This week marked the end of Top of the Pops, the long-running BBC TV music show that for some 42 years brought to life acts as disparate as the Rolling Stones and Britney Spears to UK audiences and sometimes even to our own.
Watching Top of the Pops was an event for many, as Pops was more than a TV show. It was a cultural moment. While I often saw clips from TOTP, I rarely got to see the show "for real," usually on visits to Britain in the '90s and the 'Noughties, and once in a while on BBC America. What to say? Pops was garish, it was throw-away, it was "naff," as they say down UK way. But it was fun, too, and occasionally transcendental--just like good pop should be.
Pop music is something of a lost art in the U.S. these days. The kids these days just don't seem to appreciate a good melody, a hooky chorus, or an earworm-worthy song, instead finding all the pop cultural inspiration they need in rap and hip-hop.
Or at least I'm guessing. I think I stopped listening to American Top 40 radio sometime in the mid-'90s, probably at the point where every song consisted of more bleeps than lyrics. So I'm a bit out of touch. I now patrol the aisles of Borders and Barnes & Noble looking for CDs by acts--the Pet Shop Boys, the Blue Nile, to name but two--that first appeared on the music scene 20 years ago. Every now and then I'll play it middle-aged and in touch by adding a Keane or Streets CD to my collection--but I hear about these from college radio, BBC Radio 1, and RFI Musique, not Clear(ly) Channel(ing Satan)'s Mix 106.Sh*t.
So the passing of Top of the Pops represents for me--in a huge production number kind of way, replete with matching outfits and synchronized dance routines--the passing of an era, the passing of my era, in a way, where pop stars' TV appearances were eagerly anticipated, then discussed and dissected on the following day with my friends. Even as an adult, I've engaged in this, so it's not that I'm missing my youth. No, instead, I'm kind of missing my culture. And that makes me sad.
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But while Top of the Pops may have gone the way of all, well, pop, the hits just keep on comin'. In case you weren't paying attention to the Culture Hit Parade this week and instead, for some reason, found the Middle East War more engaging and worthy of your time (silly vous), let's take a closer look at two chart hits that you may have missed.
New entry at number 1--Lance Bass and *NSYNC: "Girlfriend" (with Nelly)
Yes, finally, after being first bested by Stephen Gately of Ireland's Boyzone and reportedly even by Robbie Williams of Britain's Take That!, America's number one again!
Finally, an all-American boy band member has come out of the closet. This week Lance Bass owned up to being gay and proud even, which is really quite refreshing. I mean, he doesn't try to explain away or "blame" his homosexuality on any of the usual suspects--alcohol and drugs, being pimped out to make a living at too early of an age by unstylish and money-grubbing parents/guardians, or a "misunderstanding" (as in "Your honor, I'm not sure how my client's mouth became attached to that police officer's penis in a public restroom--I suspect entrapment!").
Instead, our Say-It-Loud-I'm-Lance-Bass-and-I'm-Proud was quoted in that source of all wisdom, People Magazine, as saying
The thing is, I'm not ashamed -- that's the one thing I want to say . . . . I don't think it's wrong, I'm not devastated going through this. I'm more liberated and happy than I've been my whole life. I'm just happy.
Good on ya, Lance. Sometimes, given the behavior of some of our clan (oh, we'll go there), it's not easy to hold our heads up high in public, but you did make us proud--and along the way scored yourself an impossibly attractive--if a little too Leni Riefenstahl's Olympia-for-comfort--boyfriend in Reichen Lehmkuhl.
Confidentially, Lance, I wouldn't anticipate it to last, though. I mean Reichen was on the Amazing Race just a couple of years ago with Chip Arndt as his "life partner"--and now he's in a committed relationship with you. Guess when he said "life" he meant "shelf life."
And then there's the "separate but unequal" quality of your relationship. Reichen is, as alluded to, of Aryan übermensch stature (or, perhaps, statue). You, well, no offense, Lance, but you might best be described as the Clay Aiken of *NSYNC.
But what a world, what a world. I mean, who would have ever imagined that groups like *NSYNC, with their emphasis on perfect hair, coordinated outfits, and 'tween and teen girls appeal, would be havens for homosexuals? Judging by these standards, then, Lenny Kravitz and James Blunt would be major flamers in a long-term relationship--at least until one member of the couple is caught on Hampstead Heath with grass stains on his knees.
In the meantime, Elton John--he of the saddest toupee and scariest wardrobe on the planet--would be trying out (and winning) the Ironman Triathlon.
