American Anticlimax

I wrote a rant last night about how abysmal the American Idol finale was and then fell asleep without saving it. Sorry, I know most people are too cool to love American Idol – once I get this out of my system I promise I’ll get back to writing about indie music.

Blake:

  • You Give Love A Bad Name: Ballsy the first time, blah the second time. Vocals were terrible and he was clearly out of breath.
  • She Will Be Loved: Case study in the blandness that is Blake. The same dumb preppy clothes he wears every week, the same dead eyes, emotionless face and flat reedy voice. Also an awful song choice strategy-wise – if your third song’s already a treacly ballad, why do the same with the second?
  • This Is My Now: Look, I know you think you’re soooo much better than this song and you want everyone to know it too but honey, even unicellular organisms are better than this crappy song. Suck it up, lose your “I listen to underground hip-hop” pretensions and sing the hell out of it. You’re not an artist, you’re a layer in the American Idol cheesecake.

Jordin:

  • Fighter: Picking a song by an artist who can outsing and outperform you any day of the week isn’t the best way to show you’re a “fighter”. It’s more like you’re pogoing through the jungles of Vietnam and Christina Aguilera’s the Vietcong.
  • Broken Wings: I’ve never seen a performance of this on American Idol that wasn’t pageanty slop, and this was no different.
  • This Is My Now: At least she did her fake, shrieky best on it and on that laughably pathetic basis alone, she deserves to win American Idol.

Verdict: Blake threw in the towel, Jordin wins by default, and Michelle wishes she’d stayed in the karaoke pub drinking instead of coming home to watch this dreck.

Oh and let’s not forget the final insult to injury for us poor viewers: a performance from Penishead Daughtry, still proving with his eyeliner and his posing that he’s only about as edgy as the average ten year old girl.

Best part of the night? Finding out that Paula broke her nose because she tripped over her dog. I believe the “tripped” part, less so the “dog” part. Unless “dog” is slang in LA for “sack of crack”.

The Truth Is In This Tee

I only ever buy Threadless tees at sale time, but for any of you less stingy than me, this new spoiler tee is quite funny and shouldn’t reaaaally get you beaten up too much unless your friends are so woefully out of touch with popular culture that they don’t already know every famous movie on the shirt.

Also, they’ve reprinted the super awesome Robot Dance Contest tee. Robots are unfortunately one of those recent hipster fixations along with dinosaurs and pirates so there’s way too much robot paraphernalia around and most of it’s rather pointless, but this one gets me right in my awww spot. It reminds me of the sad robot graffiti I always loved on Brick Lane, none of which I could find any more in my recent visit. :(

[If you decide to buy a tee and do it through one of the above links, I get a little credit in my store account. It would make me very happy, but it’s up to you. :) ]

ATP 2007: Road-tripping

I explained before why I never managed to attend All Tomorrow’s Parties when I lived in England, despite it being my dream festival. But several years on, I’ve brainwashed Alec into liking cacophonous clangy music, Jeremy (long-time music benefactor – see last bit of this post) now lives in London, and Russ finally has more disposable income and better taste in music :P which meant we had a lovely little group for our Butlins chalet. After a seven-year wait, I was finally on my way to ATP!

Our road trip to Minehead was quite enjoyable. I fiddled round with Russ’s iPod to make a playlist for the car journey, asking thought-provoking questions such as “So which is better, the normal version of Mariah’s Breakdown or the Mo Thugs Remix?” and sharing unarguable truths such as “An iPod with only 1 Roxette song is an iPod not worth speaking of.”

Alec and Russ had fun too:-

#1 (Russ mentioned that he sometimes accidentally deleted entire albums from his iPod.)
Me: Just goes to show how much iTunes sucks!
Alec: No, it only goes to show how much Russ sucks!

#2
Russ: I don’t know why, but the last few people I’ve fancied have all been Irish or of Irish descent.
Alec: Wow Russ, I didn’t know I’d made such a significant impression on you.
Russ: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…oh sorry, think I laughed a bit too loud there.

We intended to cook our own food over the weekend so stopped off in ASDA to stock up, where Russ and Alec (our cooks) proceeded to load our cart with about three times the amount of food I’d have thought we needed. I ventured the timid suggestion that we could maybe use dried herb mixes instead of forking much more out for fresh herbs. They looked at me in silent derisory disbelief. We got the fresh herbs.

