Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Gaga - “You And I”

  We start out with Gaga marching down a dusty road, decked out in some tribute-to-Skeletor getup, complete with coordinated veils and death mask. Seems girl has been trudging down that road for some time, long enough that her feet are all bloody and she’s got a bit of an attitude. But before we can tell her “honey, if you’d just take those eight-inch heels off it wouldn’t be so bad” we whisk to another.. I’m not sure what it is.

  And then the images and costume changes start flying. Somebody’s hiking up her skirt, some corpses are getting married, something about fingernails, melting ice cream cones, ugly street vendors, possible cattle-prod usage and public tinkling. Gaga goes at it all with gusto, in that amazing knack she has of creating startling but mesmerizing images that may not mean anything but she’s having such a hell of a good time that you’re right there with her.

  Anyway, the song proper starts, and we’re back with the original Gaga character, she of the black veils, now standing in the middle of what passes for an intersection in Podunk, Nebraska. She poses for a while, because her outfit is really striking and we need to study all of it, then she starts prancing around with an attitude, sashaying, while at the same time trying to fix one of her arms that has apparently short-circuited. Then she throws down a black rose and goes stomping toward an ice cream truck, which is exactly where I would go if my arm was making buzzing noises and didn’t have any flesh.

  Cut to another Gaga, this one wearing very little makeup and playing a piano in the middle of a cornfield at night. Sitting on top of said piano is Jo Calderone, the alter ego that Gaga has created as a means to… well, the jury’s still out on that one. But kudos to the special effects person that blended these two into the scene. You really believe that Jo is right there, smoking cigarettes and guzzling beer while Gaga bops her head dangerously close to Jo’s crotch. They look sweet together.

  We spend a little time with them, because when you stumble across a piano from the corn rather than a child, you might as well make the best of it. (We get some jump shots of Black Veil Gaga stomping around on those roads, but she doesn’t seem to know where she’s going so we can check back on her later.) While Gaga tinkles, this time with the piano keys and not herself, Jo does manly things like spit and grab at his crotch and not bathe.

  Hold up, more whirring images again. Some shirtless guy (good costume choice, sayin) is messing around with Gaga dressed as a severe RuPaul angel, another shirtless guy (or maybe the same, we’re just seeing torsos here, fine by me) is kissing a Gaga dressed as a dead nurse, and there’s something about a barn. Then we’re back to the RuPaul angel, and Shirtless is fiddling with chemistry-set looking things while RuPaul tries not to be eaten alive by her costume.

  And the possible barn theme is confirmed when we cut to a Green-Haired Gaga leading a line dance. (It’s just not a Gaga video without one.) Leave it to Gaga to all out hoof it up in a big production number involving horse stalls and haylofts. She and her girl posse flop around for a bit, stirring up dust that probably doesn’t feel good once it’s trapped under those leather outfits they are all barely wearing.

  While the Horsey Hoes pivot and twirl, we drop by one of the other set pieces in the video for a status update. RuPaul appears to be getting her mouth oiled by Shirtless, followed by something to do with an old-timey hypodermic being shoved into RuRu’s neck and causing her to…

  Turn into a mermaid? I think. All that’s certain is that we now have Gaga as FishWoman, reclining in an antique bathtub that would probably run you 25K at Restoration Hardware, while Shirtless is dumping pails of water on her. (He’s a very busy boy.) She’s also managed to lose her top somewhere along the line, testing the patience of censors with the creative use of a tiny strip of mer-flesh that just barely covers her nipples. (What’s the point, at this point, about even bothering to hide the points? Just asking.)

  Back to the Horsey Hoes and their Equus tribute. Everybody’s still hunching the hay with complete professionalism, showing no signs of stopping, so we can just let them be for now, although at some point they’ll need to find another place to dance because the cows are due for milking shortly. Bessie don’t play when it’s pail time.

  And we visit with Mer-Gaga once more, to find that she is hopelessly devoted to her breasts, caressing them with a love that usually only takes place on certain pay-per-view channels. We also have some mess with Shirtless shoving a gas mask at her, but there’s already so much going on that we’ll just let that go for now.

  Oh, look, it’s time for another montage. Black Veil Gaga is still stomping around that dusty intersection, so I’m not sure that she’s being all that productive. Mer-Gaga is splashing around in her tub in a manner that would have had me sent to my room as a youngster. And Jo and Plain Gaga are still mooning at each other under the harvest moon in the cornfield without children.

  Then the pace kicks up even more, and the jump cuts are too numerous to mention. Suffice it to say that, in general, Shirtless is really invested in transforming Gaga into something else. We’re just not sure what that else might be or exactly which Gaga he is working on at any given time, especially since some new Gagas start cropping up, like Black-Haired Gaga who seems to be doing aerobics in front of a giant wooden wheel while wearing a leftover Barbarella outfit.

  Hold-up, soft-porn alert. Shirtless and his tattoos are gettin’ busy with one of the Gagas, probably Mer-Gaga if you base it on breast-identification. But before the loosely-draped towel on his behind slides off like we want it to, we go back to that damn montage. Now we have images of splashing water, Plain Gaga leading a line dance in the cornfield (you knew it was coming), and a shot of Jo spitting off the back of the piano (how nice of him/her).

  Next we have another teasing snippet of that towel sliding lower on Shirtless, then scenes of Black Veil Gaga still not finding what she’s looking for, more cornfield choreography, Plain Gaga playing the piano with her foot, self-loving mermaids, questionable aerobics, religious references involving the signs of the cross and some hair gel, and a very convincing trick shot of Gaga kissing herself via Jo.

  Did I mention that things were a little busy in this video? Yep, they be.

  Oh, I almost forgot about the Horsey Hoes. We check in on them a few times, including a startling scene where Green-Haired Gaga has apparently managed to get herself stuck high up on a really aggressive stripper pole, and the other Hoes race up a convenient staircase to cut her down. Or something like that. It may have just been a political statement of some kind.

  Brief interlude where Shirtless is sitting around in flimsy, soaking-wet pajama bottoms while Mer-Gaga throws more water on him, then the montage fires up again. Barbarella Gaga is having some type of reaction to shellfish, Plain Gaga suddenly decides it would be fun to run a marathon in the cornfield, Dead-Nurse Gaga is still getting married or some such in the most confusing scenario of many confusing scenarios, and the towel finally gives it up and we get a partial booty shot of Shirtless atop Mer-Gaga. (Pause at 5:08, for those who roll that way, sayin.)

  The tilt-a-whirl finally starts to slow down, and we’re back with Black Veil Gaga, still on that road to nowhere, warbling the slower end of the song. The music fades, and we get one last look at Shirtless and Mer-Gaga, all cozy in their bathtub of lust, a glimpse of Dead-Nurse Gaga and her apparent groom, and a lonely, abandoned farmhouse where little boys and girls used to dream of growing up one day and doing whatever the hell they wanted and people would love them anyway…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Foster The People - “Pumped Up Kicks”

  Note: Another mix of concert footage and random scenes of people and food, so we’ll do the timestamp thing…

0:03  Man falls out of sky and crashes into lake. This is probably symbolic of Rick Perry’s chances of becoming President.

0:08  One of the band members is being attacked by a laser-wielding robot in the distance.

0:17  Enthusiastic fan is missing part of her top, doesn’t care.

0:19  Nearby restaurant is totally empty. Making mental note to avoid.

0:24  Startling appearance of Capri pants.

0:27  Robot still pissed.

0:31  Cubbie drives getaway car after incident at convenience store.

0:36  Band members not sure if this is the right bus stop.

0:44  Cubbie very pleased with his choice of black shirt.

0:45  Something about a snapping turtle.

0:50  Capri redux.

0:56  Mark violates sea creature, feels no remorse.

0:58  Tennis shoe given walk-on part, ends up in credits.

1:06  Cubbie performs magic trick with vague purpose.

1:12  Confusion over where the camera might actually be.

1:16  Abandoned latte weeps pitifully.

1:28  Overdue for potty break.

1:34  Still looking for that camera.

1:38  Gratuitous shot of water.

1:44  Crowd scene involving darkness and possible sweating.

1:47  Possible blurry image of Elvis, fueling rumors once again.

1:52  Lone member of audience is still very dedicated.

2:01  Possible fornication with keyboard. Discuss.

2:09  Overuse of moisturizer.

2:19  New dance craze sweeps nation, dubbed “Bow-legged Bebop”.

2:22  Nun escapes from monastery, becomes street walker.

2:29  Robot is still way back there, proof of issue with motor skills. Danger element diminishes.

2:36  Cool shades accent cultivation of mustache.

2:39  Lost episode of… Lost.

2:40  Desperate resistance fighters attack enemy with flattened bombs.

2:48  Band member locates missing jockstrap from eighth grade, celebrates.

2:53  Another politician stumbles during Republican debate.

3:03  Whistling makes your head heavy.

3:07  Dreams of becoming a star on Broadway briefly resurface, alcohol most likely the culprit.

3:09  Recovered jockstrap proves to be a bit binding.

3:18  Creative attempt to put on shoes receives low performance numbers from judges.

3:22  Tree.

3:28  Over-exuberant smile hides dark secret about stolen French fries.

3:31  For medicinal purposes, of course.

