I am back, at least for now! I have some thoughts on the whole "Victorientalism" thing, mainly because I just cannot shut up about fannish issues where people are just "having a bit of fun" or using some other redonk justification for proudly flaunting their unearned privilege at the expense of others, but I will save those thoughts for a time when I am less tired. But, to sum things up: Today has been just one of many days in the past few weeks where I have exclaimed out loud, to no one in particular, "JEESUM CROW, PEOPLE, DID WE LEARN NOTHING FROM RACEFAIL '09?"
Also, here is an important post by meloukhia that you should read if you are at all active in online social justice communities--and, come to think of it, fandom could probably stand to have a similar discussion. Because, yeah, this is a conversation that needs to happen, and it needs to happen sooner rather than later or not at all.
Please comment over at FWD, as I can't really deal with multiple comment threads right now.
Thanks to everyone who commented on my last post; I don't have the spoons to respond to you all individually, but please know that your thoughts are appreciated!
I have a rather Zen riddle for you guys: What is the sound of a fan being told off by someone she admires?
Yeah, I don’t quite know, either. But how perfect is it that having to address this latest go-round marks my return to blogging (especially after my last post on here)? A lengthy and sordid tale, shortened: I recently posted on FWD about Amanda Palmer and Jason Webley’s side project, the musical conjoined twin-duo Evelyn Evelyn, and things happened. Some folks showed up to tell me that I should focus on more important things, some broke out tone arguments, plus some other fun stuff. Which is sort of expected in the blogosphere—and some of which I expected, since Amanda’s fans tend to be pretty loyal--but I digress.
Here’s the thing: I attempted to be extremely careful about what I included in that post and how I wrote it. And yet, I keep having this nagging feeling that people either did not read or chose to ignore my numerous mentions of my affection for Palmer’s music, preferring instead to go into all-out defense mode. As if the definition of being a fan is entirely dependent on not critiquing and/or not questioning things that you take issue with. Ultimately, if I didn’t have the love that I do for Amanda’s music, and the desire to see her do better in the whole not-appropriating-disabled-peoples’-experiences department, I would not have written the post. I would not have raised these questions. I certainly would not have alluded to the fact that she can, and has, written some great songs about people with disabilities and/or mental health conditions (“Ultima Esperanza” and “Bad Habit,” to name just two). I probably would have just ignored Evelyn Evelyn as some eccentric side-project (that I am clearly not artistic enough to understand) and continued on my little bloggerly ways.
What I wanted to get across in the post, and what I want to reiterate here, is that some of us do not have the luxury of removing certain things, or certain people, from our mental peripheries. This is a hugely important principle in many segments of social justice work. For some of us, “suffering” is part of the messy reality of life; when you have chronic pain (as I do), that’s just the way it is sometimes. I cannot choose how, when or where my pain will affect me, and “suffering” is often part of the experience of living with pain, chronic illness or disability. And you cannot separate that suffering and that pain from the legacies of ableism, privilege and exclusion that continue to affect how people with disabilities are treated by many non-disabled people. As I’ve said before, dealing with my own physical pain is often easier than dealing with peoples’ opinions, attitudes and preconceived notions about my pain or about people with disabilities as a whole. But those things still affect and reinforce each other regardless.
How great for Amanda Palmer that she can so easily remove me--and my fellow disabled feminists--from her mental periphery. She would do well to remember, however, that many of us cannot do that. That she misunderstands my and others' critiques as just "anonymous hate" is, frankly, disappointing.
Also: Lauredhel has a great post here which further expands upon why all of this is so problematic.
Note: Comments on this thread, as usual, will be moderated with an iron fist. Them's the rules. If you don't like it, you can leave, because I am done arguing with people about supposedly infringing on their precious First Amendment rights by not letting them say bigoted shit.
I have another post up on the Bitch Blog today; it's about popular songs that get disability right, for the most part. Considering that this post did not take nearly as long as the Lady Gaga one to write, I am very pleased with how it turned out.
This photo is from a Vanity Fair feature on "Comedy's New Legends." It is Seth Rogen, dressed as Frida Kahlo:
Could someone explain to me precisely if and/or why this image is supposed to be funny? Frida Kahlo's work is not exactly a barrel o'laughs, and if you look at the rest of the photo set, this image doesn't quite fit in with the other photos. I could see how it makes some sense given that the rest of the photos are of new "legends" dressed as those of yesteryear, but...I'm stuck, and unsure of what this image is trying to convey. Man dressed as woman = automatically hilarious? Frida Kahlo is/was manly? I have no idea.