Continuing on our way, ten minutes away from Butlins the playlist I’d programmed hours before turned out to have been perfectly timed – the song itself started on the car speakers. Yay.

After checking in and a quick spag bol dinner where the boys served me, unsurprisingly, three times more food than I could eat, we rushed off to see The Dirty Three (the curators) do the first big gig of the festival.

Sexiest American Idol Weeks Evar

I really intended to start writing an All Tomorrow’s Parties blog entry tonight, but then I watched my tape of Bon Jovi week on American Idol (I missed it two weeks ago because we were travelling) and there was no place left for experimental/alternative/indie music in my heart.

Because seriously, folks, in 6 seasons of American Idol weekly themes, this was my week. Bon Jovi may be namby-pamby pretty-boy hair-rock has-beens but I embrace all of that and feel no shame for loving them as much as I do. I know every song the contestants sang backwards and forwards (Chris R, how dare you forget the line “I’ve seen a million faces and I’ve ROCKED THEM ALL!”) and the only reason I haven’t made all my karaoke companions sick of Bon Jovi already is that they’re just too damn tough to sing. (Metallica is way easier.)

Phil: Never cared much about him before but he did a great job with Blaze of Glory. For me, it was his best performance of the season and Simon was too harsh. Bye, Phil. I used to sing this song into my comb in front of the mirror too, but you sang it much better.

Jordin: Total trainwreck but at least she did really go for it during the performance, and she immediately acknowledged it was terrible once it was done. It did require just that little more suck to elevate it to sucktasticness (see: Kevin Covais’s Crocodile Rock) though.

LaKisha: It took me a while to get to her actual performance because I rewatched the bit where Jon Bon Jovi explains to her how This Ain’t A Love Song is the biggest love song there is about a million times. (See between 1.07-1.37 for the sweetness.) And then she nailed it and Simon kissed her. I was really sad when LaKisha went home last week, but now I’ve seen this? No bitch who gets lucky with Jon Bon Jovi and Simon Cowell on the same night deserves my sympathy.

Blake: Anyone who’s seen enough beatboxing will know that any decent beatboxer could have arranged the song like that and any good beatboxer could have done something even better, but to do that on American freaking Idol on a night where 2 out of 6 are going to be eliminated took mighty massive balls. Of course, he probably also did it because he knew his singing alone wouldn’t be strong enough to carry off a Bon Jovi song, but nonetheless I certainly can’t accuse him of playing it safe with his solution.

Chris R: I don’t think it is a good idea to demonstrate rock cred by singing like an actual goat, but perhaps Satan might beg to differ. I wouldn’t have let this guy through his first audition and I’m glad he’s finally gone.

Melinda: Okay, I’m officially in love with Melinda again. She was beginning to worry me by being too predictably good every week – always good but good in the same way – but this time she put loads of energy into working the stage and the guitarist, the vocals were smokin’ and her “Rock on!” attempts were adorable. More Jon loveliness at the start too. I wanted to coat them both in sugar and eat them all up.

And this week, Elliott will be on the results show! This time last year I thought I might never hear him sing again so YAY ELLIOTT! I assume he’ll be doing his new single rather than rehash anything he sang previously on the show, so I felt there was no harm revisiting some of those old performances tonight for old time’s sake, except for the harm involved in it now being 2.11 AM.

Rockstar

(Via kottke.org.) David Remnick follows Bill Clinton on a multi-state visit to Africa in support of his AIDS/poverty relief post-Presidency initiatives and profiles Clinton for The New Yorker. It’s a long article but there’s much to find fascinating here – apart from more examples of Clinton’s now-legendary abilities in political communication, there’s a good analysis of the various strands of the will-she-won’t-she Hillary candidacy web, a visit to Lucy’s bones (as in, the African hominid Lucy) in Addis Ababa where Clinton’s fun facts on bonobo group sex result in awkward silence, and a rather endearing last paragraph which I won’t spoil for you.

Here’s an excerpt about Clinton’s official apology to Rwanda for his inaction during the genocide:

We landed at the airport in Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, after dark. This was Clinton’s fourth visit in eight years. The first was in 1998, when, in the middle of an extended Presidential tour of Africa, he came to the airport to apologize for American inaction during the hundred-day genocide, four years earlier. “It may seem strange to you here, especially the many of you who lost members of your family,” he said that day, “but all over the world there were people like me sitting in offices, day after day after day, who did not fully appreciate the depth and speed with which you were being engulfed by this unimaginable terror.”