3:37  It is apparently very important that somebody get something done right now.

3:45  Crowd mistakenly thinks they are in Pamplona, waits for signal to start running.

3:51  Signal is given.

4:01  This is why you don’t ride around in open convertibles, people. Bugs.

4:10  Whoops, guess that robot finally made it here. Pain ensues.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Melanie Fiona - “Gone And Never Coming Back”

Um, it appears that Miss Melanie is one very angry woman. But you can certainly decide for yourself…

We start out with a tight shot on Melanie’s face. She’s very pretty, and she’s singing calmly at this point, so we can’t help but like her and hope she has a very fulfilling life. Then we get the first sign that things may not be as happy as they seem, when the image of some dude’s lips suddenly intrude from the right and then vanish. What the hell? Are we dealing with demon lips AGAIN? This happens far too often for my comfort.

Melanie continues to sing gently, so I guess, at least at this point, she’s not bothered by spectral orifice visions. Then all the sudden we ramp things up, with a flurry of jump shots involving creepy snow-globes, falling pages of music, and Melanie wearing another dress and banging on a piano that must have come over with the Mayflower. Melanie also amps it up with her vocals and the tempo of the song, because once a snow-globe appears, it’s ON, people.

Shot of a lit cigarette falling and hitting the floor. Is she trying to quit? Are we out of ashtrays? Are people just clumsy? Melanie doesn’t answer any of these questions, instead choosing to start really bellowing the song like her thong just irritated a tender spot. Somebody else throws a rose on the floor, so I’m starting to think that we have some rude-ass people up in this video.

Shot of a wine glass. This calms me somewhat.

Then we have Melanie back at the old piano, pounding on the keys, then we cut to some creepy black women wearing disturbing, abbreviated white lipstick. I don’t like these women at all. If I woke up on a random Tuesday night and noticed something like that coming at me in the dark, there would be issues. The kind where I scream and hope that Jesus still loves me.

Shot of pills on the floor. I think I fully understand why those might be necessary, because the Lipstick Zombie Women have broken out of their holding cell and they are none too happy.

A few more jump shots, then we focus on Melanie doing a diva stance whilst wearing odd pants that can’t possibly be comfortable. She doesn’t care, because she’s also wearing a really cool necklace that makes up for things like pants that aggravate your nether region. In fact, she’s so comfortable in this scene that she stays there for a really long time, despite the fact that she seems unable to move her legs.

Shot of a turntable. No idea.

Then we have yet another clumsy person throwing bullets on the floor, which causes two female twins with bouffant hair to touch themselves, and somebody else (might be Melanie, she’s not showing her face) to use a big-ass piece of chalk to write on the floors and walls of wherever she is, a place that causes her hair to be really frizzy.

More shots of those pills on the floor, moving on their own (that’s comforting) and the appearance of some odd purple paint that likes to pour itself on things like music sheets and last year’s tax return. Back to Chalk Graffiti Melanie, as she gets really worked up about something while wearing an outfit that can only be described as “somebody wasted a lot of money on fashion school”.

It grieves me to inform you that the rose previously thrown on the floor has expired, disintegrating amid a slight burst of steam. Hopefully this is a symbol of what should happen to anyone who ever willingly joined the Tea Party.

Well, dang, the snow-globe also met an untimely end, with water and bits of stuff splashing about. Melanie must really hate working with props. If we’re lucky, she’ll also send the Lipstick Zombie Women back to hell, because I would enjoy my life much more knowing that people who can’t properly apply makeup have been given a permanent timeout.

Who the hell is that Kabuki chick that just popped up? I’m not even going there.

We jump cut around for a while, revisiting many of the scenes while scribbled words like “Fear” and “Pain” flash across the screen, along with a disembodied mouth trying to escape from pantyhose. I’m thinking that Melanie is just a tiny bit bitter about her past relationships.

And we have even more jump cuts, with more appearances from the Zombie Women, Melanie still unable to move her legs while wearing the weird pants, and a disturbing scene where Melanie might just be trying to shove the fringe on her shirt into a naughty place that it shouldn’t go. Honey, you need to watch some reruns of the “Golden Girls” or something, because you’re in a really dark place.

And we’re back to Melanie in the paralyzing pants, where we have an extended scene with her doing some very nice diva movements with her hands and her hair is being blown about in a manner that is reminiscent of Leonardo DiCaprio standing on the bow of that ship that didn’t have the decency of finishing its maiden voyage.

The odd purple paint makes another series of cameos, now apparently intent on destroying piano keyboards and light bulbs. But Melanie’s a trooper, and keeps banging on that piano and wearing her uncomfortable pants long enough to finish out her song about people who done her wrong and didn’t even bother to pay for dinner.

We wind things down with more questionable images, such as empty picture frames bursting into flames and the startling realization that a piano bench has become lodged up in the dress that Melanie wears while playing that ancient piano. But it’s all good. Melanie wraps it up with some quiet warbling and key stroking, working her way back to her quiet place where Zombies fear to tread, content in her knowledge that if anybody else tries to make her life miserable, she’s got a pair of pants she can slip on them that will keep them from being able to move….


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Matchbox Twenty - “3AM”

We start out on some urban street late at night, where we apparently have some road construction going on while Rob Thomas moseys down a sidewalk, looking sad and despondent. (And he also looks to be about 12 years old. Has it been that long since this video came out? Geez.) I guess Rob didn’t hear my question, since he just keeps walking and looking tragically unsatisfied.

Cut to a lobby or some such where they have lots of payphones. (Which means that this must be an antique store, right?) Anyway, Rob’s there, and he’s still not happy about whatever. He does a few dramatic poses, then quickly gets bored with that and finally decides to actually start singing the song, which is a good idea, this being a music video and all.

Then we start getting some photo stills rolling across the screen, the product of someone trying to be artistic with a limited budget, and one of the first shots involves Rob peering out of some stark shadows. This is not a good image for him. He looks exactly like he’s about to murder an entire church choir with a pogo stick, and then do something unseemly with their undergarments.

Back to Rob in the middle of all those seedy payphones and, based on the way he’s wandering about and doesn’t seem to know where the camera is, he’s probably drunk. Not that it matters, because some of the other folks using or standing near the payphones are having a lot more difficult time with life. (Just what is that one guy with the odd hair doing in that phone booth? Is he even breathing?)

More shots of shuffling people milling about who either don’t have a quarter or just don’t have anywhere else to go. (“I’m bored and broke. Let’s go watch people talk to other people that we can’t see and everybody is depressed. Yay!”) Rob is very invested in continuing to stroll about in this place while repeatedly doing something insistent with his left hand.

Cut to a sidewalk somewhere, with Rob sitting on the curb and pouting, right next to a pile of perfectly good ice cubes that some fool has thrown on the pavement. (Was somebody hearing voices from the freezer?) As a dude with a cowboy hat walks behind him, we get more artsy stills of Rob and Cowboy looking bereft and underappreciated. We’re just a monotone narrator away from a documentary about poverty and neglect in the inner city.

And then we have another area with phone booths, but this place seems to be a little spiffier, possibly a fancy hotel or maybe a mental hospital with phones that don’t actually work but the patients don’t know that, keeping them occupied while the staff watches Ellen DeGeneres in the break room.

Before we can learn any more detail, we have Rob standing outside an all-night drugstore, peering into one of the front windows and watching a blonde woman shop. (This is really kind of creepy, Rob. Why are you doing this? And you DO realize that everyone can see you, right, with your face pressed up against the glass? Bad stalker!)

We go back to the artsy stills, with shots of a very bored checkout girl hating her job, the Blonde trying to decide which box of powder will best soothe moist areas, and Rob on the verge of mass homicide. The Blonde finally pays for her selections, and then she and her bra-less nipples leave the store. Rob just stands there and watches her go, with an expression on his face that doesn’t look very healthy.

We have some live-action filler shots of Rob singing all alone, Rob kicking at that pile of ice (Seriously, what has that ice done to anybody? Leave it alone!), and Rob doing an interpretive dance next to one of those helicopter rides for kiddies where you put a quarter in, it bumps up and down three times, and then it’s done, leaving the kid to howl in anguish for another quarter while you question the dark side of procreation.

More artsy shots, and I think these snaps are of the other band members. I’m only guessing, because I don’t know any of them personally, we don’t hang, and it really doesn’t matter in the end. There’s just some pictures of people caught at odd moments mixed in with images of trashcans and fruit.

Now Rob is back on the street again, walking in the middle of it because that’s completely safe to do in a city where everyone appears to have emotional issues. A car pulls up with two people inside, stopping right at Rob’s feet. While the woman stays in the car and acts simultaneously sultry and offended by something, the shirtless man gets out of the car and approaches Rob so we can better see his tattoos and smooth skin. Just as I’m thinking of the many thousands of gay-porn films with scenes that start like this, we cut away. Dang.

Shot of Rob and the ice, both of them melting.

Back to the middle of the street, where it turns out that all the shirtless man wanted was to bum a cigarette. Really? He’s jones-ing for some nicotine, so he’s going to drive around in a car and wait until the lead singer of a rock band steps into his flight pattern? Why didn’t he just go to that store where The Blonde and her nipples shop? They both seem to be open all night.