Editor's note: Robbie Williams has never come out as gay; in fact, he sued the British press in 2005 for saying he was so. Nonetheless, he has certainly done a good job of being gay-for-pay-and-publicity over the years. And, please, dating Nicole Kidman, the world's highest-paid beard? Piffle.
Dribbling into the charts at number 40, another new entry--George Michael: "Fastlove."
While one former boy band member came out in a public forum, another former boy band performer was found, ahem, performing with his member in a public park.
Yes, it's official (again), George Michael has come out as a fine purveyor of tearoom trade with the working man.
The fact that George Michael is an out gay man is nothing new, of course. Ever since George first appeared on the pop scene as a member of Wham!, there were limp-wristed references to his homosexuality. Was Andrew Ridgely his partner in music--or his "partner"? Young guns, go for it!
The lisping voices became louder when the "Bad Boys" twosome danced the bum-boy boogaloo in the video for "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go." Jumping around a stage in fingerless gloves, a badly dyed coiff that Frida would have killed for, and tighty blue-and-whiteys, performing like some tween try-out for Barbie's very own rock band . . . well, it was bound to prompt talk.
Of course, it was the '80s, a decade with a lot to answer for, stylistically speaking. Duran Duran wore eyeliner while Twisted Sister favored heavy pancake and rouge--and both were just copying the Glam era of the '70s, anyway. Nonetheless, upon seeing that video, even the most avowed 700 Club-watching, Christian shut-in among us couldn't help but ponder that George might exhibit a certain tendency in his private life.
Even after he unceremoniously kicked Andrew Ridgely to the curb--out of sight, out of the tabloids--"careless whispers" stalked George throughout his solo career, despite his efforts to surround himself with obvious signs of manliness and heterosexuality--like supermodels and royal fag-hag-to-the-stars, Princess Diana.
Nevertheless, our hero was in very public denial about the love that dare not speak its name, at least in the pages of Smash Hits! Finally, when the time came for the big reveal on Survivor: Los Angeles Parks & Rec Division, George M. Co-Hand (as in, "buddy, can you lend me a hand here?") had to be flushed out of the closet. As you may recall, he was busted in 1998 after yanking his doodle a little too dandily in a park restroom for the viewing pleasure of an officer of the LAPD.
Ever since having the door blown off his bathroom stall of denial, La George has become something of the Courtney Love of gay pop stars, alternately moaning and groaning political (thus, ever striving for serious street cred, yet always coming out looking like a dill), grabbing inches (column inches) in the British press for his antics (drug busts, car accidents, generalized weirdness, etc.), and squeezing out the last drops of celebrity as he and his honey, Kenny Goss, race Elton John and David Furnish to their local UK registry office to exchange civil union vows.
Hmmm . . . but perhaps George has needed to squeeze a little too much out of life of late. For now there's the incident of his beating the bushes (among other things) with an unemployed tradesman on London's Hampstead Heath. As if that weren't bad enough, Michael has since made a spectacle of himself in the press and on UK TV making all sorts of specious claims, that what he was doing with that tradesman wasn't illegal (to which in the UK he probably has a point as public sex apparently is OK as long as no one can see it), that his dalliance with a stranger was part of his "culture," and that that was something no one not gay nor male had a right to comment on.
Oh dear.
Personally, this both gay and male person is of mixed minds about the incident. I would agree that male sexual expression and definitely gay male sexual expression can be different from that of the culture in general. (For an interesting pop cultural take on this, might I suggest viewing the final season of the U.S. version of Queer as Folk?) But having sex in public parks is no more a universal part of gay culture than dressing in women's clothes is. Some do it, but not everyone does, by any stretch. There would be gay men who would be horrified at the thought of "tearoom trade," as there would be straight men that would be thrilled to wear one of Krystal "with a K" Carrington's ballgowns. Survey a crowd of gay men at any protest march, reading group, or P-town summer rental, and you would find some guys who engage in both behaviors, some who engage in one or the other, and many who would not engage in either.
To each his own--but, George dear, please don't advocate that your very public downfall is the cultural standard to which we're all adhering.
In the end, the best I can offer is a bitter "Thanks, a**hole" to George for setting back gay identity and liberation a few years with his hard-to-justify, hard-to-fathom behavior. I'm sure millions of young men across the planet who were on the verge of coming out to their parents and friends really appreciate his "activism" on their behalf.
By the way, George, next time you want to express your sexuality in public, might I suggest you simply go on whatever replaces Top of the Pops and give a stellar performance of "I Want Your Sex"? Come on, guy, you can't have forgotten one of your biggest hits, can you? Then again, you ceased several years ago to be about pop. Nowadays, you're just all fizz.
But, sadly, not even of the caliber of Bucks Fizz.
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