Manolo for the Big Girl

Slightly odd Big Question today, which occurred to me on my way toodling around town and listening to the radio. Living in “The Live Music Capital of the World” as I do, it’s hard to throw a rock without hitting some form of musician or other. Not that I’m entirely sure why you’d want to throw rocks, or, once you decided to throw them you wouldn’t want to hit a musician –they seem as good a target as any– but there you have it. Austin is simply filled to the brim with musicians. Thus, the young Austin woman needs be extra vigilant if she does not want to date a strummer of chords of banger of drums. My mother always told me not to date musicians or guys with vans. Oh if only I had listened to her.

Still, I can’t help thinking that not all musicians would be terrible partners. I bet Elvis Costello and I would totally get along –at least if I managed not to stroke out when I met him– and I’m almost entirely sure that I would give my hot pink Diors for just two hours of digitally recorded conversation with Keith Richards. On the other hand I bet Lou Reed (whom I’ve loved à la distance for years) would kinda be a jerk and Leonard Cohen would give me the inexplicable creeps.

Francesca and Plumcake want to know:

Are there musicians or other celebrities you think you’d be friends with if you two met? Is there anyone you love to watch or hear but wouldn’t ever want to share a cocktail with? Do you want to know your favorite musicians or would it just ruin the mystery? Do tell!

Velvet Goldmine. Anyone who has any interest in 70’s glam has got to see this film.
Unbelievably gorgeous, as all Todd Haynes films are wont to be, Velvet Goldmine stars Jonathon Rhys Meyers and traces the rise and mysterious fall of David Bowie-like sensation Brian Slade and his alter ego Maxwell Demon. After a staged assassination attempt, his fans turn on him and Slade disappears completely. On the ten year anniversary of the hoax, a journalist (Christian Bale) is sent to uncover the truth about Slade’s disappearance. Toni Collette is a treat as the jaded Mandy, Slade’s (ex)wife who switches effortlessly between American and British accents, and Eddie Izzard is note perfect as Slade’s smarmy agent in big rings and raccoon coat but it’s Ewan MacGregor looking like Kurt Cobain in Iggy Pop drag as Curt Wild the strung out, hopped up visionary of the Next Big Thing…Punk.

The soundtrack is killer with excellent selections from Brian Eno, Shudder to Think and The Venus in Furs (featuring Thom Yorke from Radiohead) but understandably features no David Bowie. This is one of my favorite movies and, had I not had the hangover that ate Manhattan on Monday, would have taken the first spot. For what it’s worth, I do not prefer the director’s cut as I find it too dark.

There, that’s enough of this celluloid stuff, let’s get back to shoes!

My parents had some unusual hobbies. One of my favorites was their passion for collecting Christmas music. The albums were never broken out before Thanksgiving and never played past New Year’s Day, but in between there was a non-stop Christmas concert.

And so I’d like to recommend a few holiday albums to brighten the season.

A Charlie Brown Christmas, by Vince Guaraldi. These jazzy takes on old favorites have been digitally remastered for maximum clarity. If you ever watched the special, I dare you not to be transported back to your childhood.

Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, by Burl Ives. Yes, this includes Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, Silver Bells, and other performances from the classic Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but it’s got more than that. This may be considered heresy, but I like Ives’ rendition of White Christmas better than Bing Crosby’s.

Christmas Island, by Leon Redbone. Leon Redbone is a fun, funky, low-key performer and this album makes great party music. You don’t want to miss his duet with Dr. John of Frosty the Snowman!

Best of all, these albums are all available through amazon.com.

OK, so everyone, from the most banal of bloggers to the esteemed Manolo and Spirit Fingers, are talking about Britney Spear’s soporific “comeback” performance at the MTV Video Music Awards. (Video is here.)

Unfortunately, much of the discussion is about how Britney looks in that admittedly slutty (oh? did I say that out loud? I meant, uh, “unforgiving”) little hot-pants and bra outfit. In the past, Britney wore outfits like that and looked perfect in a “Hollywood definition of perfect” style. Now she wears it and looks, in the opinion of Francesca, either really hot in a womanly way, or just really slutty, depending on how much you generally enjoy watching any woman in hot pants and a push-up bra traipse around a stage on international television. If, before she bore two children, you thought she was slutty, well she’s still slutty. And if before, you thought she was hot, she’s still hot — Francesca would give two eye-teeth to look like her, only Francesca would still wear clothes over the bra– she’s just hot in the way a woman is hot when she is a little older than she was 4 years ago, and has had 2 children, but works out all the time and has lucky genes and is still really, really hot.

She’s certainly not fat, as some of her former fans, mostly teenage boys who want Britney to be 17 forever, insist.

But Francesca brings this up not to excoriate the teenage boys with their unrealistic and unkind comments about the curvy body. No, Francesca wishes to use Britney’s train-wreck performance as an example of the difference between between being mediocre and being on top of one’s game, regardless of one’s weight.

The problem is not that Britney has gained weight. The problem is that here she is supposed to be entertaining us, either with her singing (hah!) or her dancing (that’s what we want), or both (but we’d settle for good dancing and semi-realistic lip-synching). Instead of entertaining us, though, she went onstage and walked around a little (is it Francesca’s imagination or does poor Britney look like she’s taking tiny steps so she won’t fall over in the high heels?) and did a few gyrations while standing in place. Francesca is sorry, but Britney Spears did not build her empire by lip-synching and moving at 5 miles per hour. She built her empire by being one of the most talented, precise, enthusiastic dancers anywhere. She cannot rebuild it by performing like this:

Francesca submits that, had Britney been dancing her tushy off, had she acted like she was sincerely excited to be at the VMA and having fun, had she come prepared and put in the sort of effort and sweat that made her famous, fans would have been pleased no matter what her tummy looks like now. And Francesca submits that when the talent and effort are not there, it makes no difference how sculpted is the body.

Let this be a lesson to us: A gorgeous, sluttily-dressed body can never make up for mediocrity. And: curvy women can get away with a little bit of lumpy-squishies here and there when we are confident, happy, enjoying ourselves, and giving off positive vibes.