Anyway, it’s the really dramatic part of the song, so we cut to the band performing in yet another lobby with payphones while it rains outside. (Just like the song!) Rob is very fond of this scene, jumping about energetically and not seeming to mind that the camera person cannot keep the camera still, making the images jump and flicker like those horrid 8-millimeter vacation films your grandpa would force you to watch as a youngster when all you wanted to do was go play outside and learn new cuss words.

And that’s how we wind down the song, with the band jamming and the rain falling. Sure, we have a few more artsy photos, but we’ve learned to not trust them very much and can just let them go. The final shot is of Rob back in that first lobby, doing some kind of shuffle-step tribute to Fred Astaire while dirty people breathe on receivers and continue to not be concerned with fashion or personal hygiene. How nice. And I hope The Blonde got things dried up. I’ve been really worried about her…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Maroon 5 - “Harder To Breathe”

We start out with some rapid-fire video gimmickry where the band and all their instruments appear in this really dark room with no windows. They jump right into the song with great intensity, which is nice when compared to “event” videos with other artists where we spend 8 minutes with boring cinematography before anybody sings a single word. On the down side, the jump-cutting is already on my nerves and we’re only 10 seconds into the video. Fasten your seatbelts.

Okay, I’m guessing the frenetic overload of images in this dank cavern is meant to convey an air of claustrophobia, an artistic head-nod to the “harder to breathe” theme of the song title. But really, it’s a bit much. And why is lead singer Adam intent on doing that jerky thing with his leg? Did he not pee before they started the shoot?

But I guess nobody has any interest in my concerns, and we rampage forward with no scene lasting longer than one second. We finally slow down, and get to peruse more video tricks with the individual band members popping up on screen in mid-strumming of whatever instrument they are playing, then disappearing just as quickly. Interestingly enough, Adam is the only one who gets any substantial screen time. Is he planning to go solo?

Speaking of Adam, again, what’s up with your mouth attacking that microphone like you haven’t had a decent chili dog since the tour stop in Chicago? Settle down, buddy. It’s all good.

Then we have a sequence where it seems that at least 12 different members of the band are playing a guitar. Surely this isn’t the case. Then again, I’m not in a band, so maybe that’s the trend these days. And I suppose it’s very morale-building for one to see himself with something large jutting out of his crotch area, so maybe this bit is about group therapy.

Quick image of lots of candles appearing and then disappearing from a table. For some reason, this part unsettles me more than anything we’ve seen so far. No idea why. Maybe it’s the fact that we really need some light in this closed-in room. Is that too much to hope for?

I guess so, because it seems to be getting even darker in here. (The “harder to breathe” theme again, with people crammed together and forced to make music in the tiniest, dimmest space possible?) Of course, Adam doesn’t seem to have any issues with this arrangement, because the tight cropping means that the cameras are right there in his face as his exquisitely-chiseled jaw continues to make dominant love to the randy microphone.

Speaking of Adam, we now see him wandering down an unexplained hallway, where the pictures on the side walls keep appearing and disappearing, and the end of the hallway is a solid wall. Adam and the guitar that he is carelessly dragging behind him are not appreciative that there is no way out of this traffic route, so Adam starts singing to the wall. Not sure what he hopes to accomplish with that, but I’m thinking a fire axe or some well-placed explosives might prove more satisfying.

This stand-off goes on for longer than necessary, then Adam heads back into the cramped quarters where the rest of the band is playing. Oh wait, we seem to have a few more lights on back in this hood and we can see a little better. (Note to self: When unsatisfied with the wattage in a rudely restrictive room, try warbling some lyrics at an otherwise unresponsive wall. Redemption could be forthcoming.)

The improved visibility in the main performance area inspires the remaining band members to go at their instruments like they’ve had a bad rash since last Tuesday and are ready for the itch to be gone. And that’s basically how we wind down the video, with the A.D.D.-camera whirling about madly while the guys pogo and boing with almost orgasmic release. (Adam does a catch-and-release thing with his microphone that is actually quite interesting, but probably won’t look all that great on a job application.)

Then the music abruptly stops and everybody piles out of the room. I’m guessing the Chinese takeout is here…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Gaga - “Judas”

We start out with a motorcycle gang tooling along some highway, a road that is clearly not anywhere in California because there aren’t very many cars around, allowing the motorcycles to stay in formation like a high-school flag corps that can move really, really fast. We don’t know where we’re going, but this is a Gaga video, and she probably doesn’t know either. It’s all about the ride, yes?

Speaking of Gaga, there she is, perched behind the driver of the lead motorcycle (Gaga doesn’t follow anybody, sayin’), her psychedelic hair blowing in the wind as she looks around to make sure everybody is looking at her. One of the bikers has “Judas” spelled out in studs on the back of his jacket. We don’t know if that’s actually him or if he’s just a fan.

Just as we’re about to get bored (because how long can you watch motorcycles going nowhere, even if they are synchronized?), Gaga shoves her well-insured fist in the air and the song starts. The dudes are still driving, but at least we get to start seeing several side-stories being played out. There are a ton of these sidebar dance-offs, and I’ll try to keep track, but Gaga is a very busy girl.

Okay, first we’ve got the tale of how Gaga is absolutely enthralled with this guy wearing a gold-encrusted crown of thorns. Her deep devotion requires that she wear a crown of her own and constantly paw at Thorn-Baby so that we can confirm he does indeed have pectoral muscles. Gaga bounces all around on the back of that cycle, probably doing an intricate dance, but possibly just trying to keep one of those pretty thorns from putting her eye out. (It’s all fun and games until somebody gets disabled by headgear.)

The gang finally stops off at some odd little town square where the buildings are ugly and no one is dressed properly. Gaga immediately hops off her ride while waving about a purple cape, and then proceeds to lead many of the villagers in a line dance. While these energetic folks flit and gyrate, we get quick shots of the remaining villagers that indicate we might have interrupted a primitive religious ceremony wherein sad people ponder their sins while a disco beat plays.

Whoopsie, Gaga seems to have suddenly lost most of her clothing, but something tells me that’s probably a stipulation in her contract for every video. No matter, everybody still has the rhythm in them, and they all magically know the same exact dance steps. We start seeing another sidebar, where Gaga is trying to tell us something while clutching at her hair, but I’m thoroughly distracted by the fact that Gaga has discovered yet another interesting way to apply eyeliner. Perhaps someday someone will tell her that the stuff should actually go NEAR her eyes.

The main story has moved inside one of the buildings, some sort of tavern-slash-boudoir where people look a little more angry than they really should when alcohol is available. (Maybe the service is bad.) Luckily, the people in this place also know the steps to any dance that Gaga might break into, so a bunch of them go at it for a bit. (In case you’re tracking the wardrobe, Gaga has changed her panties and replaced that crown with a nice bandana, transitioning to a delightful biker/pole-dancer look.)

(Side note: For extra credit, try counting how many times that one guy with the Fred Flintstone wardrobe mysteriously disappears and then reappears from the dance troupe.)

We cut back to the guy with the spiky hat, and he’s watching some other guy be really rough and naughty with some random wenches. Spike seems to be a bit unimpressed with this other guy’s behavior, but I’m not sure why. After all, his own girlfriend is currently shoving her woman bits at all four corners of the room at the same time. Perhaps we’ll learn more later. Or not.

Quick scene with some meaty guys stomping their feet on the ground outside, then Gaga appears in another outfit, this one involving a blue veil, a different bandana, and a posse of men who have apparently all lost their shirts in a tragic couture mishap. Doesn’t matter, without restrictive clothing they can now dance with even more abandon, and they proceed to do so. Gaga leads them in an extended interpretive dance that tells the shocking story of what can happen if you touch an electrical outlet with wet hands.

We have another sidebar mess involving a bejeweled mace, more sad people in the midst of some religious something or other, and Gaga making out with what I think is a piece of rope. I have no idea what’s going on, so I’m glad when a brawl breaks out and diverts our attention. Big-haired harlots race in to separate the shoving and yelling thugs, sending them into time-out.

Back to Gaga and her troupe, now dancing out the story of what can happen if a thermonuclear reactor is not treated with respect. While they are doing that, we see that the one Mean Guy who roughly tongued a tart a few scenes back is still being an ass to the women. Of course, maybe if those girls wore more than a paper clip and a rubber band, they might get a little more respect.

A string of crazed jump shots, then we have Gaga dressed in an aggressive getup that might have been inspired by nuns on acid. She doesn’t appear to be very happy, probably because the hat she’s sporting is bigger than the rest of her body and it must be a bitch to hold her head up. Oh, and she has a gun, which she is pointing at Mean Guy while Spike gazes on benevolently and shirtlessly. Uh oh.

Gaga shoves the gun in Mean Guy’s face and pulls the trigger. But instead of a bullet, we have lipstick growing out of the business end of the gun. (To be honest, that little action looked a bit more horny-canine than I think people intended.) Gaga smears the lipstick all over Mean’s face, and then drops to the ground in anguish, apparently having just spied a vision of Mary Magdalene in her impromptu facial artwork.

