entertainer. Right? Wrong. Nobody really cares about the voice part. Diana Krall has the only advantage that matters already in hand.

And actually, Susan Boyle’s singing talents really are quite over-rated as well.

The Geriatric Cover Song

Great and Not so Great Covers

There’s something interesting in Nouvelle Vague’s version of the Clash’s “Guns of Brixton”, and it isn’t the novelty effect. There’s an insouciant poignancy in the song, that isn’t there in the Clash’s version, a shimmering, simmering insinuating sneer. The Clash was an arrogant thug. Nouvelle Vague is a precocious child, asking the beaten and bruised: “how yah gonna come”? Come on now. Are you as tough as you think you are? It’s superb.

The same goes for Cat Powers remake of the Stones’ “Satisfaction”. She has absorbed the song, chewed it over, fanged it a couple of times, and emerged with an utterly twisted, vicious, revision. It’s brilliant.

I say that because the idea of doing over a great song isn’t necessarily a bad one. But it is when Paul Anka does “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and Rod Stewart does “It Had to be You” and now Carly Simon releases an album of torch ballads– I want to get out the torch.

There’s probably a lesser-known antecedent but I seem to recall that this awful trend started around 1979, when Linda Ronstadt’s career took a dive and she tried to reposition herself as a chanteuse with an album of pop “standards” by various allegedly great songwriters. Ronstadt, previously known for her country ballads and power-pop tunes, (“Different Drum”, “Long, Long Time”) was praised for her brave excursion into the mainstream, even though her performances of these songs were not particularly distinguished. To go with her new-found sense of sophistication, she lost weight and posed for some cheese-cake photos for Annie Liebowitz for Rolling Stone Magazine.

The critics are expected to fall over themselves to be the first to proclaim that they have such good taste that they could enjoy something that did not feature an screaming electric guitar or a hook.

And actually, I do believe that some of these, at least, are “great” songs, in the same way that some girls are “great” girls. They look so beautiful and refined and tasteful and sweet, you just want to buy them a diamond. Just don’t expect oral sex in return.

What you do not want to see in a great song is Rod Stewart’s lips behind it.

As for those reviewers– what are they going to do? It occurred to me that they are extremely unlikely to do otherwise than lavish praise on these wholesome tributes to the old fart school of music composition. Firstly, they would be absolutely stricken if anyone were to accuse them of having tunnel vision– don’t you know that “Summertime” is one of the greatest songs ever written? Secondly, I don’t think most of these critics, with the exception of the Times’ Stephen Holden, have a clue about what they are reviewing. The uniform adulation of mediocre vocalists like Norah Jones and Diana Krall tells you that a certain amount of posturing is going on. These women look great and they have astute management and they can mostly hold pitch. That’s about it.

If you’re really convinced that Diana Krall is a great singer, please name me a song or two performed by Emmy Lou Harris, Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Gladys Knight, or Lucinda Williams that would reflect kindly on Ms. Krall’s talents in comparison.

Unlike the Nouvelle Vague’s version of “Guns of Brixton”, or Die Toten Hosen’s version of “Hang on Sloopy”, or Cat Powers’ searing “Satisfaction”, none of these artists actually bring a whole lot of originality or creativity to their remakes. If anything, as Holden observes, most of these updates are dumbed down, the orchestrations more like movie sound tracks than settings, the phrasing pedestrian and utterly predictable. Worse than that– the posturing. All the irreverence and inventiveness and wit and fun of rock’n’roll is gone. I am now an artist, as in, the artist will appear at 10:00, in an evening gown or tuxedo, and he or she will be serious. She is going to sell the song. He is going to hold notes longer than he does when singing “Maggie Mae”. The audience will grovel at 10:06:15, then return to their martinis.

What they have forgotten is that there is a reason that the Beatles were like a breath of fresh air in 1963, and why Bob Dylan mattered.


You want covers? I’ll give you GREAT covers:

Satisfaction (Cat Power)
I Fought the Law (The Clash)
My Back Pages (Tom Petty, Eric Clapton, George Harrison, etc.)
Positively Fourth Street (Lucinda Williams)
Hang on Sloopy (the Toten Hosen)
Downtown (The Killer Barbies)
Tower of Song (Nick Cave)
He Hit Me (and it felt like a kiss) (Hole)
Oh Lonesome Me (Neil Young)
Wayfarin’ Stranger (Emmy-Lou Harris, with an exquisite lead acoustic guitar from Albert Lee)
Jolene (White Stripes)
You Aint Goin’ Nowhere (the Byrds)