Friday, April 02, 2010
"She, Presumably, No Longer Bangs..."
Well there we have it, darling reader. Another flamboyantly camp pop star finally sticks their head out from under the hot rollers and tells us something we'd already guessed. No no, not Ricky Martin, this time I'm pointing at ovoid-faced chanteuse Lady Gaga, who's here to tell us that she's now a bona-fide superstar by starring in her own epic video, 'Telephone'. So lets not talk about the amount of cock La Martin has, but about how much La Gaga is meant to have.
La Gaga has been bothering us for just over a year (yes, a year. Her first single came out January 2009, and yet she feels as established as anal warts in one of my friends - who shall remain nameless until he gets me that signed photograph of Karen Gillen he promised) and yet I'm already fatigued by her. Initially it was the "Who? Little me?" interviews she gave that were completely at odds with her light fetish apparel (its as if some employee of RoB decided to use his staff discount to put on his vision of 'Cats') which was then followed up by her trip to the UK where she wouldn't go anywhere without a special teacup. Which was more annoying: a grown woman carting around part of tea service like the All-Spark, or trying so desperately to fit in by trying to sum up the whole of our British culture in a piece if crockery?
Now we reach the inevitable part where her record company is throwing enough cash at her to do her 10-minute movie-style video that she's probably hoping will catapult her into film roles. From the look of this, we have no fear of seeing life-size standees of La Gaga in the multiplex anytime soon; this very coffee table from which I wax lyrical to you is less wooden. Still, this style of video's usual format is doggedly adhered to, even roping in a waining movie actor to bolster where the star's limited 'walking-and-talking' go amiss - so say hello to Beyonce, star of 'The Pink Panther' movie remakes, to do the hard bits for La Gaga without banging into the scenery. To me, Beyonce is gradually becoming the Madonna of her generation with her numerous collaborations, content to let younger talent dance around her as if she was a maypole and riff off the results. After one of her previous singing marriages-of-convenience, I'd become convinced she'd changed her name to 'Beyonce-Beyonce-Shakira-Shakira' as dictated by the chorus of 'Beautiful Liar', completely subsuming her bendy Columbian costar in her oft-tangled weave. During the whole lung-deflatingly lengthy video, her greatest achievement is while she meets up with La Gaga post prison and chewing away at the fast food, the camera cuts away from her before she has to swallow any of it. Oh no, Mz Beyonce-Beyonce-Shakira-Shakira does not do carbs.
Oh alright, speaking of swallowing, I will talk about the pink elephant in the room: Ricky Martin finally came out this week, joining our not-so-exclusive club. If it was a suprise to any of you, I wish to say that the sky is indeed blue and water is wet. I was going to then follow with a list of other stars apparently on Gentlemen Who Can't Catch, but frankly it's not really any of my business. So many of my friends fell over themselves with delight (one's status update was 'he's done A Good Thing' like he'd personally solved world hunger) but it was more a bolster their egos, like he's now going to lead us all to the gay promised land like some glittering mesiah, where spray-tan is free and all thick-fingered Polish builders put out without a second thought. This will not happen. We will not have a new figurehead for our cause, someone to take on equality or the ironic bigotry of the Church who profess to love everyone (with a list of caveats on 'everyone' a foot long); we've just inherited some poor lad who's going to be a footnote in End of the Year punditry. I do wish the stigma of coming out did not exist, else I wouldn't even have to pass comment on La Martin being gayer than Little House on the Prarie. I do wish it was just easy for people to come out without people sucking in their breath and weighing up the implications.
Saying that, I do reckon La Martin only came out because Tom Cruise needed the closet space, presumably for those built-up sneakers he favours...