Suddenly, the music stops, and we branch into two stories. One involves Gaga standing on a rocky beach in Elizabethan attire while a wave approaches, and the other has Gaga apparently giving herself an erotic rinse in a giant birdbath. The first story is a bit predictable (yep, the wave eventually knocks her ass in the water), so we’ll go into more detail with the second thread. (Basically, will she get clean or won’t she?)

The camera pulls back, and we see that the giant birdbath also contains Spike and Mean Guy, both of them looking slightly anxious but neither of them hightailing it out of there. (There’s also a third story with Spike working his way through a crowd of trampy yet devotional people, but we’ve already got too much going on to wonder what the hell that’s all about.)

Birdbath Gaga washes the feet of her aqua men in tight close-up. (Mean Guy has some really ugly-ass toes, which might explain his bitter attitude toward life.) Then Gaga abruptly flings water into the air and the music kicks in again. Quick, unexplained shot of Mean kissing the cheeks of Spike before a crowd of bored and nameless extras, then we have Enraged Nun Gaga dropping to her knees in front of Spike, followed by Tammy Wynette Gaga still clutching her face and showing us her overly-detailed nail polish.

No idea.

We revisit the birdbath, and we watch as Mean pours a can of beer on Gaga’s quivering fanny while she’s on all fours and salivating all over Spike’s knee. Then Mean tosses the empty can over his shoulder as Beer Foam Gaga lunges toward Spike in a frenzy of release and clanking, oversized jewelry.

Back outside, Peace Train Gaga is dancing with yet another lineup of oddly-clad townsfolk, joyously celebrating who knows what (the potential Immaculate Conception in the birdbath?) and proving that they have an excellent body fat ratio. This is followed by the appearance of yet another Gaga, this one requiring that she sport black-and-white striped tresses while wearing a sparkly wedding gown.

It seems that the crowd milling around Zebra Gaga is not appreciative of her sartorial selection, and they seem to be throwing telekinetic punches at her, causing her to stagger and grasp at her midsection like she’s regretting her menu choice at the Mexican restaurant. She eventually crashes facedown in a flurry of anguish and ruined finery.

Quick shot of a Gaga with shredded wheat cakes on her head, crying, and then we close with a final glimpse of Dead-Bride Gaga on the ground, with one leg sticking out of her poofy attire, the foot encased in a shoe that mystifyingly makes me wonder if a surprised clown is trapped under there somewhere…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: No Doubt - “Just A Girl”

We start out at somebody’s house, where the band members are packing instruments and suitcases in to a car, possibly preparing for a road trip or reacting to the latest threat that the Resurrection is Nigh. Then we get shots of Gwen, obviously not interested in helping the others pack, and more concerned with showing us her latest slightly-crazed outfit and ability to look sexy while standing in front of a nearby wrecked car.

We finally get on the road, and Gwen is in the back seat with her homies, warbling away and making really big, violent hand gestures. (You clearly don’t want to ride in a car with Gwen for very long because you’ll probably end up an unintentional victim of domestic violence.) We get brief glimpses of highway signage, but it’s too fast to figure if we’re going to Anaheim, El Paso, or Canada.

The gang arrives at some building with split personalities. The guys are shuffled into a nasty, rundown public men’s room, lugging their gear and avoiding wet spots. Gwen and her exposed belly waltz in the Ladies’ Room, where everything is all sunshine and pretty flowers in a vaguely Art Deco motif. While the guys busily set up their equipment and discreetly write down phone numbers that they spy on the stained stall walls, Gwen bounces around her designer digs and bats her eyelashes in time to the beat of the song.

And that’s our basic premise, folks. We don’t deviate much from that. The guys are pounding on their instruments in the dirty bathroom (ah hem), while Gwen is an energetic, one-woman cheerleading squad over in the Lovely Loo. (Who knows where she managed to find that microphone. She certainly wasn’t carrying it when she and her blinding hair arrived. Maybe bathrooms in L.A. just naturally come with sound equipment.)

Brief montage comparing the two bathrooms, just in case you hadn’t noticed that one of them completely sucks and the other one has diamond-accented toilet paper. Then Gwen is singing some more, with the camera at just the right angles to accent her facial jewelry, choice of lip color, and high-kicking. (The two primly-uniformed bathroom attendants sitting in the background are starting to get on my nerves, in a Stephen King / Stanley Kubrick kind of way. They can leave at any time, thanks.)

Back in the Trashy Toilet, the drummer whips off his shirt in a frenzy of drumstick euphoria. I’m not sure that I would recommend such a maneuver in a place where unspeakable things have obviously happened in the past, but to each his own. At least they all seem to be happy over there, bouncing with almost as much enthusiasm as Gwen. Or maybe they’re just trying to avoid the roaches.

Wait, do we seem to have even more people in the Boys’ Room now? Just where are those extra folks coming from? Are people seriously choosing to come into this place and watch a band perform on questionably-slippery ugly tile?

Checking in with Gwen, we see that she must be really tired, because now she’s wallering around on the floor of her Boutique Boudoir. This attempt at a nap doesn’t stop her from singing, though. I don’t think anything can.

We start getting shots of lots of women putting on makeup. I suppose this might have some charms for certain people, but I don’t derive any rapturous pleasure from it. (And I’ve never understood that business with licking your finger and then smoothing out your eyebrows. Really? You want spit on your face? Okay.)

The makeup montage goes on for quite a while, interspersed with shots of the shirtless drummer, urinals, odd Victorian bongs, and Gwen doing a modified form of yoga that might possibly be good for natural breast enhancement.

And then Gwen gets back to singing, starting in again with those two creepy Donna Reed attendants hovering over her shoulders. Gwen snatches up a flower and starts waving it around like it’s her best friend in the entire world while a giant fan blows her locks around, then she quickly tosses it aside, because you sometimes have focus issues when you can constantly feel the wind on your belly button. She finishes up this bit by doing another high kick and then shaking her head back and forth like Pebbles Flintstone on acid.

Next thing you know, both bathrooms are crammed full of worshipful people dancing frantically to the song. But the guys yearn for something better in life, so they bust into Gwen’s Palatial Potty. (Okay, “bust in” is a little strong, since they basically walk around the fake wall of the set, but still, there’s a brief moment of potential destruction, which is exciting.)

And now we got into overdrive, with Gwen bouncing with more enthusiasm than ever, her whirling ponytail becoming a dangerous weapon in the now-close quarters. But no one cares about possible death by rock-star hair, with folks laughing and running and forming one of those conga lines to snake through the maze of people and toilets. It’s all very festive. Unless you just came in here to actually use the facilities, in which case the impromptu parade might get on your nerves a wee bit. Not a time to be pee shy, sayin.

Finally, all these people that we don’t know go away, and it’s just Gwen. She flops on the floor a little more, does a few pushups because she’s health-conscious that way, gives us yet another opportunity to see her midriff, and confirms that mascara is a really important part of her life. Then she ends by looking really sad and helpless, staring at the camera forlornly…

What, did she just realize that she doesn’t have any spare cash to tip the Attendants From Hell and might not make it out of the bathroom alive? Uh oh. This could get very serious very quickly. People who wear orthopedic shoes do NOT play…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Kris Allen - “Live Like We’re Dying”

We start out with Kris (presumably) driving a beat-up truck down a lonely country road at night, and then turning into the darkened entrance lane of a questionable establishment, a murky-looking place that makes me think “inbred serial killers on the loose”. As Kris drives further along, it turns out that we might be at the town dump or a coal mine or the remains of Mel Gibson’s career. Wherever we aware, they have enough electricity to spell out Kris’ name in giant letters, so it’s all good.

While Driver Kris finds a nice place to park, we have Singer Kris suddenly appearing, hollering into the microphone in a place where there are dirty sheets blowing in the wind. Then we’re back to Driver Kris still… driving. (Is he one of those people that will circle the lot until they can get one slot closer to the door?) While he makes up his mind, we head back to Singer Kris in the middle of the wafting laundry.

Finally, Driver Kris makes a decision and gets out of the pickup. (Since he’s now exited the vehicle, we’ll have to call him Wandering Kris.) He moseys around the place for a little bit, then he either sets off a flare or has an unfortunate experience with one of those cheap lighters you impulse-buy when purchasing beer. He then proceeds to saunter around the junkyard, waving the flare in the air. (Like he just don’t care?)

Meanwhile, we can see a little more of where Singer Kris is standing, and it seems to be an unfinished structure that involves lots of metal beams and unsteady flooring. (Is this where the Republicans are building those jobs they keep promising but never seem to produce?) Singer Kris isn’t saying, probably more invested in keeping the billowing and dirty undergarments from whacking him in the head.

Flare Kris is still wandering and looking for whatever. We’re just about to get bored with that mess when he manages to stagger into an area with those breaker boxes that typically control electricity. These look big enough that they could probably unleash deadly bolts of sizzle, so I wouldn’t be all that interested in flipping things. But Flare Kris is not afraid (he faced repeated judgment from Simon Cowell, after all) so he goes for it.

This bit of risk-taking manages to start turning on the rest of the lights in that weird structure where Singer Kris has been warbling. Turns out those lights are very special, and they start fluctuating on and off to spell out numbers. Hey, we’re in a giant digital clock! Didn’t see that coming. I guess Singer Kris didn’t see it coming, either, and he has now been replaced by Guitar Kris, who proceeds to strum and wail.

