The very best generation

In the late 1900’s some of the greatest, gifted and most tormented souls of the world gave us music to rearrange our hearts and stomachs. We were all touched and scrambled. Year on year they defined their art, and when they were done, rehabbed or gone (RIP Lizard King), we drink nostalgia through “The Greatest Hits” series, generally released on birthdays, anniversaries and Jewish holidays. For instance, I have three Queen albums: The Great, Greater and Greatest Hits (The Platinum Collection). This implies two things: firstly, they were always great, but they got better with age and secondly, does it really matter? I mean, it’s Queen for heaven’s sake.

But along with the tragic death of the truly original is the dawn of the “The Very Greatest Hits”. We’ve added a “very” to emphatically point out to the buyer that this is it, this is the benchmark, after a long career spanning decades, the Hits have been refined to the crème de la crème of what is Musical History. Right? Wrong. We’re not talking about Clapton, remastered BB King or the Knopfler brothers, oh no. It’s “The Very Greatest Hits” of… Britney Spears.

What have we come to? Britney Spears is not even releasing the very average in music and yet she can make a profit on the very greatest of mediocre and trivial hits. At 28 years old, she’s been responsible enough to drive in the world for barely 10 years and she has a LONG way to go on the list of things to do before you turn thirty. To put it in perspective, this 28 year old is asking +/- 65% of the world which is older than her, to trust that she has made a serious contribution. I was brought up to respect my elders, and expecting the Pink Floyd generation to buy your drivel is a slap in the face of those who came before you.

Having thought about it, I’m not surprised. We let (and far worse, actually buy) 12 year olds chronicling their “lives” in autobiographies, Exhibit Miley Cyrus. It should be mandatory that any teen autobiography’s title is prefixed “The first chapter of”. We do give our top awards that recognise a life-time of achievement to a 19 year old, acknowledging her musical contribution as greater than Keith Urban or Kenny Chesney, who have spent nearly a combined 35 years honing their craft.

We’re awarding our acknowledgement, and our cash, not to the people who give us the very greatest contribution, but rather those that smack us in the face with lights, smoke and mirrors. The Very Greatest are turning in their pissed-on graves.

Feel Like a Natural Woman

Ah, an eggcorn. One of those precious gifts given to us by the English language (for those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about an eggcorn is an idiosyncratic substitution of a word or phrase for a word or words that sound similar or identical in the speaker's dialect. The new phrase introduces a meaning that is different from the original, but plausible in the same context ("old-timers' disease" for "Alzheimer's disease"). Made popular by the porn industry of the 90s, with such horrific contributions as Weapons of Ass Destruction, Bend Over like Beckham, 28 Lays Later, Shaving Private Ryan, you get the picture. But I digress.

You’d think there are only so many flying eggcorns of musicals and show tunes that can be worked into a cabaret? This turns out to be one of those great misconceptions we labour under as proven by Mile High with Cathy Specific, a musical comedy that features the classics Strangers on a Flight, Singing on a Plane, sung by Queen of the Skies, South Africa’s favourite air hostie, Cathy Specific. A fantastic script and support team deliver irony, double entendres, puns and naughty words that leave your inner child blushing, but the adult you have become feels all the better for meeting this phenomenal woman… played by Brendan van Rhyn… which really got me thinking: Is the best woman I can be, a man?

I’ve long maintained some of the best women in the world are all drag queens and Barbra Streisand impersonators be damned my theory was confirmed. But I don’t think it has anything to do with that pesky y chromosome at all, cause its what’s on the inside that counts (of course). As Cathy showed me last night, if you look with an eye of appreciation at every detail of a woman’s movements, expressions and reactions we are all beautiful creatures. Our little physical imperfections, like Adam ’s apple, chiselled chin, a minus one rib and 5 o clock shadow really have no impact on our radiance as females.

The *ahum* larger issues, almost 2m in height, also seem completely irrelevant. Though, a very large woman, Cathy’s wardrobe is tailored to perfection, showcasing assets and cleverly diminishing blemishes (and stubble). Women have disregarded this classy option in favour of the let it all to hang out like we’ve never had a biology class approach. Not a one of us knows why we do this exactly. Some experts allege that we do it because we’re showcasing our unique selling points, which is really like judging the quality of milk by the top of the cow’s udder.

But the best thing about Cathy, is that in this world of ambition and the sidelining of generally feminine virtues in favour of stronger, firmer, more hard-lined qualities, she celebrated her womanhood without taking herself too seriously. I never thought a man would restore my feminine energy, but she has. She reminded me, that as a woman, I shouldn’t take myself so damn seriously. Its not a grave affliction to be woman, it’s a gift and a joy.

Thanks Cathy. Bravo

My First Blog Post!

For some time, I have meant to do “the Blog thing”. Rama (South African margarine) mom’s are blogging their fave recipes and glorifying their position of Minister of Domestic Affairs by connecting with other equally bored unemployed women with active reproductive organs, we read about Pookie the Pugs newest trick: lying in the sun and sleeping (seriously, I own one, I know, ALL they do is sleep-eat-sleep-ablute-attempt to eat something inedible-doze-repeat), the hippies are even doing it (sorry, TreeHugger love it, but it must be said, you do have an overwhelming affection for hemp items), which brought me to the conclusion, I may not bake, but I’m online-addicted therefore I may as well give it a bash and in the now-immortal words of Jeremy Clarkson, “I mean, how hard can it be?!?”.

Uno problemo
Then came the biggest stumbling block of all... the First Post. What to do? Are you supposed to make a statement, aren’t you supposed to have a mission, or at least a general thrust? If you have answered YES to any of the above, I have failed dismally. I have gone with the “It’s not a NASA launch, it’s only your virginity” theory and am just getting this out the way.

What’s in store, then? Well, I’ll definitely plot the extended wine route of South Africa, as soon as I have consulted with my oh-so-posh-and-refined resident Snob on the hots and nots. This must be done, as we have just returned from 3 weeks of bliss and the draining of more grapes then Dionysus at his cousin’s wedding. And we swear, wine is making a comeback! Theatre updates, musical activities as well as oblique cinematic references, of course. So – a cultural nutshell for closet Liza Minnellis.