Also, re the cover image: Is male nudity really so offensive to various delicate sensibilities that all of the "nude" guys on the cover have to wear bodysuits? I get that it's supposed to be a takeoff on VF's ridiculous Tom Ford cover, but there is something about the bodysuits that makes it, at least in my eyes, less satirical and more shaming, as Melissa/Shakes so eloquently puts it. That said, the thing that I do like about this image is Paul Rudd's exact aping of Tom Ford--he's got it down to a t.
This ad annoys the crap out of me; it is probably my least favorite commercial of 2008, which is saying a lot, since I've been watching more television than is probably healthy.
There are many things upon which I could enumerate when it comes to why this ad sucks--the one thing that sticks in my craw the most, however, is the overt sexualization of food service (especially since a woman is doing the serving!). The idea that men are obsessed with both sex and meat-laden food, too, is troubling. Would this ad be as "clever" if the gender roles were reversed? Probably not--especially given the not-very-subtle Arby's logo that literally pops up from the guy's head at the end.
I have a complicated relationship with music videos. I remember seeing the video for Brandy and Monica's song "The Boy is Mine" when I was 11 years old or so, and thinking, "That's what I have to look forward to as a young woman--being in constant competition with other young women for boyfriends and the like? Ewww."
I saw the video for Garbage's "Push It" soon after, and found that I could relate to that video much more. The song was weird, the woman singing it was both in control and viciously beautiful (on her own terms, too!), and the video was completely bizarre. I found myself wishing that I could inhabit such an odd environment, one that did not seem available to the majority of women in music videos; often, the women in videos were reduced to sex toys for the male performers, or worse, singing almost exclusively about about their sexual capabilities. There were (and still are) obvious exceptions to this, but at that time, sex (or the appearance of it) sold. In many regards, sex still sells. (Try uttering that phrase three times fast.) For a more academic/media studies-esque view on this topic, check out Sut Jhally's excellent Dreamworlds 3: Desire, Sex and Power in Music Video.
If you'll allow me to indulge my nostalgic tendencies for a bit, here is Garbage's "Push It":
From around the same time period (late 1990s), here is Tori Amos's "Talula":
And another Tori video, this time for "Raspberry Swirl." It's sort of like the Garbage video in that it involves a weird alternate universe:
Tom Waits's "God's Away on Business." I might be an atheist, but damn do I love this song and its accompanying video (dig those ostriches!):
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "Do You Love Me," which does some interesting things with gender (lots of drag queens):
And, to end, Alanis Morissette's latest video ("Underneath"). It is a bit cheesy, but I do like the special effects:
In an effort to get myself to blog more, I'll be blogging every Friday about various video clips from around the internet that I find especially amusing, pertinent or thought-provoking. This week, the theme is "Videos that make me laugh because of their ineptitude." [Pro tip: If you get the lovely "This video is no longer available" error message, try reloading the page, or going straight to YouTube to watch the video. You can always use the back button on your browser to come back here for my acidic commentary.]
First, let's start off with Scarlett Johansson's video for "Falling Down," from her recently released and incredibly ill-advised collection of Tom Waits covers:
OH, SCARJO. She is such a talented actress--why she felt that she needed to get into the music industry is totally beyond me. Assuming that you already have a successful career, actual talent, lovely and youthful good looks, and millions of dollars, here are the ingredients that one needs to make something like ScarJo has done here:
1. Find a chronically underappreciated, unique musical talent who has been in the industry for decades, and claim his or her work as an "inspiration." If this person is famous for their lack of vocal talent, even better!
2. Make an entire album of covers of this person's songs. Be sure to drown all of the great songs that you select with crazy overproduction, as well as your own inability to carry a tune (don't worry too much about the latter; hopefully, with its evil twin, overproduction, no one will notice! Also, don't skimp when it comes to the pretension of the cover art!
3. To make the video, film some random shit, use your song as background music, and add liberal sprinklings of every young, trust fundy art school student film cliche ever, including: Lars von Trier-esque handheld camera work; shots of yourself looking variously pensive, bored, and vaguely anxious; cool-toned lighting; close-up shots of a process that no one finds particularly new or interesting; something to do with automobiles; overused time-lapse photography.
Stir. Serve chilled. Watch the money (or criticism) roll in! If you're lucky, iTunes might even invite you to contribute a live set to their series of "exclusive downloads"!
Next up, we have Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' video for "Stagger Lee," off of one of my desert island discs, Murder Ballads.
