Is It Just Me or Is Everything Shit?

by Steve Lowe

  It will only be a matter of time before these pullquotes are artfully constructed by extracting phrases from throughout the interview to say: “Kissing . . . another woman . . . in a big pool . . . of mud . . . is always something . . . I’ve wanted to try . . . preferably being . . . watched by . . . your readers . . . with their . . . co . . . cks out.”

  MISERY MEMOIRS

  There’s not nearly enough misery in the world, is there? Every time you turn on the news, it’s nothing but sunshine and everyone laughing and people dancing with puppies and attractive old people. Sickening. If only there were some way of escaping into a world where children are made to live in the washing machine and eat nothing but sanitary products and cigarettes.

  Thank jiminy, then, for misery memoirs. Which one do you fancy? Dave Pelzer’s A Child Called It has someone being forced naked onto a hot stove. But then Ugly by Constance Briscoe has bleach swallowing. You’re spoiled for choice: For Crying Out Loud: One Woman’s Story of Hope and Courage; Friday’s Child: What Has She Done That Is So Terrible?; The Little Prisoner: How a Childhood Was Stolen and a Trust Betrayed. Excellent.

  Some people really love their misery. Consider this Amazon customer review of Pelzer’s My Story trilogy: “these stories will leave you sickened shocked sad crying happy thankful every feeling you could feel you get when you are reading these stories they grip you from start to end.” Other misery fans are more demanding: “in ‘a child called it’ his mother did horrible things to him such as made him eat his own sick! but the others don’t seem to be as interesting.” It’s so easy to play the sick-eating card too early, isn’t it?

  In 2003, a reformed drug addict called James Frey wrote a memoir called A Million Little Pieces, full of can-you-handle-it-punk accounts of his junkie hell, rendered in short, punchy, macho paragraphs.

  Just.

  Like.

  Fucking.

  HEROIN!

  This.

  Oprah Winfrey, who really likes misery memoirs, loved A Million Little Pieces and had Frey on her show so she could tell him how moved she was. Naturally, it became a best seller. But then the Smoking Gun Web site uncovered documents proving that Frey had made bits up, so it wasn’t entirely real after all. There was misery in there, to feast on, but it wasn’t the genuine misery suffered by another human being that people felt they were paying for when they bought into the whole thing.

  Oprah invited Frey back onto the show and proceeded to tell him that he had let himself down, he had let the whole nation down, and, most heinously, he had let Oprah down. He did, it must be said, look genuinely miserable.

  Maybe he’ll write a memoir about it. He could call it My Oprah Sick-Eating HEROIN Pieces.

  KATE MOSS

  In the event of a nuclear war, scientists predict that only one species is guaranteed to survive unscathed: Kate Moss. She’ll be scouring the post-apocalyptic tundra, cigarette in hand, looking for the hippest smoking crater around, and wishing there was just one gossip columnist left alive to report glowingly on her whereabouts.

  If she just wore clothes and left it there, that would be one thing. But no, people get her to do all sorts of completely unrelated activities—like singing. Even though it is hard to see how she is better suited to making music than, say, Barry Bonds.

  With grim inevitability, news of her liaison with Pete Doherty was soon followed by reports that she had been laying down some backing vocals for Babyshambles’ debut album. According to reports, he thought her vocals were so good he was considering writing a duet they could sing together.

  Good vocals? Are you on crack? Oh.

  MOTORIST, THE, AS OPPRESSED GROUP

  There is one inalienable right of man—recognized as such from ancient Greek philosophy through to the classic statements of liberal rights such as the Constitution—that today is being repressed as never before, casting a shadow over all ye who believe in Liberty. I speak, of course, of the right to drive about in a car.

  How dare people like Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa encourage citizens to use public transportation and leave their beloved automobiles at home? Driving two blocks, alone in your car, just to buy milk is a God-given right, and one drawing on a rich tradition of political thought almost as old as man himself.

  It was Aristotle who first invented the notion of “pimping” one’s “ride.” “These rims,” he wrote, in his Politics, “are bitchin’.”