Flare Kris isn’t done with changing our perceptions of the universe, so he heads over to… well, we don’t learn just yet. We instead cut back to Guitar Kris so he can finish playing the bridge to the next part of the song. Then we’re presented with Kris (maybe it’s Flair, maybe it’s a new one) sitting at a big-ass piano plopped in the sand in front of the giant clock thing. This Kris bangs on the keyboard for a while, allowing us to realize that the clock in the background seems to be counting down to some fateful event. Or maybe we’re just waiting for popcorn to be done in the microwave.

Oh look, there’s Singer Kris again, so I guess he survived whatever knocked him out of the picture for a while. He and the bed sheets sing for a while as the clock continues to flash numbers. Quick shot of another Kris staring forlornly at some parking-lot lights. Did they have a bad breakup?

Piano Kris again, having a swell time with the keys. (I wonder if anybody has told him that you really shouldn’t drag a piano out into the desert. That blowing sand and crap is going to do a number on the strings, pronto. He better get this song done in one take.)

Now we’re cycling through all the Kris personalities. Singer Kris seems to be involved in a modified pole dance, so I guess he’s keeping all his career options open in case the next album tanks. Guitar Kris doesn’t care about all that, because he’s got the music in him. Piano Kris is still doing the heavy-petting with his instrument. And Flare Kris? No word. There might have been a tragic accident. Like forgetting to throw down the flare when it got to a certain point. Happens to us all.

As the numbers on the clock dwindle, we roll toward the end of the video. We now are mainly seeing Piano Kris, so I guess he got the most votes from the viewers. Singer Kris, obviously not going to win the competition, knocks over his microphone stand as the sun rises behind him. (The sun? Wow, I didn’t realize this song was so long.)

Singer Kris runs out the back of the structure and just stands there, watching the dawn break, contemplating what he’s going to do for next week’s performance. Fade out…

Better ending for the video? A giant hand reaches out of the sky and slaps the snooze button on the enormous clock thing. THAT would get people talking…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Dido - “White Flag”

We start out with Dido apparently finishing up a concert at some vague nightclub, waving farewell to the crowd in that totally-fake “we’ll be best friends forever!” way. Cut to Dido sprawled across a bed in a track suit, then she sits up and starts crooning the song, the camera lovingly caressing her face despite an odd pink accent light that makes her look like a Care Bear.

Then she’s marching down a basement hallway, apparently headed to another stage while music people clutter around her and talk on cell phones. She’s still singing, but I suddenly pay no attention because right at 0:26, David Boreanaz walks by, going the other way.

David Boreanaz. As in Angel, the guy who tormented Buffy all those years, and then moved to another town so he could torment Cordelia in that really groovy hotel. I have no idea why he’s in this video, but it instantly has my complete attention. (And Dido instantly becomes my favorite singer EVER for making this happen.)

Anyway, we have more footage of Dido looking depressed in what might be a hospital waiting room, and then sitting on the bed with the horrible accent lighting. She gets up off the bed long enough to snatch a framed photo from a shelf, but we can’t quite see it. When she flops back on the bed, we can see other framed photos behind her. Are those of David? Too blurry to tell. Hmm.

Random shots of David sitting and standing in places that require him to wear a hat and glance at us seductively, while Dido flops around on that bed and continues to do nothing important with her life. Or change clothes.

Oh wait, my bad, she just put on a new blouse, and this inspires her to walk through a revolving door and go outside. On the street, she signs an autograph for some guy who is either a fan or is trying to raise money to get himself a better haircut. At the same time, David is nearby, scribbling his name out for one of his own fans. When Dido glances over to where David is standing, he’s no longer there. Oh? But…

Next up, Dido and David pull up in separate cars at an intersection. Dido and her hair pretend not to notice David and his cell phone, and he does the same, both of them looking away from each other just before getting caught. It’s kind of sweet, but loses a bit of its cuteness because we’re distracted with wondering why Dido would put that ugly headband on her head.

A bit later, D and D run into each other in a bar, where they continue to pretend that they aren’t invested in getting together, fiddling with their drinks and awkwardly squirming. Dido suddenly marches off, leaving David standing there, looking all sad and hurt. She should have to die for this.

Now we’re at some event or opening that requires Dido and David to give separate, glamorous interviews to gossipy reporters. The two continue to glance the other way and pretend that the other isn’t even there. Look, this is starting to get a little old. Do they want each other or not? Are we on the playground at school?

Then we have Dido again, wearing that track-suit thing so I guess she’s used up her wardrobe budget for this shoot. She’s wandering back to her apartment, lugging a sack of groceries that she manages to drop while walking past David in the hallway of the floor where they both apparently live. He keeps walking and doesn’t even bother to stop and help her pick up the baguettes scattered all over the floor. (Symbolism, much?) Is he over her?

Well, she’s not over him, apparently. She gets back on that boring bed that we now hate, and we see that, yep, all those framed photos are of David, all over the place. Poor thing. Then the camera pans next door to David’s, and he has even more pictures of her, completely covering one wall. As we zoom in, we see that his collection is a little chilling, with psychopathic rantings and such scrawled on the prints.

Okay, then. Dido done got her a Sunnyvale Stalker. Honey, if that’s too much to handle, just give David my number. I’ll take him off your hands…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Lifehouse - “First Time”

Editor’s Note: Not a whole lot happens in this video, but that’s why I’m here, to help you through the rough spots. And, go!

We start out in a really white room, with the band members wearing white as well. There seems to be a classical motif to the design of the room, but that might just be a flashback from me watching too much HGTV. They play for a bit, so we can get used to them in this sterile setting. In the psychological field, this is known as “conditioning”. In the music video field, this is known as “we really weren’t sure how to start the video”.

The lead singer starts in with the lyrics, and we immediately cut to a couple strolling along in some place that we don’t know. (There are payphones on the wall, so at least they have communication with the outside world, should it be necessary.) Oh wait, there’s another couple somewhere else, with the guy riding a skateboard, so you know the woman is bored out of her skull with the childish actions of her beau. (Why is it SO hard for women to find men who have left the playground behind? Seriously.)

Back to the lead singer, who breaks into the chorus, causing his guitar to change from white to something a bit more colorful. Oh? This red color then bleeds down onto the lead singer. The other band members don’t seem to think this is odd, so I’ll let it go for now, but on a personal level, I don’t want music that changes my personal color palette. It’s just a thing with me.

Whoops, now the red color is seeping onto the drummer as well, so I’m starting to really not like this evil invasion of a primary color. First, it’s just rude, and second, I don’t care for the Republican symbolism. But I guess it’s not all about me, and I should just shut up and keep watching.

Well, maybe I can’t. Now the red color is on the guitar player. This is clearly an invasion of some kind, and people need to be notified of the emergency condition. (Would YOU think kindly of me if I noticed that people were being transformed against their will and I didn’t alert the authorities? I think not.) Trouble is, who do you call in a situation like this?

Now the red color is climbing the walls, so all hell must be breaking loose. (It’s just like the mid-term elections! Save us all!) But there is at least one calming factor, in that the band members are not bothered in the least, so I’ll try once again to remain calm and just try to absorb the artistic vision of the director for this video. (Which is apparently Sarah Palin.)

Cut to some people frolicking on a beach, which seems much less lethal and destructive, so let’s see what those folks are up to. Well, before we can learn anything, we cut to another couple walking on a bridge. Then back to the beach couple, with the woman drawing a heart around her man as he lies in the sand. Um, love will build a bridge? Who knows.

We revisit the previously-white room with the band, where the red has taken over the ceiling and part of two walls. This can’t be good. I’m assuming that the band will be killed fairly soon, so I hope they said loving things to their partners before they left for the video shoot this morning. The band still seems to be happy, so I guess as long as you have music, you can face any obstacles. That’s a nice message. They’ll still probably be killed, but it’s nice.

The lead singer kicks some device on the floor that accelerates the vengeful red color, and now most of the room is awash with the blood of manic perpetrators. This is intermixed with shots of the beach couple on the verge of having sex. I should probably warn them that doing so will result in sand getting in crevices that they didn’t know they had, but I’m more concerned with the fate of the band, so I’ll let it go.

Quick shot of happy people riding bicycles and waving their hands in the air. Typical. Folks are being slaughtered in other parts of the world, but jaded people don’t care and choose to pursue recreational activities.

Back to the band, where the red paint has just about achieved dominance over the room. The band is still playing, unaware of their dooms, although the lead singer is scrunching his face up like he knows something is wrong, or maybe he just wore that one risky pair of underwear that can ride up at the wrong moment. Then the stupid guitar player actually helps the red paint finish up it’s transformation of the room. Well, fine, then. I can’t save you people if you’re going to willingly consort with the enemy. You’re on your own, and I’m just going to blog.

Zip over to another scene, where it appears that a soldier is returning from deployment to be with his family. And I will not say a word against this. Wish it could happen for everybody that has been called to serve in military conflicts that are not based in truth. (Liberal? Perhaps. Reality? Most definitely.) The couple smooches, and all is good.

Quick shots of the skateboard couple (I think) at a tattoo parlor, fully in love and tonguing each other while they wait for their skin to be pierced. Not sure what we’re saying here, but let’s call it freedom of choice and be happy about that.