NOT SAFE FOR WORK, or for children, due to lots of swearing and just a bit of homoeroticism. It will come as a surprise to no one that I once wrote a term paper for a music class on the song, the video and the homoerotic dynamics of both (as usual, I read waaaaaay too much into both song and video and used Michel Foucault's seminal The History of Sexuality to support my argument). It's pretty clear as to why I chose to write about it:
Love the song, kind of love the video simply because it is so hilariously bad. Let me count the ways: Nick Cave's dancing, his silver pants, and his Take That! shirt; the fact that there are no women in this video, and yet everyone involved seems somewhat oblivious to the homoerotic subtext of both song and video; the video's complete irrelevance to the actual subject of the song.
I was also going to post that damn Katy Perry video that everyone seems to love, because I hate it, but it won't embed! Blast.
So, Shakes has started a project called Gayest Looks For Leno, explained here.
Here's my and Winston's "Gayest Look." Possibly not safe for work, due to obscene hand gesture.
In sum: Jay Leno, you are an asshat, and I heartily extend my middle finger to you, due to your continued idiocy. And I thought the muscles in my right middle finger were atrophied from non-use! Luckily for Leno, they work just fine.
You can see more folks contributing their "Gayest Looks" right here.
Alanis Morissette, who is one of my favorite musicians, will be touring the U.S. this spring. One stop is in the Bay Area, which is rather close to where I live, on March 12th, which is my birthday.
However, on said tour, she is opening for Matchbox 20, which I consider to be one of the worst musical groups of all time. I cannot stand them. I believe they are dull, wholly uninspiring, and somewhat irritating. Hearing the opening chords of any of their songs makes me want to do two things in a very specific order: Cry, and then punch out my eardrums with the nearest sharp object that will fit into the human ear canal. I know some would say the same about Alanis, but at least she didn't record that annoying song with Santana (the one that has been overplayed about 100 million times since its release. In fact, I heard it yesterday while I was out to lunch, and all I could think was, "God, this song makes me livid, simply because it is so bad").
This makes me absolutely bummed. I really don't want to pay through the nose just to see her opening set, but she's quite a performer, and I've never been disappointed by her shows in the past. Does my unwillingness to throw down money for this make any sense? Has anyone else been in a similar situation?
So, I've been mulling over this for a few days, and I still don't quite know what to think:
It's Tori Amos, live in Chicago at the Vic Theater, performing her song "Me and a Gun." Usually, this song is performed a capella. It is also about sexual assault, and I, along with many fans, consider it to be one of her most powerful compositions. You can take a look at the lyrics here.
The Chicago performance of the song (which had Tori "in character" as one of the members of the Doll Posse, Pip) has angered, confused and divided many of her fans (at least around the internet--where music nerds come to express their opinions and useless knowledge, declare their love for their favorite artists, and start flame wars with each other over whose opinion is correct or incorrect). This is mostly because the song was performed with musical accompaniment, and had Tori, in character, using props--a knife, which she rubbed on herself at different intervals, and a gun, which she pointed to her head and then towards the audience at the end of the song.
Now, let's take a look at some fan reactions from a popular Tori fansite:
after the show, particularly after pip’s set, i felt completely castrated, as a man. the fact that she wore the album cover black tight leather pants was one thing. that she bent over backwards to the audience for an extended amount of time was another. but people, then she played “me and a gun”... with a band. and pulled out a knife. and kept rubbing it all over herself. and then brought out a gun. and pointed it at the audience.
Would anyone like to take a stab (no pun intended!) at deconstructing or commenting upon the bizarre psychoanalytic content or subtext of the above passage?
I didn't think so.
Next, we have a comment from "Jason":
Pip slithered out bad-ass and went into the most intense and aggravated version of Cruel I have ever seen. I first I (sic) thought this was good fun, like the rest of the dolls, but then when she started yelling “you can fuck me, but I’ll rip your cock off,” I knew this was for real. She made me feel really uncomfortable, but there was something exhilarating about it. I had this image of her swinging my dick in her hand laughing, and I was kinda scared.
Dude, do you really want the entire internet to know that? I seriously do not understand the castration anxiety here.
This comment, written by "Sarah," didn't make me roll my eyes like the first two did:
The crowd reaction is telling of how very uncomfortable Rape makes our society. The laughs, often interpreted as a sign of anxiety/discomfort by those working with trauma survivors, from people in the audience only backs up the assertion that MAAG (performed in this way) is very effective and disturbing. Tori made her point, and I have never seen performance art effect an audience in such a visceral way. The very literal, sexual, angry way she chose to portray the act of rape and residual effect startled me. The image of knife as penis and stabbing penetration was so shocking that I first felt assaulted/insulted. The gun and the sense of rage turned on herself and then the audience. Channeling rage into performance art.