  George Washington, first president of the United States, famously said: “As Mankind becomes more liberal, they will be more apt to allow that all those who conduct themselves as worthy members of the community are equally entitled to the protections of civil government. I hope ever to see America among the foremost nations of justice and liberality. And of course to be fat and drive around in SUVs. That goes without saying.”

  And who can forget Teddy Roosevelt’s immortal words, “Car-pool lanes are gay.”

  MULTIPLE-CHOICE CHRISTIAN EDUCATION SCHEMES

  The Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) scheme is already widespread in all fifty states, and now is being welcomed into the fold worldwide by all sorts on the growing education/faith interface.

  Why not test your knowledge against a sample question from ACE’s geography exam:

  1.The circumference of the Earth at the equator is 24,901.55 miles. Given this fact, what force should we let into our lives to save ourselves from eternal damnation?

  a)devils b)devils c)devils d)devils e)devils f)Jesus g)devils h)devils The ACE syllabus involves learning “facts” by rote to retell “facts” in multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blanks tests. All discussion or dissent is discouraged as pupils sit in stony silence at individual desks with high dividers and work through booklets that all begin with Christian homilies. ACE students are not quite placed in a box into which voices periodically bellow, “Are you feeling the spirit of THE LORD!?” but it’s not far off.

  Admittedly, multiple-choice Christian Education schemes are often successfully completed by students who are otherwise unable to find their way educationally. However, this is, at least in part, because answering multiple-choice questions is easy-peasy lemon-squeezy. Particularly when one of the answers is always “Jesus.”

  University academics have found that successful ACE students often show no conception of independent thought; in a very real sense, it was never an option. But really, is this such a massive problem? These schools turn out orderly children with “ethos” to spare. Seriously, if hard-core Christians want to take over everything, what’s the big problem? You know, apart from their urge to burn J. K. Rowling as a witch. But then, she’s had it good for too long.

  MUSIC SPONSORSHIP

  In 2004, Britney Spears claimed that filming Pepsi’s Gladiator/“We Will Rock You” ad with Beyoncé Knowles and Pink made her “feel empowered” (the campaign slogan was “Dare for More”). Later that year, Beyoncé told the press that having Destiny’s Child’s tour sponsored by McDonald’s made them feel “truly honored.” Yes, that’s McDonald’s, not Make-A-Wish.

  Music and big business have always been curious bedfellows, but never before has the former positioned itself on the hard receiving end of things quite so readily. In 1997, when Mick Jagger really got the bandwagon rolling by jumping onstage showing off the new Rock ’N’ Roll Collection of tour sponsor Tommy Hilfiger, many fans audibly gagged. But such days are long gone.

  Now the stigma of being a sell-out whore has almost completely disappeared, with even nominally “noncorporate” indie bands operating on the principle, “Well, everyone else is doing it . . .” Events like the Music Upfront conference even let labels showcase forthcoming albums to corporations like Procter & Gamble, Samsung, and Mercedes for use in future ads. Co-organizing the event, Atlantic chairman Jason Flom apologized to “anyone in the ad industry who has been neglected in the past” saying: “Target your brands with our bands!”

  One group who might conceivably not nee
d the money or exposure is U2; but in interviews around their silhouette/“Vertigo” iPod ads, the band hit new lows of twisted-logic obsequiousness. Adam Clayton called the union with Apple perfect “synergy” and Bono called the iPod “the most interesting art object since the electric guitar.” At a press conference unveiling iTunes for Windows, Bono appeared on video link calling the new confluence between Microsoft and Apple “like the pope of software meeting the Dalai Lama of integration.” (Don’t you just love it when he says things like that? Not just that it’s so appalling, but that he clearly spent ages thinking it up.)

  If this cozy relationship really is so undemeaning, maybe Bono could consider jumping onstage wearing an iPod and phoning Steve Jobs to tell him how great iPods are before adding new lyrics to “One” about how we get to carry each other’s iPods? That would be like the Babe Ruth of Messianic Twat-Rock meeting the Prince Rainier III of MP3-Playing Interface Alternatives. Or something.