(…)

Later, when I asked Clinton about Rwanda, he said that the calamity in Somalia and the crisis in the Balkans had been distractions but that his inaction in Rwanda was the worst foreign-policy mistake of his Administration.

“Whatever happened, I have to take responsibility for it,” he said. “We never even had a staff meeting on it. But I don’t blame anybody that works for me. That was my fault. I should have been alert and alive to it. And that’s why I went there and apologized in ’98. I’ve always been surprised at how much they wanted me to come back, accepting my help on their holocaust memorial. Every time I ask, they say, “You know, we did this to ourselves, you didn’t make us do it – I wish you’d come.” And then they always say, “Besides, you were the only one who ever apologized. Nobody else even said they were sorry.” So all I can do is – I just have to face it. It was just one of those things that happen. It is inexplicable to me looking back, but when we lived it forward, in the aftermath of Somalia, trying to get the support from a fairly isolationist Congress at the time – including some elements in both parties – to get into Bosnia, where I felt we had an overwhelming national interest and a moral imperative, we just blew it. I blew it. I just, I feel terrible about it, and all I can ever do is tell them the truth, and not try to sugarcoat it, and try to make it up to them.”

Here’s a bit about Clinton’s opinion on Bush Jr:

When opponents of the Bush Administration express nostalgia for the Clinton era, it sometimes has less to do with policy than with the stark contrast between the two men as public speakers, as intelligences. Even Clinton’s critics who feel that he squandered his promise never speculate, as Bush’s critics often do, that he is stupid. When I asked Clinton if he thought intellect was an essential part of being President, he proceeded carefully.

“I think it’s important to be curious, I think it’s important to ask questions, I think it’s important to be secure so that you like being around people that know more about every subject than you do and still in the end you trust your own judgment once you hear them out,” he said. “So I think intellect is a good thing, unless it paralyzes your ability to make decisions because you see too much complexity. Presidents need to have what I would call a synthesizing intelligence.”

“I keep reading that Bush is incurious, but when he talks to me he asks a lot of questions,” Clinton went on. “So I can’t give him a bad grade on curiosity. I think both he and his father, because they have peculiar speech patterns, have been underestimated in terms of their intellectual capacity. You know, the way they speak and all, it could be, it could just relate to the way the synapses work in their brains.

“I’ve never been worried about his intellect so much as his ideological bent. I think he believed – and perhaps correctly – that his father was defeated in ’92 because he lost the right. And he made up his mind that he’d never lose it. Kind of like George Wallace did when he was beaten for governor.

“I also think that he was genuinely more conservative on questions like concentrations of wealth and power, weakening of environmental and health regulations – things of that kind – than any President we’ve had in a very, very long time. Even more conservative than Reagan, probably, and way to the right of his father and Nixon and Eisenhower. But the thing that bothers me about having an ideology as opposed to a philosophy is that, if you have an ideology, then the outcome is dictated before the facts are in, before the arguments are heard. And that, I think, can cause problems.”

Clinton said that Bush, despite employing the slogan ‘compassionate conservatism,’ never hid his radical-right agenda. “He said, ‘Vote for me, and I’ll give you judges like Clarence Thomas and Antonin Scalia,’ and that’s exactly what he did.”

Festivals and Father Ted

In usual fashion I’m popping in far too late to say hello, I’m on holiday, and it’s been lovely so far. We went to All Tomorrow’s Parties over the weekend and are now in Ireland with Alec’s family. Today we drove past the Father Ted house, then got onto a very small propeller plane and flew to the Father Ted islands. There have been plenty of sheep, also some lambs. I am very happy.

Virginia Tech Tangent And Talking About Kevin

I won’t bore you with more of the banality already permeating the blogosphere’s attempts at gun control discussions in the wake of the Virginia Tech massacre, neither will I bother with some empty words about my heart going out to the bereaved families. Words like “sympathy” and “empathy” get misused all over the place when stuff like this happens, but frankly I’ve always felt what the English language actually needs is a word where you acknowledge your complete inability to imagine or fathom what a suddenly bereaved family is going through, because you simply haven’t experienced anything even remotely analogous. I think it’s more respectful.

