Showing posts with label 1998. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1998. Show all posts

22 June 2008

Mama's Gotta Let Go


145. MADONNA, "Ray Of Light"
Produced by William Orbit and Madonna; written by Dave Curtiss, Christine Leach, Madonna, Clive Maldoon, and William Orbit
Maverick 17206 1998 Billboard: # 5

A balls-out tribute to parenthood pure and simple. Yes, it's written by committee, but I've got to believe that that chorus came straight from Lourdes' mom. And the titular phrase pays tribute to the mortality that is inevitably buried in the joy of parenthood. Without children, you can unconsciously pretend that you are going to be here forever; with children, you are almost constantly in the presence of a reminder of your own eventual passing. Shantih shantih shantih. Get down.

09 June 2008

Specialized Labor

596. METALLICA, "Turn The Page"
Produced by James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich; written by Bob Seger
Polygram International 566591 1998 Did not make pop charts

Back in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I had all these friends--not really cinephiles, but literate, educated friends--who loved John Sayles movies and loved Spike Lee movies. And yes, there were things I liked about all those movies. But far too frequently I found myself wishing that Sayles would be something more than a novelist with moving pictures that didn't move enough, and that Lee would be more than a kinetic cinematician with bumper-sticker dialogue.

After a while, I realized what I really wanted. I wanted Sayles to write a screenplay that Lee filmed--great scenes, great shot composition, all around good movie. I've never believed in the hyphenate in cinema. (Woody Allen's two best screenplays, for example, are the ones on which he had a collaborator.) Some people should just write and some people should just direct and some people should just perform.

I feel that way about pop music too sometimes. Since Dylan and the Beatles, there's been this real emphasis on singer-songwriters, but is it really such a great thing that Lindsay Lohan felt she needed to write songs on her albums in order to be "real"? My favorite single of hers is still "Ultimate," the one she did on the Freaky Friday soundtrack. It almost certainly won't make the cut for this list, but it's catchy and she sells it. It's just about right for her. Thank God she didn't feel the need to rewrite it into a soul-baring ballad about her relationship with her father.

Anyway, this Metallica single is for me the equivalent of my dream Sayles-Lee collaboration. Seger has a better eye for synecdochal (rather than allegorical) detail than Lars and James ever did, but when they sing Seger's lyrics they sound genuinely burnt out. As you may have guessed by now, I'm a big fan of covers, as long as they're the right ones.


06 June 2008

Names and Things

108. J. GEILS BAND, "Centerfold"
Produced and written by Seth Justman
EMI America 8102 1981 Billboard: # 1

109. HOLE, "Celebrity Skin"
Produced by Michael Beinhorn; written by Billy Corgan, Eric Erlandson, & Courtney Love
DGC 1194 1998 Billboard: # 85

There's an old friend of mine from high school--let's call her "Nellie," because she played Nellie Forbush to my Emile de Becque back in the day--if you Google Nellie's real name, the first eight or so hits refer to a nude scene from a fairly well-known Hollywood film that was released around the time I knew her. She is nude in that movie, even in that scene, but the pictures that those webpages connect to her name are not pictures of her.

For someone of a younger generation, the idea that there could be nude photographs of a friend of mine up on the web must seem positively quaint. Gens X and Y have been snapping pics and videos of each other and posting them online with abandon now for at least a decade. That's one of the many things that makes J. Geils' "Centerfold" a real historical artifact: an era in which you could be surprised to encounter nude images of someone you knew in school seems so very long ago. We have all been so fully pornographied now that some people can actually be blase about it.

But Peter Wolf is not singing in this silly little single about someone who made private photos that suddenly became available to millions of people. He's singing--well, he's actually singing about himself (typical man), but the young woman whom he is remembering in this song presumably chose to allow a professional to take nude photographs of her, possibly as a stepping stone to a more varied career in the entertainment industry. That was the case with my old friend Nellie: the producers of that film she was in spotted her during a location shoot in Manhattan, asked her if she wanted to be in another scene, there was nudity involved, would she mind that, etc. As it turned out, she was in a second movie the following year, also shot in Manhattan, and this time she wore lingerie. Among us old theatre pals (who were not seeing much of her anymore at that point), the joke was that in her third movie she would be fully clothed. As far as I know, she was never in a third movie.

To hear Courtney Love sing about it, though, such decisions might actually be a viable career path--or maybe not. It feels as if Love is doing that chicken-hearted thing here of being autobiographically ironic by pretending her song is about someone else. Let's not kid ourselves, though: this song is most assuredly about her, even if the publication she was plagued by was probably not Celebrity Skin but Fox Mulder's favorite Celebrity Sleuth. In retrospect, it's clear now that the marketing of nude, semi-nude, or just plain titillating images of celebrities was only getting warmed up in the pre-Britney-Lindsay-and-Paris era when this single was released. I'm sure at the time Courtney thought that she had the whole situation under control. I'm using them, I bet she thought, they're not using me. If she chose to wear an outrageous outfit to get publicity, or to play Larry Flynt's mistress in order to advance her acting career, she was using people's image of her as a way of gaining wider currency for herself.

This seems like another one of those cases--and there are so many of them in pop--where the song in time proves so much wiser than the singer. Ten years on, I'm not sure I'd say that Courtney Love used the star-making machinery more than it used her. The popular image of Love today mostly casts her as the multiply addicted bimbo who married St. Kurt, while the fact is that she was responsible for at least one great rock and roll album (Live through This) and at least a half-dozen very thoughtful songs. That's no small achievement. Still, to a lot of people, she's little more than bright blonde hair, a ton of eye makeup, and a pair of prominently displayed breasts.

As Shakespeare's Mark Antony maybe should have said, the porn that women do lives long after them, but their art is oft interred with their plummeting CD sales. That's why I'm so glad that all those webpages got Nellie's real name wrong--no, that they got her name right and her body wrong. Because Nellie's body should belong to her. Images of it should not be out there for idiots to drool over. Like Courtney Love, the Nellie I knew was an artist, in this case a truly gifted comic actress. I hate thinking of her reduced to a tough answer in a porn trivia game.