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July 8, 1998 |
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| Spice, Independence & Other Disasters With a special guest appearance by Kat Kinsman:
Spice Haiku: Pardon me for just one moment while I gloat, but...I saw the Spice Girls and you didn't!!! That is, of course, unless you were one of the Lilliputian throng of 9-year-old girls who packed Madison Square Garden to capacity last Wednesday, armed with nth-octave vocal cords and cash-slinging parents in tow. Ah, to be 9 again and have Mom and Dad fronting the dollars for your ticket to a full-on capital “C” Concert, not to mention the soon-to-be “vintage” Official Spiceworld Tour Program replete with Geri pix (friendship never ends, but contracts are apparently negotiable) as well as one of the hundreds of bootleg T-shirts with Geri’s face X-ed out being hawked for blocks around. But, just in case you have not been frequenting Backstreet Boys and Hanson shows as of late, I must tell you that there is something incredibly refreshing about attending a concert largely populated by the pre-pubescent set. For one, you can actually SEE the show, but even more appealing is the utter lack of hipster posturing. One can shake one’s 20- or 30-something booty about with wild abandon and pop rapture, and on that night, there was naught in the world but Spice to think about.
While I’m still bereft over the departure of my thick-thighed idol, Ginger, snaps are certainly due in the direction of Mel C. and the Mighty Three. The trimmed-down quartet of pop tarts sparkled their way through two electrifying sets of Spice standbys including: “Spice Up Your Life,” “2 Become 1,” and the ubiquitous “Wannabe” as well as a few quite deftly executed cover songs. Baby Emma was permitted to show that she indeed hadn’t spent all of her singing lesson money at the sweet shop and delivered a not-overly-cloying solo rendition of “Where Did Our Love Go,” whilst Mels C. and B. roused the crowd to a piercing din with their lusty arm-pumping version of “Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves” (the audience's enthusiam perhaps bolstered by Sporty's donning of a Knicks jersey). Miss Posh was encouraged to display her particular talents as well: it appeared that must be a clause in her contract which obligates her to wear the miniature and skirted edition of whatever outfit the other ladies happened to be sporting at the time. And--at an average--of one costume change per two songs, she was given plenty of opportunity. Our Geri may not have been there in buxom body, but she was remembered by her former bandmates in the touching inclusion of her name in the self-referential “Lady Is a Vamp” and her childhood photograph in the video montage for sugary “Mama,” the closing number of the pre-encore set. Sexy Spice, I shall miss ye, but Sporty backflipped her way into my heart and pulled Scary, Baby, and Posh along with her. And I certainly cannot forget to mention the unveiling
of the newest addition to the Spice rack. One Mr. William Shatner was credited as “Admiral Spice” on the MSG Jumbotron in the closing moments of the show, most likely for his voiceover intonations of “Spice: the final frontier” and “Where no woman has gone before.” Strange new (Spice) worlds indeed…
Admittedly, it was a festive holiday weekend, but somehow rife with disaster. It did offer the opportunity to partake in some fine cultural events, namely the Amazing Royal Crowns and Rocket from the Crypt shows (proof that I will never tire of Elvis, whatever form he may take), while celebrating pinball, tall boys, abstract expressionism, the V-8 engine, bebop, doo-wop, hip hop, and all other things noble and American. Everyone had as good a time as possbile in the city that allows neither firecrackers nor dancing--and big props to WPIX for the Star Trek marathon.
But then again, eight people were shot at a Peter Frampton concert on the glorious fourth in California. Assassination attempt or multiple suicide? We aren't sure yet. Singing cowboy Roy Rogers bought the farm (or, in his case, the ranch) on Sunday night--those drunken, late-night renditions of "Happy Trails" will never be quite as merry again. We're still waiting for word on whether he'll be stuffed and mounted next to Trigger at the museum. Julian Lennon came out with a bunch of nasty remarks about Yoko over the weekend--like we need to hear any effing more from that family. The one positive development: Big Baby Jesus, also known as Ol' Dirty Bastard, checked himself out of Brooklyn's Interfaith Medical Center in time for all the barbecues. He is recovering nicely from gunshot wounds incurred during a robbery at his home last week. So shout out to Ol' Dirty/Big Baby, and it looks like the man upstairs isn't holding the new name against him after all.
Not enough proof of lurking evil for you? In Texas on Sunday, Chicago Bullshitter Dennis Rodman joined Pearl Jam on stage, shirtless, shoeless, and chugging wine out of the bottle. He offered two songs' worth of inept backing vocals until his mic was turned off and Eddie Vedder announced "I guess you've been drinking for three days straight." (Duh, Eddie, he started Thursday night like the rest of us.) The sometime Hulk Hogan tag-team partner may have been guzzlin' the chianti due to recent reports that his woman, big ol' Baywatch ho Carmen Electra, done ditched him for Sugar Ray frontman and Cosmo coverboy Mark McGrath. The two hooked up at a party for the magazine last week at the Royalton Hotel, and the Vanilla Ice-lookalike carried the skanky swimsuited one up to his room afterward for a little somethin' somethin'. (While his taste in women may be unsurprisingly appalling, McGrath does get a little credit for actually playing "Ice, Ice Baby" in concert. And doing the accompanying dance. It's pretty funny, really.)
And now real cause for all of America to fear: rumors are beginning to run rampant that NYC's favorite three-man crew, Tribe Called Quest may be calling it splitsville. Their new album, "The Love Movement," has seen its release repeatedly delayed and there seems to be some question whether a planned support tour will actually happen. Granted, some of their troubles have undoubtedly been due to the fire that wiped out Tribe chieftain Q-Tip's home in the spring and, given their last album's lukewarm critical and public reception, there were undoubtedly added pressures. But hey, word has it the new record is slammin', and the first single definitely kicks--let's hope they can get it together and see what's happening for at least a few months more. In other words--NO! NO!! PLEASE NO!!!
Still, things may be looking up for our great nation. It looks as
though former New York Knick and New Jersey senator Bill
Bradley is serious about duking it out with Al "Made
of Wood" Gore for the year 2000 Democratic Presidential nomination.
Bradley recently went on a working vacation to Turkey with Phil
Jackson, would-be zen master and former coach of the evil Chicago
Bulls, and strategy was discussed. Odds are Phil will be coaching neither
the Sonics nor the Lakers next year, but a volunteer army of poli-sci
students and housewives in an effort to put Bill over the top. Imagine
a nation led by the 1970
championship Knicks--President Bradley, Secretary of the Interior Jackson,
with Walt "Clyde"
Frazier writing the speeches. Dr.
J. can quit working for the Magic and be Secretary of State. Now
that would be cause for nationwide celebration... |
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