We wind things down with the band performing in the totally red room, the beach couple not caring about where the sand might get, the bridge couple happy that they crossed the bridge, and the skateboard couple deciding that if one of them wants to risk his life while riding a skinny something on wheels, well, that’s just fine. Everybody loves everybody, and all is good.

But seriously. If that red crap starts appearing on my walls, there’s gonna be a fight. Sayin.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Antebellum - “Hello World”

Okay, folks, this video is one of the rare few that I don’t dare get snarky about, because of the plotline. It’s a moving little story that happens to compliment the song, rather than something contrived that really has nothing to do with the lyrics. This is only the second time that I’ve had to hold my sarcasm tongue, and if this combination of story and song doesn’t tug at your heart, you might be a little cold inside. Just push play…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Kelly Clarkson - “Breakaway”

We start out with a family driving in a station wagon, with the focus on a young girl who is clearly not impressed with the rest of her family. She tries to just enjoy herself by shoving her head out the window and pretending that she’s not related to anybody, but soon enough the other three family members are acting like fools, yelling and smacking at each other. So Little Kelly just tolerates it and prays. And wears an unattractive ball cap.

Suddenly we’re with Big Kelly, all grown up, and she’s in the back of a limo, wearing a fancy outfit and sporting expensive jewelry along with designer shades and a tri-color hairdo. No explanation about how she got from ball cap to Gucci, but we’ll assume that the experience was quite pleasing and somehow enhanced her breasts.

Kelly arrives wherever, and she hops out of the car and we’re at the premiere of Princess Diaries 2. Really? I had no idea this song was in that movie, never having seen it, but apparently this video is a promo of Anne Hathaway and Julie Andrews learning to love each other. Hopefully they won’t push the publicity angle too far. We’ll see.

Kelly takes up a position on the red carpet just in front of several advertisements for the movie, so it looks like this is going to be more about the movie than hoped. Kelly appears to be loving the spotlight, posing for all the photographers and exuding star quality out of every pore. There’s some little PR person trying to direct Kelly on what to do, but she’s got it, wowing the crowd. In fact, Little Miss PR tries to get Kelly to settle down at one point, but Kelly and her couture dress with the poofy thing on the back milk it for all it’s worth.

Eventually we see Kelly in the movie audience, watching Anne and her co-stars make nice and say funny, scripted things. This goes on for a bit, but eventually we cut to Little Kelly on the roof of her house, trying to escape her nasty family by achieving elevation. Little Kelly sits on a peaked corner of the roof and dreams of better things. According to the lyrics, this involves travel by “jet plane”, a phrase that hasn’t been used since the 60’s, so Little Kelly must listen to the oldies station on the radio.

Back to Big Kelly, who is now on one of those jet planes, and apparently experiencing some turbulence. (Which she also experienced on the ground with her whacked family, yes?) To calm her nerves in First Class, she watches more of Princess Diaries 2 on a convenient laptop that somebody has provided. Though she might find the flick soothing, she still has to hold her beverage to keep it from spilling, which is more than a star should have to put up with. Poor thing. Will the pain never end?

And we’re back in the audience for the premiere, with Kelly not exactly looking enraptured with Anne and Julie doing whatever on the screen. Suddenly, one of the ushers is shining a flashlight on where Kelly is sitting, but we’re surprised to learn that the usher is now Kelly, and the Kelly that we thought was Kelly is now a man. (What? Does Kelly need to have a private conversation with Chaz Bono??)

Cut to the concession stand in the theater, where Usher Kelly is performing the song for her co-workers using the flashlight. The co-workers just grin and bear it, indicating that Usher Kelly often bursts into song while proffering vats of buttered popcorn. One of the co-workers even joins Kelly in a duet. Based on his unfortunate hairstyle choice, this is probably the highlight of his unsatisfying life.

And now we transition to Kelly singing for real at some place where the chandeliers are way too low to pass fire-code regulations. Everyone seems to be enjoying her performance, and her hair looks fab, but they jack up this bit with still more footage from that blasted movie. Kelly’s a trooper, continuing to bellow despite the obvious shilling, and I appreciate the inclusion of a chain-link fence as a set prop to indicate she came from a small town. Kudos.

But then she starts waving her hand in the air, and the whole audience does the same thing. I’m not a fan of this activity. It never really bothered me, until I started watching American Idol and noticed that any time ANYBODY sang a song that was remotely slow, the audience would do the hand-waving thing, even if the song sucked and was nothing that you would want to emotionalize via hand gestures. I understand that most of that show’s live audience is limited in their growth and development (seriously, you’re going to drag in a handmade poster with a stupid saying that you think is deep and poetic?), but still. They killed the love of hand-waving for me.

Anyway, nobody listens to me, so the rest of the video is of various people doing the hand-waving bit, including some folks that we’ve never seen before, so I’m guessing there was some inattention during the editing process. At the very end, we have Little Kelly praying to God at the side of her bed, pleading for a better life where she doesn’t have bickering relatives, questionable attire, and ugly furniture. And P.S. Please smite the people who wave their hands for pointless reasons. Love, Little Kelly.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Linkin Park - “Waiting For The End”

Okay, then. This trippy little video is really just images of the band members performing that have been tweaked and distorted, so I’ll do my best to get a story out of it…

We start off with unrelated objects like cow skulls and Barney transforming into each other while the music gears up. This bit reminds me of an old-school video game for some reason, the stand-alone kind that you could walk up to. I’m sure it was not the intention, but I suddenly feel like I’m 15 again, camped out at the local convenience store, jacked up on sugary beverages and cramming endless quarters into the slot and fingering a worn-out joystick.

Anyway, the modulating objects eventually transition into the band members, and people start singing and playing their instruments, even though we are still treated to fleeting images of deer antlers and bagels. Somebody decides to rotate the images, causing things like stretched-out arms and guitars to whip across the screen, making all the stoned viewers scream and jump backwards, because that’s always fun to do.

Somebody else has decided to superimpose images of constellations on the band members, or maybe it’s acupuncture focal points, not really sure. In any case, this inspires the band members to jump around even more, and have their heads turn into skulls at random moments. (These guys sure like them some bones of dead things. I wonder what school they went to?)

Now we get to the quieter part of the song, where it’s just that one guy (and sometimes his skull) singing, and this triggers images of giant, whirring gears, armless torsos, and what might be a vagina with teeth. Then everybody decides that they want to fly, and they try to do so, bending over and holding their arms out. Nobody actually makes it off the ground, so that’s a little sad, but at least they gave it a shot, can’t blame them and their drugs for trying.

Wait, who is that headless woman, and why is she carrying a baseball bat? Oh, I think that might be her head a few scenes later. I wonder if she gets two paychecks for playing two different characters, or if it’s technically considered the same performance?

Next up is a bit where folks like to hold up their hands in front of them, as if not responsible for anything they might have done, while they rotate and don’t open their eyes. (Are we suddenly at a Republican strategy meeting?) And then one of the guys explodes, causing more stoner screaming, and somebody else fiddles with a giant bread knife while possibly wearing a black hood and doing ballet.

Right at the two-minute mark we have a guest appearance by Hannibal Lecter. That was sure nice of him.

We go through some business with butterflies and thumbprints, more of the bread knife, a clown, people who melt, and a guy who can spit lightning out of his mouth, which is pointless but really exciting. Not to be outdone, another guy decides to grow 6 arms and 6 legs, upping the ante, and causing some concern among the lesser-skilled members of the band, because now they won’t need as many people and there might be a force reduction.

More attempts at flying, somebody being squirted out of a soft-serve ice cream machine, and another guy doing a tribute to the “Titanic” by wearing a small iceberg on the side of his head. Then we actually calm down with the imagery for a little bit, as we get back to the group chorus part of the song. Sure, there’s still an occasional odd thing floating by (was that Tipper Gore eating a peanut?), but it’s much more relaxing than that middle section when we kicked into hyper-drive.

Aw, hell, some fool started banging away on his guitar, which jump starts the weirdness again. We don’t really see anything new, with more of the same melting and mutating and bizarre appearances of fruit, but it’s very busy as we group-rap toward the end of the song. Finally, that one guy belts out the last line, and the video-game screen goes blank.

I guess I have to put another quarter in….


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Lifehouse - “Broken”

We start off with the band sitting in a car, with the lead singer already warbling and the rest of the band not doing much of value. The car doesn’t seem to be moving, but it appears that lots of other people are on foot, streaming past the car and headed in the other direction. Clearly, something is not right, above and beyond a certain band member’s refusal to brush his hair.

The camera finally moves around so that we can see the car is in the middle of a long tunnel. We can also see that something is just a bit odd about the lines of people walking around the car. We can’t quite put our finger on it, other than no one seems to be very happy, so we might be at a really big office party where attendance was mandatory and the people you already didn’t like have had too much eggnog.

The lead singer finally hops out of the car, intent on either determining the source of the crowd dissatisfaction or running somewhere to pick up his Chinese takeout while double-parked, not sure. Once he stands up, we can see that the entire tunnel is filled with these shuffling folk, and I get a flashback to the original “Dawn of the Dead” movie. You know, the gory one in the mall where bad things happen to people who shop at JC Penney. This doesn’t look good.