But anyway, the reason I mentioned this at all was just to highly recommend We Need To Talk About Kevin (Lionel Shriver) to anyone who hasn’t already read it. I don’t think I managed to write about it here at the time I read it – strange that I did write about Vernon God Little since I don’t think that’s anywhere as good on the same topic – but it was one of the best books I read last year. Call me a philistine but good prose alone is never quite enough to secure my allegiance to a book if its plot or ideas don’t impress me. This one has everything – good writing and characterization (you might feel a bit irritated by the snottiness of the narrator at the start, but press on), ideas about motherhood that I’d never read much about before, and as for plot let me just ask you to do yourself a favour, trust me that this book is worth reading, and don’t read the Amazon reviews in case they’ve got spoilers.

Is it ridiculous of me to suggest you read a work of fiction at a time when more than enough horrifying details about a real crime are flooding the newswires? Perhaps, but if the topic does interest you, this book allows you a more contemplative take on things than finding yourself riveted, despite yourself and more out of rubbernecking curiosity than any higher motive, to online videos of Cho’s demented ramblings. Which is why I have closed those Firefox tabs and decided to reread the book instead. Your mileage may vary.

Landmark

Gay’s The Word, the last gay and lesbian bookstore in the UK, is in financial difficulties (rising rent, losing out to chain booksellers etc.) and trying to raise money. Unlike the people quoted in this article I can’t pretend it had any profound influence on my life. However, when I lived across the road from it, the sight of it cheered me up on gloomy days, and it was a very convenient landmark for directing people to our flat. Also, given that I now live in a country where the main gay equality lobby group gets rejected every time it applies to be registered as a society, gay sex remains a crime on the statute books and bafflingly idiotic articles (well shredded by Jol here) about how gay porn marginalizes gay men can get printed in our national broadsheet, it is nice to be reminded that other parts of the world are not like this. If one of my London friends feels like popping the price of a pint on my behalf into whatever donation box I assume the shop has, I’ll pay you back when I see you in May. :)

1UP

I was wandering round City Plaza and spotted this shop.

I normally keep random camphone shots like this for my own amusement and don’t bother to post them here, but since I only just discovered last week that you can play Super Mario Brothers and about a million other old console games online without having to do the whole emulator thing, I figured spotting the shop might have been a karmic directive from the cosmos to share the link. Just to make sure all your lives get ruined too, you understand.

Games

I spent Saturday night with ex-Raffles debaters, all of whom I helped to train at some point in their debating careers. I therefore take a little pride in how well they all did in the debating arena, but I’m wondering if I perhaps had a less than ideal influence on other aspects of their personal development. Of course, it’s also possible they got this twisted entirely on their own.

After a dinner where some penetrating observations on, er, penetration, were loudly voiced, we went back to Ying’s house for ice cream and later settled in her room to play Taboo. Being debaters, an issue as simple as how to divide our group of 8 into teams became a long-drawn-out, albeit hilarious, discussion until I flung my hands in the air and suggested we divide the groups by “People who give a shit how we divide the groups” and “People who don’t give a shit how we divide the groups”. This idea eventually won the day, so we got started.

Word to be guessed: Exotic
YP: Strippers can also be described as…?
FY: WHORES!

Word to be guessed: Blokes
Me: In England, I would refer to my friends as –
FY: SLUTS!

It may be hard to believe from those two examples but our team “The Shits” (the former of the two teams described above) went on to win two rounds out of two. I’m pretty sure FY will be a very prominent person in Singapore some day. I shall remember this when he gets sworn into office.

When a change of game was suggested, I introduced everyone to the joys of Sexy Scrabble.

Sexy Scrabble

Based on the permissive attitude adopted towards compound word formation in my first foray, I encouraged the same approach here in the interests of fun. This is how MAN became MANTITS, MANTITSSAG and finally HEREMANTITSSAG. Similarly, VAJ became VAJIZ, VAJIZONFUR, and MYVAJIZONFUR – it being too late by the time the MY was added to modify the last word of the compound to FIRE.

Elsewhere, people trying to get rid of random letters when the game was in its last gasps turned BONED to LEBONED and a Z and K with 2 spaces in between them to ZCOK. These words were justified as being French. Other cunning linguists had earlier snuck in PODIA justifying it as “Latin for foot” and then added GIRL to refine the fetish, so since we were already near the bottom of the slippery slope we shrugged and let these attempts pass. However, should you embark on your own Sexy Scrabble explorations, I recommend a little stricter discipline.