Here's a comment from "Noah," who, thankfully, does not bring up castration anxieties/fantasies like a few of those who commented before him:
Me and a Gun recontextualized as Pip killing the rapist was so freaking brilliant; I think what people were freaked out about was the performance had not a hint of irony behind it. She was in the moment and fully committed to the character. It was a brilliant and weird moment of pop/performance art that I’m so honored to have seen live.
Perhaps this performance was meant as a commentary on the eroticization of domination and pain--something that particular media forms in our culture (ie: mainstream pornography) seem to be, for the most part, predicated upon. With that in mind (and I'm just guessing, so my interpretation may be totally false), I do not understand the audience's screaming and catcalling and wooohooo-ing. As "Sarah" commented, maybe they didn't know how to react. In my view, that is a problem.
Here is a list of 9/11-related things that I would prefer to never see again:
--People insisting that 9/11 affected all Americans "equally" --Miniature American flags being waved by "patriotic" Americans --Right-wingers politicizing 9/11, while accusing the left of doing the same --Any speech that contains the phrase, "September 11th was a day that united us all as Americans..." --George W. Bush grandstanding and pulling yet another rationale out of his ass for why we need to remain in Iraq --Loose Change or whatever that damn conspiracy theory documentary was called --9/11-related t-shirts, commemorative plates, or tattoos. Because wearing a "patriotic reminder" of a national tragedy and/or displaying such a thing in your home or on your skin is fucking tacky, especially if you're from some podunk town somewhere and did not lose a friend or family member on 9/11, and is pretty insulting to, y'know, people who actually lost someone or were actually there.
While walking through Inexpensive MegaHuge Chain Store a few days ago, I spotted a variation of the following t-shirt: Quick, see if you can list all of the assumptions that this otherwise okay (and lavender-y) shirt brings up!
Hilary Duff would like you to know that she is not a feminist, no siree!
I'm not, like, a crazy feminist. I think women definitely need men. Like, I couldn't imagine having a girlfriend!
KIDS THESE DAYS. How many times do we have to tell 'em that "feminist" does not equal "man-hating-lesbian?" Also, I didn't know that having a girlfriend is a requirement for being a feminist now. How quickly the rules change!
In recent weeks, a number of people have asked me whether or not I'll be seeing the remake of John Waters's classic Hairspray. My short answer is "No." Since I am both long-winded and somewhat self-important, the post that follows is, for all purposes, the long answer.
Normally, I detest remakes, but there is one film genre that I detest even more, and that is the Musical. I love John Waters like my dogs love day-old scraps of meat from Whole Foods--which is to say, a hell of a lot. The original Hairspray, which I consider to be one of the best moviefilms ever made, was/is not a musical. I understand that the remake is based upon the Broadway musical version of the film, however, one question remains: Why would you produce a remake of a musical instead of a remake of the film upon which it was based--when the film was, well, way better?
Additionally, why on Earth would you cast John Travolta, who is arguably one of the least talented actors to ever leave his horrendous marks upon the world of modern film, in a major supporting role, especially when the original performance cannot, in any estimation, be topped? Travolta's utter idiocy surrounding his role has been covered in more detail by various bloggers, so I won't go over that.
Anyway, I hate musicals**. I hate musicals because they are sunny. I hate them because the main characters are almost always young, good-looking, able-bodied, and always in pursuit of the Guy, Girl, the American Dream, or what have you--whatever they pursue, it is supposed to be Something That We Can All Relate To. I hate musicals because in the world of musicals, it is somehow "realistic" for characters to break into song and/or unbearably cheesy dance numbers. There are certain components of musicals for which I reserve the most scorn. In list form, these are:
* The Opening Song in Which All Major Characters and Conflicts Are Established * The Song in Which the Protagonist Bemoans His/Her Lot in Life * The Song in Which the Supporting Character Does the Exact Same Thing * Song Wherein the Protagonist Falls in TWU LUV * Song Sung by Antagonist * Instrumental Dance Number or Dream Sequence * Action Sequence in Which the Protagonist and True Love Sing to Each Other, Whilst One is in Great Peril * Song in Which the Protagonist and True Love Declare Their, Well...Love * Reprise! * Giant Ending Song
Yeah, just like in real life! Turning Hairspray into a musical pretty much neuters the original message of the film, which was that "different" people are often more interesting than those who are constantly trying to live up to society's various ideals. How the hell do you put that into a musical? You don't.