No matter, these people are rock stars and they’ve faced much worse. The rest of the guys jump out as well and start trucking along behind the lead singer. The camera lingers on the singer’s face, so we can study the complex emotions he’s apparently feeling as well as learn that he likes his hair with frosted tips. (Now is not the time to point out that he might need a touch up. They seem to be rather occupied at the moment.)

The next several minutes are pretty much the same thing, with the band working its way upstream in the crowd and nobody smiling. (I guess it never occurs to these guys that there might be a REASON why everyone is headed the other way. Me, I’ve seen too many horror movies, and I would already be running the other way, knocking down senior citizens in my panicked need to escape the vague monster who is eating people.)

At one point, the lead singer bumps into one of the strange people, and causes him to spill the contents of his briefcase. But instead of politely stopping to help with fluttering paper retrieval, the lead singer just keeps marching along, so he must be from Jersey. The lead singer bumps into several other people on his journey, but most of them don’t seem to notice. What is wrong with these people? Just shuffle, shuffle, look depressed. I don’t want to live wherever this is.

In the most horrifying moment of the entire video, a small girl drops her teddy bear and her wicked mommy won’t let her pick it up, forcing the little girl to leave her furry friend behind, with lots of rude people stomping on its head. That poor girl will be in therapy for years, eventually turning to drugs and breaking into the zoo late at night, wandering around and endlessly searching for long-lost “Bucky” in the bear cages.

Years later, the band finally makes it to the end of the tunnel, and we see that there has been a nasty car accident. While rescue people dash about and do their thing, the lead singer spies a woman standing near him, who is looking into one of the wrecked cars and seeing herself in the crumpled driver’s seat, dead. Then he sees another guy also looking at his own dead self.

Well then, this is one happy, festive video, eh?

The lead singer finally clues in, and dashes over to the worst of the cars, wrenching the door open so he can look inside. Yep, he sees himself taking more than just a nap. The lead singer turns and runs back into the tunnel, fighting through the trudging Dawn of the Dead people and scrambling to get to his car. When he does, he sees himself and the rest of the band still in the car. Lead singer guy starts banging on the windows to get their attention, but there must be a good song on the radio and they completely ignore him.

Then the lead singer is startled out of his daydream by a police officer banging on the same window, motioning that he can go ahead and pull forward. Nobody’s really dead, nothing to see here, move along.

Really?

Geez.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Kelly Rowland featuring Lil Wayne - “Motivation”

Note: Explicit lyrics and heavy petting. Just sayin.

We start out in what looks like a really big warehouse, but it might just be the place where Lil Wayne likes to keep his bling. The camera is rolling along, and we catch glimpses of people peering out at us from the odd scaffolding that is everywhere. It’s possible that we’re about to get jumped, so you might want to finish your next turn in “Words with Friends” before something happens and you lose points.

Oh wait, it looks like Kelly is standing just up ahead in the gloomy light, tapping her heel and waiting for us to get our asses up there and pay attention to her. We get closer to her, and then I realize that there’s a hell of a lot more people up in this grill than I first thought. And I guess the AC isn’t working, because they’re all covered in sweat, despite the fact that none of them are really wearing anything.

Kelly just happens to find some bored homies that like to dance, so she gets their attention with her interesting outfit, which combines part of a trench-coat with a startling thong that has it’s own life-support system. Kelly doesn’t waste any time running up to one of them and yanking on his crotch like she’s trying to start a lawnmower, so I guess the girl has some urgent needs.

Cut to Kelly in another room, with her wearing what might be tattered streams of toilet paper, as she sashays about, inspecting all the chiseled bodies on display and tries to decide what she’d like for dinner. Then we jump back to Odd-Thong Kelly and her bevy of line dancers, as they hop about and perform moves that involve trying to keep their pants on as well as not be blinded by the amazing techno-purple lipstick that Kelly has managed to find somewhere.

We check back in with Meat-Market Kelly, and she still hasn’t made a selection, wandering along and perusing the various couples and singles as everybody has a really swell time touching one another and dripping sweat. At one point, Kelly is so inspired by all the options that she can’t help but jump on top of a convenient crate and start waving her legs in the air like she’s trying to power a nearby city.

Brief glimpse of Lil Wayne. I sure hope he’s not going to wear the same outfits as Kelly. I’m really not ready for that.

Odd-Thong Kelly and Her Boys are still dancing away, with the guys really invested in thrusting their pelvises hard enough so that Kelly’s trench coat flies out of the way in the turbulence and we can see that she’s not really concerned about covering up the naughty bits. Good for her. Things need to breathe, right?

Back to Kelly on that crate, where she apparently brings herself to orgasm just by repeating the word “motivation” and listening to the sounds of Lil Wayne starting to rap on the soundtrack. I really don’t think I could achieve the same satisfying achievement with those two stimuli, but I don’t make records, so I probably don’t know all the rules.

Anyway, Lil Wayne is now front and center, leaning against yet another wall in this maze of a place, rapping about how he can do things to Kelly that will rock her world so bad she ain’t never gonna get out the bed again. He’s so overcome with his awesome sexual powers that he’s apparently unable to stand up, slumped against that wall the whole time.

And while I’m sure that Kelly appreciates his lusty sentiments, we can see in jump cuts that she’s fairly occupied with her own pursuits, like rubbing her hoo-hoo on a folding chair and teaching her backup dancers to fetch on command. Lil Wayne keeps trying, though, moving to another room and rapping some more without leaning against a wall, which totally changes the meaning of the lyrics, right? He gonna make Kelly explode in a shower of sparks.

Which is probably true. Because he’s got enough metal accessories on his body that he’s a walking (humping?) lightning rod. That whole building is gonna go up if a storm roles in.

Meanwhile, Odd-Thong Kelly now has her backup boys in troop formation, so she can intimately inspect their firearms. Then we zip back to the meat-market room, just to make sure all those folks in there are still sweating and having soft-porn sex. Yes, they are. Check. So Kelly hops back up on that crate, ready for the really dramatic part of the video, where she plans to have a double-orgasm. With a cherry on top. Oh wait, she probably lost that garnish a long time ago.

And now we’re jumping all over the place. The Kelly Platoon is still frolicking about, with the squadron of supposedly non-gay men on the verge of bursting into show tunes as they high kick. Crate Kelly is performing sensual moves to confirm that she’s been properly shaved in all the right places. And everybody in the entire building is touching somebody, somewhere, regardless of gender or income. Except for Lil Wayne. He’s nowhere to be found at this point. He must have gotten a call that his shipment of custom lugnut-piercings just arrived.

The touching continues for quite some time. These people really, really love each other. How sweet. Too bad they don’t know each other’s names.

Must admit, that hip-thrusting line-dance business that starts about 3:22 into the video? Totally hawt. I could be somebody’s daddy with that mess. Word.

Shortly after, Kelly’s cooter has a featured walk-on where a whole bunch of people want to check her for ticks while she sprawls out and rides the wave of bodies. This is followed by Kelly playing squat-tag with her platoon, with the boys doing very interesting things to the beat of the song. She even issues a command that they need to crab-walk backwards into a wall. And they do. I guess life really does get better when you win a couple of Grammy awards. Might want to check into that.

The song winds down back in that main room with all of the tri-sexual people finishing up their various exploits and getting ready for a nice mass nap. Crate Kelly, her face aglow with post-coital satisfaction and a hint of wanting more, leans forward and warbles the final words of the song as various fluids began to dry-out around her…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Kelly Clarkson - “Already Gone”

We start off with the camera zooming in through Patti LaBelle’s hair, then we see Kelly in Full Glamour mode, with her hair coiffed like Veronica Lake and sporting some slinky couture. Then we have some shots of Kelly’s pad, and apparently the girl has got a few bucks. I guess that singing career has been alright for her.

Next we have Kelly sprawled on a fancy sofa in another outfit, wearing a necklace that could probably fund the government for a few months if people would just get their priorities in order. She sings for a bit, then I guess she’s done with her nap, and she quickly changes back into the “standing up” outfit we first saw her in. Whoops, now she’s back on the couch. Girl just needs to pick a spot and a dress and just finish the song, yes?

Nope, she’s still undecided on her look, choosing now to wear a long black formal and a ponytail. She might have a headache, because she keeps touching her forehead, but I’m sure she’s got people who can take care of that. Ponytail Kelly starts to walk around her spacious apartment, carrying a single flower to indicate her sadness, and singing the lyrics to various objects, like some abandoned slippers on the grand staircase and a string of pearls that might be hanging from a bidet.

This Kelly gets to sing longer than the other two, so she might have finally made her decision on what to wear to that ceremony later tonight where she has to pick up another award and try once again not to trash American Idol. And even though this Kelly walks around for miles, we don’t seem to be repeating rooms, so that must be one big-ass apartment. No wonder she finds it necessary to yell parts of the song. The people in the cheap rooms deserve to hear her as well.

Brief interlude with close-ups of more jewelry adorning various Kelly body parts.