  “MUST-HAVE,” THE PHRASE

  Being told how to be hip by media planks is a constant feature of modern life. Every week, Entertainment Weekly publishes it’s “Must List” of ten pop-culture items you must see, hear, read, or buy if you want to have any hope of surviving the next seven days. Really? If I don’t check out the Clark Brothers on Fox’s The Next Great American Band, I will die a social pariah’s painful death?

  Seeing certain films is “utterly essential”—with TV pundits saying things like “This is Christian Bale’s year, without a doubt.” Imagine having no doubts that this year, or any other year, is Christian Bale’s year. What certainty!

  “The FeONIC Soundbug is a must-have,” we were once told by a TV “items” expert, because it turns otherwise useless flat surfaces like walls into speakers. “Flat and rigid surfaces”? Fuck ’em.

  Such figures are portrayed as modern oracles peering into the misty water to somehow divine the future of thinking, being, buying. In reality, they’ve been sifting through a pile of press releases. Or, sometimes, looking stuff up on the Internet.

  “MY LIFE AFTER . . .”

  Before the age of celebrity, most would react to a painful split by staying under their bedclothes and, on reemerging, looking distant and distracted like Agnetha in late-period ABBA videos.

  Thankfully, modern celebrities have now shown us the correct way to grieve over dead love: by regularly unloading into the Dictaphones of reporters for bottom-end weekly magazines about how many tears you have cried, how going to nightclubs only partially kills the pain, how your ex liked dressing up as a barrister and hanging from the banisters, how you will never watch Laguna Beach again, that kind of thing. At regular six month intervals, you can join your public in “looking back at the split.” Which is weird. You can stage a “joyful release” photo, like Nicole, or you can drip-feed details of your former partner’s infidelities, like Jen. At some point, someone will cotton on to the idea of getting all Kate Hudson’s exes together for a conference. That’d be good.

  If anyone is too distraught to talk, Sis can always open up instead. When Britney Spears was too devastated to comment on her custody battle with K-Fed, Life & Style magazine—which we should note has neither a life nor style—instead published this quote from her sister, Jamie Lynn: “You wanted those babies, and look what you’re doing! I’m glad Kevin’s going to take them!” Isn’t that sweet? You wish you had a sister like that.

  N

  NAZI HATE POP

  Modern-day fascists have such poor taste in music. Anyone would think they have poor judgment generally. All that bad metal; all that shouting. You’d think they’d want to unwind after rupturing their rectums with all the Nazism: the marching, the bellowing ignorance, all those close-typed leaflets they hand out. But no: It’s frenetic thumping and gruff slogans about white supremacy. Angry Aryans? We ask you!

  One striking departure from fat, bald blokes screaming is Prussian Blue—a girl group who are a sort of Nazi version of the Olsen Twins. But where the Olsens appeal to fans of anodyne family fun, Prussian Blue appeal to fans of Aryan racial hegemony. Group members Lamb and Lynx Gaede are two blond, blue-eyed fourteen-year-olds from Bakersfield, California, who wear mini skirts and T-shirts with yellow smily faces on them (ah, cute), but the yellow smily faces are actually Hitler (oh, not so cute), complete with mustache and distinctive hairdo. (We’re not making this up!) It’s like Girl Power, but it’s White Girl Power.

  “We are proud of being white,” says Lynx—unsurprising given that their shows incorporate Sieg Heil salutes and that one song, “Sacrifice,” is dedicated to Hitler’s deputy Rudolf Hess (a “man of peace who wouldn’t give up”).

  Other top tracks are “Road to Valhalla” and “Aryan Man, Awake.” Lyrics include: “Strike force! White survival. Strike force! Yeah.” Gig itineraries sometimes feature Holocaust denial festivals. (How would one of those “festivals” pan out? “I don’t believe the Holocaust happened.” “Neither do I.” “Let’s get a beer.” “Okay.” “Is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad coming this year?” “No, he’s got a cold.” “Shame.”)

  Erich Gliebe, operator of notorious race-hate label Resistance Records, which releases Prussian Blue’s efforts, believes young performers like Lynx and Lamb will expand the base of white nationalism. He said: “Eleven and twelve years old, I think that’s the perfect age to start grooming kids and instill in them a strong racial identity.”