My ideal musical would be offensive, slightly disturbing, very, very dark, and only include musical numbers in, say, dream sequences. The score would be co-written by Diamanda Galas and Laurie Anderson, with lyrics by Tori Amos and Jarvis Cocker. Also, Willem Dafoe would have to appear in it at some point, preferably in a singing role. Icelandic music video director Floria Sigismondi, I'm sure, could potentially make a fabulous set designer.
Anyone want to volunteer any story ideas for an offensive, dark musical? Thus far, I'm calling it AnnaHam Presents: The Darkest Musical Of All Time.
**Except for Dancer in the Dark, because it's one thing most musicals are not: DARK. Also, Bjork is in it.
I know that everyone is probably clammoring to know why I've been MIA for more than a month. The simplest and most truthful explanation is that blogging, like many other things that I don't engage in regularly (including watching reruns of Project Runway, eating French fries once every few months, and indulging in rounds of noisy Scrabble with my crew), tends to get lost in the shuffle of daily life. Shameful, I know.
While indulging in one of my rather infreqent lazyfests last night (which involves sitting in front of a television equipped with cable and watching whatever catches my interest--this can be anything from TMI-filled documentaries about gastric bypass surgery to American Chopper), I caught, quite by accident, an interesting half-hour of television entitled Hey Paula, a series which purports to follow former pop sensation and erstwhile paparazzi magnet/Simon Cowell foil Paula Abdul as she navigates life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Watching Hey Paula is somewhat akin to watching someone get punched repeatedly between the legs, while being hung upside down by their feet in a glass cage, which is then suspended over a tank full of acid while a group of hungry sharks (that can, weirdly, somehow survive being in acid) swim in it. The glass cage, of course, is liable to break at any second. The person who is in this situation, additionally, has volunteered to do this on national television**, which makes it somehow worse. This is a strange scenario, certainly, and, much like what we witness on Hey Paula, is almost funny in a grotesque, David Lynch-esque way. Though I wanted to end up rooting for Paula while witnessing her consistently erratic and bizarre behavior during this particular episode, there was something slightly disengenuous about her repeated claims that she was, and is, "just a regular girl."
Paula Abdul is not a regular girl. This seems obvious, yet some people seem to inexplicably love the fantasy that their favorite celebrities are just like them. Paula lives in a gigantic mansion in Los Angeles. She is wealthy. She is an entertainer. She is a "judge" on a show that is arguably one of the cruxes of the American myth of celebrity, fame and fortune. She is the product of a culture that emphasizes a notion of instant celebrity, of breakthrough, of the belief that anyone can be insanely famous and therefore "successful," provided that they express talents that are safe and culturally acceptable.
Fame is not regular. Fame and "success" are not the default cultural positions for Americans. And yet, many people, particularly people of my generation, seem to think that being famous is not only desirable, but realistically attainable. And I have to say, I do not understand this drive toward fame and fortune. It seems stressful. Tiring. Perhaps a little scary, especially if you, like Paula Abdul, agree to have cameras follow your every move. Talk about not being able to fulfill cultural expectations--some of these famous people are the blueprints after which young people are supposed to model themselves! How odd such a role must be.
When I see interviews with "MySpace celebrities" trying to increase their level of fame, or pop stars trying to make comebacks, I am perplexed. Why would someone voluntarily subject themselves to being under a cultural microscope? Is it for money? Do they believe that fame will cause them to be "loved" in some way?
This is probably a theme that will be explored in other posts, because I sure as hell can't think of a good way to end it.
Jerry Falwell dies. I can only hope that his encroaching Right-wing deification doesn't last quite as long as Ronald Reagan's did. CNN manages to give us a quasi-biased headline, too. Wheee. Hey, look, a comic-book "collectible" figurine that manages to be upsetting, offensive and salaciously appealing to the lowest common denominator all at once! It's Mary Jane from Spider Man washing his uniform, barefoot, with one of those precious Oh-I-Am-SO-Naughty grins on. God, with that butt, she looks like a gazelle or something. Memo to the dudes who produced this piece of trash and the dudes who will spend their rent money on it: Real women cannot, physically, do this. And certainly not while wearing a cute pink thong. Also, they will not (with rare exception) wash your clothing by hand whilst lookin' all sexxxay. Dry-cleaning is a wonderful thing.
Also, Rufus Wainwright's new album is out today.
I have no idea how these items relate to each other. At all.