Kelly starts singing again, but she’s not walking around as much, so we might have ended the home tour. She gazes dolefully at the camera, then we see that she might be distraught over the fact that someone spilled champagne on a pretty piece of furniture and didn’t bother to wipe it up. (Did Randy Jackson drop by earlier?) But Kelly’s not sad enough to put down that damn flower and reach for a rag, so I guess it’s all good.

Now Kelly is in a large room where orchestral instruments can play themselves. This is a little disconcerting, seeing violin bows floating magically in the air, but Kelly must be used to it because she hangs around in here for a while. In fact, she heads to a clearing in the middle of the instruments, where she can stand and do her trademark hand movements while singing more of the song. The instruments must enjoy her company, because they get louder.

Kelly gets tired again and decides to sit on the floor and lean against the piano. This might not be the most comfortable position, but it does allow Kelly’s hair to reach the keyboard and keep the melody going, so that part is interesting. (A few of the bass violins seem to be a little jealous of Kelly’s seating choice, so they quickly tidy up their woodworks and try to look like comfortable and relaxing rest stops.)

Kelly’s hair finally finishes its solo, so she heads back to that couch and the bronze dress with the budget-fixing necklace. She wallers and sings for a bit, then we check up on the other Kelly’s. Ponytail still considers that flower to be her best friend, and Veronica Lake appears to be witnessing for Jesus while speaking in tongues. Since everybody is at least busy doing something besides entertaining us, we‘ve probably overstayed our welcome, and we can quietly let ourselves out of the house while the song winds down…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Flo Rida - “Right Round”

We start out with images of someone possibly being electrocuted as they stand on a giant Oreo cookie. (Well, I guess that’s one diet that might actually work. You get near a snack, you get zapped.) Then the lights go up a bit and we can see that Flo Rida is actually standing on a giant turntable that slowly spins him right round as he sings. Got it. We have a concept album here.

We get some pretty, digitized images on a giant screen behind Flo (the planet, nature scenes, somebody’s butt) as he warbles, then some girl comes marching in, singing the female part of the song that I guess I didn’t notice was even there until she showed up with her attitude. She joins Flo Rida on the turntable, and then immediately assumes a dominant stance and glares at us. We’ve only known her for five seconds and I’m already done with her.

Flo Rida launches into his rap, with the images still flashing behind him and Attitude Girl whipping her hair around like all of this was really her idea. Flo Rida does his best to just ignore her, but she’s all up in his grill with her flapping arms, grabbing at her face like she just found out she’s got crabs again. (Somebody needs to put that turntable on 78rpm and catapult her ass off the set.)

This goes on for quite some time, with only the pretty pictures in the background changing. Finally, Flo Rida changes to a red shirt, which magically causes Attitude Girl to disappear for a while. (I hope he never takes that shirt off.) We get a very brief shot of what might be an orgy taking place on the turntable. It’s gone before I can raise my hand and ask any questions.

Aw, hell, it’s the female part of the song again, and her comes Miss Fancy Pants once more. She hasn’t settled down a bit, doing something with her head that would make Linda Blair proud. To make it worse, she’s also appearing on the screen behind the spinning couple, and I start fearing for my life. This song has totally changed for me at this point.

Another quick shot of the orgy.

So we go like this for a while, with Rida riding the record, and Happiness Crusher Girl jetting in and out every time she thinks of another angry dance move to do. Then a new girl appears, with really long hair and less-threatening choreography, but then she disappears and Angry Annie is back. (She is NOT gonna let some second-rate tramp steal the spotlight!) Then other girls appear, briefly, only to be scared off by Whirling Wanda and her Arms of Death.

We start some mess with Flo and the various girls jacking around with a smart phone, taking pictures of things we really can’t see, so I’m not sure what the point might be with that angle. (A double-shot of the orgy surfaces during this bit, probably to keep our attention in case we aren’t interested in watching other people text.) Then the female part of the song comes back, and I leave the room to get another beer while Cranky Crotch returns to the Oreo and starts wailing and flailing. Over her.

When I return, we’re seeing jump shots of various goings on, most of them involving Flo Rida and unknown people dancing and waving beverages in the air. (And, of course, everyone is really pretty, which is SO not reality, so these must be really special nightclubs and random parking lots.) I’m mostly intrigued with the sequences involving people strutting around in front of designer cars. Everyone in those shots looks very happy and non-threatened. Can we watch the rest of that video?

Nope, we head back to the cookie. Flo Rida rapping. Queen Bee killing her drones. Orgy.

Oh wait, Flo Rida just took off his shirt while on the cookie, and that totally changes everything. But only for two seconds. Then we’re back to Fully-Dressed Flo, with Succubus Sally banging her crotch against him while doing a backbend. She’s very limber, that Sally. But still angry.

And that’s pretty much how we wrap things up. Various women trying and failing to knock Nasty Nancy out of the ring. Flo Rida patiently putting up with all of them because he’s completely used to women fighting for the chance to stand near him. And tantalizing, too-short shots of that damn orgy mess on the spinning record.

Final shot is of Flo Rida clutching Harridan Hannah to his side, raising his other fist triumphantly. I guess she won after all. Bitch. But I’m not bitter…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Train - “Marry Me”

We start out with mini-interviews with various happily-coupled people, as they sit on a couch and chatter about how they met and what life has been like since then. It’s very sweet and touching. Unless you’re currently not in a relationship. Then it’s a wee bit irritating, especially when they won’t quite smiling. And they’re all straight. Where are the Rainbow People? Isn’t this band from San Francisco? Anyway…

We get to the video proper, and we’re in a diner somewhere. We get atmospheric shots of coffee brewing and orders on the wheel for the short-order cook. Then we hop over to the band performing on a subdued set with no accessories or props. And these are our two story lines. People ordering greasy things they shouldn’t eat and acoustic musicians apparently on a budget. And go.

Pat starts singing the song (which really is beautiful, not taking away from that) while a waitress is tidying up the counter after heathen diners have left a mess. She also has to deal with a coffee cup that some fool has apparently thrown on the floor as they left, having been raised in a barn or at least a house where crockery is not respected. She’s only dabbing daintily at the spilled coffee instead of quickly wiping the whole mess up, so she’s got some focus issues.

Then we spy Pat sitting in one of the booths and wearing an odd hat, pretending to read a paper but really watching Blondie as she screws around with the spilled caffeine. This allows us to get a close-up shot of Blondie, and of course she’s stunning in a wholesome sunshine way. She glances up at Pat, he smiles, she smiles, and you know that they instantly want each other more than anything in the entire world. Except possibly cheaper unlimited rates on their calling plans.

But, dang it, they can’t consummate their passion just yet. It seems that some other patron’s damn pancakes are ready, and Blondie (let’s call her Rebecca, as in the one with the farm, shall we?) has to scurry off because the now-hated cook is banging on his stupid little bell. Rebecca sighs, Pat sighs, and we cut back to the plain studio where Pat is singing while that Howie Mandel look-alike plays guitar beside him.

Diner again, with Rebecca doling out plates of food to a happy couple in another booth. (Side note: Some of the folks from the intro are playing couples in the diner as well. Awww.) She smiles at them brightly, pretending to care, then she glances over at Pat’s booth, to see how her future husband is doing.

And he’s gone. How sad. Rebecca crumbles emotionally, then turns to wander off somewhere and be devastated.

Back to the studio, where Pat and Howie look tragically stricken over the harsh severing of the budding relationship.

Diner once more, with Becky trying really hard to keep herself together as she waits on other people ordering pointless food in a world that is dark and unsatisfying, with lovers being ripped apart in cruel and painful ways. She pours coffee and snatches up tips, but her heart is broken forever, and the nunnery may be her only option.

The various couples in the booths don’t care if Rebecca has been crushed by the gods. They’re hungry and they want the blue plate special. That’s all that’s important. The couples clasp hands and smile at one another. A lot. Which only sends daggers of pain into Becky’s trembling, stomped-upon heart. These couples should not be surprised if a bit of arsenic mysteriously makes its way into their Denver omelets.

More studio time with Pat and friends. (Just curious. What happened to Pat’s waist? It’s a straight line from ear to foot. Hate him a little bit.)

At the diner, Rebecca apparently can’t concentrate on slinging hash, so she rips off her cute little waitress apron and throws it down, then marches out of the diner. Once outside, she glances hither and yon for any sign of Pat, her AWOL lover. Sadly, her yearning eyes find no purchase, and the dawn is bleak. (Yes, I just went Shakespeare on your ass. It felt right.) Becky, fighting tears, heads back inside.

Where she decides to just sit at one of the booths and sigh discontentedly. She stares at her cup of coffee and tries to process the fact that her life must surely be over because the man she knew for fifteen whole minutes is now gone from her life, and there’s no point in going on. Then her saddened eyes glance over at the sacred booth where Pat’s butt was planted before he destroyed her emotionally. She spies his funky hat on one of the seats, apparently tossed aside just like she has been. Oh?

She rushes to fondle the one remaining symbol of her errant lover, touching the brim with a yearning that far surpasses any other yearning ever felt on this planet. Lo and behold, altar-dumping Pat comes back in to the diner right at that moment. Their eyes meet, smiles are exchanged, and the video fades.

There’s still hope, folks. You can meet the man of your dreams while serving biscuits and gravy. Just make sure he understands that you want him desperately before you leave the check at his table…


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