  Lamb and Lynx were “groomed” by their mother, April, who homeschools them using 1950s textbooks, and by their grandfather. He has a swastika on his belt buckle, on the side of his pickup truck, and registered as his cattle brand with the Bureau of Livestock Identification. (So he definitely likes swastikas. And presumably Nazi cattle.)

  Lynx said: “We want to keep being white. We want our people to stay white . . . We think our race is different to other races in positive ways and that we’ve done more for civilization.”

  We must wonder, though, exactly what benefit civilization will garner from two barely pubescent girls gyrating in front of mostly male white supremacists. The target market of this pop group would appear to be Nazi pedophiles. Which even a fascist must appreciate is, in PR terms, a double-edged sword.

  Nazi pedophiles: What are they like, eh?

  NETWORKING

  The dark art of pretending to like people in order to advance one’s own self—even though that self has precisely nothing to offer the world barring an extraordinary aptitude for self-advancement.

  “NOT LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE” ADVERTISING

  We must not be like everybody else. We must be different. Original. And special. And we must always, always expect more. How do we know this? Because that’s what the advertisers tell us.

  “Be Original” implores Levi’s. We need to go “moon-bathing,” claim the ads, showing a buffed, shirtless, Levi’s-wearing man balancing precariously on a moonlit rooftop. They make it look quite the thing. But if we do actually go “moon-bathing,” surely we are not being “original.” We are being “unoriginal.” It’s like jumping in the fire because a bigger boy told you to, except it’s climbing around on the roof at night because Levi’s told you to. Which is potentially deranged. “What, Officer? But the jeans people told me to do it!”

  “There Is No Box,” declares the network FX. Because their decision to air not just TV shows, but original TV shows, of both the comedy and drama variety, is so daring that clearly they’re so far out of the box they can’t even see that cramped square anymore! And if you watch their shows, you’re out of the box, too! Good for you! Just don’t leave that other box. You know, the one that glows in your living room and is called a television. Because FX kinda needs that box to survive.

  When IBM used the Kinks’ proto-punk anthem “I’m Not Like Everybody Else,” they subverted meaning with an audacity that would make a French philosopher gasp. The song fronted the computer giant’s “What Makes You Special?” campaign, which conveyed the idea that IBM was in fact an anarchist collective sp
ecifically there to cater to disaffected wild cards. Except that, in the ads, everyone was singing the anti-conformity song in perfect unison—like corporate Stepford androids. The levels of irony become so richly confusing that you start spinning out and need talking to with patience and care—to be reassured that you are, at least in some senses, like everybody else.

  NOVELISTS WRITING ABOUT CURRENT AFFAIRS

  Reading newspapers these days, you need some basic ground rules if you want to avoid the sudden urge to throw yourself through a window. One of the most important rules (at least of those that don’t involve “Youth Correspondents”) involves first scanning right down to the very end of the article. If you see there a little copyright symbol followed by the writer’s name, either turn over the page or in fact drop the paper and run off into another room.

  This is because, whether you’ve heard of them or not, the writers will be Very Important Authors. They don’t usually do this sort of thing but, on this occasion, they have chosen to lower themselves from Mount Literature and walk among us. They have been touched by current events, touched in ways we normal people just wouldn’t understand. There are children dying, we’ve all seen the pictures. But have we seen the real picture? The big picture? The picture that tells us what we’re all really feeling? Probably not. After all, we’re not pompous novelists straining for pseudo-profundity.

  How would any of us have made sense of the horrors of the World Trade Center attacks if it hadn’t been for the likes of Salman Rushdie, Ian McEwan, and Martin Amis telling us how horrible it all was? This was, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, exactly the right time for showboating prose.

  Let us consider an op-ed piece by the late Norman Mailer on our government’s justification for the Iraq War: “With their dominance in sport, at work and at home eroded, Bush thought white American men needed to know they were still good at something.” So powerful! So readable! So succinct! So clearly out of touch with reality! If Bush led us into Iraq to give white dudes an easy ego boost, this war is a bigger clusterfuck than we thought.